#i might draw real miller one day. eventually

[sqrkyclean]

You zay that Zylvie izn't miller'z happy ending, what do you mean by that? [i am zo invezted in thiz weeabo ezpeon you have no idea]

sylvie is from 4 years in miller's future. she represents the other end of miller's self hate, which still isn't self love.

hating your past self, or blaming them for not being able to withstand the things you went through, is still self loathing. acts of "self punishment" are still self harm, even if you think you deserve it, or think you're better now.

a version of miller who loves and forgives themself, truly and unconditionally, wouldn't go back in time to begin with. and they don't, which is why we dont see them.

[coldmorte]

bro i'm a sucker for soft Vandermorgan....dutch reading while arthur sketches.....leaning on eachother.....dutch reaching over to rub arthur's back every few pages........running his hand through arthur's hair...soft k*sses and giggling...

Howdy, anon! 💜

My apologies that it took me a week to get back to this one. I gave time to consider it, and I hope the fic I wrote in response makes up for that!! It’s a very cute ask, and I love tenderness between them, too. But despite my affection for lighthearted stuff, I usually struggle with writing it (I’m a very dark and morbid person - oops 😅). Anyway, I’ve been getting quite a few soft VDM asks lately, so I figured I would accept another challenge!

I was hesitant about actually posting this, but I figured, what is there to lose? It does have some angst sprinkled in (I couldn’t help myself), but I hope I did your idea justice!!!

Oh, and to anybody else who sent VDM asks recently, I am still giving them some thought! So, stay tuned 😉

In the meantime, please enjoy…❤️🖤

“Why are you avoiding me, Arthur?”

Hand freezing and pencil ceasing its scratching within the journal on his lap, Arthur furrowed his brow as he peaked over the fire at Dutch. Yet, his eyes remained wide and questioning as he pushed back, “I’m not avoiding you. I just didn’t think you wanted to be bothered while you read.”

“Oh, come on. You know I never minded it in the past, especially not on a cold night like this. We could use all the heat we can spare between us,” Dutch flipped his book shut, patting the ground beside him.

Likewise, Arthur slid the bookmark of his journal in place as he closed it. “Well, I guess… it’s just…”

Dutch chuckled as he noticed Arthur bite his lip to suppress a timid smile. He gestured to Arthur, beckoning him over once again. “I know it’s been a long time since it’s been just the two of us, but you don’t have to be shy.”

“Alright,” Arthur agreed as he pushed himself to his feet, journal still clutched in one hand. He walked over and knelt next to Dutch, but before he could properly get seated, Dutch reached forward and grasped him by his shirt collars. Pressing Arthur’s back to his bedroll, Dutch pinned him there as he straddled his hips.

The journal got cast aside as Arthur grabbed at Dutch’s back. Their lips met, hungrily and impassioned. Dutch pressed his chest firmer against Arthur’s and moaned at the warmth that radiated between them. He pulled back and grinned down at Arthur through heavily-lidded eyes, “See, isn’t it better on this side?”

“I was afraid this might happen,” Arthur laughed as he reached a hand forward and brushed some loose curls away from Dutch’s face.

Emitting a soft hum, Dutch felt himself glow with a warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Leaning in close once more, he whispered, “And are you complaining?”

“Never.” Arthur pulled Dutch in for another kiss, before Dutch backed away and sat up.

“I didn’t think so.” Dutch smirked as he reached for his wool blanket and unfolded it. Motioning for Arthur to sit up as well, he handed him a corner. They each wrapped part of it around themselves as they huddled close to the fire.

Arthur scooped his journal up and leaned against Dutch, his back pressed into the older man’s arm and shoulder for support. He reopened the journal on his lap, but his position hid his face and the journal’s contents from Dutch as he returned to sketching.

Attempting to peer over Arthur’s shoulder to no avail, Dutch asked, “What are you working on?”

“What are you reading?” Arthur shot back.

Dutch felt his heart briefly flutter. He couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice as he responded, “Since when do you care about what I read?”

When Arthur gave no response, Dutch slipped one hand around Arthur’s chest, hugging him and pulling him tighter. Gradually, he let his hand glide lower, until it reached the top of Arthur’s pants. Tugging at the shirt tucked in there, Dutch moved it out of the way and slipped his cold fingers inside. Arthur jumped at the sudden intrusion and gave a shriek, “AHH! Dutch! Your hand is freezing!”

Nuzzling his nose against the back of Arthur’s neck, Dutch pressed a soft kiss there. His lips grazed the sensitive flesh as he muttered, “Why are you being so difficult tonight, my boy?”

“Too bad you just ruined any chance of seeing my sketch.” Arthur’s voice had a teasing edge, but it was lighthearted. “Read to me, first. I always liked listening to your voice.”

At that statement, Dutch pulled his hand away from Arthur’s warm skin but still kept it wrapped around him as he moved his head back in surprise. His mouth hung slightly agape at the boldness in Arthur’s tone, though he felt the corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement. “So, that’s how you want to play this game… fine.”

Picking his book up in his free hand, Dutch opened it in his lap and scanned the pages. Arthur continued to sketch as Dutch’s other hand rubbed small circles over his chest.

Landing on a passage that caught his eye, Dutch began to read, “‘But whether the resistance against tyrants is non-violent or physically violent, the overarching efforts to overthrow oppression justifies the means.’ What do you think of that, Arthur?”

“It’s very nice, Dutch.”

“‘Nice?’ That’s the word you’d use to describe it?” Dutch protested, though he affectionately wrapped his arm tighter around Arthur as he did so. He flipped through the pages for a few more moments of silence before his eyes landed on another. “Well, how about this one? ‘The whole point of America is freedom. Freedom of thought, freedom of deed, freedom of action.’”

Letting out a sigh, Arthur tilted his head back so he could look at Dutch. Their faces were close - mere inches apart - as Arthur spoke, just barely above a whisper, “Does it always have to be about politics, Dutch? Some greater good? I thought we came out here to escape all that.”

Dutch wanted to argue and explain how important Evelyn Miller’s writings were to their mission as a gang and their survival. But he knew Arthur was right. This was their moment to share, and it wasn’t any use wasting it on philosophical debates. Those could wait.

Tipping his head forward, Dutch pressed a chaste kiss to Arthur’s lips and nodded as he pulled away. “Okay.”

Arthur smiled at him as he turned his head back towards his journal and continued to work. Looking back at his book, Dutch searched for a different passage to read. Though most of the ones he noted were about ideological teachings, he did finally settle on one that made his eyes narrow and lips tighten in consideration.

Taking a breath, Dutch traced the words with his finger as he read aloud, “‘Say what you have to say, not what you ought. Any truth is better than make-believe.’”

Arthur did not say anything in response, though Dutch felt his hand stop drawing, as if Arthur was thinking about it. Dutch could feel the steady beat of Arthur’s heart as he gently massaged his chest.

Eventually, Dutch buried his face in Arthur’s blond hair as he asked, “Hmm, was that better?”

Arthur flipped his journal shut in his lap and rocked lightly into Dutch as he muttered, “You know I was never much good with words.”

“Oh, son… and you know that I wish you wouldn’t downplay yourself like this.” Dutch squeezed Arthur’s breast as he cradled him closer. “You speak from the heart, that’s what matters most... same goes for when you draw in that journal of yours.”

At that, Arthur bent his head down towards the journal in his lap. He tied the leather flap and slid the pencil in place underneath it. Lifting the journal, he set it in front of where the two of them were seated and pushed it forward. It was like a silent invitation, placed just out of reach.

Adjusting his position, Arthur turned around so he could lean his chest against Dutch as he wound both of his arms around the older man’s waist. He buried his head in the crook of Dutch’s neck, and Dutch couldn’t suppress a shiver as Arthur’s warm breath vibrated across the bare flesh at his collar when he spoke, “Thank you for reading to me. ‘M getting tired…”

“Rest up, it’s been a long day.” Dutch set his own book aside so he could readjust himself and wrap his arms around Arthur’s back. He rubbed soothing circles as he rested his chin atop Arthur’s head and watched the flickering glow of the fire.

This was real.

This wasn’t make-believe, or some long-lost memory. Arthur’s steady breathing and the warmth of his flesh confirmed that fact. Dutch let his eyes flicker shut in thought as he was once again reminded of how right Arthur was.

At the end of the day, all those fancy words in his books and his own philosophizing would be meaningless without Arthur by his side.

Dutch furrowed his brow as he blinked his eyes open. Biting his lip, he took a sharp breath and paused. He hesitated to say the words on the tip of his tongue, but he released a long exhale as he tightened his grip on his boy.

He felt safe here.

“You know, Arthur… you’re right. This life of crime, even I sometimes wonder where it all ends, or if it even ends at all. I try to do what’s best, I really do. I know I talk a lot about loyalty and how important it is to keep faith, but these moments when I’m alone with you….” Dutch let his voice trail off. Even amidst his own speaking, he couldn’t fail to notice the light snore coming from Arthur’s lips.

But rather than feeling anger or frustration, Dutch merely smiled. In a way, it was a relief. Arthur couldn’t hear him, and if he could, he would never remember Dutch’s words come morning. Somehow, it was easier this way. Whatever he said aloud, he knew he wouldn’t have to prove or justify it to anybody. He could speak from the heart.

The truth.

“I don’t know how I could ever go on without you. Please, don’t ever let go…”

At that, Dutch squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He focused on the way Arthur maintained a tight grip around his waist, despite his steady snores. The words weren’t meant to be literal, but for the moment, Dutch could allow himself to believe it was possible both physically and figuratively.

Dutch blinked the dampness away from his eyelashes as he looked back towards the fire. The journal was still sitting there, illuminated by the orange glow. Shifting on the ground, Dutch lifted his head away from Arthur and peered down at him. He seemed unbothered by the movements, so Dutch decided to push it further. Unwrapping one arm from around Arthur’s back, Dutch leaned slowly forward, until his fingertips were just able to land on the journal’s leather cover.

Pulling the book towards him, Dutch was able to pick it up in one hand and place it in his lap. He briefly feared the action disturbed Arthur, for he whined and pressed his face harder against Dutch’s shoulder. However, his heavy breathing continued, and Dutch proceeded to slide the journal’s strap out of its place. Holding the pencil in his hand, Dutch turned to the bookmark at the back.

There, he found a sketch of two animals - a buck and a wolf. Despite serving contrasting roles in the wild, they looked perfectly at ease within the sketch. They curled around each other as they laid down to rest, their noses nearly touching. The way they huddled together made it seem believable that they really could find harmony, regardless of their true natures.

On the opposite page, a message was written, “‘Couldn’t resist, could you?’”

Dutch chuckled, Was he really that predictable?

Using the pencil, he scrawled his own note underneath, “‘It’s no use trying to fight who we really are.’”

Taking one last look at the sketch, Dutch ran a finger over it. Just as he could speak in metaphorical language, Arthur could draw in it. But the meanings underneath it all remained the same.

Just because it wasn’t literal, that didn’t mean it wasn’t the truth.

Closing the journal and placing it back where he found it, Dutch kept a firm hold on Arthur as he pulled the both of them down to lay on his bedroll. Adjusting the blanket, Dutch made sure it was draped snugly over them as Arthur soundlessly snuggled his face against Dutch’s chest and hugged him tighter. Once Dutch was comfortable, he likewise wrapped his arms around Arthur, one holding him by the small of his back and the other rumpling his hair.

Feeling tired as well, Dutch shut his eyes. With his final words for the night, Dutch thought of what he just wrote in the journal as they held each other close. Continuing along the same line of thought, he whispered, “We just gotta embrace it.”

[itsbenedict]

I just finished hosting a 15-person game of Mafia for some friends. One tradition we have for these games is that every death is accompanied by some themed narration, so for my game I opted to spice it up with some art on top. Had to draw it real quick since I didn't know for sure who was going to die next until it happened.

The game's theme was "JoJo's Bizarre Adventure", with the hidden subtheme that all the roles (stands) were named after They Might Be Giants (@tmbgareok) songs! A list of their powers, links to songs, and a recap of the game under the cut.

01) Mogis - 「Flo Wheeler」

02) TD260 - 「Working Undercover For The Man」

03) JGH27 - 「Good To Be Alive」

04) Raya - 「Stone Cold Coup D'Etat」

05) KK / Sahrimnir - 「Thinking Machine」

06) Spontaneous Combustion - 「The Statue Got Me High」

07) Leviwulf - 「Push Back The Hands」

08) DarkFalco - 「I Am Alone」

09) Deli064 - 「Doctor Worm」

10) Fedaykin - 「Letterbox」

11) Surge - 「I Am Alone」

12) Wikxen - 「Put Your Hand Inside The Puppet Head」

13) Minby - 「Where Your Eyes Don't Go」

14) Bel - 「(She Was A) Hotel Detective」

15) SnakeInABox - 「By The Time You Get This」

Bold roles were Jotunheim (Mafia), normal roles were Johnsburg (Town), and italicized roles were third parties. (Jotunheim is the realm of giants from Norse mythology! The mafia were, in fact, giants! And the town's job was to figure out who might be giants! And the two sides were Jo and Jo! JOKES!)

「Flo Wheeler」 was a town role with a power that was pretty dangerous to the user- if anyone happened to be watching or tracking when a kill took place at night, Mogis would look like they'd visited the target that night in addition to whoever actually did. It could potentially be used to catch a mafioso in a lie, but otherwise it was more of an obstacle for the town to overcome- a miller-type role.

♪ You can't do the time, therefore you didn't do the crime ♪

「Working Undercover For The Man」 was a third-party role working for the Speedwagon Foundation to perform a threat assessment. TD could win with the town, but could win and leave early if he could guess all the names or powers of every other stand in the game. He could scan a name every night, to help that along.

♪ Planning midnight raids / On our unsuspecting fans / While the roadies rig / The video surveillance van ♪

「Good To Be Alive」 was a spin on the usual town doctor role- normally, a doctor can target a player and prevent their death if they would die that night. But... JGH couldn't actually prevent deaths- just fake it. The dead would become ghosts, who couldn't vote and couldn't be killed but were still allowed to talk as if they were alive.

♪ Hello leg / such a shaky leg / Just barely more than decoration ♪

「Stone Cold Coup D'Etat」 was a third party with an unusual win condition. They had to recruit a certain number of people to a private side-chat- and then make sure all those people got killed. Plus, she could redirect anything that happened to her at night to her recruits. If the recruits figured out what she was doing and got rid of her, they'd get a boost to their power.

♪ The bark now commands the trees / The queen is overruled by the bees ♪

「Thinking Machine」 was a town role with a mysterious purpose that didn't seem to make much sense at first. Sah would get, every morning, a strange series of numbers and letters of uncertain origin. It was information, somehow, but how to use it?

♪ Tape has brightening arm connect (Wait, that didn't make sense.) / Self-paint lever itching does! (That made even less sense!) ♪

「The Statue Got Me High」 was a mafia power. As the song describes, the victim is enthralled by the monolith and forced to obey its commands, until their eventual death. That is, Spont could recruit a player to the mafia, but they'd die one night later- and if he wasn't careful, he could die and his recruit would flip back.

♪ And now it is your turn (your turn to hear the stone and then your turn to burn) / The stone, it calls to you (you can't refuse to do the things it tells you to) ♪

「Push Back The Hands」 was a passive ability that caused anything that would happen to Levi- a nightkill, an execution, some other power- to be delayed by one day, giving him some time to react. He'd be told who it was that targeted him, so going after him as mafia was risky.

♪ Screeching tires but never a collision / Endless day without a sunset provision ♪

「I Am Alone」 was a weird one. See, DarkFalco, who was mafia, didn't have a stand as such. She was the stand- and she was the stand of Surge, who was town. They were linked together in everything, meaning the mafia had to work to keep Surge alive on top of their own people. She could send messages to Surge at night to mess with him, though.

♪ Before you fire I should inform you / One of us is a double ♪

「Doctor Worm」 had no real special abilities. His ability was to be pretty good at playing the drums, a power that had absolutely no relevance in a game of Mafia.

♪ I'm not a real doctor, but I am a real worm I am an actual worm ♪

「Letterbox」 was a mafia ability that let Fedaykin pick another player, and offer that player a chance to deliver a private message to one other player of their choice. He could see the "secret" communications, though, and once per game he could edit the message before delivering it.

♪ I'll never know what you'll find when you open up your letter box tomorrow ♪

「Put Your Hand Inside The Puppet Head」 is a classically mafia ability, but in the hands of a town player: the ability to force another player to vote for another. Normally the manipulated person isn't allowed to say what happened, but there was no such restriction here- confusion's no good for the town.

♪ Memo to myself: do the dumb things i gotta do: Touch the puppet head ♪

「Where Your Eyes Don't Go」 let Minby pick someone else to watch him at night. If anyone visited him to target him with an ability, the person he designated would be told the names of those people. A nasty trap for the mafia, as long as Minby doesn't pick a mafioso to share the information with.

♪ Where your eyes don't go, a part of you is hovering / It's a nightmare that you'll never be discovering / You're free to come and go / Or talk like Kurtis Blow / But there's a pair of eyes in back of your head ♪

「(She Was A) Hotel Detective」 was a very powerful town role- Bel was the cop, and could scan another player's alignment at night, plus track or watch them. Except... not directly. She couldn't scan players- she could scan hotel rooms, and if other players didn't check into the hotel at night or give up their room numbers, her information was useless.

Here are the room numbers, in order: Levi (1) Snake (2) JGH (3) TD (4) Spont (5) Sah (6) Deli (7) Fed (8) Minby (9) Falco/Surge (10) Raya (11) Wikxen (12) Mogis (13).

(Oh, and Thinking Machine's codes were actually encoded versions of her results, and Sah would get a weaker version of her power if she ever died.)

♪ She's got her ear to the walls / And she's tappin' the calls / If you've got a secret, boy / Forget about it! ♪

「By The Time You Get This」 imbued its wielder with the incredible powers of... an estate lawyer! Which meant Snake could leave a will behind when he died, naming another player and casting a vote on them from beyond the grave the next day.

♪ By the time you get this note / We'll no longer be alive / But our skulls are smiling still / At the thought of things to come ♪

So! Here's how it all shook out.

Day 1: The first day is always kind of a tossup, since no one has any information yet, and everyone's just trying to verbally stir the pot. Levi soft-claims his role right out the gate, warning town not to try targeting him or else. Mogis is executed, casting a vote on himself to save the town the trouble of dealing with Flo Wheeler.

Night 1: Spont uses the statue to recruit Wikxen, at the same time that Wikxen forces Snake to vote for Levi. So, now the usually-scum power in the hands of town is in the hands of scum for real. Bel scans room 3, and learns that its occupant is innocent. Raya recruits DarkFalco, and accidentally recruits Surge alongside her, to her surprise. JGH tries protecting Levi, to test if his claim was a bluff.

