#but sometimes they’ll pop up on stories ive posted

[graevs666]

it feels mean when u realise tht certain ppl just aren’t adding anything positive to ur life, n tht they just make u feel anxious, on edge, confused and under appreciated… but i feel like im starting to listen to my gut to whose presence makes me feel safe, heard, loved and appreciated

[aachria]

Hi it's me again (Anon who started wtaching the anime so i could reach the g5 arc) and oh boy. I've just made it to the beginning of Jaya. (I sadly had to take a rather long break with no one piece) So after wacthing and rereading the fic I am even more impressed at how naturally you make Ed fit into the dynamic of the strawhats. Sometimes while watching I was half expecting Ed to pop up and start doing their thing. In my watchthrough I also decided to watch all the movies, and i have to ask, will you be including any of them further into the story? I've only watched 3 but i heard there are some really good ones and it made me wonder.

Anyway I am so exited to get to g5 and be able to catch up to where the fic is now, and read all your blog posts that ive had to skip to avoid spoilers.

Im still spinning Ed in my head like a microwave

Sorry for the long ask, I love this story so much and am so exited to see where it goes!!!

Aw thanks I hope your still enjoying OP.

This question has been asked a couple times. If I do write the movies they’ll be added as separate works and considered outside of the canon of the story, I’d like to write them eventually but we’ll see what happens.

[wild-aloof-rebel]

Do you have any David and Patrick wedding reception/after party/wedding night headcanons?

absolutely! here are nine…

i.

even though the rest of the catering is delicious, david still misses the pizza that should have been, insisting that his carefully crafted menu is incomplete without it. halfway through the night, a dozen of elm county’s finest pizzas mysteriously appear, and though it isn’t fresh-baked the way it would have been had everything gone to plan, it’s salty and cheesy and hot and precisely what everyone needs to keep the night going. no one takes credit for ordering it, but patrick suspects that roland and jocelyn’s sudden absence during the cake cutting may have been for more wholesome reasons than he and david had assumed.

ii.

the cake is a traditional white almond sponge, but there’s a cherry filling and a thin layer of matcha buttercream in the middle that perfectly balance out the sweetness with bright and earthy notes. david had made patrick promise that he wouldn’t smash cake in his face, and he holds true to that vow, feeding him a careful bite from his own fork and relishing the way his eyes close and the corners of his lips quirk up, the same as they had the day they’d first sampled it at the bakery in elm glen, tipsy on free champagne and each other. but as soon as all the eyes in the room turn away from them and back to their own plates, patrick dips his finger into the icing and dabs a single dot of it to the corner of david’s affronted mouth just to have the excuse to lick it off of him.

iii.

there are too many toasts for david’s taste, which is to say any at all, the spotlight of stories and well-wishes making him wriggle in his seat, patrick’s hand squeezing gently at his thigh every time his leg begins to bounce. johnny, despite david’s worries, gets through his brief words without a single tear, just a huge, proud smile that doesn’t seem to leave his face all night. clint, on the other hand, tears up as soon as he starts, leaving marcy to swap his champagne flute with a tissue from her handbag. stevie, traitor that she is, opts to give her speech responsibilities over to alexis, and david braces himself for whatever horror story from their past she’s about to unleash. but instead of the past, she talks about the here and now, about the ease of david’s laughter and the quickness of his smiles, about the way patrick looks at him when he isn’t watching, about getting back a brother she hadn’t realized she’d lost and gaining another she hadn’t known she’d wanted, about how the walls we build around ourselves aren’t what protect us but love and friendship and family and trust are, about all the ways that letting others in only makes us more ourselves in the end. her charm and endless warmth invite everyone in to the story, make them a part of it, and there isn’t a dry eye in the room by the time she finally raises a glass, not only to david and patrick but also to this little town that brought them together–all of them–and gave them happiness they hadn’t known was possible.

iv.

patrick tears up watching david dance with marcy, his husband taking advantage of his height to spin her under his arm, her buoyant, carefree laughter floating out over the sounds of “brown eyed girl.” impossibly, he sometimes thinks she might love david even more than he does, and while he’s so glad that everything has worked out the way it should, there’s still a part of him that knows he could have missed this, that he could have let her miss this, not just the joy of dancing with david, which on its own is a beautiful thing, but the certainty of knowing that patrick is living this happy, comfortable life of his own choosing. they’ve talked a lot since his birthday, and he knows that all she and his dad have ever wanted is for him to be happy. there’s guilt and sorrow that twist in his gut like knives when he thinks about how close he came to denying them that, to denying himself that, and he still isn’t sure some days how he managed to walk away from that life and straight into this one he hadn’t even known he’d wanted instead. he honestly suspects some kind of divine intervention; it’s the only way to explain the miracle that is his husband, holding out a hand to him from the far side of the room, inviting him in once again to this world of joy and laughter and light that he gets the privilege of sharing with him every single day.

v.

moira wears 4 different outfits throughout the night, and david can only roll his eyes fondly at each costume change. in addition to the white alexander mcqueen dress she wears for the ceremony, she slips into a black stella mccartney gown before the start of the reception, the fabric split at the shoulders to reveal sleeves made of the same delicate crystal-adorned mesh that’s stretched across her shoulders. at the end of the night when it’s time to retire to the motel, she says her final goodbyes in a gareth pugh striped pantsuit that reminds david so much of her pajamas he briefly wonders if she might actually sleep in it. but his favorite by far is the ethereally structured iris van herpen she dons after dinner and toasts and cake, the dress flowing around her in elegant waves as his father spins her across the dance floor, art come to life, all the sharp, swift lines of her blurring into something–someone–softer and subtler and more at ease than he ever thought she could be in this place.

vi.

after a dance with stevie, patrick spies his husband tucked into the far corner of the room, his nose buried in his phone. david startles when patrick’s hands slip around his waist from behind, but the surprise of it passes quickly and he relaxes back in patrick’s grasp, comfortable and safe and at home in his arms. he drops his phone to his side though when patrick presses up on his toes to hook his chin over his shoulder, but not before he can catch a glimpse of a picture of the canopy of tulle and flowers that hangs over the center of the room. you can admit it you know, patrick tells him. admit what? david asks, though he clearly knows he’s been caught out. patrick presses a quick, soft kiss to the curve of his neck, tightening his arms around his husband as he breathes him in. they did a good job. this place is beautiful. david scoffs, but there’s no truth in it at all and patrick buries a chuckle in his shoulder. you’re beautiful, david replies instead, raising his phone again but flipping to the front-facing camera this time. he catches patrick’s left hand in his own, squeezing them to his chest so that both their rings are visible on the screen. he snaps several, both of them grinning dopily at the camera or at each other, as if they can’t stop themselves from looking deliriously happy if they try. after a careful debate over which one is best–patrick argues for the picture where the crinkled laugh lines around david’s eyes are deepest, though david vetoes that one in favor of another where patrick’s smile is wide and bright as david presses a kiss to his cheek–david posts the picture to the store’s instagram account since he no longer uses his own, captioning it we’re officially a family-owned business now. family. david is his family. the thought bursts into happy sparks, a cascade of fireworks hot and bright inside of patrick, and he can’t help but kiss david then, turning him in his arms to press all this glittering joy against his lips.

vii.

much later, patrick opens instagram on his own phone to clear away the overwhelming number of notification that have popped up on the post. hundreds of likes and dozens of congratulatory comments have rolled in, but the very first of each is from rachel.

viii.

thought i might find you out here, patrick says as he finds his husband standing in the inky darkness out behind the building. he looks overwhelmed–by the noise and the people and the emotions of the day–but in that way like he still can’t quite believe this is all real. let’s go for a drive, patrick offers. david’s brow wrinkles but he climbs into the passenger seat without a word, and patrick knows that however many mountains he’d climb for this man, he’d never have to do it alone. he can feel the moment that david realizes where they’re going, his fingers digging excitedly into the meat of patrick’s thigh. it’s well after midnight, so he doesn’t pull into the driveway, stopping instead on the shoulder across the road. he drags a blanket from the trunk and throws it across the hood of his car, offering david a hand to help him clamber up on top of it. they sit together there under the stars, shoulder to shoulder, looking out at their future, sketching the shape of it in whispers and hushed giggles and kisses soft and warm. only when they’re both shivering in the damp night air do they finally climb down and crawl back into the car, taking one long last look at the place they’ll soon call home. i wish it was already ours, david confesses into the safety of the dark, and patrick threads their fingers together, squeezing until he can feel both of their rings digging into his skin. me too, he says, but you’re still the only home i need.

ix.

they slip in quietly through the back door, though stevie grins wolfishly at them from across the room to let them know their absence hadn’t gone unnoticed. but there’s more dancing then. and drinks. photos. conversations. all these beautiful memories in the making. and later still, when things finally wind down and their parents and most of their other guests have said good night, david’s stomach rumbles loudly enough to be heard over the hushed strains of whitney houston still playing in the background. patrick, half-drunk, buries his fond, ridiculous laughter in his husband’s neck, and twyla suggests they head to the cafe. together with alexis and stevie, they wander right down the middle of the street, arms linked between them, david shaking his head as the other four make a sloppy, over-loud attempt at belting out “willkommen.” at the cafe, they all pile in to a booth together, talking loudly enough that twyla can still join in, calling back to them through the pass-through as she cooks up a mountain of scrambled eggs with cheese and warm, buttery toast, which she brings out all on one big plate. as they dive in, david thinks back to all the best meals he had when he lived in new york–expensive dinners at michelin-starred restaurants, quick lunches at greasy spoons, long boozy brunches and cheap late-night dives–and none of them could possibly compare to 3 AM scrambled eggs at the only restaurant in town, with his husband pressed so close he’s practically in david’s lap, surrounded by these people he loves more than he ever thought he could, all of them cackling wildly as they try to steal bites off each other’s forks. it’s the kind of moment–the kind of life–he would have never even thought to dream of, but it’s his and it’s real and he’s going to do everything he can to hold on to it for as long as he’s able.

[spidermilkshake]

Isolated Element--Part 1: Captoptromancy

Welp, I'd best post writing on the hellsite too. What better place for the unhinged fanfiction that spills between my brain's cracks?

IP: Kingdom Hearts (powerfully headcanon'd)

Genre: Fantasy, Mystery+Suspense

Word Count: 2,400+

TW: Unreal/derealized dream states, mild body horror

(Next)

1: Catoptromancy

It had been a few years since she had last come this way. Already, nothing was at all like she remembered. Years back, Traverse Town didn’t even have its proper name; it was only known as the settlement cobbled together from Gaia’s refugees—from Radiant Garden to Corel to Nibelheim—a hybrid of survivalist shelters and shanty-town as more and more hunks of unfortunate Worlds materialized in the outskirts, sometimes bringing hundreds of new people with them. A few years ago there weren’t quite five thousand folk crowded in here, getting by on salvaged bits and crisis aid given by the Elveshmean military and the Elvaan Źduhace (the Elven Dragoon Order). If not for the work of Radiant Garden’s more progressive intellectuals, Gaia’s ties to Elves and even fellow Human nations would not have been so strong, and if not for these ties, the alarm at the sudden radio silence would not have been so swift in onset. If not for this, Traverse Town would likely have remained a guttering, suffering den of survivors—languishing and on their own.

Aqua sympathized.

As she disembarked the transport cruiser into a grey, stale-smelling rain she noticed immediately the place’s changes. She pulled the sides of her hooded poncho together, pausing by the platform’s railing to look out over the newly-constructed bell tower, and the mis-matched buildings surrounding it. Formerly, this area had been half-built and strewn with piles of salvaged rubble. The wrecked hulk of an Interspace-Airship hybrid, the Highwind Mark IV, had lain propped up on blocks, its engines burst and drained of power. It had since been moved—or taken apart, likely to go towards the Mark V. Shaking the oil rivulets dripping down her hood away, Aqua brought herself back to the present. Traverse Town was now equipped with signs; she began following some, scanning the terraced levels and built-into underpasses for signs of nightly lodging. A warm, elevated porch caught her eye—its swinging sign lit up with a covered manatech lantern, the orange glow making “Bedknobs+Broomsticks: Food—Rooms—Entertainment—Vacancies Available” legible through the weather. She climbed the stairs to the entrance, taking a moment to shake the rain from her poncho again, to not drip a soot-marred trail all through the place. The least she could hope for was that this one wasn’t already grimy, and without her griming it up for the proprietor.

It did turn out to be clean inside, mostly. A few active spiderwebs decorated the high, out-of-the-way corners, but a polished oak bar-top was well-shined, and a row of recessed booth seating looked to be mostly clear minus some spice containers. It was a tiny place, a staircase and a cramped elevator entrance intruding halfway into the diner-like area. Clearly, most of the establishment was on ascending floors and this scant hole-in-the-wall was the only important thing besides cheap beds. At first she assumed she was alone on the floor—some clanking in the doorway behind the bar area implied one distracted kitchen worker only. A sound like sheafs of silk rubbing together turned her head, and the slight, constant movements caught her peripheral vision.

