#he likes her because she is young. rochester might be a lot of things but at least treats jane like an adult

[kashilascorner]

Still thinking about Rebecca... Mr de Winter is like someone tried to recreate Rochester except he is worse

[mariana-oconnor]

The Solitary Cyclist pt 2

Last time we met Violet Smith, Watson was horny on main, she was smart and working as a music teacher in an isolated house being romantically pursued by two mysterious men who claimed to have known her long lost uncle and also claimed that he was dead. One of whom was just openly a dickhead, the other of whom was being creepy in a more socially acceptable manner (a la Mr Rochester).

Then there was a ghost cyclist who was following her down one specific stretch of road over and over again and disappearing.

Oh yeah, and she's romantically entangled with a young man called Cyril, which currently appears to be quite separate from all the rest of the shenanigans.

I have read this before, so I'm not going to speculate because while I can't remember all the details I can remember enough that anything I say will be coloured by my own memories.

Watson, in an unusual display of faith from Holmes, has been entrusted with a solo stakeout.

It had been deserted when I left it, but now I saw a cyclist riding down it from the opposite direction to that in which I had come. He was clad in a dark suit, and I saw that he had a black beard. On reaching the end of the Charlington grounds he sprang from his machine and led it through a gap in the hedge, disappearing from my view.

So he's coming from the direction of the house she works at. I guess it's lucky that Watson got there before him. Also if I ever want to hide my identity, I'll just get a big fake black beard and clearly no one will pay any attention to the rest of my face.

Reminds me of the first episode of White Collar.

This entire adventure is actually very slapstick when looked at the right way. Also super creepy because stalking, but the whole 'coming early, wearing a fake beard, stuffing his bike into the yew hedge, then jumping back into the hedge quickly so she doesn't see him.

She looked back at him and slowed her pace. He slowed also. She stopped. He at once stopped too, keeping two hundred yards behind her. Her next movement was as unexpected as it was spirited. She suddenly whisked her wheels round and dashed straight at him! He was as quick as she, however, and darted off in desperate flight. Presently she came back up the road again, her head haughtily in the air, not deigning to take any further notice of her silent attendant.

Like this bit, pure slapstick humour, even down to her at the end pretending that none of it even happened. Nothing to see here. Everything is under control. Lalalalalaaa.

However, it seemed to me that I had done a fairly good morning's work, and I walked back in high spirits to Farnham.

Honestly, Watson, I feel like you deserve a prize for not just running in to grab the guy. Although I feel like that might have solved the mystery more quickly. But did you succeed in observing the things that Holmes would want to be observed.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes listened with attention to the long report which I was able to present to him that evening, but it did not elicit that word of curt praise which I had hoped for and should have valued. On the contrary, his austere face was even more severe than usual as he commented upon the things that I had done and the things that I had not.

... apparently not. Poor Watson, just all perked up, tail wagging, thinking he's done an excellent job and patting himself on the back. But no... I hate to say I told you so, but you are a fictional character, so I don't actually hate it that much.

Maybe you should have just grabbed him.

“What should I have done?” I cried, with some heat. “Gone to the nearest public-house."

If in doubt, go to the pub. Or have a cup of tea. Those are the two universal British solutions (neither of which works for me, but I am quite bad at being British in a lot of ways). Or you could have pretended to be a tramp looking for a new pair of shoes, that seems to work for Holmes.

"Well, well, my dear sir, don't look so depressed."

Holmes: Tells Watson very emphatically that he has done a terrible job.

Watson: 😭

Holmes: Why are you so sad???

Holmes can go from extremely emotionally intelligent to utterly clueless in a heartbeat.

“I am sure that you will respect my confidence, Mr. Holmes, when I tell you that my place here has become difficult owing to the fact that my employer has proposed marriage to me. I am convinced that his feelings are most deep and most honourable."

No. Just no. These guys, they need to stop. Also, excellent demonstration of why this is never a good idea, because a refusal is always going to make continued work difficult. Even if you say 'nothing will change, your employment in no way hinges on this', there's no putting that cat back in the bag.

We knew it was coming, though.

"Williamson is a white-bearded man, and he lives alone with a small staff of servants at the Hall. There is some rumour that he is or has been a clergyman; but one or two incidents of his short residence at the Hall struck me as peculiarly unecclesiastical. I have already made some inquiries at a clerical agency, and they tell me that there was a man of that name in orders whose career has been a singularly dark one."

So the kind of a man who would marry a woman against her will? That kind of a clergyman?

"...especially one gentleman with a red moustache, Mr. Woodley by name, who was always there..."

"He ended a string of abuse by a vicious back-hander which I failed to entirely avoid. The next few minutes were delicious. It was a straight left against a slogging ruffian. I emerged as you see me. Mr. Woodley went home in a cart."

Holmes pulling a 'You should see the other guy.'

Also, I'm not sure we have the same definition of delicious. Unless you like the taste of blood.

"Mr. Carruthers has got a trap, and so the dangers of the lonely road, if there ever were any dangers, are now over."

Yes, but is it a trap.

"...the reappearance of that odious man, Mr. Woodley. He was always hideous, but he looks more awful than ever now, for he appears to have had an accident and he is much disfigured."

You should really see the other guy.

"How can Mr. Carruthers endure such a creature for a moment?"

Because he's as bad or worse. We've talked about this, Violet. If he's still hanging around with a guy that rapey then the only logical conclusion is that he doesn't see rape as something that would end a friendship. If someone's friend sexually assaults you and they continue to hang around with that person while professing to love you, then that means they aren't a good person.

I confess that I had not up to now taken a very serious view of the case, which had seemed to me rather grotesque and bizarre than dangerous. That a man should lie in wait for and follow a very handsome woman is no unheard-of thing, and if he had so little audacity that he not only dared not address her, but even fled from her approach, he was not a very formidable assailant. The ruffian Woodley was a very different person, but, except on one occasion, he had not molested our client, and now he visited the house of Carruthers without intruding upon her presence.

Watson... I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed.

This is so... 'That a man should lie in wait for and follow a very handsome woman is no unheard-of thing'. The amount of yikes in that statement alone is enough for an entire paragraph, but then the rest of it is just... 😬

Woodley only assaulted her once! The guy on the bike doesn't even try to talk to her! Clearly they're not that dangerous. Watson. Watson... no. Just no. Buddy, c'mon.

It was the severity of Holmes's manner and the fact that he slipped a revolver into his pocket before leaving our rooms which impressed me with the feeling that tragedy might prove to lurk behind this curious train of events.

I'm glad someone is taking this seriously. Also, you already told us this had a tragic ending right at the start, so thanks for the reminder.

*Impending Doom Intensifies*

At the same instant an empty dog-cart, the horse cantering, the reins trailing, appeared round the curve of the road and rattled swiftly towards us.

Alas, it was both a trap and a trap.

"It's abduction, Watson—abduction! Murder! Heaven knows what! Block the road! Stop the horse! That's right. Now, jump in, and let us see if I can repair the consequences of my own blunder.”

What a place for a cliffhanger.

[chelleinyy]

Okay so here is some information about Kendra!

PAST:

-Kendra is the daughter of Leopold Rochester. She is the middle child among her siblings. (Since Larry is 35, and Rockley is 39, Kendra is 37).

-Rockley, Kendra and Larry's mother sadly died when Larry was only three years old. This had a huge effect on the family, especially the siblings. Their mothers death was probably the reason why Larry turned out to be such a pain in the arse for older siblings and Leopold.

-From a young age, Kendra and Rockley looked up to Leopold a lot due to his creativity and was inspired by the many inventions they saw in his workshop.

-She's really close to her older brother and her father, since they bonded over creativity, whether it may about art in different forms, or inventions that could change the future.

-Kendra and Rockley shared their ideas with one another. For Rockley, it would be ideas for candy, while for Kendra, it would be writing ideas.

-Kendra actually had quarrels with Malcolm when she was just a teenager. He was part of her reasons on why she left Concordia.

-Unlike Rockley and Larry, who spent most of their time in Concordia, Kendra would go on to travel around Europe. She left Concordia when she was eighteen, five months after Archie was born.

Profession and Personal life:

-Kendra is a well known author in Europe, having written 24 novels and 43 short stories that are published in Concordia.

-Kendra lives in Italy. She visits Concordia during the summer and Christmas.

-Kendra married the painter, Victor Clement (I'll make a moodboard for him soon, and will be posting about him and Kendra's relationship). They had three children, Eloise, Ariana, and Benedict.

Personality:

-Kendra is someone you can approach. Many of her friends and acquaintances say that she's really friendly, and it feels like being kind is in her nature.

-She values her independence. Kendra does not really ask for help that much, and assures people that she can take care of situations she's in.

-Because of the experiences she had with her brothers, Kendra believes that she's responsible for the actions of other people. "If I'm not there, something may happen to them, or they might cause something."

-Soft hearted. If someone she loves cries, she cries too.

-She's enthusiastic about a lot of things. She has multiple interests, not just writing. For example, she paints with her husband as a pastime.

-Something is always on her mind. Absolutely anything. Kendra speaks her mind. Not really hesitant to say what she thinks, and is open to new ideas and criticism.

So this is all I can give about her for now

A moodboard for my MOTP oc, Kendra Rochester.

I'll make a post about her if I can!

[gisellelx]

How do you think things would change for edward and carlisle if carlisle had never changed esme? do you think carlisle ever would have changed anyone else? would edward have still left for his "rebellion"? would it have changed the roles that they play?

They eventually become that friendly but reclusive gay couple in your neighborhood that you don’t know very much about but who seem very happy. 

Here’s why. (This got long. I have thoughts.)

Carlisle and Edward are two of the most heavily queer-coded characters in the entire saga. I respect a good Jasper/Edward or Jacob/Edward, but I don’t see those coming from the way the characters talk about each other in canon. Those are slash ships which exist because people want to see that ship. They’re fun, but it’s never felt as “oh yeah of course, these two” like C & Ed.

They already have what seems to be a very intimate relationship in canon. It isn’t his brothers Edward turns to first to ask about having sex; it’s Carlisle, who is ostensibly in the role of his father. Edward’s brain in Midnight Sun is about 50% Bella, 50% Carlisle, 50% the sky is falling. (I realize that’s more than 100% which seems about on par for Edward’s brain.) 

He uses Carlisle’s face to recenter himself when he encounters Bella in MS. He talks about how Carlisle had so many complicated emotions toward him, and then says that for himself, “Love [for Carlisle] came easily.” 

Meanwhile, Edward is pretty oblivious to Bella as a woman beyond her scent, aside from wishing she’d wear the green sweater more to keep him from feeling too horny. He has never been interested in Tanya, even though she’s repeatedly been interested in him. He notices that Siobhan is curvy, but doesn’t apply this same gaze to Bella. 

Carlisle, for his part, is somehow totally unaware that Esme, who probably made very clear she thought he was crushworthy in 1911, has somehow also fallen for him. Edward has to “be on hand to caution Carlisle” that she’s going to be in love with him after her change. And while I don’t personally hold the headcanon that Aro and Carlisle were ever sexually involved (though I enjoy that ship), it certainly seems likely that Carlisle had a certain amount of intimacy with him based on the way Aro greets Edward and then Carlisle in the saga. 

And then there’s the simple fact that where Carlisle has watched other vampires turn mates, or turn allies, he picks this seventeen-year-old boy without having any sense that he might be gifted. He just think he’s beautiful and kind and full of youth. Ohhhhh kaaaay... They are both heavily, heavily implied to be at least bi, if not gay. Men are on the table for them both. Mind you, I don’t think SM meant to put that on the page. But that’s what’s there. 

So Carlisle changes Edward. He, for whatever reason, doesn’t change Esme. Maybe he leaves her in the morgue. Maybe they never go to Ashland. He’s having the time of his life finally being known by someone, and not only known, but known in this deeply invasive, intimate way. They become as close as they are in canon. 

Edward, in my reading, rebelled in part because he was supplanted by Esme. He was heartbroken. Maybe he didn’t realize he was in love with Carlisle, because in that time period, and with their backgrounds, that would’ve been impossible to admit to himself. But he reacted like a teenager who suddenly has to share his parent with whom he’s very close. No Esme, no sharing, no rebellion. 

This probably then means they don’t ever end up in Rochester--maybe they stay in Ashland longer, who knows. Realistically, as soon as you start to remove a piece of the story, the dominoes fall very differently, although it’s hard to say because it never seems like SM had a clear idea of why any given character did a given a thing, just that they did. The only time we ever even get a whiff of something like this is that Maria came to visit when they were in Calgary and they had to move right after she did. So we don’t know why they moved to Rochester, which makes it hard to say if they still do in this AU.

Let’s say they do end up in Rochester, and they’re still doing the friend/father/son/hell no we’re not gay thing. Carlisle finds a woman in the street who has been brutally gangraped and left for dead.

He does not have a wife whose own history of sexual assault he is thinking of.

He does not have a son whose unhappiness he is trying to assuage. 

Edward has never rebelled; Carlisle doesn’t need to do something to keep him around. He has no model of a female companion healing his own heart, so he has no reason to feel even a twinge that such a thing might be true for Edward.

So he spirits Rosalie to the hospital and does his level best to treat her. She dies despite his efforts. It’s very sad; another instance where Carlisle feels inadequate against the world. He turns to Edward for comfort, just like always, and gets over it within a few days. Edward and Carlisle go on living their lives together. They are deeply affectionate, deeply concerned with one another, and very, very close.

One day, they’re having a conversation about something, or nothing, doesn’t matter, and noses get too close, and bam. Suddenly they’re both thinking, My god, I’m kissing my best friend and this feels so much better than I ever would have imagined. 

And that’s it. It’s not easy; they have a lot of self-loathing to get over and their relationship is rocky for years. Sex is fraught with feelings of shame and sinfulness, mostly on Carlisle's part. But slowly they do come to accept themselves and each other. The remaining decades are filled with them trying to slot themselves into society. Being vampires already means they have to hide a lot; compared to that, hiding homosexuality is downright simple. Stonewall happens; they watch the fallout at a distance, afraid to become too involved for fear of outing a lot more than their sexuality (or at least they convince themselves that’s the reason; a lot of it is also internalized homophobia). Edward probably develops the self-control to practice medicine also, or otherwise finds something to occupy himself while Carlisle is working. He doesn’t present himself as a high school student because the last thing they need is Carlisle being accused of statutory rape on top of sodomy, so he’s billed as Carlisle’s equal. 

By 2021, they’re experiencing a very pleasant whiplash about how different their lives have become in the last 30 years. They get married in an Episcopal church in the 2010s. Edward still isn’t very religious, but it is very meaningful to Carlisle. They’re out at work. They don’t march in pride parades, but they do allow themselves to be seen being a little affectionate in public places. It feels good. But they’re still vampires, and they still have a lot to hide. So they keep to themselves and keep their heads down. 

And every now and then, their neighbors get a glimpse of these two beautiful young men walking arm in arm at twilight. And the neighbors’ concerned thought as they watch them isn’t "I wonder if they're vampires" or "I wonder if they're gay" but "I wonder why they don't own a dog."

[katehuntington]

Title: In Bad Waters - part four Word count: ±2800 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part four summary: After Dean takes a girl home, Sam goes to look for the huntress who is keeping the brothers’ belongings hostage. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Music: Shine On You Crazy Diamond - Pink Floyd Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​ and @deanwanddamons​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

     The nights are mild this November. The moon is almost full and stands high in the dark blue sky. This time it’s not the sun which shines a light on the hundreds of tombstones, neither does the cemetery have a peaceful feel like it did this morning. Trees create long shadows, so black that one would be afraid to walk through its darkness. At this hour the statues of angels and other Biblical figures don’t seem sacred, the figures looming over those who dare to disturb the dead.

     Anyone who would walk around the stretched out lands of Linwood Cemetery, would be rather sure the place is deserted. Nevertheless, someone is present. Not a grieving widow or a relative who got left behind, but a person who is, quite literally, digging up some dirt.      In a steady rhythm, scoops of soil fly through the air and land on a pile next to a hole in the ground. Down in the grave, Zoë is working like a miner. Even though it’s night, all she’s wearing is a thin Lakers basketball shirt, sweat shimmering on her body as her muscles move under her skin.

     For a moment she pauses; she reckons she’s almost there. Out of breath, she listens to her surroundings and scans the area like a periscope of a submarine, popping her head just above ground level.      Not a sound, nothing to see, yet she senses something. She can’t really put a finger on it, but glances at the loaded shotgun next to her in the grave nonetheless. She picks up the shovel instead, continuing to dig. Her senses grow stronger and the huntress freezes, picking up the smallest sound. Making a split second decision, Zoë goes for her shotgun, aims on pure gut instinct and fires. The slug demolishes half a gravestone and barely misses the person hiding behind it.      “Jesus Christ!” a startled voice cries out.      “Friends call me Zoë,” she responds, skillfully discharging the empty shell and reloading her rifle.

     She stays low to the ground and focuses on the tombstone from the hole, prepared for a possible counter attack, but nothing comes.      “Show yourself,” she commands.      A tall figure rises from behind the tombstone, his hands up.      “It’s me,” he says.      The man steps into the moonlight and Zoë instantly recognizes him.      “Sam...” She scoffs, actually not that surprised to see him. “Seriously man, there will come a day that I will kill one of you fucking Winchesters if you keep sneaking up on me like this.”