Day 2: Levi tries to push JGH on the basis of having targeted him last night, but everyone agrees to wait and see if Levi actually dies first. Votes circle around Wikxen and Raya for suspicious-seeming defensiveness on Day 1, and ultimately, when it seems like Wikxen's about to be executed, a small group of players flip their votes at the last minute and vote Raya out while she's asleep and can't defend herself. Rude! She was poised to win the game for herself and the town, since she'd convinced Falco that the mafia would benefit somehow if they were all recruited.

Night 2: The mafia kills Minby- and Minby opts to tell have Fed watch him, wasting his power. Lucky for town, though, Bel happens to scan room 8, confirming Fed is mafia since he volunteered his room number. Wikxen's coat contains a furnace where there used to be a guy.

Day 3: Wikxen forced Snake to vote for J, making him look bad- but Sah begins sharing his bizarre results from Thinking Machine, and Bel confirms that they're a log of her detective power. Then she points out that Fed is mafia, and the town falls in line behind the accusation with Sah to confirm.

Night 3: Spont uses the statue to recruit Bel, to keep any more problematic scans from ruining them. Bel, before being recruited, scans room 10, though- and now the town knows there's something funky with Falco and Surge, because Sah gets the results and knows what they mean. Due to their mismatched alignments, though, the encoded version is still misleading, so there's wiggle room. TD scans Spont and learns his role name.

Day 4: Spont concocts a daring scheme. He has Bel lie and claim to have received an incriminating result on him- so that Bel will be caught in said lie when Sah produces his own results. The plan is to frame Bel, who's a dead girl walking anyway, and clear Spont's name going forward. But the town talks themselves into explaining away the contradiction- even when TD reveals Spont's stand name, and Spont denies it outright and claims 「Combustible Head」, a fake vigilante (town nightkiller) role instead, the town explains away that, too. After a few more people claim, TD260 has completed his mission- his correct guess wins him the game and he leaves. Spont cleverly excuses himself by claiming that TD lied about his role to get him to claim his "real" one. Afterwards, the town ends up executing Deli064 instead, for some reason- poor Doctor Worm!

Night 4: The evidence vanishes from Bel's charred and smoking chair- because JGH tries to protect her at the same time the mafia are killing him! Bel is a ghost now, and the town never finds out her alignment.

Day 5: Bel not dying poses a problem for the mafia, because Spont was supposed to prove his own innocence by pretending to kill her! The mafia tries to misdirect by having Bel lie again, claiming to scan room 10 when she actually scanned room 6, Sah. Ultimately, though, the town is able to coordinate behind killing Surge and Falco, which- because they're linked- is a compromise option that both parties are happy with (when perhaps they shouldn't be).

Night 5: Since Bel is technically dead, Spont recruits again, grabbing Sah and removing the threat of scans entirely. If he'd recruited Snake instead, they'd have won on the spot, since only his will-vote prevented them from winning instantly due to outnumbering the town. We move on to a somewhat redundant...

Day 6: It's now down to five players- Spont, Sah, and Bel vs Levi and Snake. The mafia technically outnumber the town, but Bel's vote doesn't count, and Sah's going to burn the next night- so the town can still win by forcing a tie and then using Snake's By The Time You Get This power to place a vote on Spont. But that's if they can figure it out and get on the same page, and... they don't. There's no way there could be three mafia still alive, so the mafia are able to sow total confusion and ultimately get the town all voting for Bel... who's a ghost, and can't vote or be executed, which the town doesn't know because JGH died before he could fully explain. The execution defaults to Snake, and the mafia win the game.

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Addicted to You

Part V: Beast of Burden

Summary/Author's Note: Let's have some happy shall we? You flash back to one of your earliest memories with Frankie. You and Will have a heart to heart. (Thank you guys so much for your amazing compliments and feedback. It means the world.) ((also dear god I love this gif so much, the hair, the wind, the hand gestures, the way he says “--FUCKING ANDES, MAN”)) gif by @pascalplease 

**There is a Top Gun reference in here because y'all cannot sit there and tell me it's not Fransisco Catfish Morales's favorite movie--so, if you've never seen it, it might seem out of place or left field but I PROMISE it is fitting.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Pope's Sister! Reader Word Count: 4.4k Warnings/Rating: R/18+ -- feelings, heavy petting, thigh riding, fingering, Frankie's giant hands, all the kisses, hurt/comfort, YEARNING AND PINING, long lost love, language, Frankie is made out of pure HUSBAND material, y’all, fucking tom

Part I * Part II * Part III * Part IV

[MASTERLIST]

The two vehicles drove one behind the other for most of the morning. You watched the sun come up through the dense tree line, little slivers of golden flashes of light through the lush, green leaves that made you smile slightly in its beauty. Seeing the sun, knowing that the distance between you and Lorea's mansion was growing by the minute, made you finally be able to draw a deep breath without feeling like you were going to crack a rib in the process. The panic had subsided, but afterwards came the muscle fatigue and unadulterated exhaustion of being that tense for that long. Your eyes were heavy, but you couldn't sleep, not yet. 

Frankie eventually let go of your hand, needing both of them to turn the steering wheel on some of the switchback roads in the heart of the jungle, but as soon as the road turned straight again, his hand was a warm and gentle weight on your thigh. It was as if he thought the moment he stopped touching you, you would cease to be real. Maybe he was right--maybe his touch was the only thing keeping you centered in your own existence right now. 

"You should sleep," he said quietly, glancing away from the road to look at you then back. 

"I can't." 

He squeezed your thigh and nodded. "You look exhausted."

You chuckled softly and smiled halfheartedly. "I've been awake for the better part of three days, Frankie. If I didn't look exhausted, I would be worried."

He grinned in return, thankful that you at least we're starting to sound like your old self. You both still had a long way to go. He selfishly longed to see that spark back within you, the one he fell in love with--the one that gave him courage and the strength to do just about anything, including getting out of this fucking jungle. 

He pulled into a very old, rundown airstrip hangar and you sat up a little straighter, taking off your seat belt as he threw it in park. A small yellow beat up gremlin was parked off to the side where a pretty woman and a man leaned against the open hatchback.

"Who's that?" You asked.

"Pope's informant. We owe her big time."

You looked at her and suddenly was overwhelmed with the idea of not knowing what to say. She looked so normal, a civilian that should have been far away from all of this chaos and yet here she was, playing a huge part in the fact that you were still alive. 

Frankie got out of the van and walked around the front to open the door for you as he held out his hand. You nodded your thanks and gripped it, leaning on him more than you would have liked, but god dammit you were tired. 

"Your girlfriend is here," Frankie nodded towards the yellow car as Pope hopped out of the second SUV. 

"Girlfriend?" Now that made you smile as you raised an eyebrow at your brother who blushed.

"Shut up," he said flatly before walking over to them. Frankie chuckled and shook his head. 

He put his hand in the edge of your hair at your temple, gently running his thumb over the side of your forehead as he looked you over. "I gotta start weighing these bags. Go sit with Will. I'll be close by," he added before you could protest, with a wink and a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Okay,” you said softly and he hesitated for a moment before drawing you into the circle of his arms and sighing heavily. You clung to his shirt and breathed him in and he hugged you so tightly you felt compressed, but you weren’t about to tell him to stop. “Frankie--” you focused on the way he smelled, like humidity and sweat but underneath it all it was still him, solid and warm. “If you keep hugging me like this, I’m going to lose it and I can’t--I can’t right now.” Your voice faltered towards the end and you balled his shirt into your fists.

“Do you want me to stop?” he mumbled against your hair and the very idea brought tears to the front of your eyes. 

“God, no,” you let out an exasperated laugh and he squeezed you tighter. You pulled back slightly and wiped your eyes on the back of your hand, giving him a smile. With each touch he offered, your heart felt lighter, but then again that had always been one of Frankie’s powers over you. 

“Fuck!”

Both of you turned as Benny got out of the SUV and slammed the door shut, kicking the tire. Will and Tom followed suit but shut the doors normally, adjusting the strap of their rifles and packs. “What?” Tom snarled at Benny and the younger man threw his arms up in the air.

“What do you mean ‘what’? That was a shit job back there and you know it! We don’t leave messes like that!” Benny was seething. Frankie felt you tense and he let go of you slowly and turned to the other men. 

“Hey--Ben, Benny!” He raised his voice and the younger man looked at him. “Take a walk--relax.” He rubbed his hand down his face and glanced at you apologetically as Benny threw his pack down and laced his hands on top of his head, breathing deeply and walking into the grass. 

“If no one cares,” Will put a hand to his left side and winced. “I think I’m gonna sit.”

“Let me help,” you said, jogging over to the blond and he smiled slightly. 

Tom and Frankie started unloading the duffel bags of cash onto the giant rusty scale that sat under a dilapidated awning. Will sat down on a concrete ledge that connected to a retainer wall and he cursed quietly, when he moved his hand away from the wound his fingers had a few drops of fresh blood on them. “Shit,” he sighed.

“You got another bandage kit?” you asked, dropping down to one knee and starting to unzip his pack for him.

“Yeah,” he nodded, wincing again as he pulled his shirt up to examine the wound further. “You don’t have to--”

“Hush,” you said and he laughed, making you return it. Will had one of the most infectious smiles and laughs of any of your brother’s crew. 

“I missed you, ya know? We all did.” He watched as you lifted his shirt out of your way and removed the first round of gauze that was bloody and soaked through. 

“I missed you guys, too. It’s been a long time.” 

“Too bad we gotta get the gang back together for this--haven’t any of us heard of like a barbecue or something?” he joked. You laughed but didn’t respond, focusing on trying not to rip any of the new clotting off as you cleaned the area, ripping open more gauze with your teeth and spitting the packaging out onto the ground. “You know who missed you most though, right?” he asked, nodding towards the scale as Frankie and Tom continued to toss bags onto it. 

“Tom?” you asked and she threw his head back and laughed.

“Smart ass,” he shook his head. “He worried himself sick. I’ve never seen him like that.”

“I know.” Your voice was nothing more than a whisper as you could only imagine how Frankie felt the last few days. 

“All these years--” Will waited until you had placed the new bandage and sealed it off with medical tape and a wrap around his waist before he spoke again. “He never stopped loving you.”

“Will..”

“No, I’m serious. And if both of you are too stubborn to admit it and are going to make the rest of us point it out, then fine.” He dipped his head slightly, making you look him in the eyes. “That man is going to fucking love you until the day he dies, and I’m not telling you what you should do but,” he shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “If you feel the same, I can’t think of a better time to say something than after almost dying in the fucking jungle.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, plopping down on the wall beside him and tossing the rest of the unused cloth into his pack. “Yeah, I know. You’re right.”

“I know I am.” He said flatly and you punched his arm.

“Shut up, Miller.” 

--

Many Years Ago Somewhere Back in Dallas TX, USA

You had met Frankie Morales a handful of times, always in passing and always hanging back behind the others with a beer in his hand and his ball cap pulled just low enough to hide under--a move that he had perfected over many years. He was quiet, sweet, and incredibly handsome. For some reason, unknown to you, they called him ‘Fish’, must have been a military thing, because to you it was dumb.

You brother’s military friends were loud, boisterous, and could drink themselves under the table if they truly wanted to. You had asked Santiago about Frankie and he had just grinned and nudged you in the ribs until you blushed and told him to just forget it. That night however, you sat in the lawn chair, laughing with your family and stealing glances his way. And when you saw your brother pop him two beers and nod his head towards you, you wanted to crawl under the table. Despite the embarrassment of your brother playing both matchmaker and wingman, you squared your shoulders and smiled up at him as he offered you a beer. 

Conversation with Frankie was easy, once you got him talking. He was content to let you ramble on and watch you with a small smile and those kind, brown eyes. But once you found something he was interested in, well, he came alive. One beer turned to two, and then to three, and the next thing you knew the two of you had hopped up in the bed of his truck, feet dangling over the tailgate, watching the fireflies in the tall grasses of the field that belonged to the farmers down the street. Since then, fireflies and the smell of summer time honeysuckle always reminded you of the first time you kissed Frankie Morales. 

“And how long have you wanted to do that?” you smiled as he gently bumped his forehead against yours and stole another quick peck. 

“About the better part of a year,” he chuckled. “Can I do it again?” 

“I would be upset if you didn’t.” You grinned and slid your arms around his neck as his hand slid around the curve of your waist and he laid you back in the bed of the truck. 

His lips were soft, but his kiss was as hot as the summer air. He slid his tongue over your lip and you opened your mouth to receive him with a soft sigh of content. You wanted to bury your fingers in his dark hair, so you knocked his cap off and did just that. The action seemed to spur him on as his knee came up slowly between your thighs and started to push up the hem of your dress. 

“That okay?” he asked against your lips and you nodded, pulling him more firmly against the front of your body. 

His actions made you feel bold, feel brave in a way you had never felt before. He was a brave man who had seen a lot of the world, and you wanted him to show it to you. You wrapped your arms around him and kissed him again before he moved down to nose your neck. 

"Mhmm," you smiled and closed your eyes and you felt him suck a kiss against your pulse point. "That's nice."

"Yeah?" He mumbled against your jaw and pressed his knee further into the apex of your thighs. When you shamelessly started grinding against the front of his jeans he let out a groan that made you giggle. 

"Roll over," you said and he relented, moving onto his back and grabbing your hips to drag you to straddle his waist. You could feel how hard he was beneath the denim and you put your hands on his chest and rode him, letting the shape of his cock rub against your panties under your sun dress. 

"Fuck, sweetheart, come here," he sat up as you leaned down, crashing your lips together. His big hand cradling your face as his fingers threaded through the edge of your hair. His other hand disappeared under your dress and hesitated.

"Yes, Frankie, yes, go ahead. Please, touch me." You said breathlessly before he could even ask permission. At your words he dipped his hand down to cup your mound and he let his fingers part your folds.

"You're so wet. Is that because of me?" He grinned because he knew the answer to that.

"No, it's because of the other guy I was kissing in the bed of his truck." You tried to joke but gasped as he sunk one of his thick fingers inside of you.

"That so?"

"Shut up," you slapped his chest and he laughed, deep and genuine. Despite the fact that his hand was buried in your underwear, his laugh and boyish smile is what made you blush. Shit. You were in trouble.

You bucked your hips against his hand and moaned as he added a second finger and moved his thumb up to rub your clit. His hands were so fucking big, it made you wonder what was tucked carefully into those tight Levi's. You looked down at his handsome face, lit by the moonlight and the single street lamp at the end of the dirt road. It made you kiss him again, closing your eyes and really savoring the taste of his mouth. His fingers curved inside of you and sped up, pressing and rolling the pad of his thumb against your clit. 

"Right there, oh, fuck, Frankie don't stop." 

"I love it when you say my name." He nosed your cheek and the feeling of his beard against your soft skin gave you chills. 

"Frankie," you sighed again and it made him move back to devour your mouth as if he could eat the word from your lips. You bounced lightly in his lap against his hand, brushing his clothed cock with the inside of your thigh and it made him grunt. 

When you came it was a soft cry against his cheek as you clung to his shoulders and felt your pussy clench around his fingers. It was sweet, tender, and exactly what you needed. When you opened your eyes, he was already looking at you and grinning. You started to speak but were cut off by another male voice.

"Hey, Fish!"

"Shit!" You whispered and Frankie wrapped his arms around your waist and leaned back in the truck bed. You stifled a laugh as you landed against his chest and he pulled his hand from under your dress. 

"Shh, shh," he chuckled and put a finger to your lips. When you realized it was one of the fingers that had just been inside of you, you sucked it in your mouth down to the knuckle. He groaned, and whispered quietly, "You're killing me, princesa." 

"Fish! I can see your boots, man, I'm not a moron." Will called from the fence line that lined the field where his truck was parked. 

"Fuck," Frankie said, leaning his head back with a sigh. "What!" He barked and you gripped the front of his t-shirt, giggling again. 

"We're heading out and wanted to know if you were com--wait a second. That better not be Pope's sister in there! Just sayin'," he laughed and you felt your cheeks get hot.

You sat up from your spot on Frankie's lap and popped over the edge of the truck. "Fuck off, Will Miller!" Frankie yanked you back down and you fell into a fit of giggles as he rolled on top of you again.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" He called and you were laughing so hard you let out a snort and Frankie looked at you in gleeful surprise that just made you laugh more. 

"I'm not getting involved in this," Will shook his head and chuckled. "Just wear a fuckin' condom, and maybe some kevlar when you tell Pope."

Your jaw dropped and you buried your face against Frankie's chest and he chuckled as well. "So much for being discreet." You both waited, silently daring each other to make a move as you listened to the sound of Will's retreating boots in the gravel road. 

He dipped back down and kissed you again, slow and deep, as you reached for his belt and started to undo the buckle. His hand covered both of yours as he stopped your movements. "Wait--"

"What?" You asked, suddenly worried that the looming idea of your older sibling finding out had ruined your chances with him. 

"Can I--uh. Can I take you to dinner?" 

You bit your lip as you felt the heat rise to your cheeks once again. "I was right."

"About what?"

"You are the sweetest man I have ever met," you smiled and leaned up to cup his face and kiss him again. 

"So, is that a yes?" He mumbled against your mouth and you nodded.

"Take off your pants, Frankie."

--

You thought about the night you first kissed Frankie and wished it could be that simple again. Both of you were just kids. Your world revolved around scraping by to pay the bills and fucking in the cab of his truck. God, you missed that truck. 

Will hopped off the divider wall as a small plane landed and the guy who he had paid to provide transport got out to shake his hand. Frankie eyed the puddle jumper with disdain and threw his hand out towards it. 

"The fuck are we gonna do with that thing?" He asked, looking at Tom in question as you came to stand behind him. The whirring of a chopper drew their eyes to the lush tree covered mountain as their real ride crested the landscape and Frankie gave a sigh of relief. "Now, we're talkin'."

The wind from the blades whipped the tall grasses and anything not secured blew freely. Your hair covered your face for a moment and you hastily dug a hair tie from your back pocket and secured the strands. Frankie and Tom set to getting the large, canvas drop net secured to the bottom of the aircraft but you knew by the tension in his shoulders there was already a problem.

"This won't all fit in the net!" Frankie yelled, stopping Tom from putting more bags in. "If you want more it needs to go in the body!" 

"It'll fit!" Tom said back and Frankie shook his head.

"If that scale is even close to being correct we have six thousand pounds here!" Frankie said as the rest of the men approached them both to find out what was going on. "That's 250 million dollars!"

"We stole 250 million dollars?!" Benny said with a giant smile on his face. "I'm definitely getting that fucking Ferrari!" He grabbed a bag and headed for the chopper. 