She jolted, instinct forcing her to grip thin air after a Keyblade that would no longer come to her. After all this time, she’d assumed she would be used to the full range of weird entities roaming the Three Realms, but apparently this… entity, was still a surprise.

He was wedged into the outermost side of the closest booth, in the shadowy corner. His feet were propped up on the table and half-crossed, but it was not their electric-green claws and webbed toes the color of “drowning victim” that was so terrifying: The rest of him was by far more strange. Tall, slender, with swept-back pointed ears and some of his dark reddish hair braided into an Elf-Knot identified his species—and the bustling array of mutations he bore brought that species into question again. Above the protective gloves and bracers he wore, his forearms were that drowned-blue color, and slithering with several large tentacles each. His ripped jeans were a similar story at the hip joint—and even more sprung from a point near his shoulder blades. The deep V-neck of his shirt allowed a travesty of more subtle issues to be on display: His shoulders and across his collarbones had stubby, green quills protruding from them, the veins of his neck close to the surface were a green hue too and hideously engorged. On second glance, Aqua suppressed a shudder of revulsion as she saw the veins on his arms and even one faintly popping from his temple were the same. A moment passed in which this Grey Elf paid no attention to her—engrossed with a ratty-looking, thin book propped open against one knee—but then, vivid purple eyes flicked over to the onlooker.

“Well, well, cydezé,” the twisted elf greeted her, gaze flicking over her from the Keybearer’s Chi-Rho emblem on her chest to the lacing ornaments over her corset and spur-stabilizers on her boots, landing at last on her muted blue hair and bright eyes. “They say it’s rude to stare, stranger.”

“Sorry, I, uh…” Aqua stalled her movements by force of will, as instinct was sending her creeping backwards. “I couldn’t help but look.”

“’Swhat they all say!” He snickered, snapping his book closed. She couldn’t be so sure of this relaxed, humored response; her eyes lingered on the tentacles as they coiled back over themselves. “No offense taken at all, eh, miss..?”

“I’m Aqua,” she suppressed a flinch, especially as one of his eyebrows raised in intense interest.

“Aqua, eh?” Finally, he slid the mutated pair of feet down from sight. “Excellent. I’m named Oppidimy—though some call me the ‘Octomancer’. Or a walking accident.” He chuckled again, grinning.

“Now we’re introduced, at least—so! You didn’t come in here after me, I’ll assume, but surely you’re looking for someone.”

Aqua’s brow twitched as it was tempted to furrow, “What makes you say that?”

“You have that ‘looking for someone’ quality,” he smirked, tipping a hand towards the scene outside, “It’s a safe assumption. Most who come here are, in fact, trying to find people.”

The young Keybearer half-bit her tongue; appearance aside, she was unsure of how wise it would be to make even a guarded mention of her goals. Oppidimy was clearly a mage of some sort: What kind was as uncertain as how he’d come to be half-elf, half-aberration. And what kind of magic-user he was made all the difference.

“Actually, I wasn’t looking for someone,” she chanced it. She figured she could downplay the importance it had, leaving little clue that the lost item in question was the sacred Keyblade. “Something, actually. Several somethings.”

“Lost some stuff?”

“Actually… more like stolen.” She sucked in a breath, reigning in the residual outrage that lingered even years later, “A sword, and a set of plate armor. They were very important to me and I don’t have much idea of who took them from where I last saw them.”

Oppidimy clicked his tongue, eyes hooding in a disgusted expression as he nodded.

“That’s cute—people really are out there like that. World’s in the process of ending and they’ll still try robbin’ you blind.” Aqua blinked hard at the statement, but he carried on overtop of her visible bewilderment, “Odds are, the culprit’s one of a short and nasty list; the only types who would be out to steal anything that wasn’t provisions, these days.

“I might be able to help y’ out,” a slow, crooked smile spread over his pointed features, and his gloved fingertips settled together into a triangle of scheming thoughts. “At least, if you’ll have me. At the very least I could help rule out some of these skeezballs.”

“And how would you accomplish this?” Her voice turned suspicious, and the Rurcelan mutant obviously cottoned on. He disbanded the triangle of wicked contemplations with a series of assuring waves, shaking his head and chuckling.

“Ah, ah, I know that tone—relax! My methods are one hundred percent legitimate, completely moral. Even though I blend in quite well with society’s villains and monsters, the ‘look’ was not exactly intentional. But, if you’ll take up my offer, you’ll see how it serves to my advantage.”

As Oppidimy began to stand and tuck his book amongst the grips of the tentacles issuing from one elbow, Aqua tilted her head:

“…So you specialize in espionage?”

The elf raised a gloved finger to his lips and the quills on his bare shoulders went rigid, suddenly looking grim and serious.

“Not so loud,” He slid past her, the Keybearer wearing a stone face even as she cringed internally at the tendrils coming inches from brushing by. Stepping towards the stairs, he turned back to call over his shoulder, smirk returned: “Come see me some time if you need a hand, yeh? I’m in 32. I’d suggest giving that old office door a knock so you can get a room of your own before it gets too late.” He began to cackle, “Owner’s a bit narcoleptic, so knock hard!” His laughter echoed, becoming cartoonish as he ascended the narrow stairwell and the raucous noise faded out. She paused a few seconds just to breathe.

Never had she encountered someone quite so exaggerated—it felt like a front—or a trap. She could be the intended victim, but just as easily the intended bait, a lure to draw in the unsavory targets he’d referred to. Only further investigation would bring that to light.

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

As suspected—the place was a cheap joint for cheap beds. The need in town was high, and the cramped room she was assigned was, at the very least, livable. Crumpled under the stiff, rough-textured outer sheet, every attempt to calculate the dubiousness of the elf’s offer, versus the likelihood she could finally close in on her lost Keyblade, set her sleep back another hour. And another. But slowly, surely, sleep and Aqua arrived at an uneasy truce.

She had the dream again. Different—and clearer.

The vision of that round, white, metal-plated room, the gaps in this armoring (or acoustic featuring?) showing faint glints of pipes, cables, and other hints at underlying manatech. It mocked her. She was for a second so infuriated at its recurrence that she almost missed the new features: Insignias in a stark black marked the walls, familiar but strange. It was much like the Keybearer’s Chi-Rho—or the Heartless Emblem, itself very much a cheap plagiarizing of the order’s sign—upside-down, so that the spikes forming the “Chi” took the peak position.

The miasma of her unconscious half-lucidity swam around her as she struggled to turn around and face the raised central area. She had already seen what was arranged there during the prior dream states. Her armor, and her Keyblade, where she knew it last. If the passage of time was to be believed, someone had been keeping it tidy and dust-free.

The chair was new. Aqua’s jaw hung in silence a moment, unable to react, as she faced its occupant. Outside of this recurring hallucination she knew she was asleep—and she wondered if he, within the dream, was also. His dark-toned skin and wildly-arranged silver hair were uncomfortably familiar, and his face itself also so but for different reasons. His ears were slightly-pointed as a half-elf’s would be, but since his eyes were closed she couldn’t tell if he possessed the mish-mash of colors and features she dreaded. She had seen this man before, she was sure this was… but somehow, her mind refused to let her assume this was the same person. Or persons, technically. He had to be, and yet… she was sure this quietly seated man was another entirely.

Her frown began to appear, giving some control of her face and voice back. Whoever this dead-ringer for Terra (and Xehanort) was, there was no likelier suspect for the role of the one who had relocated this Chamber—her Keyblade with it.

“Where are you?”

Aqua nearly jumped, though her dream-self felt far too sluggish for it. Exactly as and exactly what she had been gathering up energy to say the man with closed eyes had asked in a low murmur, devoid of feeling. Though, this she supposed could be from him truly being asleep—mumbling and aware of her regardless.

“No,” she barked, “You tell me. Where are you? And who are you?”

The man paused, eye movements flickering behind their lids. In painfully slow motions, he began to shake his head.

“I cannot answer you. You must tell me first.” He was still almost deadpan, with a hint of tired annoyance creeping in now.

“You can’t force me to tell you, and you can’t do anything to me. This is a damn dream-state. So, if you want anything, you first.”

He huffed, his brows twitching, and the sleek black fabric that made up his gloves straining as his grip on the armrests tightened.

“No,” he growled. “You don’t understand. I cannot answer you first because I have no answer. I don’t know who I am.” He let silence return to the humming void around them, becoming neutral in expression, “But perhaps, if you tell me your name, I can know more.”

A spike of hope softened her expression; the frustration and the intonation was so like his, melded neatly with the rigid aura of calm he imposed on himself—two traits so Terra-esque and incongruous with each other they seemed unlikely to be performed. And very un-Xehanort, in this way.

“I’m Aqua. Do you have a name, by chance?”

“I do,” he nodded, brows knitting slightly, “But it would mean nothing to you. It is a chosen name, taken after the time you seem to recognize me from.”

“Are you Terra?” She forged ahead, prepared for a let-down.

“I am aware of who that name belongs to, but I do not think so,” he surprised her, “Before you ask: I am equally aware of the one called Xehanort. I am not him.

“You have seen this Chamber before, haven’t you?” A dim inkling of curiosity entered his soft tone, surprising her alongside the change of subject. “Years ago I began to see this place. In my dreams at first, and then, every time I closed my eyes. I suspect you saw these visions. You saw the way into the room, hidden in what is left of the bastion of Radiant Garden.”

“How did you figure that out?” But, already guessing the answer, her eyes wandered to the sections of her armor propped on the central dais.

“I have memory I can’t explain,” he began. “I remember the name of the one this Keyblade, and its armor manifestation, belongs to. Aqua.” Sudden, jarring, he seemed unable to resist letting his eyes snap open and zero in on her with their bright, orange intensity, “This belongs to you, doesn’t it?”

An immediate shock came over her—but not only from being eye-to-eye. As soon as it happened, a spell broke. She felt roaring in her ears; the Chamber of Repose winked out and she was filled with the sickening sensation of half-awake, confused floating just above one’s body. Psyche-wise, she felt slammed back into her self as she bolted awake, still curled under the cheap inn’s terrible sheets, the room quiet and empty.

She sat up, waiting for some soreness that never came. A vivid dream. Not exactly, but closer than really being there. For a minute she just listened; a few muffled clangs of activity echoed from some lower floor, and she could hear through razor-thin walls the sounds of folk opening and shutting doors, exchanging bleary greetings, and going about the act of “morning”. A sliver of weak light creeping in between shut curtains confirmed the early, small hour. She collected her wits, and stood. She wasn’t getting any more sleep now anyways.

To Be Continued

[curioussubjects]

now speak of ruin

Pairing: dean/cas

Rating: T

Words: 4150

Notes: all i have to say for myself is that the divorce narrative these past episodes didn’t have to be so deliciously understated, so here’s something to fill that negative space. section I has been posted before (x)(x)(x), but i just couldn’t stop there. here’s the result; enjoy! title and outro are both by carl phillips, respectively “directions from here” and “detachment.”

(ao3)

--

I.

The sound of the bunker's front door closing hits Castiel like a death knell. He sighs at the thought; such dramatics are entirely too human. Some 10 years ago, barely a blink in time, the thought would have been, well, unthinkable. It's a messy thing to walk away. To know that there is no such thing as closure.

Humans heal with time, Castiel knows this. But angels are creatures of permanence. Eternal. They were not made for changing. He has been angel and human alike; thinks he has landed somewhere in between. What is healing then, for a creature like Castiel? When will Jack's loss be less like a hemorrhaging? When will it feel like an ache, persistent and manageable? There are books for this, but Castiel isn't sure they are meant for him.

There are books about heartbreak, too. Books, and movies, and music, so much music. Castiel knows them. Minutely. He knows the stories humans have told about love and lust. Love and redemption. Forgiveness. Love at the right time. Love at the wrong time. Metatron made sure he knew all of it. Minutely. But Castiel doesn't know if there are lessons for him there. Much less companionship. He knows there's a space in his heart Dean lives in. Has always already lived in. It's a messy thing to walk away. Untidy. There's no such thing as closure.

These things were not made for him, but they are his nonetheless. Castiel feels immensely, minutely, human. 

Castiel walks to his car, and his his footsteps are heavy, sorrowful. His muscles are tight, his grace contained, yet he feels he is falling apart. Very human, that. Feeling had become second nature. Effortless and inescapable. Leaving the bunker, leaving Sam, leaving Dean had not. Inevitable, maybe, though to think it causes a cold panic to wash over him. 