     “How the hell did you even notice me?” Sam questions, disappointed with his own ambushing skills.      “Are you kidding me? I can smell you from a mile away after your dive in that septic tank,” she nags.      Sam stares at her for a moment and smells himself.      “I showered!” he exclaims.      Zoë smirks; she can’t believe he actually fell for that. Sam also realizes she is deliberately messing with him and shoots her a deadly glare.      “What if I was the night guard?” he tests.      “If the night guard enters, I’ll notice it the minute he sets foot in the cemetery.” Zoë puts away her shotgun and picks up the shovel again. Before she continues digging, she looks back up. “What the fuck are you doing here anyway?”      Sam approaches the grave. “Looking for you.”      “Well, you found me. Now get lost,” the huntress scoffs.      “I’m not going anywhere without our stuff, Zo,” Sam states.      She stops what she was doing, leaning on the handle of the shovel.      “Sure. Just a sec. I’ll just pull your laptop case out of my back pocket and I think I stuffed the two duffel bags in my bra,” she responds, smartly.      He glares at her. “Ha-ha.”      Zoë continues shoveling dirt, while Sam halts on the edge of the hole in the ground. It’s not the first open grave he has seen, but that’s not what he’s looking at. Zoë has captured his attention, and Sam can’t stop watching.      The fabric of her shirt is drenched in sweat, a darker tone between her shoulder blades and down her chest. The moonlight distinguishes hardened arms and shoulders. She might be a lean built woman of no more than 5’8, yet clearly she is well trained. Even though Zoë has been working the soil for some time now, there is no sign of fatigue and every scoop is powerful. Just like that moment in Rochester, yesterday morning, she captivates him in such a way that it seems impossible to keep his eyes off her. When she walked by naked to turn up the radio she meant to get his attention, but apparently this time she feels uncomfortable.

     “What do you think this is? BustyAsianBeauties.com?” she remarks, glancing up at the hunter annoyed.      “Excuse me?” Sam returns, puzzled.      “Don’t get all innocent with me, perv. I happened to stumble on some browser internet history on your laptop, which is full of viruses because of that shit by the way,” she notifies.      Sam stares at her staggered, then the light bulb switches on. Rolling his eyes skyward, he huffs. “Dean.”      Zoë shrugs, continuing her job at hand. “I don’t really care which of you two can’t get laid enough. Your harddrive was a fucking mess.”      “You’ve been on my computer?”      It’s not so much a question. The tall Winchester eyes her from under his brown bangs, clearly not happy with her snooping around through his stuff. Zoë has the feeling that this would be a good time to lie, but just to rile him up a bit more, she doesn’t.      “I did, actually,” she comments. “Got a problem with that, college boy?”      Sam averts his gaze and grinds his teeth, which draws a reaction from Zoë.      “Hey, don’t be mad at me. I didn’t fuck up your computer with a dozen porn sites, videos, pi--”      “- I’m gonna kill him,” Sam growls.      “Oh, don’t wanna miss that.” Zoë turns up the speed, now that she has some extra motivation to hurry up.

     The youngest of the Winchester brothers glances down at her again. “So, this is your case?”      “I’m not digging up dead people for fun,” she retorts, without pausing.      “What’s the story?”      Zoë peers at him for a moment, but doesn’t stop with what she’s doing. Not seeing any harm in it, she gives him a brief summary. “Young girl got beat up by her father. One strike killed her.”      “Let me guess, what goes around comes around for the dad?” Sam assumes.      “Yep. Died yesterday,” she confirms.

     Whoa, she’s quick, Sam realizes. It’s not often that he has run a case that fast.      “How did you figure it all out in that short period of time?” Sam asks, genuinely interested.      “You guys have your methods to pick out cases. I have mine,” Zoë responds curtly.      The younger Winchester brother knows better than to continue the interrogation. A silence follows and Sam glances over at the gravestone.

     Laura Emily Shire      Beloved daughter and sister      01.22.1995 – 09.21.2005      Rest in Peace

     “Apparently not,” Sam comments on the last sentence, before he redirects his attention to the huntress. “Need help?”      “Do I look like I need help?” she counters.      He shakes his head and goes quiet, not daring to contradict her. He should have known Zoë wouldn’t accept a helping hand. So he watches, awkwardly, not sure what to do with his hands. Not for long, though, because three swings later, Zoë hits the coffin.

     The sudden difference in sound when the steel shovel collides with the wood draws Sam’s attention. He glances over the edge as Zoë wipes the dirt away. A hardwood beech coffin is exposed once again. Zoë busts the hinges with her shovel and opens the coffin, after which she quickly backs out. It’s one thing to burn just bones, but this little girl is still in the process of decomposition.      “Argh… man, that’s bad.” Zoë covers her mouth and nose with her hand and turns at Sam, who hands over her backpack.

     Trying not to inhale as she takes out a bag of salt and a small jerry can filled with gasoline, she continues to cover the remains with both.  She climbs out of the grave and takes a matchbox out of her pocket. With a smooth strike, Zoë lights a couple of matches and drops them down the hole. Almost immediately the fire spreads out and shines an orange light on their faces as the heat reaches for them. The body burns for a while and when the fire almost dies out, she shovels the dirt back in the hole. Sam wants to help, but she only brought one shovel, so there’s not much he can do.

     “How did you find me by the way?” Zoë wonders, as they saunter back to the main gates of Linwood Cemetery twenty minutes later.      “I drove by and saw your Harley in the parking lot of the Hampton, asked for you at the desk. They called up to your room, but you didn’t answer. Since your bike was still there, I just figured you were at the cemetery across the street,” he explains.      “I could have been having a bite and a drink somewhere,” she suggests.                          “Could have, yeah,” Sam admits, a small smile on his lips.      “Lucky guess, huh?” Zoë grins as they amble through the gate.      “More like a coincidence,” he expresses.      “Let me tell you one thing, Sam.” Zoë looks over her shoulder, an all knowing grin on her lips. “There’s no such thing as coincidence.”  

     They halt in front of the Hampton Inn as Zoë shakes off the cold and shrugs on her jacket. Grave digging can be quite intense, but now that she’s not busting her ass, she’s freezing. Before the huntress moves inside, she throws her backpack over her shoulder and turns around at Sam.      “What are you doing tonight?”      “Not much, actually. Dean has a girl over at the motel,” he sighs.      “Ah, I was wondering where the fucker was. Another one, huh? Not a shifter this time?” The huntress winks, remembering the joke she pulled on him.      Sam laughs too. “Not this time.”      “You didn’t tell him that we don’t know what sex that thing was, right?” Zoë checks.      “Nope.” Sam’s eyes sparkle for a moment, in the same way Dean’s eyes do so often. It’s probably a Winchester thing.      “I bet he has nightmares about it,” Zoë grins, enjoying the idea, but then turns to Sam as her amused facial expression changes into something more serious. “You have any last night?”

     Sam looks her in the eye and the sparkle disappears. He forgot about the fact that he opened up to the huntress about the strange dreams he’s been having and for a second he feels uncomfortable. He’s happy to shake his head.      “No, I slept quite well, actually. First time in three weeks,” he returns.      “Well, I didn’t.” She yawns and quickly covers her mouth with her hand. “I’m gonna catch some sleep. Night, Sam.”

     Zoë intends to stroll inside and leave the hunter at the entrance, but he clears his throat.      “Aren’t you forgetting something?”      Sleepy and confused, Zoë halts and looks at the younger Winchester. “You’re not getting a kiss, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”      Sam eyes her. “Our stuff.”      “Oh right,” she remembers, entering the Hampton Inn, Sam in tow.

     They take the elevator up to the second floor, where the huntress turns left, expecting Sam to follow. The younger Winchester seems impressed with the luxury of the hotel; he’s used to hunters settling for a much cheaper accommodation. As she slips her keycard through the lock, she yawns again.

     “That bad, huh?” Sam chuckles.      “I haven't had much sleep lately. Too many cases,” she replies and walks directly to the bathroom. “Let me freshen up, one sec.”

     One sec turns out to be five minutes, because after that amount of time she walks out of the bathroom, fresh and showered. She’s wearing a Nirvana shirt and pajama shorts, not even bothered to put on a bra, even though she has company. She’s going to turn in for bed soon anyway, the aftermath of her high this morning seriously kicking in. She carelessly beckons at Sam, pointing at the other end of the room.      “You can find your shit in the closet.”

     Sam crosses the space and opens the double doors. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees the duffel bags, but he can’t spot his laptop.      “It’s on the table, still hooked up to the server,” she answers before he can ask.      He walks over and notices the USB cable. “Why is it hooked up?”      “Don’t get all emotional about it, but I’m copying my supernatural database to yours,” she tells him. “Since you guys are still going on what’s in that old book.”      Sam’s eyebrows perk up, surprised. She actually did that, something nice without him asking? Maybe she’s not so bad as his brother would have him believe after all.      “Thanks,” he expresses.

     She looks aside, able to tell that his gratitude is sincere. Touching the mouse pad, she triggers the screen to light up; it’s still copying. To pass the time she opens ITunes, starts one of her favorite playlists and the first tunes of Shine On You Crazy Diamond by Pink Floyd come from the speakers.      “Don’t mention it, but I'll tell you what.” She straightens her back and walks over to her bed. “It’s still transferring files, which might take another hour or so. If you don’t have a place to stay anyway, why don’t you hang out here? You can crash on the sofa if you want.”

     Another unexpected act of kindness; she just invited him in. Not that she would want anything from him, though, or does she? For a second the Winchester wonders why she’s so interested in him all of a sudden. She’s being nice, and that’s just off.      “Sure, if you don’t mind,” Sam accepts, masking his suspicion.      “As long as you shut your piehole, I don’t mind. I really need to sleep,” she clears up as she crawls into bed and pulls the covers up till her nose. “Remote is on the TV if you want to watch anything, as long as it isn’t porn,” she mumbles, fitting her eye mask over her face.      “Thanks, I’m good,” he assures, sitting down behind the table and glancing at the screen.      He watches the bar move slowly, the percentage going up with each passing minute.      “Hey Zo, is it alright if I--”      But he doesn’t finish his sentence. Zoë is already far away, curled up in fetus-position, wrapped in her covers. She seems so peaceful and vulnerable, so unlike the Zoë Sullivan he got to know these past couple of days. He smiles at the endearing sight. She’s quite a peculiar woman.

     It only takes a moment, though, before guilt settles on his chest and memories cloud his mind. Because every time when he thinks of Zoë, his thoughts wander off to Jessica as well. As if a voice in the back of his mind is mocking him for taking an interest in the new huntress. That it’s ‘not done’ since he’s in a relationship. But he isn’t. Jess is gone forever.

     Sam swallows apprehensively and glances at his laptop again. He sees images transferring, of ghouls and werewolves, wendigos and demons. Honestly, he can’t wait to get his hands on that thing that killed his former girlfriend and his mom. Never has he felt the urge to kill something so strongly, never has he felt so much anger and hatred towards anything. Of course, he has ended the lives of creatures and burned the bones of the souls that stayed behind, but never out of hate. He did those things for opposite reasons; to save people and help spirits to move on.

     The frustrating part about his attempt to find the creature that was responsible for the death of his loved ones? He has no idea where to start. Their dad has disappeared from the face of the earth and he and his brother have no leads whatsoever. They need to get back on the road, find their father and make progress fast, before that thing disappears off the radar again. Sam is going to make sure that he and Dean leave this town tomorrow first thing in the morning.

     When the time comes, when they finally find their father, the next step is making the bastard pay that murdered Mom and Jess. That thought right there is what drives him, disturbing yet thrilling, but that’s what everyone is after. The death of that monster, the ultimate revenge.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part five here

[viktcrr]

「maxence danet-fauvel & nonbinary」⇾ samuels, viktor, the senior radcliffe student’s records show that he/they are a capricorn and 24 years old. he/they are studying visual arts, living in noland and can be observant, ingenious, reticent & dependent. when i see him/them i am reminded of a sculptor’s hands clay-ridden, the insistent hum of tv static, and a crying preacher inside a dusty funeral home.  ⇽「james & 21 & est & they/them.」

hllo !!! i’m james n here’s one of my big idiot muses <3 he’s not actually dumb he’s :/ a bit evil. bt thts okay hes still <3 beloved <3 LKDSFHLSADLKGFSHLKD anyways!

TW DEATH, HEAVY GRIEF, OVERDOSE / DRUG ADDICTION, HOSPITALIZATION, HYPERSEXUALITY, RELIGION MENTIONS, MENTAL ILLNESS

aesthetic.

old tvs and their static, worn tapes, horror movie screams, spilled ink, a sculptor’s hands, clay-stained, chicken scratch handwriting, messy notes, messy hair, scoffs and eye-rolls, bruised knuckles, sore throats, funeral homes and a crying preacher, shattered ceramics, knife fights, high ledges, vertically-striped pants, red lights, the moon shrouded in clouds, cigarette butts, graveyards and half-empty wine bottles, sitting there for hours and talking to nothing, about nothing, a god complex, gold rings adorning both hands, barbwire baseball bats, having never played baseball in your life, deep eyebags and broken mirrors, a permanent chip on one’s shoulder, yearning, longing, wishing.

basic info.

full name: viktor phillip samuels

nickname(s): icky vicky :/

b.o.d. - jan 2nd

label(s): the black hole, the crepehanger, the impious, the opaque, the tempest, etc.

height: 6′1″

hometown: rochester, new york

sexuality: pansexual uwu

pinterest

stats

inspired by: beetlejuice (beetlejuice), sid (toy story), jack sparrow (pirates of the caribbean), francis wilkerson (malcolm in the middle), azula (avatar: the last airbender), vicky (the fairly oddparents), stu macher / billy loomis (scream), marshall lee (adventure time), bojack horseman (bojack horseman), any it’s always sunny character :/

biography.

born to mama and papa (preacher) samuels in rochester, new york - fifteen minutes after his twin sister, tatiana samuels. years later, rosa samuels joined the gang.

was an awkward, quiet kid growing up, he didn’t interact well with others and preferred being left alone to dig up worms and draw on the walls of their childhood home. the only exception was his twin, really.

as he got older he grew out of this, but instead became like … sort of an asshole? maybe to compensate for years of childhood awkwardness. he’s the sort of person who will bite the hand that feeds him & developed into a full time nuisance by middle school, unlike tatiana who was much more subtle about her conniving manners.

always has been a fan of ‘darker’ materials. grim & creepy morbid shit. probably the biggest tim burton fan, ever since he was a kid … not a good look for a preacher’s son, but he never really felt ‘in’ with the rest of his family to begin with. classic black sheep syndrome.

drew disturbing pictures as a kid that probably prompted one or two or five phone calls home to assure everything was fine.

just really had a knack for art at a young age, from drawing to painting to playing with clay. it’s always been his Thing and probably is the only thing he’s good at.

being twins with tatiana was hard. they were near opposite besides both being quite mean-spirited. tatiana handled being in public better, left a better image behind - but viktor had talent, more than she did. they loved each other deeply - y’know, those unbreakable twin bonds as cliche as it sounds - but found each other as competition for their parents’ attention. a rivalry for affection.

in high school is when viktor really started to act out. it started extreme, like losing his virginity in their church and vandalism around the neighborhoods. faked being possessed in the middle of sunday service & almost had an exorcism performed on him.

his only redeemable trait was like … just his sheer talent in the arts. was in a 3D art AP course and specialized in sculptures. he could pretty much create anything he wanted with enough dedication.

because he was the problem child, the one who deserved to be disciplined for all his antics, tatiana could sneak away and get away with whatever she wanted much easier. on the bright-side, for her, i guess.

not a very motivated person - wasn’t planning on going to college, much less going to radcliffe but his parents literally wrote & sent his college application for him because they weren’t going to house a deadbeat but had too much heart to kick him out onto the streets. cool!

he’s actually pretty smart but he just doesn’t apply himself. has a minor in english because he didn’t care for an extra course-load, but he’s good at writing & analyzing literature. is going to use it to write and illustrate his own series of children books with a style similar to tim burton’s. not for the kids, but because he likes to leave a trail of terror in whatever he does.

has been experimenting with himself since high school but college is where he really had started to crack down on himself. was out as pansexual & nonbinary by his sophomore year of college just … not to his parents, who don’t really need to know.

if you asked him if he believed in twins having a psychic connection with each other - he’d tell you he wouldn’t know. it felt believable at times, but sometimes he had no idea what was going on inside of tatiana’as head. on the other hand - viktor had always felt oddly transparent to her, like she knew all of his moves before he did. the only person who could predict him accurately.

( TW DEATH, GRIEF, OVERDOSE / HOSPITALIZATION BEYOND THIS POINT )

when tatiana disappeared, viktor knew something was up. it was a twist in his gut, pure instinct that something wasn’t right. and it wasn’t right - and when she was proclaimed missing, they couldn’t find her.

and when tatiana died - viktor knew. it felt wrong, something cut so severely in him he could pinpoint her death to the second. he didn’t know how, or why, but he knew it. knew it before anybody else had.

afterwards he went on a sort of bender. he’d begun to struggle with a mild drug addiction late senior year of high school / early college, but he was managing it up until this point.

his mental health had also sunk to an all-time low, when it’d never been great to begin with. (manic & depressive episodes. once fixated on a sculpting project for six months and then knocked it off the table and destroyed it as soon as he finished it for no apparent reason.)

tatiana’s body wasn’t found immediately, and when it was … viktor went off the rails. ended up overdosing & being hospitalized. spent six months in & out of psychiatric care after that.

came back to radcliffe to finish his senior year because … for the reasons above, he hadn’t been able to complete it. just wants to get his credits and get out of here.

is still dealing with a lot of trauma & grief, especially since the one year anniversary of tatiana’s death was this month (january) - causes him to spiral and be unpredictable in regards of his mental health. he stopped taking his medication, so. :/ some days are alright, other days are pretty bad.