"That's not the point--fuck," Frankie looked at Pope, desperate for anyone who would listen. "If that scale is right, we're gonna have a weight issue!"

"What's the issue? This helo can carry 9,000 pounds!" Tom said, gesturing to the helicopter and you saw the vein jump in Frankie's neck. They weren't fucking listening.

"That's 9,000 pounds at 2,000 feet...we have to fly over the fucking Andes, man!" Frankie literally stomped in place and threw his arm out towards the mountains.

"Are we really going to leave 200 million dollars on the fucking runway?!" Tom asked and you couldn't take it anymore.

"That's better than being dead, Tom!" You said, taking a step forward.

"You don't get a vote," he snapped, pointing a finger at you and Frankie clenched his fist and moved you behind his body.

"Enough!" Will said, putting his hands out and looking between the two men. "We need to decide now. What are we gonna do?"

Frankie let out a deep breath and rubbed his hand over his hat and down to the back of his neck. You watched as his forearm flexed, the vein in his neck was back, popping out with his rising frustrations. He finally shook his head and held up his hands in defense. "Okay. Okay. She'll make it. Let's go!"

"Frankie," you touched his arm but before you could say anything Tom gestured to the two people leaning against the yellow car. 

"What about them?" He jerked his thumb back indicating Pope's informant and her brother. "We're already overweight as it is!"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me-" you started but your brother was already a step ahead of you. 

"We promised them a ride over the border into Peru! She's the reason I got my sister back! Now, I'm going to help her get out of this fucking country with her brother--like I promised! No exceptions!" Pope waved his arm telling them to follow him into the helicopter. 

Frankie put his hand on your lower back and gave your hips a boost to get you inside the craft. He helped you sit down and pulled the straps of the harness connected to the wall over each of your shoulders as he crouched in front of you. His face was scrunched in thought but you knew it wasn't about the complexity of the safety belt, he could do that with his eyes closed. No, you knew what it was about.

"We're not going to make it are we?" You asked flatly and he looked up at you.

"We will. Because I said so." He snapped the buckle shut and jerked on the strap by your breast making sure it was secure.

"Frankie, you're the best pilot I've ever met. If you say it's too much weight, then it's too much weight." 

"Yeah, well, Tom's the one in charge."

"Tom can kiss my fucking ass," you snapped and his lips tilted up slightly in a grin. 

"There's my girl." He used his knuckle to give the underside of your chin a gentle kip. 

You put your hand on his chest and took hold of the fabrics of his button up and pulled him to you for a heated kiss. It was much more than the one at the mansion had been. You opened yourself to him and he took the hint and shoved his tongue in your mouth like you wanted. The slight twinge of pain you felt from your busted lip was worth the sound that came from the back of his throat. It was rough, it was wet, and it was two years overdue. When you pulled back you saw the spark of confidence back in his eyes that you had hoped to put there.

Kissing Frankie always made you feel small, but not in a bad way, like you were protected, like you were safe. With his arms boxing you in and his weight pressing gently against you, kissing Frankie felt like being home. And he was as close to home as you were going to get this deep in the jungle.

"Get us out of here, Mav," you said, and he chuckled at the nickname he had not heard in a very long time.

"You got it, Goose." 

He gave you one last kiss on the forehead before finally tearing himself away from you and heading up to the cockpit where he was needed. Since he had found you in Lorea's mansion, this was the most physical distance that had been between you and Frankie and you didn't like it at all. Pair that with the knowledge that despite his protests and being the only one in the group with his fucking pilot's license, they had ignored his concerns about the weight--yeah, your heart was starting to beat pretty hard. You took a deep breath and laid your head back against the metal wall. 

You looked up as Pope helped the informant sit next to you. He buckled her in the same way Frankie had done you and the action made you smile.

"You okay?" Pope called over the noise of the chopper and touched your arm.

"Yeah, I'm okay," you nodded, squeezing his hand and watching him go to the front to check on Frankie as the Miller brothers slammed the side doors shut and took their seats. You glanced to the woman at your left and suddenly was at a loss for words. How did you even begin to thank her for everything she had done? For the risks she had taken? She may have gotten something out of it but it still didn't change the fact that you were alive because of her.

"He's your brother?" She said, nodding to Pope's retreating form.

"Yeah," you nodded.

"He is a good man. I need you to know that." She said, her voice cracking a bit and it made your chest tight. 

"I know." You put your hand over hers and gripped it, simply because it seemed like the right thing to do. "Thank you." The two of you leaned back as the helicopter started to lift in the air and rock back and forth gently.

What else was there to say?

--

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[irarelypostanything]

on Trying to Write a Novel

A published writer on YouTube whose name I can’t remember said that it’s a great goal to write a book, but an entirely different thing to publish it.  She talked to the economics of actually writing for a living, and I heard similar thoughts expressed by publishers.  Getting a book published is a difficult thing, but even the people who are published are rarely profitable.  Publishing houses target the gems, the small sliver of writers who nail the market.

There’s a lot they have to say about the marketing aspect, but that all seems very vague and premature at this point.  I know there are a lot of people, like me, who just lay down a lot of words and figure we might as well make the words do something.  There’s going to be writing, no matter what, whether it’s straight fiction, fan fiction, or an angry Reddit essay complaining about the eighth season of Game of Thrones.  Writing is really, really, really easy...quality is something else entirely.

I took 20 weeks of creative writing in college, and not a whole lot happened in most of the short stories I read.  One woman tried to make a story with a beginning, middle, and end...and I think we all agreed in the workshop that she failed.  A short story is interesting.  You can create a mood, and you can lay down a premise, but you don’t have to follow Freytag’s Pyramid.

I can think of few novels that violate Freytag’s Pyramid (it’s just a fancy term for that dramatic structure they draw out in 7th grade, with rising action, climax, and falling action), except the ones by David Foster Wallace.  David Foster Wallace was allowed to do whatever the hell he wanted because he was David Foster Wallace.

I wrote more short stories than I can even remember, starting in high school.  I wrote one in college that got published in the honors journal about an honors student, but he wasn’t very honorable.  I submitted twice to a contest my roommate won, not jealous at all, and he could write novels of his own in a month, not jealous at all.  The truth is that I was surrounded by some pretty good writers who might read this now and think about how easy it was for them.  But I could never actually find the winning entries.  I find it a bit strange that they had this contest, but didn’t publish the ones that won and instead kind of seemed to keep them behind a locked vault.  I spent a lot of time looking.

I tried everything except talking to them.

We didn’t just write stories, we also did writing exercises.  I laid down one of the longest short stories that was supposed to be funny, and I had a lot of fun writing it, and the responses I got indicated that no one had fun reading it.  Other times I got positive reception, and I recall being particularly depressed when I laid down those things.  It’s almost as if there were an inverse correlation between how fun something was to write, and how good it was.

Anyway, what I’m writing now is about to derail and I just want to remember this exact point in time because one day I think I’ll come back, and look at all this, and wonder just what happened.

When I write a short story, I know what’s going to happen.  That’s just how I am.  The longest short story I wrote was called Metastasis, and it was a lot of fun to write, and it had a beginning, a middle, and an end.  Pre-med Battle Royale was also fun to write, though I rushed it.  Miller 420 was my personal favorite.

If you dig back into this 2,000-page mostly-text blog I for some reason decided to call irarelypostanything, you’ll find that I attempted novels a few times.  One was called Blank Pages, and it was about two students in UC San Diego attempting to grapple with some mysterious drug that increased focus but made the users emotionally numb, eventually incapable of even feeding themselves.  That was dropped, but I don’t remember why.  The Medium has one called End of Life, also dropped because I think it didn’t get enough likes or something.

This one was just called Slice of Life, and it was supposed to be a completely realistic, episodic kind of story about people working at a software company like in real life.  It was also supposed to have levity, and just be generally not serious and fun to write.  I was thinking maybe I’d try to shoot for something like Bell Jar, which was totally grounded in reality, but The Bell Jar actually does have things happen.  Quite a few things happen.  Also, it’s not a particularly fun time. 

So basically that’s where I got to, with the 10,000 words, and I’m starting to reach toward the thing I was reaching toward in Slice of Life.  But I’m only at 10,000 words, so we’re going to derail.

It’s not going to be about a bunch of young adults trying to get through basic life things, anymore.  It’s going to be ludicrous.  

And if we’re going to derail, let’s at least try to do it in style.

****

There’s a writing idea called “Bear at the door.”  Something has to be happening to move the plot forward.  Maybe the character is dealing with inner demons, and depression, but then OH F*** THERE’S A BEAR AT THE DOOR.

How is he going to get out of this one???

[ezilyamuzed]

Ten Years Gone- The Beginning

Description: Ten years ago, your world had changed. Ten years ago, you had met him, leading your life to never be the same again. Time is running out, but is it too late after all these years?

Word Count: 7775

Warnings: Language, Parent’s death, PG teen “cuddle” time. 

A/N: This is the prelude of a new series. I was listening to Led Zeppelin's ‘Ten Years Gone’ while watching the early episodes of Supernatural and got some ideas... Enjoy. 

Any grammatical mistakes are all my own, because I am human. Remember all comments and feedback are welcomed! If you want a tag in future posts regarding this series or other writings please send an ask! As always thank you for reading! Enjoy!   

TEN YEARS GONE MASTERLIST

*Picture and lyrics used are not mine. Led Zeppelin is Amazing.

Changes fill my time, baby, that's alright with me In the midst I think of you, and how it used to be

Your legs were sprawled out along the back seat of your uncle’s ‘70 Chevelle as you hummed along to the guitar rhythm and stared out the window. The trees and scenery were whooshing past in a blink of an eye, but it all looked pretty much the same no matter where you were. The autumn quickly changing the leaves that were now falling to the ground. Trees, trees, dirt, and grass. Hey a rock. Sometimes you turned your sight seeing into a game to see how long you could stare out without blinking before you either got dizzy or your eyes dried out. Your record was to the second chorus of The Steve Miller Band’s “The Joker”. 

“We almost there? I gotta piss,” you whined up to the front. 

Your uncle Danny let out a laugh as he turned his head to the rear-view mirror to see your turnt up nose. 

“We’re about 5 minutes away. You can hold it until then. If not, I’m sure there is a bottle or something back there.”

Although he was not longer looking you still give him an evil glare in response.

“You know it doesn’t work like that Uncle Danny.”

“Well if you’re going to keep talking like a rude little boy instead of the proper lady like I know your momma raised you to be, I’m going to keep treating you like it,” he replied back, turning the radio down as he spoke.

“She tried. It didn’t stick,” you rolled your eyes in a humph.

“If only she could see you now. Hell, 14, starting up high school…”

“Yeah, how many schools will I go to this year? The standard 4 minimum?” you added with sarcasm.

“One, smartass,” you could see him smiling as he looked to you in the rear view mirror. “I’ve worked out a deal with a buddy of mine while I go on a business trip.”

“Ya hunting plants, fruits, vegetables, or minerals this time?” You laughed at your own dumb joke.

“Don’t you worry about that missy,” he replied. “You just keep your head while I’m gone. No getting into trouble.”

“Who ya dropping me off with anyways? They in the business too,” you asked while making air quotes. 

“Yeah, but recently he has stepped back a little. Actually, he’s been watching two teenage boys around your age while their dad also goes out on the road,” he replied before looking back to you again in the mirror. “And I don’t want to hear about you getting into no trouble with those or any other boys. Ya hear me?”

“Ew, no,” you face twisting in disgust.

“Yeah, you say that now. Soon enough though, you’ll be just like the rest of us and find that special someone that turns ya all stupid enough to want to spend the rest of your life with em.” 

You rolled your eyes again as you slumped back further into the seat, keeping you eyes on the road signs as the passed by. Sioux Falls, North Dakota 10 miles ahead. Ten more miles until you can finally stretch out properly. Ten more miles until you might get to sleep in real bed, in a real house, something you hadn’t done for almost three years.

It had been an unusually warm fall that year. With your birthday approaching, your mom and dad were busy setting up everything for your party. Uncle Danny had taken you out to pick out whatever gift you wanted- a butterfly knife with dusty rose handles. He of course argued with you, but with his vast collection of knives that you had always admired, he agreed as long as it stayed a secret between the two of you. He even had an interesting symbol etched into the blade. It was a little star that looked like flames were coming out of every corner. He said it was extra protection, whatever that had meant. After grabbing ice cream he had driven you home, only too see the door wide open with no answer. He told you to stay in the car, but of course after a few minutes you stopped listening. It was your home. Why would you have to wait outside? That’s when you saw what he wanted to protect you from. Both of your parents, ripped to shreds by what looked like an animal. There was no animal in sight though. You don’t even remember exactly what else happened that day. There were sirens and people in uniforms everywhere. Neighbors of course being nosy and gawking at the scene. What you remembered was your Uncle Danny holding you close and telling you that everything would be okay. And you believed him.

Up until now, he had tried his best to juggle everything- his job and raising you were not easy tasks. You got into fights in school quite a bit, but with the fact that you were leaving it in a week or so to go to another, who really cared? There were nights when you were all alone, waiting patiently for him to return, always wondering in that back of your mind if this was the time you’d lose him too. He always came back though, a little beaten a bruised perhaps, but always with a smile. 

Eventually he finally told you where he was going during all of his trips. Fighting ghosts and other monsters sounded ridiculous to you, but eventually you realized he wasn’t kidding. He was a hunter- he saved people. And that made him that so much cooler. Over the summer he had started teaching you how to shoot and what things to look for. You had already became really good with a knife, learning little tricks and that with the one he had bought you. He had an old notebook that was filled with drawings and descriptions that you tried to memorize, the ink wearing away with each use. You asked if you could join and help on a case, but he would always tell you that it was no place for a kid to be which was complete bullshit. You could handle yourself. You weren’t scared. But with all your protests, he would not budge, thus bringing you to here.

“About 5 more minutes until we’re at Bobby’s,” he stated while turning left down the road. “Hold on to your bladder just a little longer.”

You re-positioned yourself to stare out the window to see if anything was at least interesting around this guy’s house. Nope. Trees, fields, and a couple houses every once in a while. Great - middle of fucking nowhere U.S.A.  You caught the sight of what looked like the after effects of a tornado. Cars and junk everywhere with a little house in the back. 

“Welcome to Singer Salvage yard.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” you moaned.

“Hey, language.”

“Sorry,” you muttered before speaking up again. “But seriously, you are LITERALLY leaving me in a garbage dump. What the hell am I supposed to do here? Get tetanus?”

“No, you’re going to get an education and have a normal childhood,” his voice sounded angry. “Now I know it’s not pretty, but Bobby is a good friend. He will watch out for you and make sure you have everything you need.”

“I’m going to need a bath,” you mumbled under your breath.

When the car finally came to a complete stop and the dust from the ground settled you were able to get a better view of the place. It was alright, probably looked better on the inside. Well, at least you hoped. Still a shithole. There was another chevelle parked alongside it that was just like your uncles, but more on the run down side. Next to it, a sleek black Impala. That was probably Bobby’s car. Hunters always have a thing for muscle cars. Sturdy, reliable, fast, or “American made” as your uncle liked to state. Whatever the reason, they were nice to look at. 

Two men walked out of the house with solemn looks on their faces with two teenage boys trailing behind. You followed your uncle's lead and climbed out of the car to the fresh air. 

“Danny, it’s been a long time,” the dark haired man with a gruff voice stated while extending his hand for a shake.

“ Way too long Johnny,” he replied while shaking his hand before moving to the bearded guy with a baseball cap. “Bobby, thanks for doing this.”

“It’s no trouble at all. There’s already two hellions, what’s another?” He chuckled as he looked over at you staring down to the ground, pushing your chucks into the dirt. “You must be Y/N.”

“Yes sir,” you replied with a tight lipped smile. 

“This is my boy Dean, he’s just a little older than you and my boy Sam who is just a bit younger,” John stated, while guiding the boys closer with his arm, although they clearly could care less.

“Dean, could you and Sam help Y/N inside?” Danny spoke up. “I know I’ve been making her wait to use the restroom, so I’m sure she’ll be grateful to know where it is.”

Dean nodded his head and grabbed at your two bags in the backseat before walking past you to go inside. Sam following. You rolled your eyes to your uncle and trailed behind to your new life- at least for now. 

You were wrong about it possibly being better on the inside. Nope, it was a shithole too that was covered with books and empty liquor bottles. The decor covered by a pound of dust and cobwebs resembled something like a real house, something someone used to care about. 

“Toilets over there,” Dean nodded down the hall while tossing your bags down before he flopped himself on the couch.

“Thanks,” you mumbled as you walked down the hall.

Surprisingly the toilet was at least semi clean, although there was enough hair trimmings in the sink to resemble a small animal.

After finishing in the bathroom you walked out to the living room area. Dean was sprawled out on the couch with a comic book and Sam was sitting on the floor next to him with an old worn down book. Out of place and unwelcomed were the nice ways of saying how you felt at that moment. After grabbing your book bag, you sat down at the kitchen table all alone, not knowing what else to do, but to stare at the walls.

“You boys helped Y/N find her way,” you heard your uncle's voice say as he entered the room.

Dean nodded as he turned the page on his book. Sam looked back at him, following his queue. Your uncle approached you, sitting himself down at the seat next to yours.

“See, it’s not that bad, right kiddo?”

Even though your head was down, you looked up to him through your lashes, rolling your eyes just a little towards the two boys.

“You’ll be fine,” he smiled. “Just give it a little bit and I’m sure you will all be getting along just fine when I come back.”. 

“How long?” You asked although you could guess the answer already.

“Not sure kiddo,” he grabbed your hand and held it gently. “But I’m going to call every Sunday night after dinner time to check in on you. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded before wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. “Just come back to me okay Uncle Danny?”

“You be good Y/N;” he said as he returned your hug back before standing up again. “I’ll see you soon kiddo.”

He never promised that he would come back. It was a promise that he couldn’t make. He knew it and you knew. He always said that he would never make a promise to you that he couldn’t keep. That didn’t make it hurt any less.

You watched as he shook Bobby’s hand by the front door, turning to give you a loving smile before leaving out the door to go to the next job that awaited him.

“So, how about you boys actually show Y/N where her room is.” Bobby stated firmly, causing Dean to roll his eyes as he slapped the comic book shut. “You two know how it goes around here. We’re not savages. Now get going.”

“Yes sir,” the two of them mumbled as they got up from their spots. 

Both boys each grabbed one of your bags, still not saying anything really directly to you as they walked up the stairs. Bobby was standing with his arms crossed watching them closely as you followed behind them. 

“This one is where Bobby sleeps,” Sam informed you while pointing to a door. Dean and I are in this one, and you’re the last one down the hall.”

“Yeah, lucky you,” Dean scoffed. “You get your own room.”