And it's fascinating how human emotion comes in contradictions: hot tears and cold dread. All things Castiel thought were not made for him. How monumental that he's here now sitting frozen in his car with his thoughts racing. To think he didn't know how, before. Before Dean. Before. 

But maybe Castiel has finally learned a lesson, if only just the one: to know when, if not how, to leave. Another change, then, the after. Whatever that is. Whatever that feels like.

*

The sound of the bunker's door closing hits Dean like a death knell. And then silence.

The door closes with a heavy thud, and for a second, two, a heartbeat, everything quiets. The hush feels like cotton in his ears. Or water, maybe. Thick until it pops. Rings. But until then there's silence. Time ticks a little slower, imperceptibly so-- or just enough to be unsettling. 

The door closes with a heavy thud that drowns everything else, until Dean hears the bunker come alive around him. Quietly, at first, then insistent. The refrigerator hums, and the bunker itself hums with old static. The pipes settle, and Sam's mattress creaks, his chair drags on the floor. Dean can hear the false starts of his breathing, the shallowness of it. The tight noise of his hands holding the table. The ringing in his ears, the echo of the door closing with a heavy thud and the quiet the quiet-

But the bunker is not quiet. Not ever, not even after the door closes with a heavy thud. The sounds of the bunker become jumbled and undifferentiated. They buzz and buzz until Dean can't tell each sound apart anymore: his breathing and his hands, Sam in his room, the door, the door, the do-

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't. 

It's the absence of sound. Of words Dean could ever only say to himself. Words Dean could barely say to himself. Words like: Stay. And: I'm sorry, and I think I hate you a little. But I don't I don't you just scare me. Or maybe: You're wrong. You got it all miserably wrong and Stay. But Dean doesn't know how to be honest without spilling his guts on the floor. He never learned how to say these things without love turning into a length of rope. Love that doesn't hurt. Love that doesn't sound like light extinguishing and ashes on sand. Love that doesn't sound like a door closing. 

So silence. So the door closes with a heavy thud.

II. 

When Sam asks after Cas, Dean doesn’t say much of anything. He shrugs, says he’s gone. He doesn’t know where. He lets Sam fill in the blanks. It’s Cas, after all. He’s left before; nothing unusual. Sam frowns, and Dean goes to his room. The silence follows. 

Later, there’s a case, and it’s like old times. Sam is quiet, but it’s okay because Sam’s still shaken up about Rowena and God and Jack and Mom. It’s understandable. They’ll work the case; it’ll help. It has to.  So they drive. Sam looks out the window, naps, and hums, distractedly, along to the radio. Dean pays close attention to the highway, to the feel of the steering wheel, the hum of the engine, and the music playing. He doesn’t glance at the backseat through the rear view mirror. He doesn’t. Not once.

There’s a case, and Dean is fine. They’re getting back in the game. Moving on. 

They find the monster, a vampire –a kid. Dean does what needs to be done. It’s the job, and he doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t think about the kid kneeling down in front of him. Resigned. Doesn’t think about the blade in his hand, or the gun, or the cemetery. Another kid on their knees. Resigned. 

On the drive back to the bunker, Sam isn’t quiet anymore. Dean tries to be reassuring. God is gone, they have their freedom. For everyone they lost, they have to keep going. He talks more than he has in days. Sam’s weariness and grief is a palpable thing in the soft light of the road. The case was supposed to help. Dean’s words were supposed to help. Yet, Sam can only offer the possibility of a better tomorrow.  It should be enough, Dean thinks, but there’s that hush that has been plaguing him for days and days. The echo of footsteps. The sound of silence a heavy thud.  

What if you don’t feel better in the morning? 

Sam doesn’t know. Dean drives.

III.

So God wasn’t gone, and it’s too much. Dean wonders over and over again about what in his life has ever been real. His body tenses, and Dean can feel anxiety flutter in his chest. It’s not restlessness, though. Dean exists in static, which is better than allowing his thoughts to take over. It’s tenuous, and won’t last. He’s too aware of the hints of Has anything mattered? Was there a point to all the pain, the hurt...fuck, the joy? floating around in his brain. 

Dean has been staring at his bedroom wall for hours. The beer bottles pile up beyond his notice; the drinking mechanical and ineffective. It’s exhausting, this stillness. He’s just waiting for something to happen, for him to lose it. He finds himself, suddenly, thinking of last year when him and Sam accidentally summoned their father. The happiness that soon gave way to grim acceptance that John couldn’t stay. Dean had felt guilty that he desperately wanted things to go back to normal. And he felt proud that he built a life he could own. Could tell John he had a family. Had people to love. To care for. Dean had a home. Now, the memory is bitter. Neither life was more real than the other. It was a puppet show, all of it. 

He wants to break something. To rage and yell. But he doesn’t; he stares at the wall. Drinks. He hasn’t been sleeping. Before Lilith, Dean dreamed of the vastness of the bunker’s rooms. All empty. Silent. Still. Sometimes, he woke up with a voice in the back of his head echoing in a relentless refrain: We are. We are. We are. The sound had been so comforting it had hurt more than it had helped, but it was better than the alternative: the empty spaces Cas left behind. It’s insane, but Dean misses dreaming of that kind of heartbreak. The naive ignorance of it. Ignorance of still being trapped in Chuck’s story. Dean had felt like hammered crap, but at least he had been free. Finally. Except. Except: God wasn’t gone. He and Sam hadn’t been free at all. There’s a secret and selfish part of him that wished he had never known about Chuck and his obsession with them. That he could keep the happiness he carved out of an astounding amount of suffering.  

We are. We are. We are.

IV.

Castiel had never remained human for long stretches of time, but he came to understand dreams. They were largely simulations, expressions of intense emotion, or an aspect of trauma. His time with the Winchesters could easily be comprised of all three. In all, Castiel would never call his time with Dean, Sam, Jack, and everyone else a nightmare. There had been nightmare enough in the past years, but knowing he wasn’t alone was a comfort. Castiel felt safe with the Winchesters, even if he often doubted his value as part of their family. In his car, watching the sun set in the horizon, Castiel misses them. But that’s done now. It was a good dream. Extraordinary. Yet, a dream, nonetheless. And if Castiel knows anything of dreams, is that no matter how much they linger, they eventually end and fade away. 

The bunker is days behind him. Castiel had been driving with little purpose; his only interest outrunning everything he left behind. Driving really was distracting, he has come to understand. Soothing in its constancy. However, Castiel wasn’t built for idleness, he needs some kind of goal. He’s not too sure what people do when they get away from their lives. Where do they go to hide, but not lose themselves? Castiel has no desire to go to Vegas or sit around in a motel watching daytime television – not that he minds daytime television, of course. Castiel needs a bit of peace, and just like that he has something of an answer.

There was a dream once. Not his, obviously, as he was still fully an angel at the time. But in his memory, now, it feels like the dream was his, too. If only for a little while. Castiel thinks of a quiet pier on a lake. The air smells like early Fall – notes of Summer still lingering here and there. There was a breeze, he thinks.  Just enough that the water wasn’t still and eerie. The lake had been beautiful even to his detached eyes. His purpose then was to deliver a warning to the dreamer. Castiel remembered looking at Dean while he fished, content in a way Castiel had never seen him be before. Despite the years since that dream, Castiel still knew very little about fishing, but he knows it must be remarkably peaceful. 

With a decision made, Castiel takes the next exit and parks at a convenience store, so he can find the nearest lake. Maybe he could rent a cabin. He’s not very good at this, he realizes as he scrolls through his phone. The leaving things behind. The letting things go. Mostly, Castiel doesn’t want to be here in front of a Flying J looking for a cabin by a lake. He wants to be home. He wants his son to be alive. Castiel wants his family, to love and care for them and to be loved and cared by them in return. But that was done now. Faded like ripples in water and a dream almost forgotten.

*

When Dean hears Cas’s voice over the phone, the sudden jolt of irritation surprises him. It hadn’t occurred to him that Cas would keep hunting – though he knows it should have – and it certainly hadn’t occurred to him that Cas would use the FBI line. Not when he had been ignoring Sam’s texts and voice messages. Cas can be pissed at Dean all he wants, but Sam is still his best friend, and Sam worries. So, yeah, Dean is pretty damn irritated.

Cas’s clipped tone doesn’t help. Cas had been perfectly capable of contacting them, willing even. Just not enough to let them know he was fine. Fuck, that he was alive. That he hadn’t somehow been caught in Chuck’s crosshairs. That he had gotten their warning about Chuck still being around.

Well, Dean has Cas on the phone now, and clipped tone be damned he was going to say something. Tell him to stop ignoring his fucking phone. He does, and immediately hangs up. That’s that. Cas knows. Dean doesn’t feel much better, but he did his job.  

And Sam can stop worrying.

V.

Swayze’s goes up in flames in the Impala’s rearview mirror. Dean grips the steering wheel and drives until he doesn’t feel like he’s going to be sick. It takes a while, but he settles enough to see the tank is close to empty. Soon after, while Dean waits for the tank to fill, he checks his phone. He barely has time to register his heart skipping at seeing Cas’s name pop up several times in his notifications before he’s getting back into his car and driving home.

Much later, Dean drops heavily onto his bed sighing the sigh of the drained. It had been a long day. Hell, a long week. Month, even, probably more. Dean, not for the first time that day, thinks he should’ve stayed home. Shouldn’t have jumped at the first case that caught his eye and left Sam alone. Except...Sam hadn’t been alone. It’s why he wanted to find an excuse, any excuse, to get far away from the bunker. Not that Dean wasn’t happy for his brother, or happy that Eileen was back. He was pretty damn happy. Eileen’s return had been their first win in a long time. So, yeah, Dean was grateful that his brother had gained some of his cheer back. But Dean was having a hard time being around Sam and Eileen without wanting to crawl out of his skin. Every time they’d throw little smiles at each other or stare just a beat too long, it left Dean feeling raw and unsettled. He needed some air, some space from the thing between Sam and Eileen, and the empty chair next to his.

Seeing Lee again had been thrilling, a reminder of some of the few moments Dean had been truly carefree. He felt it again that night at Swayze’s, and the tension between him and Lee was easy. Fun. Dean hadn’t know how much he needed that. For the first time in weeks he let himself forget about Chuck and his games. About mom and Jack and Rowena getting caught in the crossfire. About Cas. Dean desperately wanted to forget about Cas, at least for a while because he couldn’t stop thinking that nothing they’d been through mattered, that what he and Cas were to each other was probably some B plot Chuck came up with for his own amusement. Either that or Chuck didn’t care about anything past rebooting his greatest hits through him and Sam...and if that was the case, then Dean had let one of the few real things he had slip through his fingers. It was overwhelming to think about. A weight he couldn’t shake off. 

Lee’s easy smiles had been a welcome relief. Not that the night could’ve remained an uncomplicated and fun time with an old friend, a night reminiscing their dumbest and best decisions. Laughing about the time John had almost caught them in the middle of a drunken make-out. Or hunts that left them feeling on top of the world with purpose. No, it ended with Dean having to put down someone he cared for, someone he had been half in love with years ago. Yeah, part of Dean wished he hadn’t ended up at Swayze’s. He wished he had stayed home because Sam would need him. That he could’ve kept the rosy image of Lee intact in his mind. But another, larger, part of him knew that Lee needed to be stopped, and Dean needed to remember why he had to stop him. He had needed the harsh reminder that Chuck or no Chuck, he wouldn’t stop doing his job, and making sure the world was a little bit safer on the off-chance it was all part of a show. What he and Sam did had to matter because the people they saved mattered. 

Dean had wanted to tell Cas all of this once he knew Sam was okay, but Cas had walked out before he had done more than take a steadying breath. Dean figured he’d deserved it; Cas had tried talking to him too, before. So the words rot and die in his throat before Dean even knew exactly how to put his thoughts into words. How to explain the anger and hurt than clung to him as well as the love and the fear. The fucking guilt and regret, too. But Cas didn’t want to hear it, and that was fair. And for all that Dean knew why Cas could barely stay in the same room as him, knew he owed Cas an apology, Dean was still so angry at him for leaving. Always leaving, and damn the consequences. Even if it got people killed (and his grief for Mary is still so fresh months later), even if it got him killed. And that’s the kicker, isn’t it? Cas walking into a lake, Cas’s wings burned to ash. And it’s Dean who has to deal with the aftermath. Dean is the one building funeral pyres, or carrying an old trench coat and waiting to be haunted, or drinking alone in his bedroom wondering what he’s supposed to do when morning comes and he still feels like he has a hole in his chest. He had also wanted to tell Cas that because maybe Cas would finally get it and just stop. And maybe he’d stay with them. With Dean. 