UPDATE: now that summer’s come n go ... viktor hs been thru <3 a lot <3 recently. switched therapists (his :/ last one got her license revoked) & started new medications, went to a treatment center briefly ‘cos .. he wasn’t doing too well :/ bt now he’s back baybey! trying to be better n trying to be sober but ... :/

personality.

the human embodiment of a gremlin that was fed after midnight. a goblin, if you will. one of those cats with a narrow head and really big ears … that’s them!

a big horror & halloween enthusiast. loves the old campy horror movies & probably has an abundance of masks from different movies. dresses like a grimy millennial beetlejuice more than they should because they just … love those black & white vertical-striped pants.

can appreciate the lore & cryptids at radcliffe and likes to feed into the fear that surrounds them. is probably the cause of a few ‘anomalies’ and ‘paranormal sightings’ because they’re just … a jerk.

fashion alternates between e-boy (they would be tiktok famous if they were 17 & didn’t think that a majorly minor based app was weird.), millennial beetlejuice, and goth in a crop top & sweatpants. big fan of crop tops and a big fan of sweatpants.

they can be really fucking mean? petty, aggressive, a major instigator. will literally spit in your face for little to no reason, you could just look at them the wrong way. the kind of person who will stick their gum into someone else’s hair. other than that? they’re like … sort of okay. they’re not always mean, just a dick about 90% of the time lmao

like okay yeah they’ll call someone a stinky bitch for no reason except they feel like it and believes it. it’s fine, they’re fine, we’re fine.

despite the fact that they’re probably getting into a fight whenever, considers themself to be a lover and not a fighter but that’a primarily because they fuck a lot. uses it as a coping mechanism, like they’re this big fancy carnival show that’s like ‘come one, come all! fuck the dead girl’s twin brother!’ and it’s … a Lot. might have a problem with hypsersexuality but they’re not fully aware of it.

the preacher’s whore son, basically :)

pansexual & nonbinary, switches between he & they pronouns often and without a pattern, but they have such a fragile grip on their identity that you could call them ‘dog-faced bitch’ and they’d turn around like. sup.

vastly impulsive … like i said, they destroy their own creations for the fun of it. spends all teir money on useless shit, will cheat on someone because they feel like it & likes the thrill, screams into the night sky frequently like a cat in heat.

will also spend months creating useless shit for no reason too. spent six of them sculpting a hollowed out tree the size of them & then took a sledgehammer to it.

they’re very super dramatic. would play the organ at church when nobody was looking after them and service was about to start. would just churn out these super haunting, creepy melodies like they were phantom of the opera. would do the same exact thing at home on their keyboard with the pipe organ setting whenever they got grounded until their parents took it away HBDSJFNGKH

will absolutely not talk about their ‘time away’ because it’s not anyone’s business, not even their own younger sister. still refuses to talk about tatiana’s death, or their mental health, or their addiction (fallen back into it but it hasn’t gotten severe … yet :/), or anything involving their own emotions.

will just change the topic abruptly, no warning. asks about the jonas brothers instead and they fucking hate the jonas brothers.

that being said they’re absolutely not over tatiana’s death & it’s to the point of obsession over it. like there’s some kind of secret that needs to be uncovered, even though there just. isn’t. tatiana was their rock and they were pretty much dependent on her. kept them grounded. could control them when nobody else could, got into their head easier than others. it’s sort of like rosa lost two siblings that day because viktor hasn’t been the same since.

emotionally unavailable while also crying twice a day. cries during their brawls but still wins. is stony-faced when they tell you they cheated on you with your much hotter best friend.

will tell you straight up what they want from you, no bullshit & no beating around the bush. just blunt. if they want to fuck, nothing else, then that’s it. if they feel deviation or developing feelings then they’ll ghost in less than a second. is awful like that but feels no shame.

but also emotional as shit and it’s confusing. will cry on a whim and then flip you off if you try to console them or ask them what’s up. will bite you.

they go to therapy but they just fuck around and wastes their therapists’ time … also is fucking their therapist, but that’s neither here nor there. so they’re not really getting the help they need.

likes to be intimidating but not … with their body or anything because they’re a TWIG but uses their love & knowledge of horror and creepy shit to their advantage. has an abundance of fake blood. has channeled the energy of jack nicholson and used it on tatiana’s boyfriends before (also is a big fan of sfx makeup & has dabbled in it)

probably chases kids around with a chainsaw without the chain on halloween every year.

generally never doing good, both mental health wise & morally. would probably steal candy from a baby for funsies.

i don’t know if there’s a good to them somewhere deep down, but they don’t see any issues with themself either. nothing really breaks through to them anymore because the only person who ever made them stop and think about their actions was tatiana, and well, y’know. :/

an introverted reclusive type who doesn’t like most people or going out, but does so anyway if it means a quick high & a cheap thrill.

pretty observant and likes to analyze people even though they’re often like … partially wrong. judgmental because they like to make people feel bad, not because they’re a righteous mighty person. because they’re not. so like, a hypocrite!

wanted connections.

a roommate… but it’s an absolute nightmare to live with him.

enemies… because viktor would have a lot of them…

familiar faces… people who knew tatiana or of her / were her friends. maybe even those who dated her, and who viktor would’ve tried to intimidate / scare at any given chance :/

pitiful glances… people who take pity on viktor and he hates it sooo much.

hooligan gremlin kids… just a friend group of grown ass adults who do drugs and fuck shit up around town like they’re edgy teenagers.

high school girlfriend… probably the one he lost his virginity to inside his family church :/

childhood acquaintances… people who knew him from his youth.

exes… good & bad terms, but mostly bad terms because viktor is an actual demon. probably cheated on them.

soft… i don’t know if he’s soft towards anyone and/or is capable of it but we can try. we can try.

unrequited… either viktor just doesn’t like them or he’s holding back because he’s :/ got issues with relationships & is self-sabotaging as one does

enemies with Tension… of the … spicy kind if you know what i mean. wink.

friends… old friends, new friends, bad friends, good friends, close friends, frenemies, etc. i don’t know how many he had but if your muse likes to cause a ruckus and fuck shit up then viktor’s your man.

hook-ups… current or old. friends with benefits, one night stands, anything and everything because he fucks around a lot.

ride or die… friendship but make it extreme.

bad influence… he’s just toxic to be around and brings out the worst in people :/

bad egg… he’s gotten into a few fights :/ maybe you witnessed it. maybe you were in it.

literally anything i wld love all sorts of plots.

[luvreyn]

My Manhwa List (2019) pt. 6

Most of the story here offers more than romance and has politics. Carry on ~

Joseon's Ban on Marriage

Summary:

For 7 years, marriage was banned in the Kingdom of Great Joseon because the King lost his precious wife. Enter a marriage fraud specialist to save the day (while she sends the King and his trusted General into emotional chaos).

WHY YOU SHOULD READ:

- plot = 4/5 few chaps but very promising

- art style = 4/5

- the mc is very funny

- idk who the ml is tbh but this looks like it’s more than that bcuz p a l a c e

- the tactics of the people in the palace into tricking their emperor into lifting the no marriage ban is funny lmao

- mc is meme-able and is not a coward

- to conclude: despite the few chaps, this story has a lot of potential, it’s very promising. the art style is okay too and the characters are easy to like

Lady to Queen

Summary:

"I will never love the Emperor."

My sister Nilla, who became the Emperor's Queen after having dreamt of fairy tales and true loves, came back divorced and accused of high treason. Our family, the Rochesters, were mercilessly executed. But by some miracle, I came back in time to before she was selected as the Emperor's Queen candidate.

If I become queen in your stead, you and our family need not suffer. This life of yours can have a happy ending, sister. I promise.

---

An empress fell into a trap, divorced and was cut off by her family. In the last minute of her life, her sister Tricia regretted the way things ended. "If only I were the empress" then she would make sure not to love the emperor. Everyone will be happy without dying.

When she opened her eyes, she returned back time before she became the Empress. In order to prevent a recurrence of the tragedies of her past life, Tricia makes a final decision: "I will become the queen instead of you." Can Tricia, who became an empress, live a happy life?

WHY YOU SHOULD READ:

- rewind type of story

- plot = 4/5

- art = 3/5

- the mc is very loving towards her loved one especially her sister but she also knows how to be bad

- more than a romance

- no ml but i think the emperor is the ml basing on the story BUT he’s trash so not considered

- strong independent women? check

- p o l i t i c s 

- cunning and smart mc? check

- ngl but i’m only reading this because i want vengenace against the emperor for what he did to the mc’s sister/family

- villain is effective you’d want to kill her yourself

- to conclude: one of the stories that will make you care less for romance or ml because the progress/plot will make you just want the mc to be the ruler of all. the mc is strong independent and the villains are great

Your Throne

Summary:

Tensions are brewing under the seemingly calm surface of the Vasilios Empire, a kingdom ruled by the Imperial Family and the Temple. Lady Medea Solon has lost her place next to Crown Prince Eros, but resolves to do whatever it will take to win back what's rightfully hers. Will she reclaim her throne?

WHY YOU SHOULD READ:

- PLOT = 10/5

- art style = 4.5/5

- p o l i t i c s

- this is an anti-heroine type of story so to speak

- few chaps so i cant be sure but centers around two women 

- mc is very smart, cunning, manipulative and wicked that even the crown prince considers her as a threat

- mc is strong independent woman

- no clear mls but rest assured that this is more than that

- you’re gonna love how cunning they all are 

- m y s t e r y 

- concept is good too since soul/body switching is one of the theme (body switching between medea and psyche)

- helio is a cinnamon roll but can kill you

- to conclude: read bcuz this story is awesome and will make you want the women to stand up together!! you might even hate if they have endgame bcuz this is more than romance and it’s so interesting. more than the art style, the plot and characters themselves are all so freaking cunning that it’s hard not to love ((p.s: pls hate the crown prince like i do lmao))

19th Century Memoir

Summary:

Two siblings who were separated at a young age due to the death of their parents reunite again with many mysteries muddling their past.

WHY YOU SHOULD READ:

- plot is okay so 3/5

- art style = 2.5/5 i think the art style is okay but it’s not really my cup of tea hence the low score but if you like a unique and painting-ish (museum style) type of style then this is for you

- m y s t e r y 

- mc is pretty

- few chaps but promising

- to conclude: low on my list but the mystery will keep you going, the plot and art style are decent. 

Leaf Moon

Summary:

There were rumours going around about the mysterious encounters of two men.

WHY YOU SHOULD READ:

- the story is promising

- plot = 3/5 (to be fair, it has like few chaps only hence the low rate)

- art style = 3/5

- this story is brought back to life or to be more accurate time rewind type mc was killed but her husband and sacrifice?? sorry for the spoiler) :--( 

- one of the stories that will make you want to read even if there’s no romance involve

- more than a romance

- m y s t e r y

- to conclude: it has only a few chaps so i can’t say for sure but the start and the chapters are very promising. also, very mysterious bcuz no one knows what her then husband killed her and sacrifice her and also who saved her b

[tcplnyteens]

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

Yeah, I’m sure you’re stoked about this review. 

“What, you’re writing about a book we might have to read in school????” 

(Okay quick side rant: “school” as in “being taught a whole bunch of things when you're a specific age” isn’t really that bad, we are just told being smart isn’t cool and thus wanting to read or participate in things that are deemed “school related” is considered uncool, and that makes me mad because I learned some of the coolest stuff in school that I wouldn’t have had the motivation for otherwise..... Okay, rant over.) 

So yes, yes I am. There’s a reason for this. Jane Eyre is read in schools for the precise because it’s a classic, and it’s a classic for a reason, but it also brings up a lot of interesting topics. 

Jane Eyre finds her existence pretty miserable at 10 years old — pretty every orphan in 1800s England (Oliver Twist, anyone?) Her cruel aunt sends her away to a boarding school to live for the entire year. Here, life is just as miserable. The food is awful, the teachers are mean, the school is cold, and sickness comes and goes. Her miserable childhood morphs into a rather miserable young adulthood, until she makes up her mind to do something about it. She decides to use her learning and her knowledge to become a governess for a young French girl in a large English estate called Thornfield Hall. 

While teaching there, she (of course) has a dramatic meeting with the unmarried  master of the estate, Mr. Rochester. Throughout the months that follow, both begin a slow path into love. 

Something isn’t right at Thornfield Hall, however. Jane swears that some nights she hears haunting laugher echoing through the halls. Everyone at the manor tell her it is simply one of the servants, but Jane begins to suspect otherwise. 

There are several important, enduring themes throughout this book. For one, Jane’s quest throughout the book is one for love and belonging. However, her need for a family is tempered by her need for independence. She isn’t the typical 1800s woman when it comes to submission. She is willing to know what she wants and what boundaries she has, and she won't cross them for anyone. 

Another theme is Jane’s steadfast adherence to her morals. When she discovers something about Mr. Rochester that prevents her from marrying him, she refuses to become his mistress. She realizes that her dignity is more important than becoming mis mistress. In that time, Mr. Rochester could have simply turned her out on the street if he tired of her, and she believed that losing love was better than being treated like that. 

There is, however, one aspect that I don’t like about this book. The relationship between Mr. Rochester and Jane might seem to be an enduring love story at first glance, but to me it seems it hides something more sinister. The way that Mr. Rochester expresses his verbal love (and the way Jane requests that he expresses it) is in mild forms of verbal abuse. He sometimes calls her names, as well as insults her talents in certain areas. Perhaps this is all Jane knew, and that is why she was comfortable with this type of way of expressing love, but personally I find it sad. No one who claims to love another should express that love in mean and cruel ways. That isn’t love — it’s a form of mental abuse. 

For our modern minds, this book might seem a little backward, but trust me, for the time it was very forward thinking. Jane wants to be her own, independent woman, and is willing to let love go if it means she won’t achieve that. 

Well, what happens? Does Jane marry Mr. Rochester? What in the world is living in the attic at Thornfield Hall? Will everything work out for Jane or will she change one type of servitude for another? Read the book to find out! 

Happy reading! 

(And yes, this book is almost 600 pages long, but just wait ‘til I write about the Count of Monte Cristo!) 

~ Trispin

[altviktcrr]

『MAXENCE DANET-FAUVEL ❙ NONBINARY』 ⟿ looks like VIKTOR SAMUELS is here for HIS/THEIR SENIOR year as a VISUAL ARTS student. HE/THEY are 24 years old & known to be OBSERVANT, INGENIOUS, RETICENT & DEPENDENT. They’re living in NOLAND, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ JAMES. 20. EST. SHE/THEY.

hllo ,,, again ,,, this is my last child i SWEAR ,,, at least fr now ,,, hes also the most problematic one ,,, the most dramatic ,,, one of my absolute faves ,,, pleathe love him. as always if u wish to plot please like this so i can msg u !!!