“Lucky me,” you stated back with sarcasm. “I get to live here with you.”

Dean turned his head to you with a glare before he opened the door and switched on the light. It was a simple room, surprisingly organized and clean. It was almost like someone had cleaned it recently. 

“This was Dean’s room,” Sam informed you, making you feel a little guilty about displacing him. It wasn’t like this was your choice though.

Dean tossed the bag he was carrying down onto the bed with a thud. Sam chose to use the gentler approach of setting the bag he was carrying on a chair in the corner.

“So what’s your story,” Dean asked as he sat down on the corner of the bed.

You shrugged, as you moved through the room, checking out the view from the window. 

“You travel with your uncle,” Dean stated. “So where’s your parents?”

You turned and looked back to him silently, not really wanting to talk about the tragic backstory of your life.

“Okay, don't talk to us then,” Dean rolled his eyes as he stood up. 

“Dead.”

He paused in his steps and turned to look at you, mouth agape. You returned to look out the window again before continuing, hoping you would see your uncles car any moment again to take you with him.

“It’s just me and Danny;” you continued as you looked over to them. “So what’s your story?”

“Mom’s been gone a long time and dad is in the business,” he stated with some sort of pride. “The family business.”

“Doesn’t a family business typically mean that more than one member of your family is doing it?” You snarked back.

“I’ve gone out on hunts before,” he stated in defense. “I’ve seen a ghost before.”

“Good for you,” you rolled your eyes again. “So why did he leave the two of you here then.”

“Dean got in some trouble on his last hunt,” Sam spoke up. 

“What, did you act like an ass to the monster too?” You smirked to Dean.

“That’s a long story,” he said as he started rubbing the back of his neck. “So how long are you here for?”

“Who knows?” You responded. “Hopefully just a few days, maybe weeks.”

“And you’re like what 13?”

“Fourteen,” you corrected him. “I’ll be fifteen-.”

You stopped yourself short, not wanting to discuss or even think about the fact that you had a birth date like everyone else. It was a day you’d rather forget. You finished your sentence with the word “soon” popping off your lips.

“Are you going to be going to the high school with Dean then?” Sam asked. 

“I guess so,” you shrugged. “So What is there to do around here anyways?”

“Read,” Sam replied with innocence, Dean rolling his eyes in response.

“There ain’t much to do, but there’s always something you can find to at least pass the time.”

“Like what?” You asked. 

Dean laughed while nodding outside.

“Well, you like cars?” He asked as you gave him a side eyed glance. “We got tons of em out there.”

“What do you do? Try to fix em up or something?”

Dean shrugged as you all heard Bobby yelling up the stairs to start getting ready for dinner. 

“Don’t keep him waiting,” Sam said as he walked out the door.

“Is Bobby strict?” You asked Dean who was still standing there, waiting for you to go downstairs as well.

“He’s alright, can be strict at times,” he replied back. “He does his best to make sure that we have some sort of normal in our lives.”

“What’s normal?” You rolled your eyes. “Being dropped off with some strange dude in a shit hole.”

“Give it time,” Dean laughed. “It’s not that bad. It’s better than staying in a crumby motel every night alone. ”

You paused your steps to the door as you heard those words leaving his lips. Motel and alone. Well that summed up the last three years of your life. Guess you did have more in common with these two boys besides being dumped off. If they could handle it, maybe it wasn’t going to be that bad after all.

The next couple weeks weren’t that bad. You had started high school with Dean showing you around. The fact that he became somewhat protective of you was probably why you didn’t seem to have any trouble with the other kids. The boys seemed to be scared of him, and the girls seemed to be in love with him. Each Sunday as promised your uncle would call to check in, consistently avoiding the topic of when he would be coming back. It was alright though. You had become so busy with your school work and hanging out with the boys that you didn’t mind it so much. Bobby’s house was slowly becoming your home.

“So to find the slope, you take the difference from the two Y points and divide by the two corresponding X points,” you stated to Dean as the two of you sat at the kitchen table.

“Why do I even care?” He grumbled.

“Well, slopes give you an idea of the rate of acceleration. Like in a car,” you stated. “Say you know that if you start at the end of the driveway and move to the other end in 60 seconds, you can determine how fast you were going.”

“Or I could just look at the speedometer,” he grinned. 

“Smartass,” you laughed as you shoved his arm. “Okay, so you see a Rugalu, and they move from point A to point B in so many seconds. How fast do you have to move your ass to get the hell out of there?” 

“Who says I wouldn’t stay to fight?”

You rolled your eyes to him again. Clearly at this point he was just being a smartass. 

“Fine, you don’t run away. So how much faster do you have to be to gank him then Winchester?” You asked with a cocky smile.

“Just got to be faster,” he replied. “Who cares how fast?”

“Well, let me give you a little insight into physics and biology. You expel more than enough energy for a task, you deplete your energy storage. Making it easy for the other Rugulu to take you down.”

“Okay, point taken,” he laughed. “Math is important. So how did you become so smart in this shit anyways?”

“My dad was a science professor,” you shrugged, before realizing that you had mentioned him for probably the first time ever to Dean besides the fact that he was dead.

“And your mom?” Dean prodded a little further. 

“History professor,” you replied while taking in a deep breath. “Guess it just rubbed off on me. Anyways, do you get it now?”

“Oh, I got it about a minute after you decided to try and help me,” he smiled. “I just wanted to see how far I could get you frustrated before you gave up.”

You smacked him lightly on his arm as he laughed in response.

“You’re a dick,” you laughed. “Why did you want to see me get frustrated?”

“Because I think it’s awesome that even when you don’t know how to help someone, it gets to you so much that you don’t quit,” he smiled. “That and when you realize that you did in fact help someone, your eyes kind of light up a little. You’re a good person Y/N.”

The way that Dean was looking at you as he spoke was so genuine; no one besides family had ever done that before. It made you feel something at that moment. What it was, you weren’t sure. You bit your lip nervously as he leaned over, pulling his text book back over to him. 

“So question 4, find the y-intercept,” he read from the pages.

“You helping Dean with homework there Y/N?” Bobby stated as he entered the room with Sam, both carrying bags of groceries that could probably feed a small army. Or in this case, the Winchester boys for a weekend. 

“Just making sure he gets it,” you smiled back while standing up to help them put the groceries away.

Peering into the bags, there was an item that you had told Bobby in secret that you needed that you didn’t see. He had either forgotten, or was too embarrassed to pick it up. 

“Um, Bobby,” you muttered. “Ya forgot something.”

He looked at you with furrowed brows until it dawned on him. He mumbled ‘crap’ under his breath before exhaling loudly.

“I suppose you need ‘em soon,” he sighed, you nodding in response. He looked over at Dean finishing the last question of his homework and closing the book. “Dean, take Y/N and my car to the little corner store. Be back in twenty for dinner.”

Dean squinted his eyes in confusion as he grabbed the keys from Bobby. You rolling your own eyes that now Dean was going to be very well aware of the gross part about being a girl: your period. 

You trailed behind Dean after Bobby handed you some cash, muttering an apology as you walked away. In less than 3 minutes, with Dean obviously ignoring anything that resembled a speed limit sign you were at the store.

“So what did you need? Make-up, hair stuff?,” he inquired as he followed you in, making you give him a funny look. “Didn’t know if all of the sudden you were trying to look like those other girls in the school.”

“I’d rather live forever in my comfy jeans and t-shirts then to ever be like them,” you snarked back, as you approached the feminine section.

Dean’s eyes followed where yours went, staring at the boxes of tampons with little flowers printed on them. It was not something he knew a lot about, but he knew enough. He reached over and grabbed a box, staring at the packaging.

“I don’t know why they try to make it all fancy,” he pondered out loud. “I mean, a girl can bleed for a few days and still kick your ass. They should have something more fierce on the box. Like a warrior princess.”

You shook your head with a laugh, catching on that Dean was trying to make this would be awkward situation into a joke. 

“My dad used to say that they used these for bullet holes,” he stated while grabbing two more boxes. “We should probably stock up knowing our luck. Who knows, maybe I’ll need some.”

Your laughter died down as you followed Dean to the register when you saw a group of guys looking and nodding over to the two of you with smirks.

“Looks like Winchester isn’t getting laid this week,” the one stated out loud. “Unless he’s into walking the red carpet.”

Johsua Adams. A notorious prick that thought he was God’s gift to women. First day at school and he had already tried, and failed, to have you,the new girl cozy, up behind the bleachers with him.  Dean just sat the products down on the counter, clenching his jaw as he turned to him with a grin.

“No, that’s what your girlfriend is for.”

Josh’s smile faded quickly, his face hardened now approaching Dean rapidly with you standing next to him. You felt Dean’s arm push you back by your waist, surprising you for a second until you saw what happened next. Josh yelled a ‘fuck you’ as he swung his fist towards Dean’s face, Dean almost effortlessly caught him by the wrist and twisted his arm behind his back.

“Now you’re going apologize for your remarks and you're going to go back to your little circle jerk,” he seethed, holding him steady as he tried to break free. 

Josh’s friends all moved from their spot, clearly pissed off that their friend was being hurt. Dean shook his head stating ‘uh huh’ as he twisted Josh's arm more to make him yell out. 

“Now I’m going to let you go,” Dean instructed the Josh in his ear, loud enough for everyone to hear. “And you all are going to leave me and my friend alone, or next time I won’t be so nice.”

Josh nodded his head, giving Dean the queue that he was going to comply. His friends all stared the two of you down hard with anger as they walked out of the store. You had almost forgotten the fact that you were in a store until you heard the onlooking cashier behind you.

“Your boyfriend there is a good guy,” she stated. “Those boys are nothing but trouble. It was about time someone showed them their place.”

You didn’t argue what she had called him: your boyfriend. Definitely not. Probably not ever. But she was right, he was a good guy. You handed her the money as you lead the way out the door to Bobby’s car. The two of you opening the doors and setting yourself in. 

“Where did you learn how to do that?” You asked with enthusiasm, the whole act was something you had only seen in the movies.

“My dad,” Dean replied. “And Bobby a little. Why?”

“Teach me,” you said as your turned your body to him with intrigue in your eyes.

“What?” Dean exhaled audibly. “Why?”

“You really have to ask?,” you sounding surprised. “Come on Dean! There are tons of assholes out there like that, plus knowing how to take care of myself would definitely help with, you know...those other things that we aren’t supposed to talk about.”

“There is no way in hell I’m teaching you any of that,” he looked at you directly with seriousness on his face. “You haven’t had to know what it’s like to fight for your life; you’re lucky and blessed. And I will be dammed if I ever let you get mixed up in that shit.”

“It’s not like I’m not already mixed up in it Dean! Something supernatural killed my parents. Hell, I’m being raised by hunters! Do you really think I will ever just get on with my life and not have that following me?”

Dean growled lowly, as he shook his head. 

“Fine,” he stated as he turned the key in the ignition to bring the engine to life. “But this is between us. If Bobby knew, he’d kill me.”

“I promise.”

“And leave Sam out of it too. That kid is going to be a doctor or lawyer someday.”

“No problem,” you agreed. “Thanks Dean, for you know, what happened in there.”

“ Anytime,” he said as he pulled out of the spot and drove down the road. “He had it coming to him anyway.”

“And I know why you’re scared to teach me how to fight Dean.”

He glanced over at you with confusion, making you smirk in return.

“Because you know I’ll be able to kick your ass,” you replied with snark. 

“Oh darlin,” he shook his head with a laugh. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” 

The next week, Dean and you had figured out a routine on when he was able to teach you. Most of the time it was right after dinner when Sam would be caught up in a book and Bobby would pass out drunk at his desk.

The garage light was enough for you to see what you were doing, and far enough away from the house so they couldn’t hear you.

“Okay, so again,” Dean stated, making you follow his directions in the sequence as he rattled them off. “Left punch, right punch, left uppercut, and a right hook.”

You did as you were told, until he stated to go faster, and then faster again. Dean shook his head in disapproval as he watched. 

“You’re locking your arms too much,” he said as he gripped your right elbow. “You’re going to break something of yours, not theirs.”

His hands moved to reposition your arm, tickling a little as he touched your skin; making you flinch back with a giggle.

“Ticklish huh?” Dean smirked as his eyes grew wide.

“You wouldn’t dare,” you laughed, as you noticed the devilish look in his eyes. 

He reached over as you tried to move out of the way, and furiously tickled you all over in an instant. Your laughter echoed through the room as you tried to get away, but he was not stopping.

“Stop Dean! Stop,” you gasped out in between your laughter, tears now rolling down you eyes. “I’m going to piss myself!”

He continued with his own laughter as you twisted yourself and started to fumble backwards; grabbing onto his arms to bring him down as well as your back hit the ground. 

“Ow,” you laughed again, Dean propping himself up on his hands next to your sides, staring down with a grin. “See what you did?”

“Rule number one,” he smiled. “Know your opponents weak spots.”

“Uh huh, and where’s yours?” You smirked as you started to tickle his rib cage. 

Dean moved swiftly and pinned your hands down on the ground with a smirk. Your breath caught in the moment, with your chest rising and falling deeply to catch it. He stared down at you as you looked up to him. The feeling that arose was different, and by the looks on his face he was feeling it as well. He paused himself for a moment, before leaning down and pressing his lips onto yours gently. An act that surprised you at first, but it felt right. Your first kiss. Your first real kiss was happening with Dean on a dirty garage floor, but you didn’t care. You found yourself returning it, moving your lips along with his, opening them just a little as you felt his tongue glide across them. You didn’t really know what to do. It’s not like this was really covered in health class, but you glided your tongue with his, moving them together in sync. It felt smooth, sending a warm feeling down your body as you felt his hand now touching your face, bringing you closer and deeper into his.

“Whoa,” you heard Sam gasp aloud, causing you to both break away and look over at him in panic.

“What the hell Sam!” Dean yelled.

“So that’s what you two are doing,” Sam smiled. “You two are making out every night!”

“Get out of here Sam before I kick your ass!” Dean yelled again.

“Whatever,” Sam rolled his eyes. “Just don’t let Bobby, dad, or her uncle catch you. They just called.” They’re coming back.”

“He’s coming back?” You sat yourself up, knocking Dean back a little in your action. “When?”

“They said they’d be here after school tomorrow,” Sam answered. “So that probably means we will be moving on too.”

Dean sighed out loud and nodded as he stood up, shaking the dirt off of him before extending his hand to you to help you up. As you got up you felt the mixed feelings of dread and excitement. You were going to see your uncle again, but at the same time you were now probably going to lose Dean. You stared down to the ground as you followed the boys back into the house. Dean instructing Sam to keep his mouth shut about what he had seen. You went upstairs to your room, trying to ignore Dean’s glances as you shut the door and flopped down on the bed. The feeling of his lips still lingered on yours as you gentled touched them with your fingers. What was going to happen next?

You awoke from your deep sleep as you heard the sound of your door opening. Glancing at the clock it was just a little after midnight. You sat up and turned to see Dean walking in with a solemn look on his face. 

“Hey, didn’t mean to wake you,” he apologized.

“Yes you did,” you smiled in the dark room, the only light peaking through the curtains from the moon outside. 

“I just thought, since tomorrow we might be parting ways, maybe we should talk about what happened?” He nervously replied.

You nodded as he sat down on the edge of your bed, you sitting up straighter and pulling the covers up to your chest. You could see the hesitation in his face, unsure of what exactly to say. The silence was lingering, only growing with anticipation of what he was about to say fiercely within you. 

“I’m sorry Y/N,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.”

 You were confused for a moment, but you laid your hand on top of his in reassurance.

“Hey, it’s alright,” you replied softly. “It was nice. Unexpected of course, but I don’t regret it.”

“I’ve just, I don’t know,” he paused again. “I just was trying to keep you away from knowing how I felt about you.”

“How do you feel about me?”

“I like you Y/N,” he confessed as he looked at you. “I mean, it's hard not to. You’re someone who genuinely cares about people, and I didn’t want you to get hurt when I had to leave again.”

“What makes you so sure that you will have to leave?” you asked. “I mean, maybe they’ll let us stay here for a little longer.”

“Doubt it,” he sighed. “You don’t know my dad. He won’t care. The only thing that matters to him is taking care of Sam and finding what killed my mom.”

“But what about you Dean? I’m sure he cares about you.”

Dean shook his head, you catching the sight of a lingering tear fall down his face. 

“I was happy once before, not too long ago. I had a semi normal life away from them with someone I cared about, but he didn’t care and I couldn’t leave Sammy.”

“Dean,” you found yourself reaching for his face to look at you. You searched in his face to find whatever guilt he was holding back. “Tell me what happened.”

He sighed again as you dropped your hand down. His eyes searching for an easy way to tell you, possibly scared at your reaction.

“You know how Sam told you I had screwed up on a hunt? Well that isn’t true. I got myself in trouble and found myself at a boy’s reforming home. I got to go to school, do normal teenage things, and I had met someone there that I think I might have loved.”

You just found yourself nodding, although the last part hurt just a little, but you could tell it was still something he was still hurting from. 

“Anyways, my dad showed up after months even though he knew where I was the whole time and made me come back. He was angry and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Then of course I thought of Sam. I’ve been protecting that kid my whole life. I couldn’t walk away from him.”

“I understand,” you whispered. “But Dean, you do know that you can be happy again. No one knows what tomorrow will bring.” 

“How is it that you always know the right thing to say?” he chuckled softly.

“Because I’m awesome,” you smirked back with a soft laugh. 

“Yeah, well I’m going to get back to my room before Sammy realizes that I’ve left,” he said as he started to get up, but you grabbed his hand to stop him.

“If this is really possibly the last night I get to see you, I don’t want you to go,” you confessed as you let your grip fall. “I don’t know exactly whatever it was that I felt earlier, but I don’t want to give it up yet.”

Dean looked deeply into your eyes as he moved to crawl under the covers with your assistance of pushing them back to allow him access. He laid his head down on the pillow next to you, gazing at you, moving the hair out of your face as you mirrored him. You nuzzled your face into his hand as he cupped your cheek. He was hesitant, but you moved your face closer to his. Biting your lip a little before you leaned in and felt his soft, full lips on yours once again. He followed your lead and before you knew it, you felt the same warmth as you did before now hitting harder as your lips moved together by the light of the moon. It was a feeling you never wanted to let go of as you pushed your lips on his harder. His hands now resting on you, one holding your head steady, the other caressing your hip. It tickled a little, the way his hand touched your skin, making you moan just a little, wanting more. His lips moved from yours, trailing along your skin and down to your neck as his hand moved from your hip to your heaving chest. Through your clothes you could feel him grasping your breast gently, not wanting to be rough. You didn’t  know exactly what had pushed you in the moment, but you pulled away from him and lifted off your shirt to leave your chest expose to him. You wanted to feel his skin against yours as he watched you with wonderment in his eyes before crashing his lips against yours once more. His hands were now all over you, feeling every inch of you as you continued. His lips moving to discover new spots on your body and the pleasure-filled reactions they ensued from you. It could have been only minutes that it continued, but it felt like forever until the kisses and touches started to slow down. Dean looked into your eyes, as he pulled away with a deep breath. 