Dean rubs his eyes, turns on his side to face his bedroom door. He can see the faint sliver of light coming from the library from under the door. Dean knows Cas is probably sitting in the library, reading in his chair. Or doing god knows what on his phone. Texting Claire, probably, regardless of the late hour. He should go to him. They should talk; they wouldn’t be interrupted with Sam and Eileen fast asleep. They could talk quietly in the night, they could listen to each other, if only Dean could figure out how to get up and do it. He can’t, but he stares at that sliver of light until he falls asleep.

*

Castiel feels at ease for the first time in weeks. It should be strange that he does, he has very little reason to, the only improvement since the last time he had been at the bunker being that maybe they had a way to neutralize Chuck. Yet the bunker is familiar in a way no other place on Earth is to him, especially when it’s just him and everyone is asleep. The bunker was always his in the small hours of the night. It’s very human, he thinks, to be attached to a building. To the smell of old books and home-cooked meals he can’t even taste properly, to the sounds of familiar footsteps and the hum of the television. The clacking of keyboards. Castiel suspects he feels like this only partly because of his failing Grace. He knows he’s too sentimental for an angel, and has somewhat learned to embrace it. Humanity is burdensome and uncomfortable, but it has its advantages. So Castiel accepts the simple contentment of being home.

It’s all far from ideal, regardless. He hadn’t felt comforted while everyone was awake. Not since Dean had returned, anyway. Seeing Dean again had been...its own challenge. It shouldn’t have been surprising to him to be unnerved at Dean’s presence; talking to him on the phone had been difficult enough. Castiel could barely look at him much less stay in his presence, so he fled before Dean could say anything else. Or say nothing. Castiel isn’t sure which would’ve been worse. He tries not to dwell on things he can’t change – another lesson long overdue – but Dean is vexing in a way nothing else has ever been. And for all of Castiel’s sentimentality, he still can’t even think of Dean without hurt and anger rising in his throat desperate to get out.

Castiel wonders, in the silence of the library, if the strain will eventually lead him to leave the bunker behind again. After Chuck. If they make it. He feels a little guilty on behalf of Sam. Castiel had read the texts, and he’ll do better by him. Sam is a good friend, but Dean is something else entirely. They hurt each other more than they don’t, but when they don’t….Well. It’s everything. Castiel knows how easy things can be between him and Dean. Knows the simple joy of watching television together and laughing about things that hadn’t been particularly funny.  They could sit quietly. They could create happiness out of nothing and have it feel effortless. If only they let themselves do it. If only.

If he were ever asked, Castiel would say that one of the cruelest lessons humanity has to teach is that, sometimes, love simply isn’t enough.

Sitting alone in the dim lights of the library, Castiel feels incredibly and terrifyingly human. He finds himself trying to parse out the significance of being back in the bunker after leaving for good. Castiel has left before many times without meaning or wanting to. The last time he meant it. Yet here he is. Castiel never quite manages to leave the Winchesters. He glances at the hallway, in the direction of the bedrooms, where he knows Dean isn’t actually asleep. It tugs at him, his awareness of Dean. Distracts him from his thoughts and leads them astray. In the end, it’s human foolishness that allows him to entertain the idea that maybe if Chuck can be defeated, there can be room for him here still.

Another human lesson, then: there’s nothing so miserable that hope can’t salvage.

VI.

The hush sound of voices drifts from the kitchen to greet Dean good morning. He stops before he reaches it, letting the sound of breakfast and conversation fill in some of the corners of the bunker. It’s good to have sound and people around, all things considered.

Dean lets it simmer, and closes his eyes. Just for a minute. Just enough to pretend it’s any other day, before Mom and Jack were gone, when Dean wasn’t so strung out: He’d walk into the kitchen and mumble good morning to his family. Sam and Cas would turn to him and smile; they’d carry on their conversation. Dean would fill his mug with coffee before joining them at the table. Despite still being far too sleepy to follow their discussion, Sam would try to include Dean just the same, with fondness in his eyes. Cas wouldn’t try, choosing instead to move closer to Dean until their shoulders and knees bumped.  Dean would smile into his coffee, feeling warm inside and out.

When Dean opens his eyes, the daydream fades, and the bunker looks a little dimmer than it had before. There are still voices coming from the kitchen. There’s coffee and those he loves. Safe, for now. He’ll take what he can get.

It’s a chilly morning. Dean squares his shoulders, and walks in.

*

The irony of returning to purgatory isn’t lost on Castiel. He wants to laugh, absurdly, as he faces the rift. They have to prepare before entering, which causes the simmering hysteria in his stomach to morph into dread. Nothing good can come of this expedition. Dean knows it as well as he does, but here they are filling duffel bags with supplies.  

The pull of purgatory feels inevitable, somehow. Not unlike a wound poorly healed. A jagged scar that is always more tender than the skin around it; a place you can’t help but worry repeatedly, or brush against without meaning to. Castiel remembers that about being human: the way fresh wounds would close and change his body irrevocably.

They don’t talk about purgatory, not since the first few days after Castiel came back. They still don’t talk about purgatory, even as they ready themselves to return to it. However, Castiel notices the distance between him and Dean diminish incrementally. 

They don’t talk about purgatory, but they haven’t, by any means, forgotten it.

--

“it was lonely

though we did not say so”

[mccoys-killer-queen]

This Week’s Playlist (2/14)

Not sure how I got hooked on this idea- but this week I’ll be focusing entirely on 70s songs (and next week I’ll do 80s). Disclaimer: I’m not saying these are my favorite songs of the 70s (believe me that would be WAYYY too hard to narrow down), I’m just filling this week’s list strictly with songs released in the 70s.

I’ve also created a spotify playlist made up of all the songs I’ve used on playlists! I’ll update it every week (before I even post the playlist, so if you check at the right time the songs will be there!)

1.) London Calling- The Clash (1979) I like to define this song as the song that started my descent into classic rock. When I was in 7th grade I had this music teacher who would always play pop music of the late 20th century for class. This song was one of the first songs she showed us, and it became a trademark of the class. We used to get this song played at dances and stuff- so there’s a lot of middle school memory there. Guess we all wanted to be punks- and this is a great boppy song just for that.

2.) All Right Now- Free (1970) Am I being typical for picking this song...? Perhaps (because honestly, at least where I’m from, this is the only Free song anyone knows... yikes. It’s overused in media sometimes imo). But that doesn’t meant it’s not great! It’s got everything! An epic guitar riff that frames the lyrics, a sick beat, funny rhymes, a killer musical interlude with bangin piano and a guitar solo- all while being undeniably CHILL. This one of those chill summer songs to me; the kind you listen to on a hot, quiet, and sunny car ride through the country with the windows down while wearing sunglasses. That’s just the aesthetic I’ve always associated with this song.

3.) Rock’n Me- Steve Miller Band (1976) Just try not to bop. I dare you. This is a real dance-a-little-in-your-seat song with a GREAT, smooth flow to it. Killer rhymes and a fast, subtle beat you can’t avoid even if you try. Steve Miller Band is one of my favorite groups of the 70s and I wish they got more appreciation in general. I could’ve picked so many of their songs already for these playlists, but this one stood out to me this week because I feel like it’s very recognizable (I always heard this song as a kid and I feel like maybe some people on here did too). It’s so damn catchy that it’ll just stick with you, so listen and get ready for an earworm. Also a great road trip song.

4.) Once Bitten, Twice Shy- Ian Hunter (1975) No, this isn’t Great White!! This is the song we all know and love but this one’s the original! I feel like I need to educate anyone who’ll listen about this! *scoff* god, now I can see why Joe Elliott’s always shoving Ian Hunter in everyone’s faces- because he’s worth it! Maybe I’m a little biased, but I personally prefer this version over Great White’s for a bunch of different reasons. For one thing, I think this version focuses more on telling the story rather than trying to make the music over the top. The instrumentals of this one ROCK, but the way it’s constructed with the lyrics makes the story more understandable- essentially, it’s just more raw, and I like the raw sound to it, but that’s just me. You all probably know how the song goes at this point, but after listening to this version you’ll see just how much of it Great White changed. You take it upon yourself to decipher the meaning of the lyrics ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) I think we all know what “rock and roll” means at this point...

5.) Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’- Journey (1979) I don’t like to acknowledge Valentine’s Day, nor was I going to mention it in any way on this playlist- but let me tell you a story: last year on VD, I was driving home from school, and this song came on the radio. Then it hit me- I had completely forgotten about ANTI-Valentine’s Day songs! This is a PERFECT example of one. It tells of an unfaithful someone who gets bitten in the ass by someone else’s unfaithfulness. Talk about a SICK burn! This has gotta be my favorite Journey song as well. It’s like a flash-fiction song; telling a huge story while barely saying anything at all. My favorite part of this song by far is how each instrument has a crystal clear part, and you can very easily pick out each one. The intro of this song is just excellent. You can clearly hear the bass, drums, guitars, and piano all introduced in different ways. It’s just a gorgeous song through and through, and those 189 “na”s at the end just tie it all together (and yes, I counted). You’ll have all the words down before you know it.

6.) You’re All I’ve Got Tonight- The Cars (1978) Like I said last week, The Cars are one of the perfect combos of rock and pop. If you think about it, this one can be another anti-Valentine’s Day song. The lyrics have a sloppy and desperate feel to them- kinda like the speaker is drunk and throwing themselves at someone because they’re that desperate. “I don’t care if you hurt me some more, I don’t care if you even the score”- like oof man, you just sound desperate. This song is a banger in every way and let’s face it- the keyboard at the chorus is just the absolute best part. Strong points for these guys are always keyboards and guitars. It’s got this rock hard chill 80s vibe to it (despite it being a 70s song- new wave, you know), you’ll feel that you need to be doing something cool while listening to it.

7.) Rock and Roll- Led Zeppelin (1971) It’s so cliche of me to use this I know I know I KNOW- but can you blame me? On Sunday in a record booth at the market I found an original Zeppelin IV and I feel like this song has been following me all week because of it. This is unarguably one the most recognizable and famous rock songs of all time- because it was so expertly crafted in every way imaginable- just like everything else Zeppelin’s ever done. It’s ALWAYS the drums that do it for me in this song. l That filler at the end is- without question- the best part of the whole song. Bonzo just KILLS it. Overall, it’s a short-ish song that uses its time extremely well; it’s like all four of them went “let’s maximize every single element that goes into a bop, and make a song like that”. In some ways, this song is objectively perfect. If you want pure rock and roll in all its glory- what better song to choose than Rock and Roll itself?

8.) Keep Yourself Alive- Queen (1973) Another objectively perfect rock and roll song with a killer drum solo. I’m super biased towards Queen- but I cannot believe I never heard of this song until I was prepping my brain to see Bohemian Rhapsody! Honestly, who thinks it’s okay to keep this hidden? It’s the leading song off of their very first album- so this is almost like the song that INVENTED Queen fans! It’s a Brian May baby- and hell yeah does it show. I think everyone needs to know this song for artistic and historical reasons. It’s pure, power rock Queen through and through- despite being one of the earliest of their songs.

9.) Cum On Feel the Noize- Slade (1973) NO, it’s not Quiet Riot!! This is the song we all know and love but this one’s the original!! Again, I feel like I need to educate anyone who’ll listen about this! I get so angry sometimes that Quiet Riot gets all the credit for songs like this one and Mama Weer All Crazee now. Slade was super popular in England in the 70s- ahead of their time for sure but definitely one with the glam rock movement- but not as big in America. I never knew these guys existed until about five years ago and damn I felt like I had to be blind before learning that. Just listen to this song and then I think the sound of it’ll make a lot more sense, like “oh yeah- Quiet Riot’s version kinda DOES sound like it could be a glam rock song from the early 70s!” Just goes to show what geniuses these guys were, because their songs can be both glam rock AND heavy metal and work either way. Once you hear this version, though, I believe there’s no going back.

10.) Roll With the Changes- REO Speedwagon (1978) This was my favorite song for a few months when I was 16- it’s absolutely EPIC. The speaker is bursting at the seams with accepting a new found moral understanding of how they feel about trying to please or win over an apparent lover. They come to the conclusion that the other person just needs to keep on “rolling with the changes” and that they’ll be there for them whenever they decide to accept that perspective. The KEYBOARD is to D I E  F O R GUYS. Neal Doughty is a motherfucking SAINT- and SO IS GARY RICHRATH. This song sounds like it’s the finale of a musical or something! Possibly the biggest bop REO has ever created. It’s a groovy, extremely poetic, fast, theatrical, very slightly operatic rock and roll song and I’d highly recommend this to any person on the planet I love it that much. It’s lovable in every possible way.

[peachywise]

nullify part 4

an umbrella academy fanfiction // klaus hargreeves x reader

- part iv: the revealing file || part i ⋆ part ii ⋆ part iii ⋆ part v ⋆ part vi ⋆ more parts to be released

- synopsis: You had wanted to forget about the fire. Forget all of it. But then you were presented with a file on your life, given to you by a kid who knows all too well its contents. Looks like you were intertwined in something much bigger than you had ever expected all along, and you're only going to get intertwined even more. 