TW DEATH, HEAVY GRIEF, OVERDOSE / DRUG ADDICTION, HOSPITALIZATION, HYPERSEXUALITY, RELIGION MENTIONS, MENTAL ILLNESS

aesthetic.

old tvs and their static, worn tapes, horror movie screams, spilled ink, a sculptor’s hands, clay-stained, chicken scratch handwriting, messy notes, messy hair, scoffs and eye-rolls, bruised knuckles, sore throats, funeral homes and a crying preacher, shattered ceramics, knife fights, high ledges, vertically-striped pants, red lights, the moon shrouded in clouds, cigarette butts, graveyards and half-empty wine bottles, sitting there for hours and talking to nothing, about nothing, a god complex, gold rings adorning both hands, barbwire baseball bats, having never played baseball in your life, deep eyebags and broken mirrors, a permanent chip on one’s shoulder, yearning, longing, wishing.

basic info.

full name: viktor phillip samuels

nickname(s): icky vicky :/

b.o.d. - jan 2nd

label(s): the black hole, the crepehanger, the impious, the opaque, the tempest, etc.

height: 6′1″

hometown: rochester, new york

sexuality: pansexual uwu

pinterest

stats

inspired by: beetlejuice (beetlejuice), sid (toy story), jack sparrow (pirates of the caribbean), francis wilkerson (malcolm in the middle), azula (avatar: the last airbender), vicky (the fairly oddparents), stu macher / billy loomis (scream), marshall lee (adventure time), bojack horseman (bojack horseman), any it’s always sunny character :/

biography.

born to mama and papa (preacher) samuels in rochester, new york - fifteen minutes after his twin sister, tatiana samuels. years later, rosa samuels joined the gang. 

was an awkward, quiet kid growing up, he didn’t interact well with others and preferred being left alone to dig up worms and draw on the walls of their childhood home. the only exception was his twin, really.

as he got older he grew out of this, but instead became like ... sort of an asshole? maybe to compensate for years of childhood awkwardness. he’s the sort of person who will bite the hand that feeds him & developed into a full time nuisance by middle school, unlike tatiana who was much more subtle about her conniving manners.

always has been a fan of ‘darker’ materials. grim & creepy morbid shit. probably the biggest tim burton fan, ever since he was a kid ... not a good look for a preacher’s son, but he never really felt ‘in’ with the rest of his family to begin with. classic black sheep syndrome.

drew disturbing pictures as a kid that probably prompted one or two or five phone calls home to assure everything was fine. 

just really had a knack for art at a young age, from drawing to painting to playing with clay. it’s always been his Thing and probably is the only thing he’s good at.

being twins with tatiana was hard. they were near opposite besides both being quite mean-spirited. tatiana handled being in public better, left a better image behind - but viktor had talent, more than she did. they loved each other deeply - y’know, those unbreakable twin bonds as cliche as it sounds - but found each other as competition for their parents’ attention. a rivalry for affection.

in high school is when viktor really started to act out. it started extreme, like losing his virginity in their church and vandalism around the neighborhoods. faked being possessed in the middle of sunday service & almost had an exorcism performed on him.

his only redeemable trait was like ... just his sheer talent in the arts. was in a 3D art AP course and specialized in sculptures. he could pretty much create anything he wanted with enough dedication.

because he was the problem child, the one who deserved to be disciplined for all his antics, tatiana could sneak away and get away with whatever she wanted much easier. on the bright-side, for her, i guess.

not a very motivated person - wasn’t planning on going to college, much less going to radcliffe but his parents literally wrote & sent his college application for him because they weren’t going to house a deadbeat but had too much heart to kick him out onto the streets. cool!

he’s actually pretty smart but he just doesn’t apply himself. has a minor in english because he didn’t care for an extra course-load, but he’s good at writing & analyzing literature. is going to use it to write and illustrate his own series of children books with a style similar to tim burton’s. not for the kids, but because he likes to leave a trail of terror in whatever he does.

has been experimenting with himself since high school but college is where he really had started to crack down on himself. was out as pansexual & nonbinary by his sophomore year of college just ... not to his parents, who don’t really need to know. 

if you asked him if he believed in twins having a psychic connection with each other - he’d tell you he wouldn’t know. it felt believable at times, but sometimes he had no idea what was going on inside of tatiana’as head. on the other hand - viktor had always felt oddly transparent to her, like she knew all of his moves before he did. the only person who could predict him accurately.

( TW DEATH, GRIEF, OVERDOSE / HOSPITALIZATION BEYOND THIS POINT )

when tatiana disappeared, viktor knew something was up. it was a twist in his gut, pure instinct that something wasn’t right. and it wasn’t right - and when she was proclaimed missing, they couldn’t find her.

and when tatiana died - viktor knew. it felt wrong, something cut so severely in him he could pinpoint her death to the second. he didn’t know how, or why, but he knew it. knew it before anybody else had.

afterwards he went on a sort of bender. he’d begun to struggle with a mild drug addiction late senior year of high school / early college, but he was managing it up until this point. 

his mental health had also sunk to an all-time low, when it’d never been great to begin with. (manic & depressive episodes. once fixated on a sculpting project for six months and then knocked it off the table and destroyed it as soon as he finished it for no apparent reason.)

tatiana’s body wasn’t found immediately, and when it was ... viktor went off the rails. ended up overdosing & being hospitalized. spent six months in & out of psychiatric care after that.

came back to radcliffe to finish his senior year because ... for the reasons above, he hadn’t been able to complete it. just wants to get his credits and get out of here.

is still dealing with a lot of trauma & grief, especially since the one year anniversary of tatiana’s death was this month (january) - causes him to spiral and be unpredictable in regards of his mental health. he stopped taking his medication, so. :/ some days are alright, other days are pretty bad.

personality.

the human embodiment of a gremlin that was fed after midnight. a goblin, if you will. one of those cats with a narrow head and really big ears ... that’s them!

a big horror & halloween enthusiast. loves the old campy horror movies & probably has an abundance of masks from different movies. dresses like a grimy millennial beetlejuice more than they should because they just ... love those black & white vertical-striped pants. 

can appreciate the lore & cryptids at radcliffe and likes to feed into the fear that surrounds them. is probably the cause of a few ‘anomalies’ and ‘paranormal sightings’ because they’re just ... a jerk.

fashion alternates between e-boy (they would be tiktok famous if they were 17 & didn’t think that a majorly minor based app was weird.), millennial beetlejuice, and goth in a crop top & sweatpants. big fan of crop tops and a big fan of sweatpants. 

they can be really fucking mean? petty, aggressive, a major instigator. will literally spit in your face for little to no reason, you could just look at them the wrong way. the kind of person who will stick their gum into someone else’s hair. other than that? they’re like ... sort of okay. they’re not always mean, just a dick about 90% of the time lmao

like okay yeah they’ll call someone a stinky bitch for no reason except they feel like it and believes it. it’s fine, they’re fine, we’re fine.

despite the fact that they’re probably getting into a fight whenever, considers themself to be a lover and not a fighter but that’a primarily because they fuck a lot. uses it as a coping mechanism, like they’re this big fancy carnival show that’s like ‘come one, come all! fuck the dead girl’s twin brother!’ and it’s ... a Lot. might have a problem with hypsersexuality but they’re not fully aware of it. 

the preacher’s whore son, basically :)

pansexual & nonbinary, switches between he & they pronouns often and without a pattern, but they have such a fragile grip on their identity that you could call them ‘dog-faced bitch’ and they’d turn around like. sup.

vastly impulsive ... like i said, they destroy their own creations for the fun of it. spends all teir money on useless shit, will cheat on someone because they feel like it & likes the thrill, screams into the night sky frequently like a cat in heat.

will also spend months creating useless shit for no reason too. spent six of them sculpting a hollowed out tree the size of them & then took a sledgehammer to it.

they’re very super dramatic. would play the organ at church when nobody was looking after them and service was about to start. would just churn out these super haunting, creepy melodies like they were phantom of the opera. would do the same exact thing at home on their keyboard with the pipe organ setting whenever they got grounded until their parents took it away HBDSJFNGKH

will absolutely not talk about their ‘time away’ because it’s not anyone’s business, not even their own younger sister. still refuses to talk about tatiana’s death, or their mental health, or their addiction (fallen back into it but it hasn’t gotten severe ... yet :/), or anything involving their own emotions.

will just change the topic abruptly, no warning. asks about the jonas brothers instead and they fucking hate the jonas brothers.

that being said they’re absolutely not over tatiana’s death & it’s to the point of obsession over it. like there’s some kind of secret that needs to be uncovered, even though there just. isn’t. tatiana was their rock and they were pretty much dependent on her. kept them grounded. could control them when nobody else could, got into their head easier than others. it’s sort of like rosa lost two siblings that day because viktor hasn’t been the same since.

emotionally unavailable while also crying twice a day. cries during their brawls but still wins. is stony-faced when they tell you they cheated on you with your much hotter best friend.

will tell you straight up what they want from you, no bullshit & no beating around the bush. just blunt. if they want to fuck, nothing else, then that’s it. if they feel deviation or developing feelings then they’ll ghost in less than a second. is awful like that but feels no shame.

but also emotional as shit and it’s confusing. will cry on a whim and then flip you off if you try to console them or ask them what’s up. will bite you.

they go to therapy but they just fuck around and wastes their therapists’ time ... also is fucking their therapist, but that’s neither here nor there. so they’re not really getting the help they need.

likes to be intimidating but not ... with their body or anything because they’re a TWIG but uses their love & knowledge of horror and creepy shit to their advantage. has an abundance of fake blood. has channeled the energy of jack nicholson and used it on tatiana’s boyfriends before (also is a big fan of sfx makeup & has dabbled in it)

probably chases kids around with a chainsaw without the chain on halloween every year.

generally never doing good, both mental health wise & morally. would probably steal candy from a baby for funsies.

i don’t know if there’s a good to them somewhere deep down, but they don’t see any issues with themself either. nothing really breaks through to them anymore because the only person who ever made them stop and think about their actions was tatiana, and well, y’know. :/

an introverted reclusive type who doesn’t like most people or going out, but does so anyway if it means a quick high & a cheap thrill.

pretty observant and likes to analyze people even though they’re often like ... partially wrong. judgmental because they like to make people feel bad, not because they’re a righteous mighty person. because they’re not. so like, a hypocrite!

wanted connections.

a roommate... but it’s an absolute nightmare to live with him.

enemies... because viktor would have a lot of them...

familiar faces... people who knew tatiana or of her / were her friends. maybe even those who dated her, and who viktor would’ve tried to intimidate / scare at any given chance :/

pitiful glances... people who take pity on viktor and he hates it sooo much.

hooligan gremlin kids... just a friend group of grown ass adults who do drugs and fuck shit up around town like they’re edgy teenagers.

high school girlfriend... probably the one he lost his virginity to inside his family church :/

childhood acquaintances... people who knew him from his youth.

exes... good & bad terms, but mostly bad terms because viktor is an actual demon. probably cheated on them.

soft... i don’t know if he’s soft towards anyone and/or is capable of it but we can try. we can try.

unrequited... either viktor just doesn’t like them or he’s holding back because he’s :/ got issues with relationships & is self-sabotaging as one does

enemies with Tension... of the ... spicy kind if you know what i mean. wink.

friends... old friends, new friends, bad friends, good friends, close friends, frenemies, etc. i don’t know how many he had but if your muse likes to cause a ruckus and fuck shit up then viktor’s your man.

hook-ups... current or old. friends with benefits, one night stands, anything and everything because he fucks around a lot.

ride or die... friendship but make it extreme.

bad influence... he’s just toxic to be around and brings out the worst in people :/

bad egg... he’s gotten into a few fights :/ maybe you witnessed it. maybe you were in it.

literally anything i wld love all sorts of plots.

[archiefm]

         ... claws my way up from hell once more and vomits onto the dash.... hello. its nora. i used to write rory bergstrom, but if u were here before that u might remember me as greta or alma putnam or..... som1 else.... an endless carousel of trash children..... this is finn, who i actually wrote for an early version of this rp abt 5yrs back now...... grits teeth..... so forgive me if im rusty i havent written him in a long time but seein honey boy gave me a lotta finn muse n im keen to get Back On The Horse yeehaww...

DYLAN O’BRIEN / CIS-MALE — don’t look now, but is that finn o’callaghan i see? the 25 year old criminology and forensic studies student is in their graduate year of study year and he is a rochester alum. i hear they can be judicious, adroit, morose and cynical, so maybe keep that in mind. i bet he will make a name for themselves living off-campus. ( nora. 24. gmt. she/her )

shakes my tin can a humble pinterest, ma’am....

finn has a bio pasted at the bottom (n written in like.... 2015.... gross) but it’s long  so if u don’t wanna read it here’s the sparknotes summary..... anyway this was written years ago n a lot of it seems really cliche and lame now but..... we accept the trash we think we deserve

grumpy, ugly sweater wearing, tech-savvy grandpa

very dry sense of humour and embraces nihilism. 

if ron swanson and april ludgate had a baby it would be finn

he was raised in derry, just south of dublin.

from a big family. elder sister called sinead. he also has a younger sister (aoife), a younger brother (colm), and a collie named lassie because his father lovs cliches (finn hates cliches but loves his dog). 

his father was a pub landlord and his mother worked at the market sellin fruit n veg when they met but got a job as a medical receptionist when she had kids cos it meant she cld be there with them in the day and work nights.

his parents met when they were p young and fiesty and rushed into marriage cos they were catholic n just wanted to have sex. his family were literally dirt-poor, but they had a lot of love i guess

hmmmmm his relationship w his father wasn’t the best cos i can’t write character who have healthy relationships w their parents throws up a peace sign. yh, had a pretty emotionally distant, alcoholic violent father n so gets a lot of his bad habits i.e. drinking as a coping mechanism and poor anger management from him BUT anyway

as a kid he was never very motivated in class, he always had a nervous itch to be off somewhere doing something else. struggled under government austerity bcso there just wasn’t the resources to support low income families where the kids had learning difficulties n needed support. fuck the tories am i right 

his mum suggested he try sports to help w his restless energy but he was never any good at football so he took up boxing and tap dance instead. he took to tap dancing like a fish to fuckin water. as adhd n found this as a really good way to use his excess energy in a creative way

had a few run ins with the police in his early teens for spray painting and graffiti, but he straightened himself out n now actually considering becoming a detective inspector??? cops are pigs.

he had a youtube channel where he posted videos of him tapdancing and breakdancing as a kid, basically would be a tiktok boy nowadays, n had like... a small fanbase in his early teens. attended several open auditions unsuccessfully, until he was finally cast in billy eliot when he was fifteen.

during billy eliot he began dating an italian dancer called nina. they became dance partners soon after and toured across the republic with various different shows (inc riverdance lol the classic irish stereotype). their relationship was p toxic tbh, they were both very hot tempered people and just used to argue and fight all the time.

he went semi-pro at tap dancing, and nina couldn’t stand being second best so she moved back to italy with her family. ignored his texts, phone calls, etc, eventually he was driven to the point where he used his savings to buy a plane ticket, showed up at her house and she was like wtf?? freaked out and filed a restraining order accusing him of stalking.

he was fined for harassment and then returned home to derry, but after the incident with nina he quit dancing for good and finished his leaving cert before heading to university in the US to get as far away from nina and his past life as poss. and basically since he quit dancing to study forensics (death kink. finn cant get enough of that morgue. just walks around sayin beat u) he’s become a massive grump and jsut doesn’t see the good in people any more.

u’ll find finn in an old man bar drinking whiskey bc he is in fact an old man at heart or sat on his roof smoking a joint, drawing wolves and lions and skeletons and shit, playing call of duty or getting blazed or at the corner of the room in a house party ignoring everyone and scrolling through twitter. is a massive e-boy. always up-to-date on memes and internet slang. has reddit as an app on his phone

not very good at communication. rather than solve his issues by talking, he’d prefer to just solve them through fighting or running away from his problems hence why he has come halfway across the world to get away from an issue which probs cld have been solved w a few apology emails.

takes a lot to phase him, but when his beserk button gets pressed he can become a bit pugnacious like an angry lil rottweiler. in his undergrad he was in a few fist fights but doesn’t really do tht any more as he doesn’t condone violence.

 in the previous version of this rp he was hospitalised like 5 times. pls, give my son a break. stop tryin to kill him. he literaly got a bottle smashed over his head and bled out all over his favourite angora rug that was the only light of his life

works at the campus coffee shop n always whines about how he’s a slave to capitalism. always smells of coffee

lives off campus with an elderly woman named Marianne, and basically gets reduced rent bcos he makes her dinner / keeps her company. they have a great bond

fan of karl marx. v big on socialism

insomniac with chronic nosebleeds

cynical about everything. too much of a fight club character 4 his own good n has his head up tyler durden’s sphincter

always confused or annoyed

statistics

basic information

full name: finnegan seamus o'callaghan nickname(s): finn age: 25 astrological sign: aries hometown: derry, ireland occupation: phd student / former street entertainer fatal flaw: cynicism positives: self-reliant, street smart, relaxed, intelligent, spontaneous, brave, independent, reliable, trustworthy, loyal. negatives: hostile, impulsive, stubborn, brooding, pugnacious, untrusting, cynical, enigmatic, reserved.

physical

colouring: medium hair colour: dark brown, almost black eye colour: brown height: 5’9” weight: 69kg build: tall, athletic voice: subtle irish accent, low, smooth. dominant hand: left scar(s): one on the left side of his ribs from a knife wound that he doesn’t remember getting cos he was drunk distinguishing marks: freckles, tattoo of a wolf howling at a moon allergies: pollen and the full spectrum of human emotion alcohol tolerance: high drunken behaviour: he becomes friendlier, far more conversational than when sober, flirtier, and generally more self-confident.

psychological

dreams/goals: self-fulfilment, travel the globe, experience life in its most alive and technicoloured version, make documentary films, help the vulnerable in society, grow as a human being.

skills: jack-of-all-trades, very fast runner, good at thieving things, talented tap dancer, good in crisis situations, dab-hand at mechanics, musically-intelligent, can throw a mean right hook and very capable of defending himself, can roll a cigarette, memorises quotes and passages of literature with ease, can light a match with his teeth.

likes: the smell of the earth after rain, poetry, cigarettes, shakespeare, whiskey, tattoos, travelling, ac/dc, deep conversations, leather jackets, open spaces, the smell of petrol, early noughties ‘emo phase’ anthems.

dislikes:  the government, parties, rules, donald trump, children, apple products, weddings, people in general, small talk, dependency, loneliness, pop music, public transport, justin timberlake, uncertainty.fears: fear itself, drowning alignment: true neutral mbti: istp – “while their mechanical tendencies can make them appear simple at a glance, istps are actually quite enigmatic. friendly but very private, calm but suddenly spontaneous, extremely curious but unable to stay focused on formal studies, istp personalities can be a challenge to predict, even by their friends and loved ones. istps can seem very loyal and steady for a while, but they tend to build up a store of impulsive energy that explodes without warning, taking their interests in bold new directions.” (via 16personalities.com)

full bio (lame as fuck written years ago..... pleathe...)