“I think I love you Y/N,” he confessed. “And I don’t want us to do anything that neither of us are ready for just because we may never see each other again.”

“I think I might love you too Dean,” you smiled back. “And I agree with the one part, but I know this; we will see each other again. When we’re both ready, perhaps a bit older, things will be different.”

“You always know just the right thing to say,” he smiled again as he pulled you into his arms to lay your head on his chest.

“Goodnight Dean,” you yawned as you nuzzled into him. 

Dean placed a kiss on top of your head, not allowing himself to fall asleep right away. He wanted to hold on to this feeling just a little longer as well because tomorrow, he knew it was all going to change. 

“Jesus fucking christ,” you heard Bobby yell out loud, snapping you awake in an instant.

Dean sprung himself up from the bed, leaving you to cover yourself up with the blanket. A look of fear and panic in his eyes.

“What the hell is going on here?” Bobby demanded. 

Dean held out his hand to try and calm him down, but it was not working.

“Bobby, it isn’t what it looks like,” Dean pleaded. “We didn’t do anything. We were just talking and I fell asleep.”

“Her shirt was off, and you just fell asleep?” Bobby looked at Dean with disappointment. “Do I look like an idjit to you? Now the two of you get dressed, in your own rooms. You have school and then your dad and your uncle will be here after.”

“You’re not going to tell them are you?” you asked in a panic. 

Bobby glared at the fear in Dean’s and your eyes as you awaited his answer.

“I’m supposed to be watching the two of you, and Dean you know better,” he glared at him hard. “I for sure ain’t saying shit to them. But you listen to me, this stops now or so help me I will kick both of your asses into next Tuesday.”

“Yes sir,” you both nodded in reply, feeling a little sense of relief. 

“Now get dressed,” Bobby stated as he walked out the door. 

You took in a deep breath and exhaled out as you turned to Dean who was almost out the door. 

“Dean?”

“You heard him, get dressed,” Dean said gruffly before walking out, shutting the door behind him. 

Dean hadn’t said anything else to you as you silently ate your breakfast and on your way to school. He was completely ignoring you now, even when you tried to speak, he chose to go the other way or say something to someone else. How he was acting was hurt, but you tried to just let it go, knowing he probably was just protecting himself and you from what awaited when you walked through the door after school. 

You saw your uncle and John sitting there waiting with Bobby. None of their faces really looked happy. 

“Dad-“ you heard Sam say as he walked in behind you.

“Time to pack your bags boys,” he instructed. “We’re moving on.”

“Yes sir,” you heard Dean state as he started for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” You asked out loud, making them all look at you in disbelief that you would even question what was happening. 

“Say goodbye to Sam and Dean, Y/N,” Danny stated as he stood up and gave you a small hug. “It’ll be awhile before you see them again.”

“This is bullshit,” you exclaimed. “Why do any of them, any of us have to go anywhere? What to live in the back of a car or a crappy motel, not knowing if any of you will ever come back?”

“Danny, settle down that girl there,” John advised.

“No, fuck you, ya prick,” you spat out, causing his eyes to widen in surprise. “They’re happy here, we all are. Bobby may not be our family, but he’s been here. He is at least trying to give us a normal life. Why can’t you just leave us alone?”

You felt guilty after hearing your words leave your mouth, as you looked up to your uncle. He had tried to be there, he just couldn’t. You now realized why he had brought you here in the first place. He knew he couldn’t do everything you needed. He was really trying to give you the life you deserved. 

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you cried to your uncle before you ran out the door.

You plopped yourself down on the ground, tears flowing down your face. You heard the sound of gravel moving under someone’s steps, but you didn’t flinch. 

“That was some speech you gave in there,” John’s rough voice stated as he sat himself down next to you. “I can see you’ve really become attached to my boys and this place.”

You just nodded your head, feeling anger and resentment towards the man next to you.

“Me too,” he confessed. “That’s why they’re coming with me.”

You looked at him baffled, not understanding why he was even talking to you after what you just said.

“Your uncle is a strong man. One of the best guys I’ve ever known. He is doing right by you in letting you stay. I’m not as strong,” he sighed. “I need them around. I look at them and on my weakest days I can see my Mary in their faces. It’s what keeps me going as I try to figure out what happened to her.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I feel like everything has been sugar coated for you for probably way too long,” he replied. “What happened to her, what happened to your parents, well someone has to stop it.”

“My parents…”

“We’re not sure if it’s the same thing, but we sure as hell won’t stop until we find it and kill it,” he answered back. “I know it’s a tough life for all of you kids, but you’re getting older now. You should know. Dean, he has been in this for so long, he knows what is expected. Sam, well although I’d like to keep him out of it, this has been his whole life. This is just what happens. You say your goodbyes and move on.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“You will,” he smiled. 

You both heard the door of the house swing open and shut, Dean walking out with a green duffel bag with Sam behind him. He paused as he looked at you both, unsure of what was happening. John looked over at you and Dean staring at each other, as Dean put his head down and helped Sam into the car. 

“They’ll be alright Y/N,” John stated, making you turn your head to him. “And so will you.”

He got up from his spot and brushed the dirt off of him as he walked towards his sleek black car.

“You boys all set?” He asked. 

Dean nodded as he stood there with the car door open, looking at you with sadness in his eyes. John turned to see you doing the same as he opened up the drivers door.

“Let’s get a move on it,” he said as he sat himself inside.

Dean looked down again, before looking back to you. You mouthed the word ‘goodbye’ as he nodded and got inside the car. The trail of dust they had left behind took minutes to disappear, but as it went down slowly and was gone, you knew they were now as well.

John’s words with everything that had happened replayed in your head. ‘You will’ he said, and at that moment, you hadn’t realized or known just how true that really was.

Tags: (Let me know if you don’t want added!)   @snffbeebee​ @waywardnerd67​ @waywardbaby​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @jaylarkson​ @ladywinchester1967​ @wildefire​ @i-hear-crazy-calling-my-name @hobby27​ @iamabeautifulperson18​ @19agbrown​ @sonotalice​ @drakelover78​ @aloneanddesperate​ @pisces-cutie​ @biawol​ @jamielea81​ @fallininjapan​ @justkending​

[theomnilegent]

2019 Upcoming LGBTQA Fiction I’m Excited For!

A new year, a new top nine for women-lead LGBT fiction I’m looking forward to reading! There are, of course, a great many more books than the nine I’ve chosen this time ‘round - I think I will eventually make a part two to this post. I am so, so happy to see that this year we have even more diversity, even more stories about characters from all walks of life, from different parts of the LGBTQA umbrella, and even more LGBT novels. I remember a time where it’d be hard to find more than two YA novels with LGBT themes published in a single year - and now we have so many amazing works coming out!

The themes for 2019 seem to be gay witches, space gays, and explorations of mental illness in the LGBT community. I am so excited to read stories about girls and magic! I am more excited to read stories about girls and love! And I am definitely excited to see multiple books seriously addressing the issues of mental illness in young lesbian and bisexual women - it is a serious topic that has often been glossed over in the past, and to see multiple works that want to tackle these issues, and the issues of toxic relationships, in a healthy way is refreshing. 

Below you’ll find titles, summaries, and goodreads links.

Laura Dean Keeps Breaking Up With Me by Mariko Tamaki Laura Dean, the most popular girl in high school, was Frederica Riley's dream girl: charming, confident, and SO cute. There's just one problem: Laura Dean is maybe not the greatest girlfriend. Reeling from her latest break up, Freddy's best friend, Doodle, introduces her to the Seek-Her, a mysterious medium, who leaves Freddy some cryptic parting words: break up with her. But Laura Dean keeps coming back, and as their relationship spirals further out of her control, Freddy has to wonder if it's really Laura Dean that's the problem. Maybe it's Freddy, who is rapidly losing her friends, including Doodle, who needs her now more than ever. Fortunately for Freddy, there are new friends, and the insight of advice columnists like Anna Vice to help her through being a teenager in love.

Starworld by Audrey Coulthurst & Paula Garner Sam Jones and Zoe Miller have one thing in common: they both want an escape from reality. Loner Sam flies under the radar at school and walks on eggshells at home to manage her mom’s obsessive-compulsive disorder, wondering how she can ever leave to pursue her dream of studying aerospace engineering. Popular, people-pleasing Zoe puts up walls so no one can see her true self: the girl who was abandoned as an infant, whose adoptive mother has cancer, and whose disabled brother is being sent away to live in a facility. When an unexpected encounter results in the girls’ exchanging phone numbers, they forge a connection through text messages that expands into a private universe they call Starworld. In Starworld, they find hilarious adventures, kindness and understanding, and the magic of being seen for who they really are. But when Sam’s feelings for Zoe turn into something more, will the universe they’ve built survive the inevitable explosion?

The Lost Coast by Amy Rose Capetta Danny didn't know what she was looking for when she and her mother spread out a map of the United States and Danny put her finger down on Tempest, California. What she finds are the Grays: a group of friends who throw around terms like queer and witch like they're ordinary and everyday, though they feel like an earthquake to Danny. But Danny didn't just find the Grays. They cast a spell that calls her halfway across the country, because she has something they need: she can bring back Imogen, the most powerful of the Grays, missing since the summer night she wandered into the woods alone. But before Danny can find Imogen, she finds a dead boy with a redwood branch through his heart. Something is very wrong amid the trees and fog of the Lost Coast, and whatever it is, it can kill. Lush, eerie, and imaginative, Amy Rose Capetta's tale overflows with the perils and power of discovery — and what it means to find your home, yourself, and your way forward.

Tell Me How You Really Feel by Aminah Mae Safi Sana Khan is a cheerleader and a straight A student. She's the classic (somewhat obnoxious) overachiever determined to win. Rachel Recht is a wannabe director who's obsesssed with movies and ready to make her own masterpiece. As she's casting her senior film project, she knows she's found the perfect lead - Sana. There's only one problem. Rachel hates Sana. Rachel was the first girl Sana ever asked out, but Rachel thought it was a cruel prank and has detested Sana ever since. Told in alternative viewpoints and inspired by classic romantic comedies, this engaging and edgy YA novel follows two strongwilled young women falling for each other despite themselves.

The Meaning of Birds by Jaye Robin Brown Before, Jessica has always struggled with anger issues, but come sophomore year that all changes when Vivi crashes into her life. As their relationship blossoms, Vivi not only helps Jess deal with her pain, she also encourages her to embrace her talent as an artist. And for the first time, it feels like the future is filled with possibilities. After In the midst of senior year, Jess’s perfect world is erased when Vivi suddenly passes away. Reeling from the devastating loss, Jess pushes everyone away, and throws out her plans to go to art school. Because art is Vivi and Vivi is gone forever. Desperate for an escape, Jess gets consumed in her work-study program, letting all of her dreams die. Until she makes an unexpected new friend who shows her a new way to channel her anger, passion, and creativity. Although Jess may never draw again, if she can find a way to heal and room in her heart, she just might be able to forge a new path for herself without Vivi.

The Weight of the Stars by K. Ancrum Ryann Bird dreams of traveling across the stars. But a career in space isn’t an option for a girl who lives in a trailer park on the wrong side of town. So Ryann becomes her circumstances and settles for acting out and skipping school to hang out with her delinquent friends. One day she meets Alexandria: a furious loner who spurns Ryann’s offer of friendship. After a horrific accident leaves Alexandria with a broken arm, the two misfits are brought together despite themselves—and Ryann learns her secret: Alexandria’s mother is an astronaut who volunteered for a one-way trip to the edge of the solar system. Every night without fail, Alexandria waits to catch radio signals from her mother. And its up to Ryann to lift her onto the roof day after day until the silence between them grows into friendship, and eventually something more...   

How It Feels To Float by Helena Fox Biz knows how to float. She has her people, her posse, her mom and the twins. She has Grace. And she has her dad, who tells her about the little kid she was, who loves her so hard, and who shouldn't be here but is. So Biz doesn't tell anyone anything. Not about her dark, runaway thoughts, not about kissing Grace or noticing Jasper, the new boy. And she doesn't tell anyone about her dad. Because her dad died when she was six. And Biz knows how to float, right there on the surface--normal okay regular fine. But after what happens on the beach--first in the ocean, and then in the sand--the tethers that hold Biz steady come undone. Dad disappears, and with him, all comfort. It might be easier, better, sweeter to float all the way away? Or maybe stay a little longer, find her father, bring him back to her. Or maybe--maybe maybe maybe--there's a third way Biz just can't see yet.

Going Off Script by Jen Wilde Seventeen-year-old Bex is thrilled when she gets an internship on her favorite tv show, Silver Falls. Unfortunately, the internship isn't quite what she expected... instead of sitting in a crowded writer's room volleying ideas back and forth, Production Interns are stuck picking up the coffee. Determined to prove her worth as a writer, Bex drafts her own script and shares it with the head writer―who promptly reworks it and passes it off as his own! Bex is understandably furious, yet...maybe this is just how the industry works? But when they rewrite her proudly lesbian character as straight, that's the last straw! It's time for Bex and her crush to fight back.

These Witches Don’t Burn by Isabel Sterling Hannah's a witch, but not the kind you're thinking of. She's the real deal, an Elemental with the power to control fire, earth, water, and air. But even though she lives in Salem, Massachusetts, her magic is a secret she has to keep to herself. If she's ever caught using it in front of a Reg (read: non-witch), she could lose it. For good. So, Hannah spends most of her time avoiding her ex-girlfriend (and fellow Elemental Witch) Veronica, hanging out with her best friend, and working at the Fly by Night Cauldron selling candles and crystals to tourists, goths, and local Wiccans. But dealing with her ex is the least of Hannah's concerns when a terrifying blood ritual interrupts the end-of-school-year bonfire. Evidence of dark magic begins to appear all over Salem, and Hannah's sure it's the work of a deadly Blood Witch. The issue is, her coven is less than convinced, forcing Hannah to team up with the last person she wants to see: Veronica. While the pair attempt to smoke out the Blood Witch at a house party, Hannah meets Morgan, a cute new ballerina in town. But trying to date amid a supernatural crisis is easier said than done, and Hannah will have to test the limits of her power if she's going to save her coven and get the girl, especially when the attacks on Salem's witches become deadlier by the day.

[paigenotblank]

also hannah and hardy, because i gotta know

Ask and ye shall receive (oh boy, this one got long):

who hogs the duvet - This has a two part answer. When they first get together, and Hardy is at the stage of the relationship where he is too afraid to fart in bed for fear of scaring her off and he honestly cannot believe that Hannah is even in his bed, then it is Hannah who hogs the covers. He lays so still and anxious and praying that he won’t have another heart attack because Hannah Fucking Baxter is laying next to him. The longer they are together and the more comfortable he becomes in their relationship, the more easily sleep comes to him. Until finally one day, he’s like a freakin’ snoring log, and he wraps himself up in the blankets and poor Hannah hasn’t got a chance at recovering any of them. She just shrugs though and cuddles into his back to keep warm.

who texts/rings to check how their day is going - Look, Hardy would forget his head if it wasn’t attached to his body, especially when he is deep in an investigation. Hannah understands though and send him emojis and silly little texts throughout the day and a reminder to eat lunch. Hardy pretends to be annoyed, but he secretly loves it.

who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts - Hannah has a natural affinity for just finding the right gift for the right person for the right occasion. She doesn’t spend a lot of time thinking about it, but it’s always perfect. Hardy spends more time worrying and debating and really, really tries to be creative. More often than not he puts off buying things until the very last minute because he just cannot decide and then he scrambles to find an open shop and ultimately shows up with wine, flowers, chocolates, and a sheepish expression. There was that one time he surprised Hannah with a trip to the Maldives, though, that completely caught her off guard. (He noticed a pink bikini in her things, asked Miller the next morning where she thought a romantic beach destination might be, and voilà, one of the easiest…most romantic gifts of his life.)

who gets up first in the morning - Hardy. He often goes into work early and Hannah likes to snuggle in the warm spot he leaves behind.

who suggests new things in bed - Hannah. There is literally no other way to answer this question.

who cries at movies - Hardy. He is a soft boi wrapped in a prickly exterior, but give him Judy Hopps pinning a badge onto new police academy graduate, Nick Wilde, and he’s a blubbering mess.

who gives unprompted massages - At the beginning of their relationship, it was always Hannah. She’s sensuous and tactile. But over time, Hardy grows used to the touching and being touched in return and eventually he can give as good as he gets.

who fusses over the other when they’re sick - Bless Hardy, he tries. Hannah is not a good patient. Let’s be real though, he is not either - the only difference is that Hannah doesn’t put up with his shit. “You don’t want the soup I heated up, fine. Die for all I care!” (She cares and he eats the soup.) Hannah, on the other hand, threw the mug of tea he brought her after finding out he microwaved it. She apologized, but he did always use the kettle to make her tea going forward.

who gets jealous easiest - Hardy is a always in a constant state of quiet jealousy. It takes a very long time and a lot of shagging to get him to a point where he isn’t afraid she is going to leave him. So, he does a lot of grin and baring it. He draws the line at someone touching her though. The first time it happens and he pushes someone up against a wall for groping her without her consent, she is so turned on, she drags him from the bar to the loo and fucks him (or lets him fuck her) against the door to the ladies.

who has the most embarrassing taste in music - Hannah. She listens to anything and everything. She sings off key and dances like a dork to make Hardy laugh. But she also has the best taste in music, and often uses it to set the mood at home.

who collects something unusual - Hannah. Have you seen her collection of sex toys? And while she may have gotten rid of a lot of things when they moved in together, her collection is still extensive.

who takes the longest to get ready - Have you met Hardy? Have you seen how he dresses? Okay, to be fair it used to take him a long time to decide what to wear when he was trying to impress Hannah at the beginning of their relationship. It didn’t take him very long to shower, shave and dress though. Hannah, on the other hand, has a routine™ that she keeps to almost every day. It is designed to slay, and slay she does.

who is the most tidy and organised - Hannah, it’s a throwback to when she needed to keep Hannah and Belle separate. She had a lot of personal rules for herself, and while many have been relaxed, that energy still comes out in how she keeps her things.

who gets most excited about the holidays - Hardy dreads the holidays because it almost always means more work for him. Inevitably some idiot does something stupid after over-indulging in eggnog and his time with his family is cut short. He does love having Daisy visit though. Hannah loves getting to spend the time with Alec and Daisy, but dreads having to visit her own family. If her mother doesn’t stop asking when she and Alec are going to have children of their own, she might just scream.