- notes: so sorry this update took a while! i'm in my last few weeks of my university semester, and i'm busy with final essays. i'll try and get the next update out sometime next week but it could take a bit longer. however, I'll be back to a better and faster posting schedule in april. anyways this chapter is pretty five interaction heavy instead of Klaus, but i had to cut this one in half as it was getting too long, so they'll be more in the next part!! heavy trigger warning for mentions of abuse and fire. 

link on a03 

___________________________

“That was a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Letting out a loud scream at Five’s sudden appearance in front of you, surrounded in that ethereal blue haze, you decided he was the one being a dramatic little shit head. Even more so when he quickly went up on his toes and slapped his hand over your mouth to smother your voice before you could keep screaming and swear at him. You quickly jerked away, still reeling from the comment about the fire he had made only seconds before inside the apartment.

“Back the hell off or I’ll punt you down the hallway,” you threatened, flattening yourself against the wall beside the door, heart erratically pounding as you tried to calm your anxiety and the aggression fighting its way up.

“Calm down and just hear what I have to say.”

Calm down? Oh, he did not just fucking tell you to calm down.

“Hey hey hey, where are you going?” Klaus suddenly burst out from the now open apartment door, eyes flashing one side to the next until they landed on you. His taller figure stepped in front of you and he reached a hand out, placing it in a soothing gesture on your arm. His face was downturned in what looked like genuine concern. It was actually kind of nice of him, up until he said soothingly, “take a breather and calm down for a sec, yeah?”

You had to resist the unbelievable urge to stomp on his foot and then kick him in the nuts.

Closing your eyes and inhaling a deep breath through your nose, you whispered in reply so quietly through gritted teeth, “back away before I rip Five’s hand off and shove it up your—”

“Everything okay out here?”

Turning your attention to the large, blonde man taking up the entire frame of the doorway, you let out your held breath and opened your eyes. Five did as well, just as Klaus dropped his hand to his side, his eyes still never leaving you.

Your heart rate and initial anger had started to simmer down a bit at the continual tug and pull of the situations you kept finding yourself in, enough so that your curiosity of everything was starting to take hold once more. But you were still reluctant to step back into that apartment. Your trust was wary, at least in the case of some of them. Right now, you only trusted Klaus. He had been a loud and obnoxious pain in the ass, but hell, he hadn’t tried to hide anything from you and had basically answered most of what you assumed he could. If anything, he had overshared. You wished you could forget the story he had told you on your walk over here. He had way too vividly description how once on impulse he had bitten into a live koi fish he saw in a pond in order to ward off a loan shark across the way coming to collect money. What was worse, it actually worked. At least until they sent another guy a half an hour later.

“Go back inside, Luther. You to Klaus,” Five directed.

Turning your attention back to the toddler in command as he spoke, you quickly shifted your gaze back towards Klaus as he inevitably went to argue, stepping towards his brother with an exasperated look on his face. You reached out to gently grab his shirt. “Just go inside.” You needed to figure out how exactly Five knew about the fire, and just how extensively the details he knew went. It wasn’t exactly information you wanted out in the open, and though you trusted the curly haired brother the most in the family to an extent, it still wasn’t enough. No matter who you had trusted in your life, it had never been enough to openly discuss what had happened.

Klaus snapped his mouth closed in an uncertain grimace, his unnaturally comforting green eyes flickering as he tried to read your suddenly emotionless expression. You released some of the tension in your shoulders and heaved a breath. “Seriously, It’s fine. But if you hear glass shattering just know I’ve thrown him out the window.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Bending to the side to look at Five who stood directly behind Klaus, you raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Come here then, preppy.”

Five crossed his arms over his chest and sighed, glancing down the hall at nowhere in particular. Clearly, his patience was running thin. Good.

Luther didn’t even bother to stick around and watch the show, unlike the unmistakably entertained Klaus. He just wordlessly turned back around into the apartment, leaving the door wide open for Klaus to follow.

“Okay, fine. Just don’t tell them all the fun bits without us, brother dear. It’ll be too priceless to miss.” Klaus settled on saying, departing back into the apartment, flashing his cheeky grin as he did.

You turned towards Five once you heard the familiar click of the closed door, grabbing his arm as you tugged him further away from the door in case there were any eavesdroppers. “You shouldn’t know about the fire. The entire story didn’t even hit the news.”

He shrugged your grip away easily. “And who do you think covered it up?” He bit back, a pressing look in his eyes.

What exactly was he implying? The little dude was kind of freaky—less of a kid than what he looked like— but he would have been the exact same age as you when it happened. Ten. As capable as he seemed now, you highly doubted he could have been able to suppress what had happened in the media. Allison possibly could have with her powers, but even then, there were so many people coming and going throughout that morning that you would have caught sight of her. The Umbrella Academy wasn’t even in the same city as you, for Christ's sake.

“Are you implying that it was covered up, or that somehow you had something to do with it?”

You could have been wrong, but a sort of half satisfied tick tugged his lips up the tiniest bit. But instead of a reply, he vanished again in a blink of an eye. You were really starting to hate his power. Letting out an aggravated huff, you twisted around slightly as if somehow you would find him dramatically down the hall, but he was back in a literal flash in under ten seconds, except this time he had a file in hand. He handed it to you, stating, “I found this in Hargreeve’s office. Read for yourself.”

And with that little cryptic introduction, you gave a speculative glance before gently taking it into your own hands, slight hesitance overtaking you as you flipped it open.

You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.

The first thing that caught your attention was a picture of you at twelve years old, miserable in an oversized black hoodie, paperclipped to a copy of one of the social service identification documents used by your old foster caseworker. Once you flipped that over, you found and skimmed through written reports, Reginald’s familiar insignia watermarked at the top. In them detailed everything; everything you knew, everything you had assumed, every plot hole in your entire story.

Reginald had known where you were this whole time. He’d kept a watchful eye on you, and you had no doubt he had similar files on all the other babies he had never been able to get his hand on. One of the reports detailed the first time your force field had popped up. You were in kindergarten and some kid had been chasing you with those barely sharp baby scissor that couldn't even cut through shitty quality construction paper. In your instinctual fear, the blue bubble surrounded you and five-year-old Jimmy bounced right off of it, tumbling two feet away, landing on his wrist and snapping the bone.

No one had seen, other than the teacher who had immediately looked terrified and sent you to the office, rushing you there herself. When she dropped you off, the counselor intervened and talked to you, and by the next day, your teacher had basically all but ignored the fact it had ever happened. The kid’s broken wrist was simply explained away as him tripping on the floor. No one would believe a five-year old’s account of what had actually happened anyway.

The councilor, as detailed by Hargreeves, was an onlooker hired by him to keep tabs on you if anything like this had ever happened and to make it go away. It seemed there had always been someone hired in your school to do just that. To watch. To report. Intervene when necessary.

Then there was the report on the fire. It described how your mom had gotten up in the middle of the night to go to your room, leaving your dad asleep in his own bed. It continued to detail how she poured gasoline from your doorway to your bed, striking a match and dropping it so the flame would trail up towards you. Police documented pictures were attached of your black and charred bedroom, all your childhood objects nothing more than undistinguishable ash. They never did find your dads body in there, but from how everything had been destroyed, you had no doubt he was simply mixed into all the rubble and debris that had once made up their entire family home which crumbled in a single, terrible night.

The police report detailed all of this as well, in addition to your mother’s capture and arrest, which he somehow managed to get a copy of for his invasive file. But it lacked the details Hargreeves inevitably figured out. How could a child survive such a destructive event? You had walked out with nothing more than a severe burn mark on your leg, while your father who tried to rescue you instead of getting out had literally been caught in the crossfire. They had interviewed you, but you kept quiet. But Reginald knew it was your force field. He wrote about how he paid off multiple people to cover this up and make it seem as if it had never happened. Not for your sake, however. It was just so you would never come across someone who wanted to use your powers against his children. Like Five, he speculated that the force field could extend far past what you had always thought. It could render all his ‘projects’ useless. And he couldn't have that.

You closed the file without looking at the other pictures and papers littered within it. You couldn’t stand to look at it anymore. It would have just detailed every other moment in your life like a statistical, emotionless biography.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Five spoke, breaking through your reeling thoughts. You tried to stop the bile rising to the back of your throat.

“Who else has seen this?” You whispered, clutching it tightly to your chest as you met his eyes.

“Just me, as far as I know.”

You nodded your head, taking a second the inhale and exhale and suppress it all as you had most of your life. You slipped the file into your bag, stating without room for argument, “I’m keeping this.”

He tilted his head in affirmation, replying, “I expected as much.” Quiet again, you took just a bit longer to try and collect your emotions, turning your face away to look anywhere except the kid who knew more about you than anyone else. It was unnerving. Even more so as he actually seemed at least a bit sincere when he continued with, “I am sorry. But what we need you for, it’s more than this. More than all of us. I had to look at every single option wherever I could, and right now, you’re that option.”

You could take some solace in that. Five, you had come to figure out, was all business. He had a scientific mind, looking at everything as steps to get to a singular goal. He wouldn’t do anything malicious or invasive for fun. Well, at least he wouldn’t unless it got him to whatever goal he had in mind.

“You keep this to yourself, and I’ll listen to whatever plan you have in mind.”

Maybe you would regret it, maybe you wouldn’t. But the Hargreeve’s were clearly desperate for something—for help. You could respect that.

“I also won’t toss you out the window no matter what it is.”

That got a smile out of the little bugger, and an affirmative agreement of, “deal.”

Pushing yourself slightly from where you had withdrawn against the wall, you started to make your way back to the apartment, Five keeping stride beside you. Just as you were about to open the door, he asked, “so, are you going to tell me why you brought a clock with you as a weapon?”

“Nope.”

Five laughed. The bastard actually laughed at something you said. A small, breathy one that really was only a quiet huff presented with a smile, but it was a laugh nonetheless. “Alright then.”

Well, maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Then you walked into the living area and immediately realized that it was actually going to be far worse than just ‘bad’.  

“Are you wearing a G-string?”

Holding his pants in his hand, with what looked like coffee or tea dripping from them and on to the plush white carpet, Klaus turned towards you from where he had previously been glaring at an equally as annoyed looking Luther, a sly smile morphing his face instead. Slightly popping his hip coquettishly, he replied in a faux sultry tone, “why yes, I am. You like? 

You shrugged, dropping your bag into the couch, already becoming desensitized to his odd and unexplainable behaviors. “Honestly, I’m just happy to know you wear anything under those pants at all.”

[nihilismdan]

on the nature of daylight.

word count: 2,192 warnings: mentions of a broken home, foster care summary: They have a house. It has two people, a dog, and plenty of rooms for guests, family members, and a child. Someday. Soon. Or the one where Dan and Phil are ready for a child and sometimes it doesn't always work out, but then it does. a/n: under the cut.

a/n: Quick disclaimer: I work with CPS/foster care system. I've seen a lot of things, and felt a lot of things, and have had foster siblings. I currently work with three families right now and they're all very close to my heart, some of their stories are woven in here, and that's what I wanted to write about. The feelings that foster care and adoption can bring you. I'm adopted myself so this story is close to my heart and I hope you enjoy it. I don't know much about the UK's system and how it works, I only went by what I knew with where I live and even then I didn't want to go too into it (i am by no means an expert), I mainly just wanted to base on the feeling aspect.

i.

They have a house. It’s two stories, and there’s floor to ceiling windows, a backyard big enough for a pool, and there’s a garden, a place for a sandpit and swing sets. There’s places for barbeques, friends who come from near and far can sit on the outdoor furniture and drink from glasses that they picked out years ago but never really got to use because it was meant for “when a permanent home was bought,” and it’s been bought.

They have a house. It has two people, a dog, and plenty of rooms for guests, family members, and a child. Someday. Soon.

The morning is slow and rainy, Dan waits for Phil to wake up. Zeus has his paws on Dan’s legs and he’s panting but his tail is wagging. Phil had picked the name. It was the name that seemed the most appropriate for a corgi and the dog’s ears had perked up when he had said it. Obviously it was meant to be, and Dan wouldn’t admit it but he actually had kind of liked the idea of their dog being named Zeus.

“I know boy,” he says, scratching him behind the ears, his nose is wet and he just wants to go on his morning walk. When he looks out the window he can see the peak of sun wanting to come out from the clouds and Dan takes a picture of it to save for later. Now he aims his camera towards the dog and decides that he’ll post it online later with some funny caption and a drag at Zeus’ name because it’s the ongoing joke since they got him a year ago.

Slowly, but surely, they are adding to their family. First, it was the house plants, second it was the garden, and then the dog, and now. Well, they’re still waiting for the last part.