tw homophobia

born in quigley’s pub on the backstreets of sunny dublin, young finnegan o'callaghan was thrown kicking and screaming into the rowdy suburbs of irish drinking culture. the son of a landlord and a fishwife, he never had much in the way of earnings, but there was never a dull moment in his lively estate, where asbo’s thrived, but community spirit conquered. at school, finn was pegged as lazy and unmotivated, though truly his dyslexia made it hard for the boy to learn in the same environment of his peers and only made him more closed-off in class. struggling with anger management, finn moved from school to school, unable to fit the cookie-cutter mould that school enforced on him, though whilst academic studies were of little interest to the boy, he soon found his true passions lay in recreational activities. immersed into the joys of sport from as young as four, finn was an ardent munster fan and anticipated nothing more than the day he could finally fit into his brother’s old pair of rugby boots.

his calling finally came unexpectedly, not in the form of rugger, but through dance. to learn to express himself in a non-academic way, he began tap dancing, finding therapy in the beat of his soles against the cracked kitchen tiles (much to his mother’s disgrace). it wasn’t a conscious choice, finn just realised one day that dance was something that made him feel. a king of the streets, finn made his fortune on those cobbled pavements – dancing and drawing to earn his keep. by default, finn became a street artist, each penny he earned from his chalk drawings saved in a jam jar towards buying his first pair of tap shoes. though many of his less-than-amiable neighbours called him a nancy and a gaybo, finn refused to quit at his somewhat ‘unconventional’ hobby, for the young scrapper found energy, life, and released anger through the rhythm of tap. soon he branched out into street dance, hip hop, break dancing, lyrical, his days spent smacking his scuffed feet against the broken patio into the night.

when he was thirteen he took up boxing, and as expected, his newfound ‘macho’ pastime conflicted with his dancing. the boxers called him ‘soft’; the dancers called him ‘inelegant’. he felt like two different people; having to choose between interests was like being handed a knife and asked to which half of himself he wished to cut away. he couldn’t afford professional training in dance, with most schools based in england and limited scholarships available. instead, he made the street his studio, racking up a small fanbase on youtube. when he was fifteen he made his debut in billy eliot at the olympia theatre in dublin. enter nina de souza, talented, beautiful and italian; ballet dancer, operatic singer, genius whiz kid, and spoiled brat. she was selfish, conceited, hell bent on getting her own way, and every director’s nightmare. finn fell for her like a house of cards. he’d always had a soft spot for girls who meant trouble. and so their hellish courtship began.

by the time they were seventeen, the two young swans had danced in every playhouse across the republic. they were known in theatres across the country for their tempestuous personalities, their raging arguments with one another, their tendency to drop out of shows altogether without any notice, yet the money kept rolling in and the audiences continued to grow. for three years, their families continued to put up with their hysterical fights followed by passionate reconciliations. he was too possessive, and she was too wild. their carcrash of a relationship finally came to a catastrophic halt when nina broke off the whole affair and returned to italy with her family. for months finn tried to contact her, yet his phone calls, texts, facebook messages were always ignored, until finally he was driven to drastic measures and used his savings to get a plane to her home town. when finn turned up uninvited at nina’s house she freaked out – and rightly so – she contacted her agent, accused him of stalking her, and had a restraining order placed against him. finn was arrested, held in a station overnight, and charged with harassment before he was allowed to return to dublin.

after the incident with nina, finn lost the fight in his eyes. he became far more hostile, far less likely to retaliate with his own fists, and picked fights not for the thrill of feeling his own fists pummel another into a wall, but for the sensation of his own brittle bones cracking. he dropped his tap shoes in a dumpster, stopped talking to his friends, followed his father’s advice and went back to school to complete his leaving certificate. a few short months later, and finn was packing his bags, saying his bittersweet goodbyes, and travelling half-way across the globe to be as far away as possible from his past self, his mess of a life, and most of all nina. it seemed somehow ironic that the boy who had been cautioned by the garda so much during his youth for spray painting, busking without a liscence, and raucous parties would become the grumpy, aloof overseas student studying a degree in criminology; that his once reckless spirit could be crushed so easily. 

of all things that finn could be called, straightforward would never be one of them. ever since his first days in atticus, the boy was pegged as hostile, hot-headed, cynical, rude. he seemed to spend more time in his thoughts than engaging in conversation. like a ticking time-bomb, finn’s anger was of the calm kind, liable to explode without a moment’s noticed. his unpredictable personality make him something of an enigma to those who aren’t amiable with the lad, though hostile as he may appear, he harvests a good heart. loyalty lies at the centre of his affections, and whilst his friends are few in number, he makes a lifelong partner. somewhere within finn, there’s still some fight left, but mostly he has recognised that his hedonistic lifestyle did little to leave him fulfilled – mostly, it just emptied him out – and over his three years at university has resigned himself to a nihilistic predicament.

        if u wanna plot with me pls pls pls im me or like this post!! i am always game for plots i love em so excited to write with you all here r some ideas

study buddies. finn is now a phd student so has to start takin shit seriously. he gon be in the library every day doing that independent study. if he had ppl who were also regular library goers n they get each other coffees to save time.... tht wld be sweet

ppl who love techno dj sets and going super hard on the weekends!!! fuck yea

friends with benefits. exes on bad terms. ppl he tried to date but couldnt because he’s always emotionally hung up on someone else. spicy hook up plots

ppl he met touring?? maybe ppl who were also in the entertainment industry..... anyone got a character who is ex circus hit me up

does anyone else study criminology / forensics / criminal psych / law? phd students sometimes lecture so he cld be an assistant lecturer / tutor if ur character is in a younger year

gamers !!! social recluses !!! hermits !!

finn goes to the skatepark and all the young boys there think he’s a gradnpa which he is! 

[bittysvalentines]

Loose Lips Sail Ships

From: @missweber (Sophia_Prester on AO3)

To: @ellieotbelle Pairing: Bob Zimmermann/Alicia Zimmermann Tags: Meet cute, pining, spoilers for Jane Eyre, accidentally getting stoned, mild second-hand embarrassment, Bob is a doofus, honestly Alicia is the brains in the family Summary: Bob has a crush on a beautiful actress, but there's no way she would be interested in him, so there's no point in trying to do anything about it, right?

Bob was in love.

Well, it was something akin to 'in love'. Kind of. Maybe.

A few (okay, several) dramatically bad breakups had taught him that you had to know someone before you could say you were in love with them, and seeing someone interviewed on a stupid talk show while you were stuck at home on injured reserve in no way counted as knowing.

So maybe it was fair to say that he was primed to fall in love with Alicia Andersen if he ever got the chance to meet her and she didn't turn out to be one of those people who was actually horrible once you got to know them.

Somehow, he doubted this would be the case. He wasn't a rookie any more, and he had learned from several (okay, many) dramatically bad breakups to spot the more obvious red flags.

The problem was, he wasn't sure how he would ever get the chance to actually meet her.

In theory, it shouldn't be difficult. He was Bad Bob Zimmermann, damn it, and he had met plenty of other celebrities at parties, charity events, and the occasional nightclub. In fact, many of these meetings were precursors to a number (a lot) of dramatically bad breakups.

Maybe it was a good thing that everything he read about Alicia Andersen (it was a dark day when Mario found out he had bought an issue of Vogue just because she was on the cover) said she wasn't much of a party person.

Maybe he could meet her at some charity gala, because she did occasionally go to those (she was particularly vocal about funding AIDS research), but she was always quick to state in interviews that her idea of a perfect evening was sitting at home reading or running lines for whatever play she was obsessed with at the moment.

When his thoughts turned in those directions, he realized that a jock with a playboy reputation might not merit a second thought from her. It was one reason why he brushed off Mario's suggestion of having his agent call her agent and arrange something.

Another reason was that the whole idea sounded kind of gross.

No, it sounded really gross. One part presumptuous and one part transactional and one hundred percent slimy. If he tried something like that, Alicia would probably have him burned in effigy before efficiently trashing what was left of his reputation.

"Or get yourself booked as a guest judge on one of those stupid shows, or volunteer to help co-host something," Mario suggested after Bob explained his reluctance. "It worked for Wayne, didn't it? What's the worst that could happen?"

The worst that could happen was that the divine Ms. Anderson, a woman who probably knew all the plays of Shakespeare and all the novels of Jane Austen by heart, would have little use for a man who once bragged on camera that he technically hadn't graduated high school because he kept skipping art class to practice his slap shot.

"I'll think about it," he said, privately deciding that it was safer not to take the risk. Not taking a risk meant not looking foolish. It meant not getting shot down, possibly in public.

Or worse, she could shoot him down in private and be nice about it.

He wouldn't try to get in touch with her, and that was that.

* * *

Bob almost changed his mind a few times.

The first was after the whole Danielle incident, the first breakup in a long time that wasn't dramatically bad only because she dumped him halfway through the first date.

"Bob, this has been fun, but... no it hasn't, because the whole time I've been sitting here, it's been clear you were wishing I was someone else." She got up from the table, all long legs and perfect hair and... well, he didn't really know much about her other than that, and didn't that say something?

(It did, and it wasn't good.)

She left the restaurant before he could apologize and before the waiter arrived with the very hefty bill. He hated to admit it, but she had been right.

Bob got as far as rehearsing how he would bring up the subject with his agent before he told himself not to be stupid.

The second time was because he went to see Alicia's the latest movie even though it wasn't the sort of thing he would normally go see, given that it was based on a book he'd only pretended to read back in high school.

He was sneaky about going to the theater, sneaky enough that the other guys chirped him about being desperate enough to go to a strip club, but a few pointed hip checks during practice put an end to that.

The truth was, he almost snuck out shortly after he snuck in, because to his surprise and displeasure, Alicia Andersen was not playing the lead role. Some other actress had the role of Jane Eyre, and given the movie's nearly three-hour running time, whoever Alicia was playing might not be around for a while.

But then Jane's shitty aunt sent her to that shitty school, and her friend got sick, and crisse, the poor kid died?

Well, he couldn't leave now. He had to stick around long enough to make sure Jane was going to be okay.

His first impression of Rochester was that the man deserved to be slammed into the boards, hard. Slew-footing was also an option.

By the time it was clear that something strange and unwholesome was going on in the attics of Thornfield, Bob was so caught up in the story that he almost forgot why he wanted to see the movie in the first place.

And then, there she was.

He didn't recognize her at first. She was wild-haired and wild-eyed, barely visible in candlelight as she threatened Jane (who deserved so, so much better) with a knife.

By the time the truth came out about the madwoman locked away in the attic (and seriously, what the actual fucking fuck??) Bob was of the opinion that the first Mrs. Rochester deserved a hell of a lot better, too.

It wasn't anything like the glamorous roles Alicia Andersen usually took, and she was only on screen for maybe fifteen minutes, tops, but Bob thought it was the best thing she had done, ever.

When she was nominated for Best Supporting Actress, he felt just as smug as when his pet rookie got nominated for the Calder last year, and it took every bit of willpower he had not to ask his agent to forward his congratulations to her agent.

Every bit.

The third time was a week later, on his birthday. He was sulking in the press box, serving the first of a two game suspension (on his birthday!) for beating the crap out of a highly deserving Cam Neely (so yeah, he was carrying a little bit of a hate-on for the Bruins from his Habs days) and feeling more than a little sorry for himself.

He wanted someone to talk to who wasn't a part of his team, or his support staff. He wanted to talk to someone who wasn't part of hockey, and wasn't that a new feeling?

It would just take a call, and then a follow up call, and he deserved to have something nice on his birthday, didn't he?

But it would be kind of creepy to call her out of the blue like that, wouldn't it?

He didn't call. And if he didn't call, she couldn't say no.

* * *

In the end, it was the pills that did it.

At least, that was what he maintained the next day, the day after that, and every time he told the story in years to come.

The Pens were in New York for three days. The trip had a game against the Rangers on one end, a game against the Islanders on the other, and Valentine's Day smack in the middle. A lot of the guys who were married or who had a serious girlfriend had big plans for the night, and PR and the press were all over it.

More specifically, they were all over him. Bob's nickname wasn't just because of his reputation for starting fights. He was also known for leaving a string of broken hearted girlfriends behind (which wasn't fair, as he usually wasn't the one doing the leaving).

The nonsense started even before the first game.

"So, Bob. You have any big plans for tomorrow with a special someone?"

"No. I'm looking forward to a good night of rest between games."

He fielded a few questions about his thoughts on facing off against Marcel Dionne before it started again with another reporter.

"I heard a rumor that maybe you and Christy Tur -"

"Ha ha. No."

And then another reporter.

"You can't tell me that Bad Bob Zimmermann doesn't have a hot - "

"Oh, yes, I can!"

And then another.

"I'm sure it wouldn't be hard for you to pick up some pretty young - "

At this point, Mario frog-marched him to the visitors' locker room because PR had declared that him literally growling and baring his teeth at reporters did little to 'foster a productive relationship with the press corps.'

It was a good game from a team perspective, and the win was needed if they wanted to secure a playoff position. It wasn't so good from a Zimmermann perspective, because a pileup early in the third period tweaked his back enough that he needed help getting off the ice.

The only saving grace was that he didn't blow his point streak and the back thing seemed to be just muscle strain.

"We'll put you down as a game-day decision for the Islanders," the team doctor said. "If you can get some rest tonight and tomorrow, you'll probably be okay. The trick is getting it so you can relax."

The doctor handed Bob a small pill bottle with what sounded like two pills inside it. Bob fiddled with the child-proof cap while the doctor explained what to do with alternating heat and ice. "In there is some pain medication and a muscle relaxer. Go ahead and take them - "

Bob got the cap off and tossed the pills back without benefit of water.

" - when you get back to the hotel," the doctor finished with a sigh. "Just make sure you have someone with you until you get back to your room."

The one good thing about getting injured was that it got him out of doing press. One of the rookies got assigned to accompany him back to the hotel while everyone else went out to celebrate the win.

Any other time, Bob might have felt sad about missing out, but by the time their cab got them back to the hotel, he wasn't feeling sad about anything.

He was one of the best damn hockey players in the world, he loved his team (he really did, he told the rookie - whatever his name was - he really, really did) and he loved New York City, and tomorrow was Valentine's Day, and there was something important, something important he was supposed to do or say...

Oh! And here was this nice person with a tape recorder and his friend with a camera asking him about his Valentine's plans. How nice!

"I don't have any," he told the men, once he remembered that he should speak English. He swatted at the rookie, who kept on trying to interrupt them for some reason. "Nope. No plans. Not for me. But there's someone I would love to have plans with."

The bubble of happiness that had formed around him ebbed for a moment. He didn't have plans with her, and he doubted she'd want to have plans with him, and it was so sad that he just had to tell someone about it.

So, when the nice men asked him who that someone was, he told them.

* * *

Later, Bob wouldn't be able to say for sure what restaurant it was. He would remember the white tablecloths and romantic lighting and how his custom-tailored suit still didn't feel swanky enough for this kind of place and how his stomach tried to turn itself inside-out with terror.

Most of all, he would remember the tripping, tumbling beat of his heart as Alicia Andersen walked into the restaurant and stopped to talk to the hostess.

Film could never do justice to the gold of her hair, or the soft blue of her dress, which looked like it had been pulled down from the summer sky. The hostess nodded at her and then led her straight back. To him.

Bob staggered to his feet, and failed to bite back a curse when his back twinged. It was loud enough that a nearby couple glared at him, and Alicia raised an eyebrow.

Oh, this was getting off to a great start.

He hurried to help her with her chair even though his back protested. "I am so, so sorry about this."

She gave him a polite and questioning little smile, but said nothing.

"In my defense, not that I'm trying to excuse what I did, I had just taken a muscle relaxer and a pain pill?" He tried giving her a charming smile, remembering just a second too late that he was waiting for the off season to do something about that missing incisor. He tried for a closed-lipped smolder instead. "I didn't remember saying anything to that reporter until my agent and the head of our PR team both showed up in my hotel room to yell at me this morning. Actually, I still don't remember saying it."

The shift in her facial expression was subtle, but telling. It was the sort of thing that she'd used to tell the audience so much about the first Mrs. Rochester before she even uttered a word. She wasn't happy, but it was a different kind of not-happy than he would have expected from a woman who was probably badgered by her publicity team to go on a date she probably didn't want.

"Are you saying that you didn't really want to spend Valentine's Day with me?"

For one crazy moment, Bob thought irony had struck in his favor, and she had been pining after him like he had been pining after her. But no, she was just curious.

"Ouais, I wanted to very much, but only if it was something you wanted, too."

The brief lapse into French got a flicker of a smile. "The fact that your agent told mine you would understand if I didn't want to go to dinner was one reason I did want to go."

"What was the other reason?"

Alicia rolled her eyes and propped her chin in one hand. "My agent wants to drum up a bit more publicity for my latest movie. Classic case of good critical reception but slow box office."

"What? Even with your Oscar nomination? Euh, I should have said congratulations earlier. Sorry."

She laughed, but it was kind, not mocking. He wanted to hear it again. "You really are Canadian, aren't you? But thank you. I'm delighted about the nomination, but best supporting actress isn't as much of a draw as best picture. I'd give up my own nomination in a heartbeat if we could have gotten that one instead."

"That's right. You were co-producer on that, weren't you?"

The look he got was one of unguarded, unfiltered surprise.