who is the big spoon/little spoon - At the beginning of the night, Alec starts off as the big spoon, but at some point during the night, they switch, and Alec wakes up most mornings with Hannah’s breasts pressed up against his back.

who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports - Hardy doesn’t like to lose, either at work or at play, but he was unprepared for how all in Hannah goes when she decides she is going to win at something. It is easiest to just get out of her way.

who starts the most arguments - Hannah is very opinionated and isn’t afraid to tell Hardy when he’s being a pillock. Though when he is being particularly hard-headed, her favorite insult to lob at him is, “Miller is right, you are a knob!” After he has a chance to cool down, he reflects on what he’s done and will apologize if she has a point. If he stands by his actions, he usually ends up yelling at her as to why he acted like a knob (usually its because he loves his daughter or his friends or her) and then she throws herself at him and they have angry sex or make-up sex and by the time they’re done, neither remembers that they even had an argument.

who suggests that they buy a pet - Hardy thinks that Hannah might like the company during the day, so he suggests it, but Hannah really doesn’t want the responsibility of making sure an animal stays alive. She’s perfectly happy to flit about town as the desire strikes her or to go to the beach or when she’s missing Alec something fierce break out the toys she still has and take naughty pictures which she send to his mobile.

what couple traditions they have - they are a non-traditional couple and as such don’t put much stock in things that other couples might find important. Hardy tries to get home from work early on their anniversary, but it doesn’t always happen and it’s not a big deal to either of them. He will take her out for a nice dinner to celebrate, though sometimes it’s a week after the fact. Hannah tries to keep their sex life spicy and Hardy will go along with almost anything she throws at him. If she want to be blindfolded and have hot wax dripped on her, count him in. If she wants to play with handcuffs and riding crops and vibrators, well, ok if it makes her happy. If she gets drunk one night and orders a strap-on because “it’s hilarious, Alec,” he’ll let her peg him as long as Daisy’s not visiting at the time. And actually, he finds he enjoys it more than he expected he would, so she reserves it for use on special occasions. He comes to the realization that all those things he thought he was doing for her, she was doing for him, and so it really was all about them. And they are stronger for it.

what tv shows they watch together - Alec hates TV. He hates the news, he has reporters, he thinks those singing shows are shite. But the minute that he finds out Hannah’s book is being made into a TV show, he is mentally rearranging his schedule so that he is always home to watch it with her.

what other couple they hang out with - Miller and this bloke that Hannah introduced her to - he’s a screenwriter on her new show - divorces with two little mites of his own; also, Bambi and Byron come to visit twice a year.

how they spend time together as a couple - they do a lot of cuddling at home and shagging. They stroll along the river behind their chalet and sneak snogs along the way. They go to Miller’s for dinner and backyard bbqs in the summer. They go dancing, though Hardy hates it, Hannah can usually get him to at least join her on the dance floor for a few songs (as long as they’re slow and he can hold her close). Hannah adores going to wine and painting events, she can’t paint worth a damn and usually gives up on the still life before she finishes her first glass. There was that one time she decided straight away to paint Hardy in the buff, the instructor was scandalized by how large she’s made his cock (Hannah insists it’s to scale, Hardy refuses to discuss it). She hung it over their bed.

who made the first move - Hannah. Hardy nearly passed out when they first spoke. Ok, he may have been having a cardiac event, but Hannah got him to hospital, pretended to be his wife, and then when he gained consciousness berated him for not taking care of himself which scared the bejesus out of her as he collapse in front of her. In the end, he decided staying under the care of the doctor was better than checking himself out and having to deal with an angry Hannah. But as you can see, it all turned out all right for Alec.

who brings flowers home - Alec is the king of flowers (and wine and chocolate). Hannah never lets him live it down after Miller told her that story. But she still shags him silly whenever he comes home with them for her.

who is the best cook - Hannah. She tries and can usually follow a recipe. Alec thought microwaving tea was acceptable behavior.

Send me a ship and I’ll tell you who…

[tanadrin]

Reordberend

(part 18 of ?; first; previous; next)

They went on, down through the rough, channeled terrain at the mouth of the valley, down onto the icy strip of land that lay between the hills and the sea. There was no path here, no markers of any kind, and Katherine wondered how far she was from the place where she’d come ashore. Finally, as the twilight glow on the horizon had begun to fade, Ælfric started walking a little faster, moving with more purpose. Katherine had the feeling they were getting close to their destination.

They rounded a rocky outcrop that jutted up through the ice and snow, a big dark shoulder of the land; and on the other side, framed against the dark sky, was an immense shape. Katherine couldn’t make heads or tails of it at first; it was too top-heavy to be a hill. As they got closer, she realized it was the hull of a ship. A pretty big one, to be all alone out here on the shore, maybe two hundred meters from one end to the other. When they were close enough for their lanterns to cast light on it, she saw white-painted walls, streaked with dark rust; great big holes in the side, some clearly made by hands scavenging steel, some, perhaps, the result of reefs or weathering. Katherine paused near the bow, and lifted her lantern-staff up, trying to make out the markings high above her head. WINC- -R was all she could read.

“Come,” Ælfric said. He led her along the keel of the bent-over ship, until they came to a crack at ground level that seemed to go all the way up to the top; it was big enough for several people to walk abreast into. She could see stars through it. It ran all the way through the ship, as though it had been ripped in half. They went in, and Katherine found the ruin provided a decent shelter against the the constant shore-wind. It was actually pretty peaceful inside. But the looming darkness overhead did unnerve her a little.

“Be careful,” Ælfric said. “Stay close. This place is old; it is dangerous.”

But he went confidently forward; he seemed to know the path. They did not go up; they walked through what must have been the cargo hold, until they came at last to the far end of the stern. Old crates and pieces of debris littered the ground here; the floor beneath them was ripped away, exposing ice-free, stony ground. Ælfric leaned his staff against a bulkhead, then went to a big bowl-shaped thing in the middle of the space; Katherine couldn’t see what he was doing at first, and then a fire roared to life, beating back some of the darkness. Ælfric dragged a crate a little closer to the brazier, then sat down on it, stretching his legs out in front of him and letting out a long breath. He suddenly looked rather tired. The bright firelight threw the lines of his weather-beaten face into deep relief. He motioned for Katherine to sit, too.

“Is this ship what you wanted to show me?” Katherine asked.

“Almost. Not yet,” was all Ælfric said. He took some jerky from his pack, and tore it in half; they ate together in silence for a few minutes. Then Ælfric stood, and walked to the very back of the room. Katherine followed.

There, where the ragged, torn bulkhead met the ground, there were seven long, low mounds scraped in the dirt. Above them, on the steel plate, gouged into the surface, were drawings. Faces, animals, words. Words, Katherine suddenly realized, she could read without effort, words in English. The largest were names and numbers. Dates, actually. Katherine realized she was looking at graves.

“What is this place?”

“Look,” Ælfric said. “Read.”

Katherine read. ALFRED ROBERTS. 2175-2229. Of Milwkee, Wisc. Even after all other dfficulties, our dparture ws delayd--the govt of NZ refused at 1st to give us permission, saying they did nt wish to be rsponsible fr our rescue. Dspite our assurance, tht we neither dsired nor needed thr assistance, they hindered us 4 weeks. Then very bad weather; we cd not set sail. JULIA TOAL. 2182-2222. Dparted 8th May, far later thn hoped. Winter closing quickly. Too late in summer by far. Bt we were unanimous; would nt wait another year. Wd accept any difficulty, for wht we wished to accomplish. PERRY MILLER. 2160-2219.

It was a record of a journey, interspersed with names and years. There were many more names here than just seven; if these were dates of birth and death, all these people had died frightfully young.

Ælfric pointed to the first name. “Ælfræd, son of Lawrence. His son was Ælfwine; Ælfwine’s daughter was Ælfgyfu; Ælfgyfu’s daughter was Ælfsteorra; Ælfsteorra was my mother. He is my ancestor.”

“What happened here?”

Ælfric looked at Katherine, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“These dates.” Katherine pointed at the first few names. “Dates of death?”

“Yes. Ælfræd died in the tenth year. Julia, in the third. Perry, in the first.”

“They were not old.”

Ælfric cocked his head. “This land makes old men of the young. It carries off the child and the father and mother alike. The first years here were the hardest of all.”

“But there are only seven graves here.”

“No.”

Ælfric took his lantern-staff up, and pointed it down, back the way they had come. In the brighter light of the fire, Katherine could see that this was not the only bare patch of ground here in the cargo hold; the floor had been pulled up in even intervals, down along the length of the ship, all the way back to the place they had entered from. There were more than forty more graves here.

“These were men and women honored among us,” Ælfric said, indicating the seven graves they now stood next to. “But many gave their lives in the landtaking. It was not easy. Few had dared to try to make a home in this land of winters before we came. None tried for a long time after. It seems, from all you have told us, that they even forgot we were here.”

“You must have come during troubled times.” Katherine looked at the dates again. “Right in the middle of the Collapse. You might have even been alone here for many decades.” Katherine had done a bit of research on the history of the continent before she came. Amundsen-Scott had closed right around the turn of the century; McMurdo had lasted only a decade or so longer. For most of the 23rd century, the only human presence in Antarctica had been a few Chilean and Argentinian bases on the Peninsula, a desultory claim to what everybody thought of as a worthless patch of ice, held on to more for reasons of national pride than anything else.

The hundred years or so from the middle of the 22nd century to the middle of the 23rd had not been a good time for anybody. For various reasons, the whole human race at once had seemed to find itself in the middle of a dark forest, with no clear way forward. A vision of the future that it had carried with it, in one form or another, for centuries, the vision of steady (if not monotonic) forward progress, the vision of hope, the vision of a world they could make better eventually (even if they did not know how just at the moment) had absented itself. And instead, for a long time, nations started looking inward. Governments feared to look weak, feared to rely on their neighbors, feared that expressing hope for peace and prosperity made them seem naive. Instead, they seemed to decide, now was the time for all the serious people to admit, once again, that struggle was the real truth of existence.

It wasn’t that civilization fell. The Collapse was a fairly dramatic name for the period, albeit one that had stuck, because to many of the people living through it, it did feel like the end of the world. What it had really been was a series of political and economic shocks. Even throughout that entire century, the world had not stayed still. There was new art, new technology, new ambitions, if you knew where to look. But the tenor of the era was one of paranoia, nativism, and tyranny. Katherine’s own homeland had spent the better part of it under a series of right-wing dictatorships. Other parts of the world--India, China, Japan--had fared much worse.

It had broken, like a fever ending, in the 2250s. There were lots of reasons: advancements in technology and medicine, and the economic revolutions of the global south finally ended the endless series of shocks and recessions that had plagued the world. Geoengineering finally stabilized the climate. Some even said the real credit went to the artistic revolutions of the era. That it stopped being unfashionable to dream again, to imagine what a utopian future could look like. And all that long darkness--and all the time before it--had been repressed. Not forgotten, exactly. But you didn’t like to dwell on it. That was the dark ages. Nevermind that it had not been all that dark. That many millions had lived and struggled (and wept and laughed) in that time, that it was a time as suffused with human life as any. It was painful to think about. And so, few people did. Katherine was just as guilty of that as anybody. Why trap yourself in the past, when there is a bright and endless future ahead of you?

“Why did they come here, Ælfric? If it was going to be so hard?”

Ælfric gave Katherine… a look. She wasn’t sure what kind of look. Like he was sizing her up. Or nailing her down.

“You survived.”

“What?”

“You survived. You are a survivor.”

“I don’t understand.”

Ælfric nodded, more to himself than anything. “Mæwstan found you on the shore, three days from here, after you had walked God alone knows what distance; we found the rest of your ship some days later, and the crew. They were all dead. Killed by the storm that marooned you here, or by the freezing sea. You should not have lived.”

“I’m not baseline, like you. I have, uh,” Katherine searched for the word, “I have improvements. Machines, in my body.”

“Your machinae have not functioned since you came here.”

Katherine stiffened, startled. “How do you know that?”

“I have watched you. You have suffered fatigue, soreness, pain. You have eaten with us, eaten our food, and had pains in your gut.” Well, that was embarassing. No, the food had not always agreed with her. “You have slept badly. The long nights, they make you depressed. Anxious. I have watched you closely, outlander Katherine. You have endured what few outlanders would endure, or could. I have noticed. Also, Leofe told me.

“I was wrong to want you exiled. In my defense, I did not think it would be your death, not truly. Perhaps it was wishful thinking. Perhaps I wished to absolve myself of that guilt. But I really thought that one who had walked the ice from the northern shore would find a way to survive, even if we turned her out of our hearths. But that was wrong. Even if it were true, you did not deserve that, and I am sorry.”

He said it flatly, like he was simply observing a fact of nature. The ice is cold. Penguins like to swim. I was wrong to try to have you killed. Katherine resisted the urge to give him a hug.

“It is the prejudice of my people that all outlanders are weak of spirit. That they do not know what they live for, and so they do not know how to fight for it. Perhaps it is not so. Perhaps some of you are strong. Leofe also said you are not like the other outlanders; that you come from a people apart even in your homeland. A people who have not forgotten their past, and so are not wholly of the present. If that is so, I see now why John sent you to us. You alone, perhaps, could understand.

“So understand this. Our foremothers and our forefathers came here because they could do nothing else. Those were grim years in the countries they hailed from. Years of dark hearts, years of narrow sight. Years in which the troubles of the world pressed in on them, hard like a prison, from which they could not escape.

“This--” and he gestured at the carved steel surfaces around them “--this is the annals of the first years of our people. It is written also in our books, but I wanted you to see with your own eyes, how it was at the beginning. The letters we carved into the hard metal and the graves we scratched into the hard ground. Because in the hardness is a lesson.

“They were not hard people, not at the beginning. We do not prize hardness of heart. We are not cruel, whatever--whatever our failings may sometimes be. We do not value cruelty. Because we would not be cruel, because we would not admit the darkness into our hearts, because we would not surrender, we could not remain. Perry, Julia, Alice, the others buried here, they kept a jewel hidden in their breasts, a jewel which burned like fire, a jewel which even in the long darkness to which no Antarctic winter can compare, warmed them and gave them purpose.

“They wanted a place where they could be themselves. Where they could, despite the purposes of other men and women, build a community of the heart. But how could they do that? The world was crowded and claimed, with high walls at every turn. They were few in number. There was only one place where the laws and walls did not run.”

“Antarctica?”

Ælfric nodded.

“The land of many winters. They bought a ship. They gathered all the things they needed; they expected much hardship. Even so, it was harder. But they fared forth, came to these icy shores, and sought a refuge here.”

“You make it sound almost religious.”

“The separation of the religious from the secular is a contrivance of your world, Katherine. We do not have a religion you would recognize, but yes, we are religious in our fashion. And we do not separate that from the other elements of our life.”

“You make it sound like you’re primitivists. Some kind of intentional throwback.”

“Ha!” Ælfric seemed to be genuinely amused by this. “That because we speak a dead tongue, we wish to recreate a dead people? A dead culture? Do you think we are Angles in spirit? Playing at the ancient world?”

“You live a difficult life. Not unlike the people who spoke your tongue before.”

“Our foremothers and forefathers did choose this tongue for a reason--but it was not because they fancied themselves ancient folk of Britain. I don’t think any of them were even English.

“They chose it because it had been forgotten. The study of the past was deeply unfashionable in their day. I gather, from your ignorance, it has grown only more so since they set out. They wanted a language that they could make their own. And they wanted a language they could give to the voiceless land that they chose to inhabit. We spoke of names before, yes? They wanted a new tongue for their landscape, both the landscape around them and the landscape within themselves. They sought a new understanding of what was possible for them. They sought something the world around them lacked--hope.”

“And they needed a new language to find that?”

“Or an old one. A language from a time when, as then, the world seemed to be dreary, and speeding towards its end. A language from a time when the people huddled together on a cold island surrounded by the deep, dark sea, and wondered what lay beyond it. A language from a time when we knew what value the knowledge of the past held, and we husbanded every little scrap of it, fearful to lose the meagerest portion, lest we forget it was possible to hope for a better future. We, of course, do not look to Christ for our salvation, as they did. We find it in different places. But we find it.”

“The world has changed, you know. It’s not half so dark, or half so dreary. It’s been a long time since the time of your forefathers and foremothers. Why do you stay here, where life is hard, where you have to struggle to survive? Why not rejoin the world?”

“We would not lose ourselves.”

“The world is a big place. It has room enough for you.”

Ælfric shook his head. “Not for us. You are too optimistic. You do not understand. Our tale does not end with our arrival on these shores. It does not end with our move from the wreck to the Valleys. It does not end with our adoption of the Tongue, and our building of the fanes. You do not yet understand. Maybe you will, in time. But not yet.”

With that, as if Katherine had somehow transgressed, Ælfric’s urge to speak seemed to end. He sat quietly, staring into the fire, leaving Katherine to peruse the writings on the wall on her own. So she read. She read the record of the first years of the Dry Valleys People, read the records of their deaths and their griefs, the records of the things that had driven them forth, and of the hope they retained, even when it seemed to her they had little enough to hope for. The cramped, telegraphic style of the language only got more so as it went along, and then it began to lapse into the new tongue, and then it ended; and when it did, Katherine looked back at Ælfric. He was asleep now, wrapped up in a bedroll close to the fire. Katherine suddenly realized just how tired she was, and using her pack as a pillow, lay down next to him. She closed her eyes, listening to the rushing of the wind through the bones of the old ship, and before she knew it, she was asleep, and dreaming of the sea.

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The French Connection - Chapter 11

A HardyxMiller AU

Ellie Miller is left to go on her honeymoon alone after a devastating secret about her fiance comes to light - halfway through the wedding ceremony.  Sitting in St Pancras International in London waiting for her train, she runs into none other than her uni rival/best friend Alec Hardy, on the run from his own recent heartbreak.

They decide to make use of Ellie’s pre-paid trip, rekindling their friendship and escaping real life; yet, it turns out their years at uni are the hardest to outrun. Based on this prompt from @timepetalscollective  

Chapters will be posted every Wednesday and Sunday.  Beta’d by the wonderful @stupidsatsuma

This fic will remain at a T rating, but there is some steam.

Masterlist  |  AO3

---

Tuesday

“Last full day in France,” Hardy noted as they made their way over to the Studios Park.  “It’s gone fast.”

Ellie hummed in agreement, unable and unwilling to fight back her happiness.  The sun was shining, birds were chirping.  It was an overall beautiful day, made brighter by the man beside her, hand holding hers.  For all his grumbling and complaining he’d been an excellent sport, going along with all of her ideas and plans.  It meant the world to her how he’d embraced it all, and she told him that.