The dog barks and Dan sees that Phil has woken from his slumber, his hair is sticking up in different angles and he has his glasses on but he makes his way to the kitchen not saying a word, and Zeus leaves to be right on Phil’s heals.

Some mornings Dan and Phil don’t talk- they don’t have to.

There’s a sense of peace and understanding being in a house that’s permanent, you don’t have to fill the void with talking because there isn’t one.

ii.

They go on walks with Zeus, the smell after rain is in the air and they have their matching (by accident this time) rain boots on and jackets and an umbrella just in case. They know their neighbours who have kids, and they’re enjoying the puddles and they’ll come say hi to Zeus because he’s well loved in their little community. And Dan and Phil will give them treats to give to Zeus and for a while they’re best friends.

Dan has to look away sometimes because there is a hole that hasn’t been filled, and he knows that someday is soon, but that doesn’t mean it still doesn’t hurt. Instead of thinking too much about it, they pause and Zeus sniffs a bush and Phil waits, and Dan posts his tweet with the dog and puts his phone back in his pocket.

“He looks cute here,” Phil says when they switch and Dan takes the leash. He looks to what he’s referring to when he remembers he posted the picture. He smiles.

“He is cute,” Zeus has been one of the best things that’s happened to them- it motivates them to get out of bed and actually explore a little outside of their home.

Phil links arms with Dan. It’s a good day. It doesn’t take a lot for it to be a good day for Phil.

Zeus barks at a squirrel, Phil says that he’s a dog after his own heart.

iii.

They take classes. They’re to prepare them for what it’s like raising or having a foster child. Some of the classes are all day. Some of them are when they can fit them into their schedule. They make it a priority.

Dan and Phil get CPR certified, they’ll have to come back in two years to get it renewed but it feels like a direction closer to a child.

They fill out forms, and have meetings, and meet with social workers.

It’s a stressful day, Dan comes home feeling wiped and he lays on the couch curled up and stares at the wall. Phil orders chinese food and puts on an episode of a series they’re currently watching. After a while Dan needs the affection and moves into Phil who holds him. Zeus notices that Dan and Phil are touching and immediately gets in the middle because he’s more like Dan than they expected. He needs the constant love and affection of Phil. For the first time today it makes Dan laugh.

“Soon,” Phil says when they go to bed that night.

iv.

It happens unexpectedly -- of course it does. They get a phone call during a Sunday nap.

Her name is Ellie. She was an emergency foster child and Dan and Phil agreed that she could be with them until plans were made.

First they go NSPCC, they run background checks, fingerprints, simple procedure. They tell them that they’ll be meeting Ellie at the hospital. She’s just getting a check up, and Dan and Phil ask if they can bring her food. She hasn’t eaten in a couple of days their social worker says. It all becomes a little too real.

The story was her mother was on a lot of drugs, hallucinating when she called.

Dan and Phil know not to get too attached those first few nights.

She likes Zeus, and she likes crisps and rejects any kind of vegetables. She prefers the swings over the slide and the sandpit, and likes to play on Dan’s phone and the sounds. She lays her feet on Phil’s lap and rests her head on Dan’s thighs, she’s sprawled out and Dan and Phil look at each other and know it’s temporary- but it feels nice.

She’s comfortable, but asks too many questions. She’s still young and naive and believes in fairytales. So they tell her new one’s every night.

She doesn’t get nightmares because she had been living them. Zeus sleeps at her bedside.

And then she leaves not too long after.

v.

There are videos, and events, and more dog walks, and mornings spent at a bakery, drinking coffee and reading the paper and scrolling through their phone. There’s smudges on windows in their house from Ellie that they haven’t removed, and there’s clothes that are kept in a plastic bag in a closet that’s empty.

It takes a space in their heart. There’s a little spot in their hearts that holds a lot of things; favourite songs, films, foods, artist's, interests, friends, family, Zeus, Dan, Phil, and then there’s a spot for Ellie, and a spot that’s yet to be filled, and it’s not just one- but it’s multiple. And they wait. And wait. And wait.

When they finally get around to cleaning the smudges off the window and the backyard that was littered with children's toys it feels like a fresh slate. Phil tends to his garden, and he plants more flowers and Zeus makes holes because he’s trying to help but he doesn’t understand. Dan takes more pictures.

Dandelions pop up in the spring, it’s a weed and essentially Phil should get rid of it, but he keeps them as a reminder that even in the most dire situations something beautiful can come out of it. Even if it’s small and simple.

vi.

With spring and dandelions comes a phone call.

“She sounded hopeful,” Phil says to Dan, their hands are intertwined as they stand in the hallway, the light just barely hits Dan’s face, and Phil lifts his hand to cup the side of his cheek, “It’ll be okay,”

They’re approved adopters and foster carer’s, a double whammy as their case worker had said over the phone looking at their qualifications. They had a nice house, a good income, a nice backyard, and they loved each other. Though Dan and Phil knew enough to know that sometimes love wasn’t enough when it came to this sort of thing. It came down to the parents and the court with what happened to the child. Phil wanted to be hopeful, and Dan wanted to be realistic, they had weighed each other out.

Dan remembers to grab the stuffed animal that’s been kept hidden in their room at the bottom of their closet and he holds it close to him while they sit in the back of the taxi. Phil isn’t one to really hold hands in public but his hands are shaking and he needs to be grounded. So they hold hands on the way.

They only know her name. Aaliyah.

The first time they meet here they get on her level and they hand her the stuffed bear that used to belong to Dan, and Phil will give her his blanket that he had kept since when he was a child. His mother always said that it would be passed down to his future children. Even if the future with this child is quite uncertain. They can’t help but fall in love when she bops Dan and Phil’s nose with the bear’s nose. They laugh. And it makes her laugh.

She has outrageous curly hair, green eyes, and an infectious smile.

For now she’ll be in their home long term with plans for adoption. While they’re hopeful that she’ll be in their forever home with them there are still things that need to be done, and battles to be fought. For now they enjoy being able to really pick her up and call her theirs.

When they ask her what her name is, she says, “A-way-uh!”

They laugh some more.

vii.

They have a house. They go on walks. They go to visitations. They fight, and they cry, and they rock each other back to sleep. There are arguments that last days, sometimes in silence, sometimes in tears. There’s barking, and falling on concrete, and there’s plasters with hello kitty on them. There’s sippy cups that have already been cleaned, and there’s milk spilt, and a high chair that needs still has food from this morning. There’s aching backs and legs that need to rest, but there’s also open arms and cuddles, and hugging that last for what feels like hours. There’s falling asleep during the sixth time of watching Paddington because Aaliyah likes the bear.

There’s vacations in Brighton, and seashells given as personal gifts from Aaliyah. There’s photographs and scrapbooks and words and phrases that she’s learning. There’s Aaliyah in the middle of Dan and Phil, holding one hand and begging to be swung. It’s gentle, easy, and hard all at the same time.

There was a space in their heart. And it was filled with things, and names of people and places they’ve loved and- love.

And there’s Aaliyah.

She loves bubbles, and Zeus’ tail, and she cries at night because of things that she doesn’t quite understand yet but will someday. She sleeps right in the middle, one body part touching dad and dada, she can’t sleep without her bear and blanket. She cries when Dan leaves and screams when Phil goes away, it’s the separation anxiety, the therapist said who comes once a week. There’s some brain development issues but it’s nothing too bad, and it’s nothing that severe- and even if it was they’d still love her anyway.

Soon is now. And soon is the future.

viii.

When they find out that she can handle holding Zeus’ leash is around the same time they find out that she can officially be adopted.

There’s cake and celebration in the backyard of their forever home, she’s wearing a dress that Phil’s mum had bought and a hair band that Dan’s mum had given. Dan and Phil match accidentally again.

Flowers are blooming, and Aaliyah picks one for each grandmum and Phil can’t be mad about it because it’s a special day in their lives. He looks at Dan who’s looking at their daughter, and thinks that out of all the good days he’s had, and out of all the things that Dan and Phil have created and collectively owned together, this was by far the best thing in their life. He’ll tell him he loves him later tonight. Right now Aaliyah is running up to him wanting to be picked up because after a while big groups get a little overwhelming and they’re both a safe place for her to land.

ix.

New traditions are made, and additional stocking is put up over the fireplace and Santa gets switched off every year they’ve decided. She listens to Radiohead when she’s colouring, and has often two different styles and colours of socks on (by choice). She fits in their lives like a missing puzzle piece.

There’s still room in their heart for more.

For now -- this is good. It’s good.

[therunningpa]

New job & night shift novella

So I’ve been at a new job the past 6 weeks. I’m still a hospitalist, but I’ve moved to night shift. It’s a long story for another time, but basically I was getting burned out and it was either change shifts or move to a different department altogether. Because I love IM so much I am desperately clinging to it for the time being. In my current role, I only do new admissions and consults.

Since I only post now, like, once a year I figured I might as well write a nice long story for you guys! Because also, when have I kept things short, ever?

So, here you go, a narrative of my day (night?).

I leave my house, clutching my tote of Campbell’s Double Noodle soup cans, rice crackers, and Gatorade. I kiss my husband, tell him I love him, and remind him to please finish cleaning the kitchen for me. He needs a lot of reminding. I need a lot of therapy. We’ve had a lot of therapy. It’s been a year sober for him and the anniversary has been hard, bringing back the guilt big time. It’s been more down days than usual the past month and as I leave the house I can only hope I won’t get any liver patients or alcoholics tonight.

I pull in to the hospital, badge in through various doors, end up in the office. The day shift is coming to a close. “Hey!” my coworkers greet me, “Feeling better?”

“Tons! Not a hundred percent but good enough for active duty.”

My terrible med seeking external ED dump patient from earlier this week had given me her norovirus. I’d spent the previous night out sick, puking and near-syncopizing. (FYI- use the bleach wipes next time!!)

I check in with the three physicians I’m working with that night. One, a seasoned night shifter, a quiet man I dub “The Machine” because of his deftness and ease at admitting patients. One, a seasoned nocturnist, another quiet and confident man who could run a thousand codes without screaming “fuck!” not even once. The third, an exceedingly nice new residency graduate who recently started with us and is probably reconsidering the job after his first week on nights. They have a lot of patients coming from outlying facilities, but no one arrived yet.

I sit around for an hour and a half, check emails, clear my inbox of the previous day’s results and check up on a few of those patients, eat a cup of noodles, rub my belly, think about how I shouldn’t have had coffee, then, all at once, I have 3 admissions I’m called to see. Yes, it’s true, they really all do come at once.

I triage them, and go see first an unfortunate lady who is bleeding and clotting. Or rather, likely to bleed. She has a genetic disorder predisposing her to clots and bleeding, and has come in with chest pain. The chest CT showed a pulmonary embolism, one in each lung. I’d hoped they’d be subsegmental, but they weren’t. I meet with her, spend a long time talking. I tell her I’ll call the hematologist and get back to her. I put out a page.

I jump up to the orthopedics floor to see my next patient, a 73 year old lady with COPD and osteoporosis who fell down the stairs at home and probably broke her sacrum. She’s straightforward enough, other than saying she’s intolerant to everything IV opioid except fentanyl. Which she’s not going to get outside of the ED. I write for oxycodone and IV ketorolac and pray her pending labs show normal renal function.

The hematologist pages me while I’m writing patient 2′s note. He recommends a heparin drip, so it can be turned off quickly if patient 1 starts to bleed. He also says he has no idea what to do with her after that, as far as a long term plan. I text my attending and let him know the plan for tonight. While I’m finishing my note, he texts me back an SOS that patient 1 is refusing heparin because she’s afraid of bleeding.

I go back to the ED, I print out UpToDate, visit the poor lady with the PEs again. I talk about risks and benefits, types of heparin. She has some cognitive impairments from a stroke, but she gets it enough that she has capacity. She still declines the heparin, wants us to “watch her” overnight in the hospital though. I check in with bed control, ask for an IMCU bed since she’s refusing blood thinners, and am told there are no ICU beds left. She’ll have to go to the regular floor.

My third patient is a prisoner with history of peptic ulcers and GI bleed coming in with worsening anemia. Actually, he never shows up from the outside hospital because of some officer conflict. His name gets handed off to the next shift.

Fourth patient shows up in the IMCU, from an outside hospital. The notes he comes with are scanty. Acute on chronic hyponatremia, ?dementia. Hypotensive. Weak. I hope he can give me some history. When I walk in he tells me he’s in a hotel in a different state and doesn’t remember how he got here. He denies any symptoms or concerns. It’s 11 pm, but I dial his elderly wife and bless her, she’s up, and gives me the full scoop. He ends up with a slew of labs, head CT, cardiac echocardiogram.