"It was one of the best movies I saw in a long time, even though I was disappointed at first you weren't playing Jane. But that twist about the first Mrs. Rochester... " He whistled low and shook his head. "I honestly had no idea that was coming. And I love how even though you didn't have many lines, you could tell this woman had a whole life before that crosseur Rochester wrecked it all. Euh, are you all right?"

Her jaw had dropped, but it shifted into a smile that started in her eyes. "Oh, yes. I was hoping people would get that from my performance. But you really had no idea about the madwoman in the attic? I assumed everyone who went to see the movie would already know the story."

"Alas, I am but an illiterate goon," he said, raising his wine glass in a mock toast. "I only went to see the movie because this hot actress had a supporting role."

He wasn't sure, but he thought her foot might have bumped against his.

"You know, I normally don't like it when men comment on my looks, but from you, I find I don't mind. Now isn't that funny?"

Bob forgot how to breathe.

"So, you'd been wanting to ask me out for a while, but you had to wait until you were loopy on pain pills to do anything about it. Why?"

There were so many things he could say about being respectful and not a creep, and while these things were true, they weren't the most true.

"I was afraid you'd say no," he said quietly.

"But I maybe I would say yes. And you would never know."

Bob huffed out a laugh. "That reminds me of something my friend Wayne said."

"Oh, is Wayne a smart guy?"

Bob waggled his hand. "He has his moments. So will you?"

"Will I what?"

Her hand was on the table within easy reaching distance. He slid his hand towards hers, waiting for a signal that he had gotten this wrong.

"Say yes?"

She raised an eyebrow, but this time he saw the humor behind it. He placed his hand on hers, and the world tipped on its axis when she turned her hand over and gave a gentle squeeze.

"Well, you'll just have to ask to find out, won't you?"

He would.

He took a deep breath, and he took the shot.

She said yes.

[katehuntington]

Title: Changes - part five Word count: ±4000 words Summary “Changes”: Huntress Zoë Sullivan (OFC) crosses paths and swords with the Winchesters, when the brothers stumble on a case she’s already working. When complications arise, they are forced to work together. Summary part five: While Dean catches up on some sleep after being shot, Sam goes over Zoë’s research, curious to find out more about the case and the intriguing huntress. A whole lot more is revealed, however, once Zoë wakes up. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Demon possession, supernatural creatures/entities. Smut, swearing, alcohol use/addiction. Kidnapping, mentions of torture and murder, illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks.  Music: Down By The River - Neil Young, Look But You Can’t Touch - Poison, Changes - Black Sabbath. Author’s note: I couldn’t be more excited to share Supernatural: The Sullivan Series with you. There are quite a few people I want to thank: @coffee-obsessed-writer​​​, @soupornatural​​​ & @mrswhozeewhatsis​​​, who edited the early drafts, and my girls @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​​​ & @winchest09​​​ who are deciphering the recent version. Everyone who encouraged me to go for it, you are awesome!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist 01x01 “Changes” Masterlist

     Sunshine peeks through the red curtains, like a little kid playing hide and seek. The beams of light illuminate motes of dust, which playfully dance in the air. Thunder and rain have moved on and made room for the sun to brighten the Northern state.      It’s past noon and Sam is seated at the table, which is entirely filled with papers, books, files, and both his and Zoë’s laptops. Concentrated, he goes through documents on Zoë’s Macbook, preparing for the next encounter with the shapeshifter. Neil Young is singing Down By The River on the radio, so softly, that he has to listen carefully to make out the words. 

     Besides traffic rushing by on Route 52 right next to the motel, it’s peaceful. Dean stirs in the double bed, but settles again and continues to sleep while snoring softly, causing his brother to look up and grin. He’s not sure what’s funnier; the fact that Dean is neither sleeping on the floor nor on the couch as Zoë persisted earlier, or that she’s actually the one sleeping next to him. Just before 8 o'clock she finished up the last stitch on Dean. Sam still doesn’t know if Zoë actually knew what she was doing, but she did great. After a night like last night, neither of them gave a damn who slept next to whom. 

     He thought Dean was hard-headed, but Zoë takes the cake, which is without doubt the reason why they can’t stand each other. It is unimaginable now, but they must have gotten along fine before, otherwise Dean wouldn’t have remembered her. Hell, he doesn’t even remember some of the girls he hooked up with, not to mention the girls he didn’t.      If Sam may believe his brother, she was this fun, sweet and caring student, living the good life. A typical Californian girl, loved to surf and hang out on the beach. Also quite a musician; apparently she’s pretty good with a guitar. That’s what Dean told him on their way over to the motel anyway. She worked hard to become a surgeon, aiming for neurology. Then that demon came along and fucked it all up. 

     Sam sighs, sympathizing with the young woman. Why do bad things always happen to good people? Now look what she has become. She's a hunter, one that is damn good at her job, but still. She could have ended up with so much more. It turns out that everyone in this line of work needs history to get lost in the world of monsters.      He hasn't heard the whole story yet and Zoë doesn't seem to feel like sharing, but one thing is for sure; she uses her intelligence that got her into med school to her advantage as a hunter. The supernatural database she’s built is outstanding, especially taking into account that the first file dates from 2001, a little over four years ago. She is dedicated, that’s for sure. 

     He looks over at the young woman, who is sleeping peacefully, curled up on her right side, eyes closed and breathing calmly. It’s weird to see the huntress like that; she seems so vulnerable now. Not entirely, though, because even in her sleep, the huntress seems to have the upper hand on Dean. She has claimed the covers and is comfortably cocooned by them, not leaving much for Sam’s brother. He doesn’t seem to be bothered, though. It will take a lot to wake Dean up after what went down this morning. He was in agony during the procedure, probably wishing he had taken her offer for a sedation when he had the chance. The pain took its toll, knocking him out soon after Zoë ran the last stitch through his skin. After he had his burger, of course.

     The light from outside shines a graceful glow on Zoë’s pretty face; she seems to be smiling slightly. Their roommate for the night might act like a total bitch, especially to Dean, but Sam finds her attractive. It isn’t just the fact that she’s a beautiful woman; it’s her attitude, too. Zoë has proven already to be incredibly intelligent, not to mention independent. She stands her ground and doesn’t let anyone tell her what to do. Since they have met, he saw both fire and ice in her eyes; she’s a force of nature to be reckoned with. However, he has to be honest with himself. After what happened to Jess, he can’t think of her like that, not now. 

     His eyes are taken over by sadness as his thoughts go back to that moment, almost a month ago. He shifts in his chair, causing it to creak. He doesn’t have time to dwell in his sorrow, because out of nowhere, Zoë bolts up startled and pulls a gun from under her pillow.      “Whoa!" Sam shows his hands in innocence.      Puzzled, the huntress stares at him, then aside at Dean, only then lowering the gun.      “Guess it wasn’t a weird dream,” she mutters with a raspy voice.      “No, I guess it wasn’t. Holy shit.” He relaxes again when Zoë flips the safety switch of the gun and puts it back under her pillow.      “I’m not used to having people around, that’s all,” she excuses as she intends to get out of bed.      “I think paranoid is a better description,” Sam comments.      “Shut up,” Zoë sneers, clearly not in a good mood. “What time is it?”      “Almost one,” Sam replies, concentrating on the computer screen again.       Not even five hours, she realizes; although it’s past midday, she didn’t get much sleep.

     She licks her lips and swallows thickly, trying to get rid of the bad taste in her mouth. Not a great way to wake up, she still feels like roadkill. The amount of whiskey she drank last night, followed by fries and a burger, didn’t help either. Thankfully, it’s still pretty dark in the room. Her eyes can’t handle the bright light from outside just yet. A moan escapes her mouth as she gets up, her hand covering her painful abdomen. God, it seems even worse than last night, but she’s not worried. It’s normal to feel sore, unfortunately this is not the first time she’s been shot.      Slowly, she shuffles to the bathroom while Sam watches her.      “You alright?” he wonders, surprised by her condition.      “Yeah, just a bit hungover,” she lies.

     Sam decides not to ask any more questions. They may have only just met, but he’s under the distinct impression that he won’t get far if he goes at her with the third degree. He turns back to his laptop, watching an installation program proceed. The county website of Rochester is hidden in the lowest toolbar, and finally the slow moving progress bar hits a hundred percent. A program opens and asks for a password.      “Damn it!” Sam curses.      How on earth is he gonna crack this? He is pretty skilled with a computer, but he’s not a hacker.      “What?”      The voice comes from the bathroom, it’s just now that Sam hears the shower running.      “Nothing,” he responds, absently.       Zoë decides not to ask again. Besides, it’s not like she actually cares. The cleansing water coming from the showerhead feels like acid on her stitched up bullet wound, but at the same time it’s relieving. She rakes her fingers through her hair and lets the water rain down on her face. The silence bothers Zoë, she could use a little music to start her day.      “Could you turn on the radio?”      Silence. Sam is so focused on his work, that he doesn’t hear her.      “Sam!” Zoë shouts over the noise of the shower.      He snaps out of it. “What?”      “Could you turn up the radio?” she repeats.      “Dean’s asleep,” he reacts, typing strenuously.      “So?”      Again, Sam fails to respond.      “Hello?!”      “What? No, I can’t work with music,” he mutters thoughtlessly.

     Zoë doesn’t ask again. Dean - knowing her better - would’ve probably noticed that unusual fact, but it’s not until Zoë walks by, completely naked and dripping wet, that she catches Sam’s attention.      “Holy sh--"      He swallows down the last word and quickly snaps his head away, almost falling off his chair. Not even a bit uncomfortable, the huntress elegantly parades to the table, leaving footprint shaped puddles in her wake. She bends over to turn up the volume, getting into Sam’s personal space. Look But You Can’t Touch by Poison blares from the radio once she gives the button a spin, but she doesn’t leave just yet. Amused, she turns to face him, leaning against the table, provokingly. The younger Winchester brother awkwardly tries to keep his eyes from wandering; it’s obvious he’s ill-at-ease.

     “Never seen a naked woman before, geekboy?”      “You could have warned me,” he responds, his voice slightly higher than usual, still looking away with wide opened eyes.      “You could have turned up the radio,” she counters.      Only when Zoë moves away from him again, he breathes out. When he’s pretty sure it’s safe to turn his head, Sam carefully glances at the bathroom. Thank God, she’s back in the shower. Again he rubs his face and stares at his brother for a moment, who’s still asleep.      “Dean, you have no idea what you just missed,” he mumbles, before the huntress’ voice startles him again.      “What’s that?”      Sam shifts uncomfortably in his chair and stares back at the bathroom. “N-nothing!” he responds, too fast.      Not a sound. 

     She’s not gonna come back out again, is she? Sam swallows apprehensively and tries to concentrate on his work, but he finds it difficult to do so.      Whoa, I mean, really… Whoa.      She might behave like a total bitch, but she’s breathtaking. He only had a glance, but the image is carved in his memory. Curvy, yet muscular; it’s clear she’s fit. He hits himself in the head; he cannot think of her like that. She’s a bitch, not sexy. Bitch, not sexy.      Suddenly, he hears her voice echo from the bathroom. At first it scares Sam, because for a moment, it sounds like she’s right behind him, but then he’s pleasantly surprised as she joins in during the chorus of the song playing on the radio.      “‘cause you can look but you can't touch, cause the best things in life ain't cheap. You can look but you can't touch, cause baby I ain't for keeps,” she sings, teasingly.      Again, he peeks at the bathroom. He can see her pretty much perfect silhouette through the blurred glass, and he quickly turns his head. Sam Winchester, keep it together! He’s disgusted by the fact that he can’t keep his eyes off her, but then again, any man who could, isn’t interested in the opposite sex.      

     The song fades into a new one, this time an easy listener: Changes by Black Sabbath. Not particularly a happy song, and it changes the mood in the room.      “What’s up with the whole vampire lifestyle?” Zoë asks out of nowhere, after a long silence.      Apparently, she doesn’t feel like singing anymore. She closes the faucet and the sound of the water falling down on the ivory colored tiles stops.      “What?” Sam looks over at her, puzzled, although he can’t see her behind the glass.      “There are about half a dozen empty coffee containers on the table.”      Her voice sounds hollow in the empty bathroom, but Sam can hear her loud and clear. She opens the shower door and grabs her towel. It takes Sam a while to answer her question, as he’s trying to decide whether he should tell her or not.      “I can’t sleep,” he answers shortly, choosing the latter.      “Sure you’re not craving for human blood?” she jokes.      Behind the blurred glass she shimmies in a pair of jeans and puts on her bra.      “It’s nothing like that, really. It’s--” He pauses, scratching his chin, finding it difficult to talk about it, “- it’s Jessica.”

     His thoughts wander as he folds his hands together and leans forward, his elbows on his knees, staring at a single pixel on the screen. Suddenly, it’s not that difficult to disregard the attractive Zoë. For a moment he pictures her, his pretty Jess. Long, curly blonde hair, that beautiful smile. God, she was gorgeous in every way. He was in love with her, he still is.      “Girlfriend?” Zoë assumes.      “Yeah, well… She was,” he answers with difficulty.      “Oh, I see,” Zoë grins, thinking she got it figured. She enters the main room while she buttons her white-grey plaid blouse. “She dumped you, huh?”      Sam remains quiet and leans back in his chair. He takes a sip from his coffee, still staring into nothingness. Meanwhile, Zoë sits down on her side of the mattress and takes a bottle of painkillers from the nightstand, popping two pills to dull the pain. She pulls a pair of socks and black leather ankle boots out of a backpack underneath her bed, putting them on while she glances at Sam.      “You dumped her and regret it?” Zoë tries again.

     He swallows thickly, trying to get rid of the lump that is building in his throat. Then he looks her straight in the eye, only for a few seconds, before he averts them down to the carpet again. It spooks her, the sudden and penetrating gaze, and she pauses her actions. But Sam is not angry with the huntress, who is shocked by what she sees in the depths of his pupils. So much sorrow, so much guilt. She knows that look, she knows it way too well.

     “She’s dead,” she realizes.      Sam doesn’t need to tell her, but he confirms with a nod, almost unnoticeable. She looks down at her boots, feeling sorry for him for the first time since they’ve met. Showing those feelings isn’t something she’s comfortable with, so she keeps it plain.      “Because of something we hunt?” she asks carefully.      “Yeah,” he answers shortly, looking at the empty coffee container in his hand.

     An eerie silence falls over them, as the image of Jessica returns to his thoughts once again, the vision clear as a bell. This time he doesn’t see her smiling, he sees her in the state that he found her. He grinds his teeth, trying to ban the haunting memory from his mind.      While Sam struggles, Zoë observes him, noticing something about the youngest Winchester that feels familiar, something she recognizes. He’s grieving, trying to cope with the impossible.      “I’m sorry for your loss,” she says, pronouncing the words somewhat like a doctor would do, monotone and distant.      It’s about as compassionate as Zoë gets these days, and although Sam only encountered her a couple of hours ago, he seems to realize it. When he looks up, his eyes glisten. He doesn't say a word, but gives her a thankful nod.      Although this is a painful moment, she cannot drop the question that led to the reveal. “I can’t help but notice, though, that you’re not completely honest with me.”      She gets up from the bed and shoves the curtains aside, letting the bright sunlight in. Dean, facing the window, groans and turns his head. He breathes in deeply and lets out a sigh, but doesn’t wake up. When Zoë’s sure he’s still out, she continues.      “You see, you say you can’t sleep. I think you can, but just don’t want to. Otherwise you wouldn’t need six large cups of coffee to stay awake,” she analyses smartly.

     Sam glances at the empty containers on the table and scoffs; someone’s observant. Seems like she’s figuring him out in record time. Strangely, he doesn’t feel uncomfortable. Actually, he wants to tell her. Dean knows his little brother has nightmares about the dreadful event, but doesn’t know the whole truth. Sam doesn’t want to worry him or raise a red flag just yet, he’d rather figure out what’s going on first. But for some reason, the younger Winchester has the urge to open up. He trusts the huntress enough to reveal some of his darkest secrets, yet there’s a fair amount of distance between them to avoid awkwardness. Where that trust comes from, he’s not sure. It’s more than a gut feeling. If he didn’t know better, he would describe it as instinct.       Sam looks over at Dean; he’s still sound asleep. Zoë notices.      “You’re worried about him?” She huffs, looking back at the younger brother. “Don’t. You’ll need to set off a bomb before he wakes up.”       Sam chuckles; seems like she’s got Dean figured out as well. He knows the two have more history than his brother let on, but he doubts that it was sexual, otherwise Dean would have bragged about it. Yet Sam can tell from the non-verbal communication that their bond lies deeper. Dean was there when her life got turned upside down, maybe he had a significant role to play in saving her from that demon. Whatever the origin of their strange relationship, it has them bickering like an old married couple. 

     Hesitation has him pondering. He trusts the female hunter, and on a certain level, so does Dean. But enough to allow her a glimpse at the skeletons in his closet?      “I have these nightmares,” he blurts and then pauses, deciding that he might as well give her the whole story. “Let’s put it this way: I'd rather stay awake than have to experience them.”      Zoë strolls through the room and halts on the other side, leaning against the wall; she seems interested all of a sudden.      “Nightmares, huh?” she repeats, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “What do you dream about?”      “All sorts of things. Bad things happening to people I don’t even know. Except for the first one.” He stares at the floor again.      The huntress knows enough. “You dream about Jessica, didn’t you?”      He nods. “Thing is, I don’t just dream about her now...”      A shuddering exhale leaves his lips. Here goes nothing.      “I saw her die... days before it happened.”