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth ticking up.  “Anything to make you happy.”

“You make me happy.”  It was true; she felt lighter than she had in years, away from her family.  “You make me feel like me again.  Like I was in school.  I didn’t realize how much I didn’t until we were- until I saw you again.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he agreed as they scanned their tickets and entered the park, “more than I knew.”

They crossed the courtyard into the hangar-sized building designed like a movie studio, past the shops and quick-service dining areas into a second courtyard.  The design was much more reminiscent of Hollywood, and almost didn’t feel like a Disney park, which she hoped Hardy would appreciate.

“What d’you want to do first?” he asked as they stood at the crossroads.

“Um…”  Ellie pulled out her mobile and opened the parks app, using it to see wait times.  I love this thing.  “You mentioned starting at the back- the wait for Rock’n’ Roll Coaster isn’t too bad at the moment.”

He nodded and they started in that direction, Ellie oohing and aahing over everything they saw.

Joining the line they stood opposite each other, leaning back on the railing while waiting to move.  “What’s your plan when you get home?” Hardy asked quietly, crossing his arms.

“Uh…”  Ellie licked her lips, more focused on the picture he made.  Dressed in shorts and a tee, wearing the groom ears, he looked good, like something out of a magazine.  If anyone had tried to tell her she’d see him looking that way, and more importantly liking the visual, she would’ve called them crazy.  Now, she just wanted to jump him. “Work.  Figure out what to do with the house I bought- maybe find a roommate if I can’t find a flat and a buyer.  I certainly can’t move back home, and more importantly, I won’t.”

“Were you living at home before you bought the house?”

The line moved then and she waited until they’d repositioned ten feet up the corridor to answer.  “No.  Well, briefly- we were sharing a flat, but closing on the house got delayed so we were staying with my parents for the last two months while that all got sorted.  Everything’s been moved in but not set up, so there’s plenty of work there, though if I can find a flat and a buyer quickly I may not have too much trouble moving.  It’s just a mess.”

He nodded in understanding.  “Once I’m back I’ll have to pack quickly and find somewhere soon as I have my new post.  I don’t have all that much, but it’s still a hassle.”

“D’you have any idea where they might send you?”

“No,” Hardy sighed, shifting, “could be anywhere in England.  I’m not strictly opposed to somewhere far from Sandbrook, less chance of knowing anyone there or them having heard about it all, but… och, I don’t know.”

“Well, if you end up in the southwest, let me know.  I know of someone in need of a roommate,” she joked, before flushing at the implication.  “I mean…”

His face contorted into an odd sort of grimace, and he rubbed at the back of his neck; both sure signs he was uncomfortable.

“What?”

They moved again, and this time, he stood straight up with his arms tightly folded against his chest.  “What happens after this?”

“Tower of Terror?” she tried, but his expression didn’t change.  “I… don’t know. Why?”

“You said ‘let me know’.  That implies you don’t… expect us to keep in touch.”

“Of course I want to keep in touch!”

Dirty looks from the people in front of and behind them said her tone was a bit louder than intended.

“Yes, I expect us to keep in touch.”  Lowering her voice, she tried to picture returning to life without him.  “I’d… I think I’d like to do more than just ‘keep in touch’.  Maybe.”  She gave him a small smile.

Slowly, his shoulders unhunched, just a bit.  “So would I.”

Maybe, just maybe, that meant everything would be alright.

-

“You alright?” Ellie fought back laughter as she led Hardy out into the sun.

“Aye,” he rasped, though the death grip he had on her hand and the stiff way he was walking suggested otherwise.  “What the fuck was that?”

Practically biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, she managed, “Tower of Terror.  Did it live up to the name?”

It was a rhetorical question; buttoned-up, restrained, unflappable Hardy had spent the entirety of the ride from the first drop shouting obscenities and clutching Ellie’s hand so tightly it was starting to tingle.  She’d never seen him so shaken, so pale, and while she was sympathetic, it was also hilarious.

“Stop laughing,” he grunted, as she led him to a convenient bench not far from the ride’s exit.  “Not funny.”

“You’re not going to be sick, are you?”

He shook his head and they settled down, Hardy closing his eyes and breathing deeply.  “Let’s… let’s go for something milder,” he requested as she laid her head on his shoulder, hoping to offer comfort.

“When you’re ready,” she agreed easily.  “There’s an action and stunt show soon back near the Coaster, how’s that sound?”

“Fine.”

“Then we can do the Studio Tram Tour, should be easy, then lunch?”  She rubbed his back.

After several minutes he lifted his head, and she met his eye with a sympathetic smile that faded as he stared at her, eyes searching hers.

“What?”

Hardy leaned forward, kissing her softly, which she was happy to return.

“What was that for?” she murmured when they finally pulled apart, “Not that I’m complaining.”

“I- I-”  He had an intense expression on his face, eyes shining, and her breath caught as she realized what he might be trying to say.

She just smiled, the hand on his back resuming it’s circuit as she waited in silence.

The moment eventually passed, the energy shifting, though a current of electricity remained as they stared at each other.  When he finally spoke, it was to change the subject, though a hint of wistfulness was present in his tone.

“When’s that show?”

Ellie checked her watch before standing up.  “Five minutes.”

“Right.”

She offered him a hand, helping him to his feet, and they started back towards the theater.  To her surprise he let go of her hand, though her heart warmed a moment later when he wrapped an arm around her waist.  Doing the same, she gave him a silly smile and led the way, humming to herself.

It really can be that simple, sometimes.

-

For dinner they had a reservation at King Ludwig’s Castle, a restaurant in the Village outside the parks.  While it wasn’t quite the Eiffel Tower, Ellie still dressed up, given it was their last night.

Standing in the bathroom finishing her makeup she was full of nerves.  Though they’d taken every meal together since they’d left London she was on edge, anxious; this felt like a date, a proper one, particularly in light of his almost-confession that morning.

What am I doing?  Ellie stared at her reflection, trying to sift through the maelstrom of emotions inside her.  This trip has been brilliant, better than I’d imagined even before… everything, but what happens when we go back to real life?  Is this just lightning in a bottle?  Can we make it work?  Does he want to?

“El?”  He rapped on the door.  “We’ll be late soon. Alright?”

“Yeah!”

Pushing down her questions she finished her makeup, opening the door to find him standing right there, hand up as if to knock again.

“Hi,” he said, lowering his hand slowly, “ready?”

Not trusting her voice she merely nodded, grabbing her wrap.  When he offered she allowed him to drape it across her shoulders, taking his proffered elbow and letting him lead the way.

It wasn’t far, a quick walk had them there soon enough, and he waited until they were seated and left with menus to say, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, why d’you assume something’s wrong?” she tittered nervously, knowing immediately her response had basically confirmed it.  “I’m just… in my own head,” she shrugged, repositioning the place setting in front of her.  “I’m fine, really.”

Crossing his arms he leaned forward on the table, and when she peeked up at him, those expressive brown eyes were focused solely on her.

Damn.  “You must never have to ask questions in the interrogation room,” she joked, “just have to look at someone and they probably start talking.”

“Miller.  I’m not asking the world of you.  Just the truth.”

It wasn’t until he used her last name that she realized all through the trip she’d been Ellie instead.  Taking a deep, shaky breath, she cast her eyes around the restaurant and idly noted the adorable castle-like décor.  You’re stalling.  “I don’t want this to be a rebound.”  Every time she thought about the situation, that was one thing that stayed constant.  “I don’t know what that means, I don’t know what happens when we go home, I know… nothing, and you know how I hate that, but what I do know is... I don’t want to go another eight years without seeing you.  I don’t want to ruin this, whatever this is.  I don’t want to hurt you, or be hurt.”  Reluctantly she met his eye, only to see understanding and sympathy shining back at her.  “I want to be happy.  And I think that includes you.”

The hope and optimism radiating off of Hardy was palpable, his mouth opening to reply, to hopefully say he felt the same, but was stopped by-

“Bonsoir, madame et monsieur, bienvenue a King Ludwig’s.  My name is Diana, I am your waitress this evening.  May I start you with some drinks?”

Are you fucking kidding me?  Can’t you see we’re having a moment here?!

“Bottle of red,” Hardy said brusquely, never taking his eyes off of Ellie.  “We’d like to see the list.”

“Bien sur, just a moment, thank you.”

Ellie huffed as soon as she was gone, rolling her eyes slightly, though she smiled when he let out a soft laugh.

“Ellie.”  He tentatively reached across the table, and she didn’t hesitate to rest her palms in his.  “I want the same thing. Regardless of where I end up, we can make it work.  Given… recent events, it may not even be a bad thing if we’re some distance apart.”

She nodded, squeezing his hands.  “Agreed.  As amazing as this all has been… we haven’t seen each other in years.  Doing a long-distance relationship, talking… it’s probably the best place to start.  Take it slow, and build a solid foundation.”

“Precisely.  In a year we can see where we stand and go from there, but… this- us- is too important to fuck up.”

“We have the rest of our lives,” she said softly, realizing the weight and truth of the words, soul unclenching when he smiled.

“That we do.”

They leaned across the table at the same time, a chaste kiss given their location, but with enough heat to promise what was to come.

She only realized music was playing softly when the song changed, and she had to laugh as she recognized it, fitting for a romantic dinner at Disney.

So this is love, Mmm mmm mmm, So this love, So this is what makes life divine

[i-rove-rock-n-roll]

I just found my writing from elementary school. (Ages 6-10 mostly, though some of this came later)

Such hits as

Raindeer Trouble (corrected by the teacher as Reindeer Trouble) a one page story where Santa’s reindeer are sick, then have a miraculous recovery, all taking place a week before Christmas. I wrote it in either first or second grade, if memory serves me correctly (which I doubt it is)

Monkey Madness-written maybe a year later? Basically there’s this witch that hates the superhero Underdog’s guts (I had just seen the live action movie and loved it) and her plan was to make a super powered monkey to hypnotize to do her bidding. Her end goal was to become world leader and have everyone dress up as scary monsters for Halloween, rather than superheroes and “something else good and sweet”. Whatever that means. Then she started kidnapping people with the monkey’s help and turning them into real monsters. Eventually the monkey starts asking questions, like, “can you carve carnivorous cotton candy into kittys (kitties)?” (Idk wtf that even has to do with the rest of the plot but he gets sulky cause she doesn’t make him a cat at one point) There’s more gems in this one, plus a really wacky fight scene. This one was most definitely second grade, since a few words are in cursive, which I had just started learning. I also remember drawing a “cover” to this one, but idk where it is now.

The next one is Super Horse Heros (Heroes). I basically wrote down the stories my gram used to tell my sister and I when we demanded bedtime stories. An old horse wants a new life, and has to do 3 good deeds before his fairy god horse will turn him into a ‘“unisus” (unicorn/Pegasus combo). After that, the unisus saves a bunch of horses who were kidnapped and shipped to a glue factory. Then they became the Super Horse Heroes, saving children lost in cornfields (aka my sister and I) and flying off into the sunset.

I also found 2 essays in this folder-one about The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand, and the other a 12 page paper on the possibility of life elsewhere in the universe which I used to apply to college.

Also a drawing of the Moirae and a spinning wheel that isn’t half bad.

Back to the writing!

Let’s see...a type written version (I used to have a typewriter before SOMEONE broke it one time when I moved) of Reindeer Trouble.

Oh! Here’s a gem! It’s titled: A Bad Toddler Finds a treasure at a popular amusement park. He finds literal treasure, fame, fortune, and an old boot.

The Adventures of Pretzel Man! With a little drawing in the corner. (I used to have a Nabisco pretzel looking doll, that was the inspo) He sells pretzels by day apparently and also fights crime. His enemy in this story is creatively called Taffy Laffy, who turns people into Taffy Zombies, and—

This story is unfinished. WHAT? I was actually wanting to know the end!

Ugh. Anyway, let’s continue

This next one is called Turkey Terror: a turkey’s life from my point of view. Basically this kid gets turned into a turkey (but they still have their own head??) it’s also 2 days before thanksgiving. The turkey kid’s name is apparently Sheldon, who makes friends with a chipmunk named Chippy...who is a total backstabbing liar leading Sheldon to an ambush in a cave, where he gets a bullet to the head, only to wake up and find it was all a dream...

WTF PAST ME?? WHAT—

More drawings in here, terribly proportioned gangster from the 20s...some drawings I did of phantom of the opera (I, uh, copied some drawings I liked by other artists at the time with the sole intention of just sticking them on my wall because i apparently forgot what a printer was)

Drawings of flowers...drawing of my dog’s eyeball for whatever reason...

Heaven or Hell: Gateway to Another World (keep in mind I was going based off of cartoons but I think my complete lack of understanding of religion is why I would up majoring in it)

More writing, some based on the imagery I got from songs I was listening to... one page thing I apparently wrote about the death of Jesus (???) once I had seen and been awestruck by Michaelangelo’s Pieta (on screen unfortunately, I’ve never seen it in person)

A paper with only one line on it saying “Mrs. Jenelle Hartson née Deveroux was always the first to tell anyone she was a crazy old bat”

Okay.

Oh no! Well, not no, but well—

Basically scrap paper bits of To Kill A Mockingbird from Boo Radleys POV. The whole thing would up being like 15 pages and was turned in for a school assignment. I think I scared the teacher with how long it was since he only asked for 2-3 pages. I have the whole thing on here somewhere in all it’s terrible glory if any of you want....

Bingo! Found a bunch from a wip I really liked like, 6-7 years ago! (So early high school) Scientist named Phineas Lancaster develops a way to jump between universes, is being pursued by the government, and winds up running into himself, but a deadbeat version who dropped out of college after a horrible accident. Let’s see what gems are in here....

“Phineas Lancaster, resident bum and professional alcoholic of the sprawling town Rock Falls, woke up feeling as if he had been slammed into by a bus. He hadn’t, but for a minute he’d thought he’d wandered into the middle of 32nd Avenue during Rush hour. Again.”

(Phineas, realizing he was kidnapped by a dude he doesn’t realize is himself from another universe) “His captor smiled at him in what he must have thought was [a] friendly way. Phineas was now more irritated than before when he noticed the flashing white of his captor’s teeth. ‘no way those are real’. He scowled at the man. ‘He looks like he popped out of a freaking toothpaste commercial’ he’d been abducted by a real like infomercial buffoon. Lovely.”

“I love your place.” He hated it. “Very homey.”

“He’s even got a nerdy voice, Janine. I can’t have a nerd for a twin.”

“Say hello to the guy that decided to kidnap me. He had some sort of weird spaz attack and, being the kind and loving soul I am, couldn’t just leave him in the middle of the desert to die. Ergo, he’s here.”

“I got us a lift from a very nice gentleman who is currently searching for Glenn Miller. He gave me his card in case I either found Glenn or if I need another lift, since he’s going to be in town for a few days.”

“I bet you’re a dentist. Dentists are evil.”

(When drunk Phineas not smart phineas is abducted by agents)

“All I wanted to do was stop by the Dollar Store for some Gummy Bears. I just had to get kidnapped again. Yay me, I could set a record.”

“Aaaand cut! Try it again, maybe with some more threatening looks this time, you might make me wet myself if you try hard enough.”

“Gee, i don’t know, I think I was too busy running for my life to ask, ‘I’m sorry, do you want to exchange numbers so we can do this again sometime? Maybe meet for tea?’”

“How ever did you make such a realistic looking doohickey?”

(One Phineas to the other)

“I totally got mom’s humor. You got dad’s shitty ability to make a person die of boredom.”

Road tripping to Golden Earring (and trying not to murder Phineas when he starts singing)

...guess I got a lot of stuff to play with now! Happy early birthday to me!

[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: GM 12 - DET

One day my children will ask me what it was like to watch Jake McCabe in his prime. They’ll ask me: Daddy, how did our hero block shots so much and still have the strength to score goals and wreck fools? I’ll tell them it was the enduring power of the crossed swords crest and they’ll be Sabres fans forever. I’ll also tell them the Buffalo Sabres really turned the page from the dark days when they started responding. Responding to what, daddy? Losses, child: when they decided to start following losses, ugly losses, with shutout wins every single time, that was when they really turned the page. Speaking of the pages of history: I’ve been diving into the Buffalo Sabres 50Years Special Section of the Buffalo News for a couple weeks looking at their most historic games. I was prepared to default to that list for my reoccurring segment “Greatest Game Against” after each divisional matchup. When I put it out on twitter however I got some real beauties including a submission from @RegalMoustachio (Dan Ball) that is… for lack of better phrasing: Very 1980s. Allow me to paint you a picture: it’s December 23rd, 1987. Christmas is only a couple days away. Ted Sator is Head Coach and Phil Housley is the top defenseman (mind you Lindy Ruff is the Captain of this team) for a Sabres club mired in mediocrity for closing in on a decade. Sabre Kevin Maguire takes a run at Red Wings goalie Zach Stefan after Sabres goalie Tom Barrasso had apparently taken a fist in the shnoz earlier in the game. Here’s the link () go watch it, I can’t do it justice. For the next five minutes after the hit on Stefan it just escalates and escalates. Eventually Bob Probert fights Maguire and it got ugly. I don’t mean to glorify fighting but dear lord, watch that highlight and tell me that doesn’t color the history between these two teams. Last night’s game was Jake McCabe’s revenge game. He was taking revenge on all us nerds who said he’s not an absolute G. Sure he’s no Rasmus Dahlin, but he puts the Buff in Buffalo Sabres. And he did it in a game we really needed it. For the third time this season they responded to a loss with a win. For the second time this season they responded to a loss with a shutout win. For the first time this season my man Linus Ullmark has a shutout!

I was at Frightworld in Tonawanda for the entirety of this game, but the early returns clearly tended toward a snooze-fest. It appeared the Red Wings were dominating that telling statistical categories like 5 on 5 scoring chances and expected goals. They dominated the most basic statistic that is shots for the first period as they got doubled up 12-6. Luckily there were no goals against. You see a period like that and you kinda expect the worst. I went on record before this game and said if they don’t demolish the Red Wings then the first rant of the season from yours truly was coming. That rant was being prepared as I walked through the Storm Area 51 house fearing the Sabres would lose to two bad teams two nights in a row more than the face-panted acting students jumping out at me. Unfortunately we got another Rasmus Dahlin stinker this first period. I feel like I said everything I needed to say about Dahlin’s sketchy play lately after the Rangers game, but I didn’t say what I wanted to change other than don’t give over turnovers, bud. What I probably would’ve asked for occurred: Henri Jokiharju was moved up to Dahlin’s pairing and they had quite a bit more chemistry than Dahlin and Colin Miller had. In spite of that roster move, Dahlin was trying to move the puck out of the defensive zone and somehow yielded it right to Andreas Athanasiou. Athanasiou took a shot, got in back and passed it to another guy who almost out maneuvered a stick-less Ullmark. Luckily that was the worst it got in the first… well other than that Valtteri Filppula breakaway in the first five minutes… ugh, we were really lucky to survive that period scoreless weren’t we? Yikes.