Fifth patient was not supposed to be admitted. Just discharged 2 days ago with COPD flare, end stage COPD on home oxygen. I read the ED notes in the chart, indicating the family demanded the patient be admitted because they are unhappy and that we are being investigated for discharging her too soon, or was it the nursing home was being investigated for not taking care of her the past 2 days? Or both? The discharge summary from my PA colleague indicates the patient refused hospice the last stay. Awww nawwww. I go and see her. It’s late and at least that means the angry family has gone away. I sit with the patient, she’s very anxious, I’ve taken care of her before. I listen for a long time, answer questions, sometimes the same question over and over. She eventually admits her memory ain’t so good anymore. She then marvels “you’ve asked me more questions than anyone else has today”. I hope that’s a good thing. I go through her extensive workup and again conclude that “I am so sorry, but what you have is not fixable. I think we need to focus on trying to get your symptoms better, but we can’t cure you”. She agrees to at least have a palliative care consult. She grumbles about her bad nursing home experience and says her family called to have the bed held for the following day. I waggle my eyebrows at her “You know, if you don’t hold the bed they’ll give it up and then you’ll have to be here through the weekend and then we can see if your preferred nursing home has a spot now, But, you didn’t hear that from me!” She beams. Somewhere, a social worker has rolled over in their grave and pledges to haunt me in my dreams tonight.

I run up to my office again and eat some more noodles, drink Gatorade, rub my gastroparetic-feeling tummy, and finish up my notes just as one of the physicians strides in with a cardiology consult for a patient who just had a STEMI, now in the coronary ICU. They were found to have multivessel coronary artery disease, received a stent. “Should be easy” he says, “Cardiology has done everything!”.

Except, they haven’t. Patient is from outside our system. Needs an entire medical record update. I also notice his blood sugar is > 300 and there’s no insulin ordered. I add “Type 2 Diabetes” to his problem list. I go in and see him, expecting him to be asleep at 1:30 in the morning, but he is wide awake and surrounded by family. He’s a good soul, we have a long talk about diabetes. His wife has a lot of cardiac questions and try to answer as able. His nurse pops in. “His blood pressure is greater than 150 and they want him under that post cath. There’s no medications ordered”. I step out, sigh. Honestly, I have no idea what cardiology does or does not want for an antihypertensive in their post cath patient. I have a sneaking suspicion it also varies widely by the cardiologist. I wish they would order this shit on their people already. I’m just here for the diabeet-us. Gah! 

“What do they usually do for the post cath protocol?” I wonder out loud.

“How about some PO metropolol?” a nurse asks.

I make a face “Really? They do that?”

The nurse looks horrified “Um, yeah, all MIs should be getting that!”

I shake my head “No, I know that, that’s not what I meant, I just mean it’s not going to act rapidly and it’s not going to do much, I mean maybe IV metoprolol but-”

She looks further horrified “No, they never do IV!”

I wanted to say “but I would never give that”, finishing my thought, but instead I shrug and give up. “I’ll ask the attending.” 

I don’t work in the ICUs that often, and I especially don’t know the night crew being new at this job. It’s true what they say, sometimes you need to earn your stripes with some ICU staff, especially if you’re a PA. Also, goddammit cardiology, order your antihypertensives! And beta blockers! And statins! (Also, I love you my cardiology people out there, please don’t take my 2 AM thoughts too seriously to heart, ok?)

I trudge back to my office, finish writing notes and checking labs and imaging that have come back. The demented hyponatremic guy does not have a brain bleed. The COPD flare bounce back has a normal procalcitonin. The untreated PE has normal blood pressures. Broken sacrum indeed does have normal renal function. I order new labs for the day crew. I report out to my docs. Around 3:30 AM I hang up my coat, collect my soup and Gatorade cans to recycle, and stumble out the cold wintry parking garage. I cast a few glances, good, no creepers trolling about, get in my car, and drive home.

I drive through the industrial part of the city and through spotlights and fog I see that the operations are already going at this ungodly hour. Backstreet Boys is playing on the radio. I pull into the back alley outside my house. I tentatively feel my way through the backyard, trying not to fall on my ass on the ice over our sidewalk, like I did the other night. I slip inside, and am completely delighted to see that not only has the kitchen been cleaned but there’s a loaf of homemade banana bread sitting out, steaming a little still. I hear a soft pitter-patter and my puppy steals down the stairwell to greet me. She wiggles from head to toe and jumps on me, playfully stealing my lanyard of keys and running away, shaking them. I took her home one day from a rescue this past summer, pretty much against my husband’s will, and I secretly believe she at least 75% the reason his depression lifted. He now agrees. I let her out to pee, then tread upstairs and wash my face and put on my pajamas, kiss my sleeping husband. I’m too wired to sleep though, maybe because I spent the last day and a half sleeping off the norovirus, so I go back downstairs, eat some banana bread, and start to write.

[comicteaparty]

August 2nd, 2018 CTP Archive

The archive for the Comic Tea Party chat that occurred on August 2nd, 2018, from 5PM - 7PM PDT.  The chat focused on Woohooligan! by Samuel Dealey.

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✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

COMIC TEA PARTY START!

Good day everyone~! This week’s Comic Tea Party is now officially beginning~! Today we are discussing Woohooligan! by Samuel Dealey~! (http://www.woohooligan.com/) For those new or in need of a reminder, discussions about the comic are freeform, so please feel free to bring up whatever you wish. However, every 30 minutes I will be dropping in a discussion question to help those who would like a prompt. These questions are totally OPTIONAL to answer, and you can pay them no mind if you wish. If you miss out on any though, they’ll be pinned for the duration of the chat once they’re posted~! Remember, constructive criticism is allowed, but the primary focus here is to have fun and appreciate the amazing comics that the community makes~! As a bonus, each chat a top comment will be picked and featured in the archives and on an ad for CTP! All that being said, let’s get started and have a great discussion!

QUESTION 1. What is your favorite strip in the comic so far and why?

SamDealey

Hey, everybody! I'm Sam! Don't worry about me being here. You can ask me questions, give advice, dog on things you didn't like, or just ignore me, however you prefer.

Also, feel free to contact me if I can help with any of your projects (research, promo, tech, etc.) -- and you can get me on Twitter here: http://twitter.com/datafaucet

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

glad you could be here again sam!

lets see. i think my favorite strip is actually one of the ones that was super early on: http://www.woohooligan.com/comics/4 as a fan of perspective, i really just enjoyed that play on words since ive always thought vanishing point was a....strange choice of terminology for the concept. so i enjoyed seeing it taken super literally XD

SamDealey

A lot of people have said they relaly prefer either the early stuff or the late stuff... my style has changed a lot.

Yeah, that vanishing point strip isn't very widely popular, but a lot of artists really enjoy it.

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

i can see why theres that preference difference. the switch the late stuff was a bit awkward since it became more focused. but i think both sides have their merit. though admittedly in this case i do think a lot of my fave strips were the ones earlier on.

http://www.woohooligan.com/comics/23 that one as well was one my favorites. my family is 1) both cursed to never understand technology and 2) generally unwilling to listen to me. so man do i wish i was that guy who would reply so sarcastically and lead them astray. XD too identifiable

SamDealey

I also went through several visual style changes that were caused by changing tools... I switched to all digital when I couldn't find an affordable wide-format scanner in 2009, did some stuff for a while in Adobe Illustrator (and colored in Photoshop), then switched to Manga Studio 4.5 ... even the upgrade to MS 5 I think unexpectedly changed some things.

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

WLLO

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

its bound to happen naturally anyway for a comic as old as this one. ppl change, but that also makes it interesting to watch. especially since your comic is one that will tackle current activities so it can be an interesting time capsule of sorts to see how humors and situations changed.

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

Oh hey Sam!

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

welcome super~!

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

Thanks!

Sorry I'm a few moments late, was catching myself up on some art but I'm here now!

SamDealey

Hey, Justin! I think you might be the first one here.

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

lol

Looks like I am

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

any favorite strips youd like to share super?

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

http://www.woohooligan.com/comics/313

This one's pretty good.

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

that one made me feel bad for telemarketers XD if only cause most of the ppl calling are sadly just trying to make a living. but i do enjoy that disintegration image XD

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

For a sec i thought that was a guy using a fidget spinner.

SamDealey

lol @ fidget spinner ... yeah, it's been shared a few times, but I hadn't heard much commentary on it... I don't really have anything against the people who work in telemarketing either, I just thought it was a fun joke about what sometimes feels like our societal priorities.

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

Lol

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

ah there is one strip i wanted to ask a question about

while youre here

SamDealey

Please do.

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

Also sharing another one I thought was pretty clever

http://www.woohooligan.com/comics/308

though I would never replace a computer with an iPad

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

http://www.woohooligan.com/comics/238 this one with ayn rand. was there a lot of dialogue on this page just because there needed to be a lot of dialogue or was this intentional as an homage to the fact that ayn rand's novels are chalked full of monologues?

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

brb, need to go do something real quick

I'll be back!

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

QUESTION 2. Besides characters in Amity’s storyline, there have also been several other recurring characters over the comic’s history. Whether old or recent, were there any characters that you particularly connected with? If so, what about them connected with you and/or made you laugh? Are there any characters you’d like to see make a return in some fashion, and in what way do you think they might still have potential? Lastly, in regards to Amity’s storyline, what other famous people do you think might pop up in hell and what do you think will happen with them?

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

Hiyo... I made it, but I only had a chance to read the series through to about comic #120. ^.^

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

thats okay. at least thats something

glad to have you here math

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

My fave comics are actually the ones with the parenting. I particularly liked the "grow a beard" one (I don't recall the number) as it ended up having a callback in a later entry.

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

i really miss that sophisticated zombie who was fighting for zombie rights. for the shallow reason i really enjoyed his personality.

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

Nigel was cool!

SamDealey

I wish I had been that meta on the Ayn Rand pages... heh... they're super-wordy like that because I had a hard time figuring out how to make her explain her "philosophy" more succinctly

Thanks, Math!

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

I obviously gravitated to the parenting ones what with handling the 6 week old here, with a name very similar to 'Alex'. ^.^

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

Oh hey a Math!

SamDealey

Ayn-Rand Libertarianism was very deliberately added to that story though -- it's a part of a longer meta-theme in that story about Heaven and Hell and our concepts of morality

Oh, yeah, the conversations with my oldest daughter. heh...

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

http://www.woohooligan.com/comics/306 How'd I find this strip

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

I'm leery of the political ones, I admit. I get the reasoning for them, of course (I tend to read the commentaries too, which is a large part of why it takes me a while to archive browse) but they make me facepalm more than smile.

That said, Nigel as an avatar for immigrant/racist tendencies was kind of genius.

I like when it's subtle that way.

Well, subtle in my dictionary.

Oh, and to be clear, I'm not facepalming over the comic, it's over the sadness of the world we live in.

SamDealey

@✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨ Question 2 - ummm... I don't know that I'm any more connected to any specific recurring characters than others -- I think I can see splashes of myself in most of them but in a really generic way, like basic humanity type stuff

Thanks for the clarification, Math!

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

I guess I've enjoyed Alex as a recurring character.

SamDealey

Oh, yeah, I don't relate to my daughter at all.

<sarcasm>

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

Lol

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

ah that strip was definitely topical @Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨ . reminds me of waking up everyday seeing trump in the news doing something. @SamDealey darn it. ah well. it kind of works as an homage to rand's monologues anyway. thank you for answering though.

i did enjoy the strips about alex though. i thought that was just nice and heartwarming

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

Yeah, Trump's life is like, documented to end and back

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

I wonder if it'll be in my future.

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

Have millions of people documenting every single pun you make?

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

No, conversations with my daughter related to my writing and math comics.

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

probably. O_O i mean you have a daughter so step 1 down that road is complete

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

Sounds reasonable

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

I remember when I first started reading, I was amused by Death in a couple of the comics. With using the opportunity of a reaped psychiatrist for a session, and commisserating with Rudolph.

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

Death vs a super badass Rudolph

sounds like some kind of sitcom

SamDealey

@✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨ - Are there any characters you’d like to see make a return in some fashion, and in what way do you think they might still have potential? The princes of hell haven't appeared much lately with the exception of Lucifer -- they do have some involvement in the continuing Hellbent story. I've also thought about more Nigel strips where he struggles to work with other people on a PR campaign for zombies that involves the creation of a TV sitcom about a zombie family

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

yes. zombie family tv sitcom

that would be amazing

especially if theres a forced laugh track

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

By the way, what was the deal with some of the comics saying "alternate ending in the comments"... was that only on deviantart?

I want to make a Rosanne joke, but I think I'd regret it.

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

The world must have zombie sitcom

heck if we got a sitcom about dinosaurs what's stopping the undead from getting a chance to shine

and the jokes would be built around them being undead and general horror tropes

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

(The Rosanne joke is about the zombie sitcom, not alternate endings.)