     Zoë doesn’t respond, yet continues to intently observe him. He’s unable to read the huntress, but surprisingly enough, she doesn’t seem shocked by the statement.      Sam glances over at Dean again, making sure he’s still asleep. Not wanting him to hear the conversation, he continues with a lowered voice. “I can’t put my finger on it. How is it even possible that I see an event take place days before it actually happens? It almost seems like--”      “- a vision?” she fills in.      “Yeah,” Sam whispers. “Come on, it’s strange. Even for people like us.”      “It is strange.” Zoë bites her lip again; it seems to be a habit. “Do you have headaches?” she wonders, out of the blue.      Puzzled, Sam glances up at her, but she doesn’t blink.      “Yeah. I do, actually,” he realizes. “But with everything going on with Jess and Dad--”      “John?” Zoë intervenes.      “Yeah. He’s missing,” Sam clears up.      The huntress scoffs. “Aha. He’s good at that sort of thing.”            Sam registers the cynical tone and narrows his eyes, but decides to ignore the comment.      “This is different. He just took off one night, left Dean and disappeared. That’s when my brother came to Stanford,” Sam tells her.      “To drag your ass back into the family business?”       “Yeah. I guess that was his intention, but it isn’t the reason why I’m hunting again,” he says. “Mom was murdered, and now Jess? It’s too much of a coincidence, especially with Dad gone. Something’s up.”            She walks back to the window and observes the parking lot outside. It’s a great day, the sun is shining brightly, smiling down at Rochester. It’s almost ironic, working on a dark case and discussing these family matters during weather so sunny; it doesn’t fit the picture.      “Maybe something snatched him,” she mentions, not even considering that this conclusion might upset Sam.      “No,” he counters fiercely. “Since when do monsters make such an effort to cover up the death of a hunter? When they take one of us, they leave a body for others to find.”      She frowns at that, nodding slightly. Sam has a point. “You think he’s on a hunting trip?”       “I think he’s hunting down the son of a bitch that killed Mom and Jess,” Sam speaks up.

     Zoë continues to stare at the passing cars on the freeway and pulls on her bottom lip with her teeth, thinking about his assumption. The younger Winchester is probably right. John has always been obsessed with the thing that killed his wife and he will do anything to get revenge. No matter what the consequences, no matter what the sacrifice.      She sits down on the bed again, this time not facing the window, but Sam. His girlfriend, his mother’s death, John Winchester’s disappearance, maybe even the nightmares, this could all be connected. Without making eye contact, she frowns and lets a sigh escape her chest.      “Are you absolutely sure that the thing that killed your mother came back, Sam? ’Cause this could be pretty damn important,” she urges.      This time she does observe him, her dark eyes boring deeply into his. He gazes back, hurt by the memories resurfacing, yet confident.      “I saw my girlfriend, pinned on the ceiling, bleeding on me, after which she caught fire. The same way Dad saw Mom burn.”       Sam pronounces his words slowly, his voice breaks halfway through the sentence. Zoë can imagine the scenario haunts him. He relives it, every day, every time he thinks of her.       “It’s the same monster,” Zoë realizes, as the pieces begin to fall into place.

     The young Winchester doesn’t respond, not until has picked up her biker’s jacket from the chair and heads for the door. “Where are you going?”      “I’m gonna check on my Dave. I thought I heard a sputter in the engine last night,” Zoë explains, but halts by the door. “One more question.”      Sam waits patiently, looking at her from where he’s seated. She seems to hesitate, but then continues without looking him in the eye.      “Do you have them during the day?”      “What? The nightmares?” he returns, puzzled.       She nods, glancing up at him now.      “Wouldn’t be nightmares then, would they?” he returns, not understanding her reasoning behind the question.      “You’re right, never mind. I’ll grab some lunch on my way back in. Meanwhile, good luck getting that brother of yours out of his coma.”

     The door closes, and Sam is left with his unconscious sibling. The younger Winchester shakes his head while he scoffs. She’s a strange girl, that Zoë Sullivan. She has a dark sense of humor; sarcastic, cynical. Arrogant, even more so than Dean; now that’s a new one. It doesn’t happen very often that they come across someone who can knock the older Winchester on his ass. Or is all that big talk just a facade she’s trying to keep up? She seems bitter, even cruel at times, but her heart isn’t all black, not yet.  Sam believes there’s a lot more under the surface. Loneliness, anger, frustration, sorrow, fear; he knows those feelings and deep down, Zoë probably knows them, too. 

     There’s something about her that he recognizes. All three of them lost their normal lives because of something supernatural. Dean was four years old when he was introduced to this world so few people know about, and grew up in it. Zoë, on the other hand, was twenty-one when she found out. He himself stepped back from the hunting fields and was about to study law at Stanford, until a few weeks ago, that is. Sure, Dean might pretend that he embraces his hunting career and that ordinary is dull, but if he ever gets the chance, Dean would want out, too.      All of them were normal up to a certain point in their lives, and that’s what they have to hold on to. It gives them the slightest bit of hope they need to keep going, believing that one day they might be able to return to that simple life. Whatever happens, though, things will never be the same again. People died and won’t ever come back. They will always know. They will always be looking over their shoulder. They will always be hunters.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part six here

[sciencenewsforstudents]

Three high school seniors swabbed a door handle, a smartphone and a hand dryer. They never expected to find anything truly new. But discoveries can turn up anywhere. And these young women helped to find a brand-new bacterium. One day, the microbe might even help produce new antibiotics.

Atlantis Aziz-Dickerson, 18, Joyceline Dweh, 17, and D’Asia Buchanan, 17, are all seniors at Rochester Prep High School in New York. The teens were chosen during the fall of their senior year to participate in a Capstone program. It pairs teens at Rochester Prep with professors at the nearby Rochester Institute of Technology (RIT). Some other Capstone students chose to study photography, computer science or game design. Atlantis, Joyceline and D’Asia chose microbiology, the study of things too small to see with the naked eye.

“I’ve always been interested in science, but I wasn’t sure what type of science I wanted to do,” D’Asia says. “Bacteria sounded like a good thing. And I thought I would get the best experience, because it was hands-on.”

The three teens teamed up with RIT scientist André Hudson. As a biochemist, he studies the chemistry of living things. He and his laboratory members are in to  bioprospecting. Prospectors are people who search Earth for valuable substances. They might pan for gold, for example, or search for oil. Bioprospectors search for new organisms that could prove valuable, such as sources of new drugs.

Bacteria are all around us — and that’s okay

To look for new bacteria, Hudson doesn’t have to go far. People have found only a tiny fraction of the microbial species on Earth. New species are hiding in the soil and on surfaces all around us.

And some of them might aid medicine. Bacteria produce chemicals that can kill other bacteria as they battle each other in tiny turf wars. Scientists have turned those chemicals into antibiotic medicines to fight our own infections. So far, those medicines have served people well. But now there is a need for new weapons. That’s why Hudson’s lab goes bioprospecting. “We have to look at all the possibilities,” he says. After all, many of the antibiotics that doctors use today originally came from soil bacteria.

When Atlantis, Joyceline and D’Asia started in Hudson’s lab, they thought they would be sampling soil. Instead, Hudson asked them to sample things that people touch every day. So D’Asia swabbed her smartphone. Joyceline sampled the hand dryer in the bathroom. Atlantis swabbed the door handle to the largest science classroom on the RIT campus.

Going on a bug hunt

Scientists Say: DNA sequencing

Working with Hudson and others, the three teens grew the bacteria from their swabs in dishes in the lab. One species from the door handle stood out. It formed bright yellow colonies. The girls then sequenced its DNA: They studied the order of its nucleotides — chemical building blocks that made up DNA’s code. That code revealed that this germ belongs to the genus Yimella and probably was a new type, or strain. The bacterium now has a name: Yimella sp. strain RIT 621 (RIT for the school where it was found).

“I was surprised,” Joyceline says. “When I first started doing the project, I didn’t think anything would come out of it.” But she and the others had found a new germ living on an ordinary door handle at RIT. Together with Hudson and other members of his lab, these teens published their findings April 25 in Microbiology Resource Announcements.

The bacteria that Atlantis, Joyceline and D’Asia grew formed golden colonies (left). When highly magnified (right), the bacteria — a strain of the genus Yimella — look like round grapes. CREDIT: A. Hudson

This new Yimella also turned out to have a useful talent. Atlantis, Joyceline and D’Asia extracted chemicals the bacterium made. They found the bacterium produced something that could kill two other types of bacteria. Their Yimella could kill a strain of Escherichia coli (or E. coli). The other was a strain of Bacillus subtilis.

“I was scared at first because I thought it could be another superbug” — some microbe that resists antibiotics, Atlantis says. “Then when I learned it killed E. coli, I was excited because it’s doing some good.”

Yimella’s germ-killing trait might lead to a new antibiotic. But that would be true only if Yimella’s antimicrobial chemical was one that scientists hadn’t seen before.

“It’s a start,” says Brittany Bennett. She is a microbiologist at the University of Hawaii at Manoa. “There’s still a lot of work that needs to be done” to identify the antimicrobial compounds and see whether they’re new. “It’s a long process,” she notes. But the new finding does show promise, she says. “These students have shown you can go just about anywhere and find something new.”

It’s essential to keep looking, adds Blanca Barquera. She’s a microbiologist at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in Troy, N.Y. “It’s pretty impressive what these students did,” she says. In fighting germs, she explains, “Anything we can do now is helpful. The bacteria are winning, and we are not doing very much [about it].”

Atlantis and Joyceline both want to continue studying science in college. D’Asia has decided to pursue her interest in math. And Hudson has already signed up to have more high school students join his lab to help out in his bioprospecting. “I love it,” he says. “When I was a wide-eyed kid and intimidated, I [worked] in someone’s lab… That’s what made me a scientist today. I’m paying it forward.”

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter thirty (sunrise with the old man)

October 23, 1988. Oswego, New York.

I'm laying in something cold. Cold and wet. Am I alive?

I open my eyes. Yes. There's the sky right above me, turning into a richer shade of gray and violet with the setting sun and growing drearier with the impending snow.

Wait a minute, is it snowing?

No. Not as far as I can tell anyways. But it did snow a lot at some point because I'm laying in a snow drift. I roll my head over to my right to find a stretch of pure white snow covering someone's yard. I roll my head to the left at the sight of Lars laying face down in the snow.

I think I fell on a pine cone or a rock because something's poking me in the back. Wincing, I lift myself upright right there on the snow and recline back on my elbows. I recognize the hills off in the distance, and the glimmering lights of the power plant nestled inside of the trees.

Looks like we're back in Oz Town.

I blink several times and shake my head about. Something cold and prickly brushes against the nape of my neck. I set a hand on the back of my head to feel the tiny ice crystals formed on my hair. It's not from the snow: I actually have ice in my hair after having showered back at Lars' place and the roots near my head not having dried all the way as of yet. In fact, I shake my head about and the ice makes a tinkling noise upon the movement.

Lars groans and spits before lifting up his head.

“—focking—what happened?”

“We're back upstate, my neck of the woods,” I inform him. “As far as last night goes though, I don't really know.”

It's difficult even for me to sit upright in the snow but after a flailing of my legs and a roll onto my side followed by my stomach, I manage to get on my hands and knees. I crawl off the thick pile of snow onto a rather thin patch and set my knees on the sidewalk. I turn my head to the left again and there stands Black Orchid with its neon sign flickering on against the snowy darkening sky. I glance over my shoulder at the sight of Lars struggling to crawl towards the sidewalk: his hands sink into the thick snow, which meets up with his shoulder. I stoop over the edge of the sidewalk to help lift him up out of the snow. At least there's no ice on the walkway.

But the muscles in my back and in my stomach quiver at the feeling of lifting him up once again. Indeed, once I lift him out of the snow drift, I almost lose my balance and fall over onto the drift on the other side of the sidewalk with him on top of me. But I catch myself and he's leaning up against me. I straighten him upright as he's pressed up against me. In the waning light, he's looking as though he's about ready to pass out.

“We couldn't go back to Portland?” he demands, his speech slurring. “My wife'll kill me, though.”

“As far as I can tell, she can suck both of our dicks,” I assure him, pushing myself off of him so he can have a little room to breathe. “Come on, let's go where it's warm—and where there are those girls, too.”

He shakes his head but I can tell he's more lucid now more than ever even as he rubs his eyes and gives the hair at the back of his head a shake. A couple of snowflakes drift down around him: I peer up at the darkening sky and I know it's only the beginning for tonight. I grab him by the arm and hurry up the walkway with him to the front step, and memories of that night are coming back to me, even though it was a little more than a week ago. So much has happened as of late that it feels so distant and so long ago. I knock on the door panel, just like the first time.

I'm met with silence for a moment and then the door swings open to reveal those copper colored ringlets once again.

“Hello, Morgan,” I greet her.

“Oh, hey!” she exclaims, beaming. “We were wondering where you guys have been—come on in!”

I keep my grip on Lars' arm as we head into the club once again. Mrs. Hamilton enters the room from the back doorway with a look of concern on her face.

“Joey! Lars! Oh thank God you boys are here again.” She strides on over to me with her arms wide open and throws them around me.

“You heard about what happened to your friends, right?” she asks me with a look of concern upon her face.

“Of course,” I reply to her, “I visited Brick in the hospital, but I don't know where Spence ran off to. I don't even know what happened to him.”

“Spencer was the one who donated a lot of his blood to Brick,” Morgan clarifies.

“That's right! A—strapping young lady came to pick him up at the hospital down there in Syracuse but I don't know anything else other than that.”

“Yeah—that was Sonia,” I fill in. “And I don't know what happened to her, either.”

“How about her, the other girl—what was her name, Maya?”

“Maya, yeah.”

“Let's just say she's,” Lars joins in, “—kind of in a rough spot right now, back in Seattle.”

“I did happen to find out a little bit more about her, too, though,” I point out, “like, she's… she's been around the place a bit.”

“How so?” asks Morgan, folding her arms over her chest and giving her hair a toss back with a flick of her head.

“Foster child—I guess she was also, um… kinda raped.”

Morgan gasps in horror at that and clasps her hands to her mouth. Mrs. Hamilton closes her eyes and winces.

“Yeah, but the thing about it is,” Lars fills in for me, “we do not really know for sure as of yet, like Sonia hasn't said a peep about it.”

“And I've always been kind of reluctant to take her to the cops for this very reason,” I admit. “So what exactly happened with Brick? Besides—y'know. Ending up in Syracuse.”

“Lap dance gone horribly wrong,” Mrs. Hamilton says in a single breath.

“Horribly, horribly wrong,” Morgan adds.

“Okay, that makes sense now,” I stop them right there before my stomach turns at the very thought of it. I rub my hands together as I catch a glimpse of Lupe and Louie entering the room from the kitchen behind Morgan.

“Hey, Lupe,” I greet her with a sly grin.

“Hey, I was wondering what happened to you,” she replies with a gentle peck on my cheek. Louie puts her arms around me and then does the same for Lars.

“So are you two fellas spending the night tonight with us again?” Mrs. Hamilton asks us after fetching up a sigh.

“We might as well,” Lars confesses with a shrug as Louie stands next to him with her arm around his shoulders, “it was starting to snow when we came in a little bit ago.”

“Cindy's on her day off, by the way,” Morgan informs us, pushing a ringlet behind her ear.

“So no chicken soup tonight,” I conclude.

“We can still have fun, though,” Mrs. Hamilton points out. “Come on, girls, let's get these boys something nice and hot.”

They double back towards the kitchen which allows Lars and me to have a seat at the table closest to the kitchen door. I watch Lupe bring up the rear with her big hoop earrings and her fitted black top accentuating her body. I had encountered many girls the past several days but there was something about Lupe, something quiet and I liked it. I even think Louie's pretty hot herself.

“Those two girls--Lupe and Louie, sure are something,” I confess to Lars. He seems distracted, staring up at the ceiling and over to the other side of the room. “What's up?”

He frowns, but doesn't reply.

“Lars.”

He peers over his shoulder as if something's following him. I roll my eyes at him and I don't think he notices me. I think back to the first night he and I were here together, and the fact he still didn't answer my question.

“Okay, I'm gonna be frank with you,” I tell him in a firm voice. “I'm gonna ask you why'd you even come here again and your answer better not be to get away from your wife.”

He nibbles his bottom lip as he gazes on at me.

“Alright. You really want to know?”

“Yes. The fact you never told me the first time should tell you that yes, I really wanna know why you're here.

“Okay. I've been looking for Maya myself for the same reason why you are so reticent on taking her to the authorities. She has been missing for over a year—like she went missing last summer over in… Boston, I believe. Boston or Amherst, some place in Massachusetts, I can't fully remember. And the police were taking so long that the trail fell cold. But because I have a tie to her, I wasn't one to give up on her. I took matters into my own hands and began research on her, drawing conclusions on her and whatnot. Since Metallica toured up here around then, and we went on break back in September, I took the opportunity to come up here on my own terms. But it's come with a price. In fact, I became so obsessed with finding her that… my wife fell off the wagon.”

I blink several times at him. I don't know what to make of this.

“That's it?” I ask, never changing the tone of my voice.

“That's it. That is how the cookie crumbles, my friend.”

“You dragged me all the way over to Portland and Seattle and then down to New Orleans for that?”

“Well, not exactly. I took you there because I felt those places would help you find some answers, too. I knew you were vehement on finding out what happened to her as well. I thought we could look together. I took you there because—it got a little lonely going at it solo for a while.”

“Tell me about it.” I gesture to myself. “Guy who got kicked out of Anthrax for unknown reasons. That still doesn't explain why you're here in Black Orchid and upstate New York, though.”

“I came here because I got word that her sister was over in Rochester doing a book tour and I forgot Marcia and Sonia were there at the moment, and so I swung by here in Oswego to relax a bit.”

“Wait a minute, doing a book tour?”

“Yes.”

I pause and knit my eyebrows together.

“Is her name… Candace Bradley?”

“Yes,” he replies, reluctant, “how'd you know?”

“Her mom is your landlady down in New Orleans.”

“Really? How'd you find that one out?”

“She got my shoes off the telephone wires and we chatted a bit. I guess Delphine threw them up there after we blacked out last night.”

“Wait. Why would Delphine do that?”

“Why did even we black out last night?”

Before Lars can say anything else, Morgan darts through the kitchen doors with big bowls of clam chowder and accompanying spoons in either hand. I thank her as she gave us both kisses on the cheek. Now I have even more questions as I wolfed down the cubes of potato and chunks of clams. God, I'm so hungry: then again, I barely ate all day and I didn't pay my tab at the restaurant down in New Orleans, either.

I'm so hungry in fact that I ask for a second bowl and a third.

And once I lay down the spoon after cleaning out my fourth helping, I'm about ready to fall onto the floor with my pants unbuttoned. Lars meanwhile has had five and the very sound of that is enough to make me want to take off my pants.

“My goodness, you boys were hungry tonight,” Mrs. Hamilton remarks.

“We barely ate anything today,” Lars tells her, bowing his head and covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Well, I did,” I correct him, taking off my jacket and laying it over the back of my chair, “you didn't really eat anything so to speak.” I have a hand on my stomach, which feels as hard as a rock. I think I ate too much.

No, I definitely ate too much as I'm getting up and feeling like I'm about ready to fall over.

And I'm amazed I even managed to walk on over to the nook I took a nap in the first day I was here. I lay down on my back with both of my hands resting on my belly. I'm about ready to unbutton my pants when Lars strolls on over to me with a punch drunk grin on his face. I let out a low whistle.

“Holy hell, that was delicious,” he mutters to me. “Tasty, in fact.”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” I reply with kind of a snicker. “I could eat about a thousand more of those stupid things, though.”

“Me, too.”

We fall into silence before slowly looking at one another.

“Nahhhh,” we both say.

“I'd weigh two tons,” he points out.

“My stomach would get all bloated,” I follow along, “can you imagine a skinny minny like me with a big potbelly on me?”

“I really can't, man.” He taps on my knees. “Scooch.”

“Why?”

“I want to lay down,” he insists.

“Go upstairs.” I gesture behind my head. “There's a bed up there. There's a couple of beds up there.”

“Why are you laying here then?”

“'Cause I can. I also need to rest for a minute—I've got about two pounds of clam chowder inside my belly right now and I can't hardly think straight.”

“I will carry you.”

“Me?” I lift my head up to better look at him.

“Yes. Hey, you've picked me up before.”

“Yeah, well—”

“What?”

“You're—you.”

“Oh, come on, man.”

“What?”

“It's because I'm short, isn't it?”

“No.” I lay my head back down and rest the backs of my hands over my eyes.

“Admit it,” he challenges me. “You don't think I can pick you up even though I'm a lot heavier than you are.”

“Maybe if I didn't have half of Lake Ontario inside of my stomach, you probably could.”

“Okay, now we're just pulling out threads on this one. Besides, even though you are taller than me, you are not that much taller than me, Joey. And you're way skinnier than me.”

He smacks his lips and I can hear fabric rustling.

“Tell you what,” he starts again, “I carry you up the stairs to the loft, and when we see her again, I demand Sonia give us some answers. I also make it up to you—and we go to Seattle for leisure and I treat you to one of Marcia's donuts back in Portland.”

I lift my hands off my eyes to see him standing before me with his belly poking out over his belt and his hands pressed to his hips.

“You will?” I ask him.

“Yes.”

I nibble on my bottom lip. “How about—you carry me upstairs, tuck me into bed, do all that, and all the while remain honest with me until we uncover the full truth about Maya.”

“Well—” He glances off to the side.

“No deal then.” I put my hands back onto my eyes. I hear him smack his lips again.

“How about—I carry you upstairs, tuck you into bed, do all that, remain truthful about her—and give you twenty dollars.”

I lift my hands off my eyes again.

“Double or nothing and you admit you've got a thing for Lizzy.”

“Dude!”

“Lars—”

He sighs, exasperated. “Alright, fine.”

I'm laying perfectly still as he slips his hands under my shoulders and my thighs. He groans and grunts but by some miracle he actually does it. The only problem is I'm all scrunched up in his arms as he's walking over to the staircase. I've got my head smooshed up against his chest and my arms coiled up against my chest, and even with the full feeling inside of my stomach, I'm actually quite comfortable. But I don't think he is for a minute, reaching the top of the stairs and breathing heavy. He stops, still holding me close to him, and I want to laugh.

“Hey, man, a bet's a bet,” I tell him.

“Of course—of—focking—course.”

He continues on over the floor to the second staircase.

By the time we reach the top, he's huffing and puffing and about ready to blow a house down. But he continues onto the bed on the right and lays me down there on my back. He falls onto his back, exhausted. I slip my hands underneath my head.

“Tuck yourself in, man,” he pants, his chest heaving. “I'll give you—forty dollars—in the—in the morning. And yes, I—” He gasps and swallows and lays there with his mouth wide open for a few seconds. “—I have a thing for Lizzy.”

I close my eyes as I shake my head at that. That's all I want right then. That, and pushing off my shoes, and letting them fall onto the floor next to the bed, and falling asleep.

I wake up to the feeling of my hand on my stomach, which is still plenty full from the night before, and my feet as cold as ice. But I'm quite comfortable laying there on the bed as I roll my head over the pillow. I open my eyes to find gray morning light already and the faint, silvery silhouette of a heavy Army jacket.

“'Morning, Mr. Lang,” I whisper to him, my voice breaking from a lack of water. The sun's incoming rays shine over the broken clouds outside and the afterglow shines over his gaunt face. He merely smiles at me as I lay there staring at him, fading in and out with the darkness. The sides of his coat seem to dissolve into nothing, as if they're being pulled into a black hole, like the one in my dreams. In fact, the very sight of him right next to me feels like a dream because I don't have my dream catcher on hand again. But he leans over my face and my neck with a thoughtful look.

“Your friend is going to be okay,” he informs me in an extra breathy voice.

“Which one?” I ask him, blinking several times for my sight to clear up. “Brick or Spence?”

But he doesn't answer me. Instead, he fades out with the incoming rays of the sunrise. I drop my gaze to find Lars under the covers of the bed next to me: I recognize the Betty Boop tattoo on the arm holding him from behind. I shake my head and lift my gaze to the ceiling overhead.

“You dirty dog you,” I breathe out.

[sie-sie86]

Almost a year without you

May 16th, 2018

The day that will forever be embedded in my every being. Growing up I never pictured life this way. In my younger years I saw both of my parents living and making it to their elderly ages. I pictured both of them together forever and as grandparents. You were 64 years young and I was 31. A few years before... you started to cough a lot among many other symptoms. Different doctors with different diagnoses. Finally we found out that you had congestive heart failure. We had hoped that you could be fixed. That they could repair your broken heart and make you whole again. That you would be okay and be able to live life for many years down the road as pictured. Little did we know, that wouldn’t be the case. The first hospital that we went to, they didn’t want to operate. They said it would be too risky. After that we decided to get you to Mayo in Rochester. They did all sorts of testing and met with different doctors. They said that they would do the open heart surgery to repair your valves. The doctor said that you should be able to walk me down the aisle. You had your open heart surgery but things went downhill from there. A few months down the road, your lungs started to fill with fluid and they started to collapse. You had to have lung surgery. They said if the lung didn’t inflate all the way back up that you would only have little time left to live. A month and a 1/2 after your lung surgery things were not looking too good with how you were feeling. After a hospital stay in Illinois we got you down to Barnes Hospital in St. Louis, Missouri. You didn’t know if Mayo would take you back due to insurance. You appeared so frail and stumbled at times when you would walk. You had to have a room with a roomate. Maybe it was a good thing for you but we wished that we could have spent more time with you at your side. It was May, you wished to sit outside for a bit but it was against hospital policy. Doctors sometimes didn’t come in to see you until 9pm at night. They made you NPO then canceled  testing on you after you hadn’t eaten or drank in hours. This made you upset. You had so much hope that the ball was rolling. I was at your side that day. You were trying to help us with accomodations so we could be nearby and didn’t have to travel. You were ready to pack up and head to Mayo. Oh, how I wish I would have agreed with you Dad. I wish I would have packed your belongings and loaded you into my car for the drive to Rochester. You told me you were so upset you felt like crying. I must have just said it’s okay. I wish I would have done more than that, been there for you more than that. I wish I would have given you the biggest and warmest hug but seeing you upset made me upset and I had to leave the room to go cry not in front of you. I must have said I was going to get something to eat. Many times at the different hospitals seeing you upset I couldn’t handle it. I had to leave the room whether it was a gently cry in a bathroom stall or a fullblown shrieking sobbing in my car begging for you to be okay. 

After days of just laying in your bed at Barnes hospital they finally scheduled your second open heart surgery to put a tissue valve in because your mechanical valve failed. They said that this was a “suicide mission.” The other option was to do nothing and live for just a few months more. We all agreed to the surgery. We all had the hope that you would make it through. Before surgery we were at your side and you spoke to us one by one. You were joking around with the nurse like usual with the occasional smile. She said that she was going to have to take you home since you were so full of it. You told me to take care of mom. You said this numerous other times during past hospitalizations with your CHF. I listened but I didn’t really listen. You knew that things might go south but in my mind you were going to live forever. You told Derek the same, to take care of mom. Mom said you promised to come back. We gave our hugs and said I love you’s and traveled towards the elevators to go to the waiting room. As they wheeled you out I waved and you waved back. Little did I know that glimpse of them pushing you in that bed down the hallway with you waving at me back would be the last time I saw you alive. 

Matt decided that we should do something to try to keep my mind off things since the surgery would be long. We decided to go to the zoo since I had never been there before. I was hesitant at first but then decided that it would be okay to go. My brother said that he would contact us for updates. After awhile the first update was that things were going okay. Later in the afternoon my mom got a call that things were not looking good. My brother said that we needed to come back to the hospital now. Once we arrived back at the hospital their still were not any details. Just that last dreaded call that things were dire. After awhile I really don’t remember, things around the time are still kind of a blur due to the sudden shift from feeling hopeful to feeling extremely worried...the doctor directed us into a room and began to speak with us. From what I can remember overall she said that they put you in an induced coma (ECMO) due to a period of time where there was a lack of oxygen during surgery. They allowed us to go back to see you. I couldn’t handle looking at you like that. The tears flooded. The most tubes, lines and machines I have ever seen during my eleven or so years in the medical field. After seeing you we went back to the waiting room. My brother decided that he would stay there and that the rest of us should go back to the hotel room to get some sleep. It had to be 3, 4, or close to 5 in the morning when my brother got ahold of us and told us that it was time to say goodbye.... That they reopened you right there in that ICU room to operate due to bleeding that they couldn’t control. You were also having seizures that my brother witnessed... They had you on medications to keep your blood pressure up so we had the time to be there with you and tell you goodbye... This was the most traumatic experience that I have ever had to endure. Losing my grandmother Darlene was very hard on me then and for a long time afterwards. I thought her loss was devastating but having to say goodbye to my father was unimaginable. I just felt like I floated down that hallway unaware of my own steps. Going into that room seeing all the tubes, lines, machines and beeps keeping you alive for the moment. As I uncontrollably sobbed, saying no, no, no, arguing against you leaving, arguing against saying goodbye, kissing your forehead and seeing your last heartbeats turn into that flatline with the machine beeps of failure my world was and has been forever changed. 

I don’t know how it has almost been a year. Still to this day my wish is that maybe I am in a coma and that this is all a bad dream of mine. Maybe I will wake up soon and there he will be by my side smiling...glad that I have awoken. We all experience grief in life and many people are able to adapt. Throughout this almost year I have experienced all of the stages of grief and I guess that they will last in no particular order throughout the rest of my living days. I have been angry that he couldn’t be saved. I have felt guilty that I didn’t get him to Mayo. I have racked my brain with thoughts that maybe if he would have went there for his second open heart surgery then maybe he would still be alive today. I was numb for awhile after he passed. Then after awhile the sadness seeped in and has remained with me off and on since then. Something I haven’t told very many people and have been scared to share: I use to be hopeful and very spiritual about an afterlife, but when the first deep gut wrenching sadness set in...I began to wonder. I began to wonder if I will ever see my dad or deceased loved ones ever again. That maybe what I had with them was just that and there will be nothing more. With this thought I was broken to pieces for awhile and still am in a way. I use to fear my own death but not anymore. Grief of a loved one feels unbearable and when my time comes I will be ready to hopefully join my loved ones that I miss very much. I have had some signs. I have always been a “sign” kind of person and we use to live in a house where very weird things happened in a ghostly manner. So with my past experiences of living in such a house and the signs that I have experienced not only from my dad possibly but from other passed on loved ones I have been split between the war of is this all just a big coincidence or is there something more? Maybe this is a normal part of grief...feeling so down about life after death. I don’t know. But all I do know is that I wish I would have had more time. Looking back on life, my thoughts scurry with trying to remember and hold onto the memories of you. You are constantly missed more than ever and will always be loved and kept inside my heart with what heart of mine remains. 

[roryaikins]

it might be HIS JUNIOR year but I still think GIDEON SINCLAIR looks exactly like ALFIE ENOCH and sometimes I think the CIS-MALE is actually them. Of course I’m wrong, as they're TWENTY-TWO and studying MUSIC THEORY while living in POTENTAS here at Lockwood. The VIRGO can be rather PASSIONATE and TALENTED, but also kind of INSECURE and SELF-DESTRUCTIVE. Their most played song on Spotify was PIANO MAN by BILLY JOEL so I think that says a lot.

HEYO. It’s me Madison again introducing you to my new son, Gideon ( I also play Rory!) . Like this if you’d like to plot with him and I’ll message you!

-The Sinclair family is one of the founding families of Rochester which means that Gideon was destined for great things ( and even greater pressures ) before he was even born.

-What no one knew was that the youngest child of the Sinclair family was actually born from a one night stand that Lorelai Sinclair had with her music teacher.

-Naturally she didn’t tell anyone about the affair and just assumed that Gideon was Simon’s.

-To this day, the cat has not gotten out of the bag.

-Gideon has never really fit in among his fellow siblings. Every other Sinclair seemed to possess and poise and confident demeanor that Gids never really had.

-Everyone in his family says that he’s too soft and easily manipulated and that he lacks a strong spine.

-Others say that he’s babied way too much.

-Still Gideon has been having panic and asthma attacks since he was a young boy.

-Anxiety plagues him often as a catalyst into more severe panic attacks that he has no control over.

-The only time he really leaves his mind is when his nimble fingers are gracing the keys of a piano.

-It’s like his mind was developed to transcribe music. He looks at sheet music or even blank sheet music and the world seems a lot less scary to him. It just makes sense. The order and the discipline is something that he wished he could apply more to the terrifying world around him.

-He’s not very good at talking but everyone stopped giving him shit for it when they realized he was a piano prodigy.

-Got into Julliard with a scholarship.

-Moved to New York and had a complete and utter breakdown that ended up with him moving back home and getting hospitalized into a mental institution. The worst part was that he ended up punching his fists into a brick wall until they were bloodied senseless and disfigured and is told he’ll never be able to play piano as well as he used to.

-Moved back home and is living with his parents and hates himself with a passion. His parents are disappointed in him as well. Everyone sees him as the fuck up.

-He’s doing better but he still suffers from anxiety and sporadic panic attacks.

-VERY insecure about his hands. He’ll always have them shoved into his pockets or he’ll hide them with gloves. They’re just a reminder of how he lost the one thing he was good at.

-OKAY so like even though he’s an anxious nervous bean, if he trusts you and you’re his friend, he’ll love you and be so loyal and so good to you and will worry about you all of the time. He’ll probably text you randomly in the middle of the night to make sure you’re alive.

-He wishes he was braver and honestly wishes he was anybody else. Really hates himself.

-VERY GAY. But he hasn’t come out to his family yet. Not like it’d be surprising or anything.

-Afraid to love someone romantically because he knows he’ll just be a disappointment and thinks of himself as a basket case.

ANYWAYS now he’s studying at Lockwood.

PLOTS okay

EX-BOYFRIENDS like maybe in high school IDK give me angst, FWB, hook ups, one night stands, best friends, brother/sister like friendships, bad influence friends, protective friends UH enemies? HONESTLY just everything pls.