I've been reading onwards in the background, and just got to the Klingon section. Ohmygawd, Klingons with doe-eyes.

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

i enjoyed the klingons strip. i just really enjoyed how it was framed cause i think it made the jokes work well

SamDealey

@✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨ - Lastly, in regards to Amity’s storyline, what other famous people do you think might pop up in hell and what do you think will happen with them? The current official title for Amity's story is Hellbent (I know it's not readily apparent). Most of the famous people in Hell are there as a counterpoint to show that anyone who's remotely interesting doesn't get into heaven. They mostly don't plug into the plot in a meaningful way, but just are there to remind you that the interesting people are in hell, like Mark Twain and Edgar Allen Poe playing poker with Pappy, or Freddy Mercury who was just a punchline. It's implied that Amity slept with Jimmi Hendrix and Katherine Hepburn has become an odd kind of mother-figure to her (though Hepburn avoided having children throughout her life). The only other historical figure I currently plan to include for plot reasons is Nietzsche (god I can never spell his name)... I don't want to give too much away, but remember that he talked a bit about "the soul" and Ayn Rand really idolized a kind of misconception of his idea of the ubermensch -- "superman".... oh, and related to that also Atlas and I think Hercules, but they're only going to be on one page.

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

Ayn Rand meets Superman I could see.

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

yes i was hoping for nietzsche!

throws confetti

QUESTION 3. Though much of the comic series is non-sequential humor, the latter half of the series features a continuing story line involving Amy/Amity and her experiences in Heaven and Hell. What do you think will happen with Amity now that she is pregnant? Will she keep the baby, or will she decide having a child with Lucifer is too difficult? If she keeps it, what do you think the consequences will be? Do you think Amity will ever see her grandmother again, or will her grandmother stay in Heaven? Additionally, do you think Amity’s new reputation might get her into trouble, and if so in what manner? In general, what do you personally take away message wise from this storyline?

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

alas not the question for you math XD

cause this is the latter half

SamDealey

@MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑 re: Klingons - Thanks! re: alternate endings -- for a long time I published alternate endings as voting incentives on TopWebComics -- you could only see the latest one. I still do it occasionally, but the bonus panels or alt-endings are now on Patreon, where all the backers have access to the whole archive. A lot of those alt endings and bonus panels are also in the books whether printed or electronic.

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

Yup, I'm not that far yet.

SamDealey

I also give out vol #1 for free to subscribers on my Woohooligan Weekly Dick Joke Advocate newsletter. http://woohooligancomics.tumblr.com/freecomic

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

Ahhh, I see. Incentives is clever... it's nice when you have enough of an audience for that.

Though I suppose this is a heck of a looong runner. I'm impressed by that.

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

in regards to question 3, i think amity will keep the baby. and i look forward to the baby shower. O_O gotta invite everyone who can make it entirely too awkward

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

The Vegas strip I just got to reminds me of the Yuri/Yaoi one from much earlier. I liked that one. (Those who know me know I'm always up for some yuri.)

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

since math is still on earlier strips. http://www.woohooligan.com/comics/123/ i liked this skyrim one cause thats not where i expected the joke to go at all. never know what to expect when it comes to the arrow in the knee meme

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

....I phrased that very badly.

SamDealey

@✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨ That's a lot of questions, but I think I can answer them in pretty short order here: - Amity is currently worried that she's carrying the antichrist -- I think that's warranted -- I don't want to give too much away about that plot, but Lucifer confirmed it's his son in the latest couple pages. - Keeping the baby and/or consequences, well -- spoilers. -- which of course means now you know the baby will be born - Amity will see Nanna again -- it's an important plot point, followed by some fun sex jokes - So far the trouble Amity's reputation has gotten her into has been largely self-inflicted -- she's become paranoid that Lucifer's billions of children are going to mob her, except that Delilah, who she knows is one of Lu's kids has already said basically "you get used to a lot of bullshit rumors around my dad -- it happens". But with her now carrying the baby in particular, that doesn't mean Amity's going to be less paranoid. - Messages taken away from this story? ... I don't know about "taken away" since I'm writing it, but I will say that I know what will be on the last page, and I bawl every time I think about it. It's not sad, just ... I hope it will be moving for others as well.

@MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑 re: long running - Thanks! I feel like I've not done a great job of keeping up with it -- like, when I did my latest Kickstarter I had it on hiatus for about a half a year. I'm fulfilling it now and just getting back to creating new pages. That's why it's only 317(?) pages after 12 years. If I'd published 1 a week consistently, it would be over 600.

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

Oh wow

also that comic

This is why you wear knee guards

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

Eh, real life happens. I've had my comic on and off a bunch.

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

yeah no shame in that. its better to do projects like this at your own pace, whatever that pace needs to be.

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

Agreed(edited)

SamDealey

Oh, you meant "I'm always down on some yuri"

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

>Two females interacting >"Is this yuri?"

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

i was glad that amity bonded with delilah. but i also just like delilah cause she was a surprisingly down to earth character.

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

Pfffft.

Now I'm at the Nerdgasm set. I have been to some of those kinds of panels.

SamDealey

@✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨ Aww! Thank you so much, that's such a complement re: Delilah.

SamDealey

Delilah is a succubus and although she's not central to the plot, I hoped I could do some justice to addressing kink-shaming and sexual double-standards.

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

ooh?

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

i really enjoyed in nerdgasm that part where they were like "the homestuck panel moved" and then suddenly the room empties. it reminded me of how 2 real that was back in the day where everyone and their mother was into homestuck and cosplaying trolls.

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

A succubus as a recurring character sounds interesting.

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

yeah i really like delilah all around. cause i do think shes a good avatar for sexual double-standards and i also like her dynamic with amity cause of the whole dating her grandfather thing XD

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

Makes family reunions awkward.

SamDealey

There will be a baby shower -- it won't be large, mostly the princes of hell, or... well, 4 of them will be there... Leviathan (Envy) won't fit in the room but will send a gift (snake oil) - Satan (Wrath) doesn't do babies, but will go half on a gift with Scratch (Greed) of war bonds. Bubby (Gluttony) will give her a live pig (he thinks it's better fresh), I'm not sure yet what Mody (Lust) will give her, but suffice to say it will be creepy... Lucifer will get her something as well, but I'm also not sure what yet, and Belphegor (sloth) won't be there, because Cthulhu fhtagn

Pappy, Delilah, Hepburn and maybe Nanna will be there...

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

maybe Nanna?

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

Asmodeus?

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

i dont think this will be a relaxing baby shower

will grumpy cat be invited? O_O

SamDealey

Asmodeus is Mody -- Lust

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

QUESTION 4. Though many of the comic’s strips revolve around nerd culture, there are also tons of strips that are topical to life, current events, and history. Were there any of these kinds of strips that you felt were personally relevant to you? What did you think of some of the more serious strips (like the one about trickle-down economics)? Regardless of strip type, were there any titles that caught your eye and made you see the strip differently? Finally, since we’re speaking on humor, were there any jokes that you struggled to understand?

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

Anything Trump related, lol

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

Ahhh, I see.

Oh, I'm pretty sure I miss a large chunk of the jokes. It's a bit different from my sense of humour.

SamDealey

Yeah, tackling trickle-down economics was interesting, because it's one of those subjects where you can kind of expect to not get much traction, but as I get older, I feel like that's one of a handful of subjects not getting enough attention, and I thought if people enjoy Adam Conover, then I should be able to get people interested in important subjects like that

I just now realized a lot of those questions aren't directed at me.

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

i really liked the visuals you used for the trickle-down economics one. i think they were well-chosen and well-placed to help explain things

thats ok

SamDealey

Thank you!

I am a huge fan of Conover's work by the way.

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

I've reached Canada Day. We try.

I found reading your answers to the questions interesting, for what it's worth!

SamDealey

Thanks, Math!

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

ive overall enjoyed the breaks into the serious. i think theyve been interesting and well-researched. and sometimes its also just nice to break from comedy for a second

SamDealey

@✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨ Did I throw you with any of the titles?

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

Wait, there's alt-text on these too?! When did that start? (Sooo much depth to all this...)

SamDealey

lol -- I don't remember when I started adding alt text... and I'm not sure if my most recent pages have them either...

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

I'll echo Rebel on the well-researched part. It's the sort of thing that stands out if it's not there, but is easy to miss when done right.

SamDealey

Oh, I've also started publishing more comedy in other mediums lately as well -- prose on my Tumblr, and some YouTube videos -- currently working on a YouTube about free speech

Here's a recent one about alt-right propaganda

https://youtu.be/Xy0Barrlw3U

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

nah i wouldnt say thrown. i thought they were interesting for some of them and just had good plays on words. http://www.woohooligan.com/comics/80/ like that one for instant since its playing on the phrase "to hell with TOPIC HERE" and turning it into a jersey joke. XD

SamDealey

I know -- it's not comics.

Oh, yeah, back to Jersey

I'm not sure how many people noticed me using "rigor" as a slur to tie it to the word nigger

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

That's exactly the sort of thing I'd miss.

SamDealey

short for rigor-mortis, but convenient that it rhymes

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

Did someone say YT videos?

You should try to see about making dubbed/animated versions of strips

SamDealey

The YT vid I'm working on right now is way too long -- I need to kill about 50% of it to get the length down to reasonable

I'm not sure if I'll delve into trying to animate any of my strips ... genuine animation is too labor intensive (I know, my oldest daughter, Alex does it), and I feel weird about still frame panels with voiceovers

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

thats fair enough. animation is a lot of hard work.

i didnt notice the rigor thing sadly. mostly just cause my mind read it as "generic insult slur"

like if you yelled banana angry enough you could probably turn that into a slur

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

Maybe you can hire Alex to do it.

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

so didnt connect with what it was standing in for

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

Banana republic?

SamDealey

I love the phrase "GOAT SUCKER!" as an insult

It's the literal translation of the word "chupacabra"

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

Things I learned from watching the X-Files.

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

yeah. goat sucker always struke me as a funny insult cause of that XD

SamDealey

Ha! I didn't even know that was in an X-Files episode... I've seen a lot of the series, but not all of it

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

http://www.woohooligan.com/comics/209/ this is another strip i liked since ive been trying to find some of my faves. this taps into every problem ive ever had with zombie movies, particularly that last panel.

SamDealey

I never did see the fluke man

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

I tend to either see all of a series or very little. It was a fluke. ^.^

No Nigel cameo there?

I've reached 200, woo.

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

i have to admit i was expecting nigel there

but then nigel didnt come

and i shed a tear inside

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

The reversal of expectations.

SamDealey

Nigel cameo in what?

Oh, the zombie movie thing

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

r.i.p. Nigel

SamDealey

Yeah, Nigel doesn't really fit in zombie movies -- he would just be giving it bad reviews on Yelp.

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

SJ: That's zombie humour for you.

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

Yup

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

i hope his reviews sound overly fancy with lots of big words

ah this reminds! i also liked see moneybags a lot. what a perfect stand in for basically rich corporations.

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

Cools~

SamDealey

Oh, Uncle Pennybags from monopoly?

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

I was surprised to see him actually

SamDealey

I always draw him with a monocle -- he's never had one in any of the official Milton Bradley merch

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

One of the things I want to address before the end here is the obvious passion. Not only in terms of some of the details in the comic art (from fake twitters to shading) but also the commentary afterwards. Lots of work went into this.

Kudos.

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

Seconding that, there's lot sof entertaining fun to be had with this series and I hope you never let anything stop ya, Sam.

SamDealey

Thanks, Math!

fake twitters?

Thanks, Justin!

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

One of the comics I saw in the last hour or so had a fake twitter feed... all about foodstuffs.

I remember the most random things.

Superjustingo of ✨Time🕑&Space☄✨

Np!

SamDealey

I've found often that the pages where I have lengthy commentaries end up being shared a lot more -- like, I was really nervous doing a passage where Amity talked to Trayvon Martin, but those pages ended up being shared a bunch

MathTans the Pun 👑Prince👑

You have a pretty amazing fanbase.

✨🐱 RebelVampire 🐱✨

COMIC TEA PARTY END!

Unfortunately, the scheduled Comic Tea Party time is now up~! Thank you everyone so much for reading and joining this week’s chat~! We want to give a special thank you to Samuel Dealey, as well, for making Woohooligan! and volunteering it for our reading queue. If you liked the comic, please be sure to support Samuel Dealey’s efforts however you’re able to. All that being said, if you would like to continue discussing this week’s comic, we highly encourage you to do so~!

For next week, Comic Tea Party will focus on Himawari Share by Harmony Becker. As always, please use the next several days to read as much of the comic as you would like. We hope to see you next Thursday on August 9th from 5PM to 7PM PDT for the chat~! Until then, happy reading~! Comic: https://tapas.io/series/Himawari-Share