The Red Wings are a team you’re not allowed to lose to. They’re like the Ottawa Senators, they’re biggest goal right now is to get a high-first round draft pick. They have real NHLers in the minors. Detroit has a team caught between then and now. You got the ghost of Niklas Kronwall on one line and USA Hockey Magazine poster boy Dylan Larkin on another. Evidently they’re taking one more dip in the tank in this year’s spicy good draft and so you have to beat them because frankly they want you to! Both the lines of REO Speedwagon and the Roaring Twenties had their chances through the first half of this game but how are you being out-chanced by the Red Wings! How? I very well could go on a rant but kinda like the night before I just have too many early good feels about this team right now to rant at em after a win. To their credit they actually got more shots and high-danger chances in the second period. All the while Jake McCabe is blocking shots like and absolute hero. And so it was his time to be the star before any of the big names that have found their way onto this club: Eichel gets knocked to the ice after laying a hit on Tyler Bertuzzi and Jake McCabe gets the puck near the Wings blueline and thinks for a moment. He decides to take the shot and it zings right past Jimmy Howard into the net for the first goal of the game. 1-0 Sabres with 8:20 left in the second. Buffalo finally had some good play for the remainder of the period including almost another goal from McCabe. Almost. Either way Jake McCabe became my Hard-Working again this game. He’s one of those phenomenons in cities like Buffalo where the populace just canonizes players they deem tough and diligent. I understand he’s not actually that good as anything more than a role player. That’s fine. Let’s celebrate the role players too because we’re winning games we don’t look so hot in because of them right now.

The third period was rowdy. So we’ve established Dylan Larkin is hot stuff. Evidently on a tanking team he takes on the role of penalty drawer. He gets Kyle Okposo for interference; he gets Colin Miller for tripping; watch the replays that data wasn’t all that convincing to me. No amount of powerplay time could save his team now though. The Sabres got a powerplay after Trevor Daley high-sticked Kyle Okposo and the mercenary unit that is this team’s powerplay that we fell in love with in the first six games came back with a vengeance. With all the video replay powers of modern technology I still don’t think I have enough angles on the absolute gem of a goal Sam Reinhart tapped in. It went from Jeff Skinner to Jack Eichel to Victor Olofsson to Sam Reinhart parked in front of the net and in. It was a thing of splendor and maybe one of those goals we look back on months from now. I mean… Jimmy Howard definitely botched that one hard but nonetheless the 2-0 goal here for the Sabres was just beyond magnificent. Unfortunately that goal deserved better than this game. For the remaining 18+ minutes Larkin went on drawing penalties, getting shots and Detroit never looked out of it. You look at 2-0 box score and think that may have not required a herculean effort from a goalie, this one did. Linus got his pad or a stick or a blocker on so many shots this game. He earned his first shutout of the season blocking 41 shots! That’s only 6 shy of the shots blocked Hutton got in his shutout Tuesday that earned him an NHL star of the week honor. I love Ullmark but he shouldn’t have had to do that much work against Detroit. This is a game the Sabres should have dominated a bit more than they did. They could not manage the clean zone exits and entries they did in the very early going of this season and had Detroit not skated around wasting minutes on end on offense then this game could’ve turned out differently. Nonetheless this one ended 2-0 Sabres and our squad improved to 9-2-1 leaving only one game left in October against a very hot Coyotes squad. Isn’t it nice to think at the absolute worst they’ll end this month 9-3-1? Crazy times we live in, eh?

A couple notes before we turn wholeheartedly into Buffalo Bills mode tomorrow: Sabres Stats tweeted in his 164 games as Sabres coach Phil Housley got them 5 shutouts while in 12 games as Head Coach Ralph Krueger has already gotten them 3. That’s a stat that one might call almost worthless, the Robin Lehner years were fraught but there is a grain of something telling in there. I also share the sentiment of many Sabres fans that a Skinner-Eichel reunion feels necessary at this point. ���Skinhel” as I’ll call that combo because I’m feeling spooky, is something that can be unleashed like the blue shell powerup in Mario Cart. You use it when you really need to save your ass. We’re not to that point yet but I too feel that temptation. Before we warp this up your reply guy tweet of the game goes to none other than NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman who when asked about the efficacy of the current playoff format responded: “We think the format works well… unless you’re a Leafs fan.” BURN! That burn was so hot it just ensured it’s going to be a mild winter in southern Ontario! I can say for myself that such a comment is immediately my favorite Gary Bettman quote of all-time. There’s no beating that. Like, share and comment this blog as you go about your Saturday fun. I have nothing to say about the Coyotes Monday night other than maybe don’t let em get every shot they want like Detroit did last night. They will probably make you pay more often than not. Let’s Go Buffalo!

Thanks for Reading.

P.S. What are you looking to about the trip to Sweden for the Global Series? I am so not used to my sports teams getting fun opportunities like that. I don’t know how to get pumped for it.

[acaseforpencils]

The Ink Well Foundation.

The Ink Well Foundation is a non-profit that helps bring smiles to the faces of children facing adversity such as illness, neglect, and abuse. I cannot begin to express how big of an honor it is to have Elizabeth Winter on Case—this interview brought me to tears, and it means a lot to share her message on here, so that you all can help more children in need to be able to connect with this incredible foundation.

Bio: I am the Founder and Executive Director of the Ink Well Foundation. Growing up, I had cancer my entire childhood—it was a rare cancer that kept getting misdiagnosed, which meant a fair amount of biopsies and days in the hospital, and finally major surgery where I was told I might wake up without a leg. I am very fortunate in that the doctors were able to remove all the cancer without amputating, and I have been cancer-free since I was about 20 years old. 

That experience gave me a lot of empathy and compassion for kids facing long, isolating hospital stays. There were also other issues during my childhood: I experienced a lot of abandonment with a mother who just could not play the role of mother, and who eventually died when I was fifteen. In general, I just had a pretty severe lack of affection and emotional support growing up. All that made me very tough, in some ways too tough and it wound up creating only further isolation and pain. 

As an adult, I saw that pain mirrored in other children's eyes and I began to seek out a way to connect with them, to help them and myself learn to nurture and heal together. I strongly feel that genuine human bonding can fuel both physical and emotional healing. I also think getting out into nature and carrying that same respect to all wildlife helps us to become humble and connected in a very powerful way, so we stress those ideas in our work often.

In 2005, I was working in animation in New York City, and I stood up in a meeting at work one day, and asked if any of the other artists would like to come along with me to draw with kids facing illness and hardship. A couple people raised their hands, and we went together to Gilda's Club out in Brooklyn (that club house has since closed, but we still go to the one in Manhattan). The artists who came along in those early years, like Rami Efal and Ray Alma, Pedro Delgado and Sergei Aniskov—those people are all still volunteers today! That says so much to me about the kind of people this work attracts. We've all become like family over the years and I love those guys so much. 

It all began at Gilda's Club, but then I reached out to places like the Ronald McDonald House, St. Mary's Hospital and Bellevue Hospitals, and we slowly but surely became accepted and welcomed at healthcare and at-risk support centers all across New York, because the kids loved what we did, and at then end of every event they were begging us to come back. So we always did! That is the true mark of success for me every time, when the kids are yelling at us to get back there as soon as we can.

A few years ago, I learned about the great organization on the Upper East Side, The Society of Illustrators. Their Executive Director, Anelle Miller, connected me with all these other great artists like Stefano Imbert, Bil Donovan, Abby Merrill, and Elana Amity (who is now our Event Director at Mount Sinai Hospital, where she hosts a monthly live drawing call-in show that beams to all the kids' hospital rooms at once). They draw along with us and call or text in with questions and comments. It's hilarious and adorable. We also connected with the great people of the National Cartoonists Society, and wonderful artists like Ed Steckley, Adrian Sinnott, Howard Beckerman, Tim Savage, Marty Macaluso, Joe Vissichelli and so many more. 

After MTV Animation New York shut down, pretty much all my colleagues and I from great shows like Beavis and Butthead, Daria, The Head, and Celebrity Death Match all moved out west. So I had this great group of talented friends still living there, and based on the Ink Well's popularity in NYC, I thought, let's give it a shot there too! I reached out to my former colleague from Rugrats and Wild Thornberrys, Joseph Scott, and asked if he'd be interested in running things there. He is now heading up all our operations in L.A. and he is just the most phenomenally kind and talented person on earth. With his art skills he could do whatever he wanted but he devotes a huge amount of time to the kids we work with and I'm so moved by his giving spirit and boundless good energy. And Michael Daedalus Kenny is also stepping up in a leadership role as our newest Event Director, we've got amazing artists like Marla Frazee of Boss Baby genius, Monica Tomova from SpongeBob, Jeanette Moreno, king of The Simpsons, Chris Harmon from Futurama, Ashley Simpson from Phineas and Ferb, Christian Lignan of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, graphic novelist, Jeremy Arambulo and so many others so we're in great hands there. I just wish the traffic weren't such a problem! It really is tough to get around that city, unlike NYC where there's a decently functioning subway that goes to all our locations, so getting around is no real trouble comparatively.

Tools of choice:  Our events are usually very handmade by design so that the kids can feel like they could do all of this easily by themselves. So we come up with themes like, “Who is your Superhero?,” and we ask the kids to focus on their strengths and what superpowers they wish they would have, and we draw their portraits as such. We are not art therapists, but we feel these event themes help to make the kids focus on positivity and their potential, and therefore help them to bond and heal. 

We do sometimes get more elaborate, like when we teach stop motion, claymation, and we once even taught them how to build homemade rockets on the roof of Bellevue Hospital! One of our Event Directors at the time, Nathan Schreiber, used to come up with the most fantastic science-focused events. He now runs a company called Science Ninjas, that helps kids learn about science with fun card games. But usually it's simple by design.

We are extremely fortunate to have Blick Arts as a sponsor. Their support enables us to provide each child with their own art kit after each event so that they can keep creating on their own after they learn new skills with us so thanks to them we have a lot of the arts tools we need.

Tool I wish existed: I think we do great working with anything we've got lying around- we emphasize the potential of just about anything to become art: we often create characters out of inanimate objects, make flip books, sculptures and puppets— using everything from card stock to socks to toothpicks and gum drops. We keep it accessible and inventive. 

How can we support The Ink Well Foundation? Because our volunteers are by definition "the artists behind the kids' favorite books, films, comics, and TV shows," we don't solicit volunteers from the general public. We do have an online application on our site, so other professionals that meet our criteria in the illustration, animation, and cartooning industries are welcome to apply there. 

What the general public can do is to help us spread the word so that more children can see that others are going through what they're going through, and also so that they see examples of adults believing in them and encouraging them. We try to promote the idea of art as self-expression and a way to get through trying times, ideally together. Connectivity and encouragement are critical to healing, and honestly, to just building a better world. So we talk about that a lot on our social media and at the events themselves. We also honor the kids' intelligence by talking about art in general there— we highlight classic and new artists and ideas and encourage them to learn from those masters as they develop their own skills.

Because we are a very small 100% volunteer-run organization, we focus on giving the kids the greatest events possible, and sometimes that means we don't have a lot of time for social media, self-promotion, and fund-raising. So spreading the word is huge and we are always extremely grateful for, and in need of, any financial donations. 

Where are Ink Well Foundation events held? We operate in New York City and Los Angeles because that's where the top artists in our fields are concentrated. We go to hospitals and at-risk support centers like Ronald McDonald House, Gilda's Club, Bellevue, St. Mary's, Mount Sinai, Childhelp, Covenant House and more. You can see the full list here. 

How can children who don't live near Ink Well Foundation events benefit from your Pen Pals Program? This is another reason we want people to spread the word. Loved ones of a child experiencing serious illness or hardship, who is physically or geographically unable to attend our events, can apply to have a special artwork sent straight to them. We ask the kids what their favorite animated films, TV shows, or illustrated books are, and then we have an artist who actually worked on that production make something tailored to that child. We then frame it up, and send it off to them by mail. 

We've done this with artists from SpongeBob, Captain Underpants, and just a week ago, we delivered a beautiful drawing of Curious George that our Event Directors, Franz Palomares and Lisa LaBracio (both of whom worked on Curious George) lovingly made. This was for a girl named, Maryanne who lives in Florida. She suffers from a rare disease called, vein of galen malformation that has led to brain damage and vision loss. She is unable to talk or walk or eat through her mouth and she suffers seizures but she understands everything around her, and she can feel texture. So Franz and Lisa made her Curious George playing in a sand box, and they glued real sand into the picture, so that Maryanne could feel that, and enjoy the art on multiple levels. Maryanne's mother, Sandra, said that she was thrilled, and that she loves to hold it. 

Our hearts are full being able to share these works with kids who need that moment of light, and that knowledge that an adult they admire, someone who doesn't even know them well, can care enough about them to take the time to create careful, tailor-made artworks just for them. We hope that helps to bring a smile in the moment, and build self-worth long term.

Misc. I'd like to mention that everything we do is 100% free of charge. No one gets paid, no money ever changes hands for the art. We have brilliant artists like Peter de Séve who is on our board and attends many events, while also creating characters for Ice Age, The Little Prince, and all his New Yorker covers. He could get a mint for his works, but he comes down and does this for free, and that's a testament to the power of that loving connection we all feel when we are just selflessly helping one another.

I feel this most acutely when I'm working with youth who have suffered abuse and neglect. We have an Event Director, Jane Archer, who leads our work at Bellevue Hospital. Many of those kids are there because they have been through unendurable trauma, and Jane connects with them beautifully. She begins with a meditation where we all envision our strengths together, we talk about our talents, and hopes for a brighter day, we imagine embodying those gifts and then we gently, patiently, ask the kids to help us draw characters step by step. Many kids start out very suspicious and resistant, even angry. But by the end of the events they are almost always laughing and teasing us, and they don't want to stop creating. It is my greatest joy to experience that transition and I hope we may continue to spread this support and faith in one another for many years to come.

Website, Etc: 

We are @inkwellkids on every platform:

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Find more posts about art supplies on Case’s Instagram! There is a Twitter as well. If you enjoy this blog, and would like to contribute to labor and maintenance costs, there is also a Patreon!

[qdtquietdownthere]

Day 8- Swim, clay and personal space.

Day 8

Today is going to be a busy day and I wake up and put on my swimming costume before doing anything else. 

If that isn't a wild start to a Tuesday, I don't know what is.

I get the tube to Victoria (one stop before my usual Pimlico) and head to the Queen Mother Sports Centre to go for a swim. It is odd getting off here. There have been major delays on the railways and the space is buzzing with frantic energy. Everyone is passing through. No one seems to stop. I down a coffee from cafe-disgusting-Nero before my swim. It is interesting wandering in a mad sea of people who are rushing. I like to guess what job they have and I wonder what they think I do when they look at me. If they look at me. There was a man on the tube this morning swearing at his laptop. I wondered what his day was going to be like. It is funny taking the tube every morning and being in this transient space. It gives me energy and I feel part of the crowd, but it is also so transient and so isolating. A swelling day population and I'm just one of them. As I walk towards Pimlico however, and towards the pool, the swell of people calms. I sit outside the pool and wait until 10am as I sip my coffee before I go in. I am enjoying sticking to the timetable as well as I can, This is the little bit of structure surrounded by unknown activities. 

The pool is quite this time in the morning. There are maybe only 5 people in the pool and we are all spread out. Absolute luxury. At first I notice how calm and clean the pool is. There are sheets hanging on the wall which contain workout guides. One for strength, one for cardio and there is one sheet titled ‘silver’ for elderly people. This one looks the most used, and 4 out of 5 of the people swimming today all have silver hair. This is inviting for me as the pace is relaxed. Im not ready to try and fight for a place in the pool. My last experience in Stoke Newington pool was not pleasant, whereas this is already a great experience. I stay for 45 minutes until the local schools start playing on the flumes and distracting the tranquility of the unified breast strokes happening in our orderly lanes. I hear two elderly men in the slow lane laugh with each other. Up until this point I have only spoken to two people today, and that makes me feel a little sad. Most other days I would have spoken to many people by this time. Swimming is also a lonely sport I feel, it is easy to be in your own head. Running for example, keeps your eyes busy and you get to smile at other runners. It is so easy it is to be out in the community, doing an activity in a shared space, but still lack engagement with another human. Later on in Tesco on Lupas Street I wait to pay for my nut bar and notice that the line for the tills run by a real human cashier are almost twice as long as self service. Never have I seen this in another supermarket before. A simple chore is buying food, but for older people, lonely people, it might be the little interaction they get in a day. 

After swimming, and sporting a beautiful chlorine barnet, I make my way towards Thames Bank centre. I pop into a few charity shops on the way. In both there are lots of young people, both working and shopping. Its nice to see some 20 somethings and when I buy a dress (which I now regret buying) we have a little laugh. Its nice to have this, and its interesting how the demographic has changed.  

Like the market at the weekend, it is wonderful to look in a charity shop and see the identity of a place and area. I think charity shops, and a sharing of items and style is a wonderful way to get to understand a place. There is a great book titled ‘the Comfort of Things’ (2008) by Daniel Miller in which the author, and anthropologist, goes into a London tower block to speak to people about their belongings and asks the owners to tell their stories. It is a wonderful and deeply personal book which unifies through difference, all around a backdrop of belongings. Charity shops for local areas remind me of this. I find comfort in buying something which has its own story. 

Thames bank centre is hosting ETAT (Encouragement through the arts and talking). I turn up a little early and walk into a room full of chatting, and laughing and there is clay everywhere. I walk in and have to introduce myself to everyone in the room. Everyone is elderly and they are all chatting away while deep into their clay. There is some confusion about who I am. I am there to come along to the class and do the chair exercises. This however gets misinterpreted that I am leading the chair exercise sessions. I don't really understand and go along with it. This has been the best approach to most of the activities. I start making clay into an underwater theme and then, luckily, like an act of god, the chair exercise instructor turns up and I'm off the hook. It makes everyone giggle. 

I am overwhelmed by the sense of community in the room, and once again this free, easy and non comital environment. The space is like a loud living room with clay everywhere and people come and go. Like a living room exactly. There is a range of ages, though I hear the oldest is 97. Once again I am the youngest, but this is something with invigorates me today, excites even. I feel like it is a space I would come to completely by myself. I sit next to a lady who I went on the Warwick trip with and we laugh about her attention to detail while making her ceramic tile compared with my botch job attempt. Yes thats right, I am an ‘Artist’. I speak to Jane and Karen (Who runs CAVE in Pimlico) about ETAT. They are far reaching and busy people. Pimlico million was set up by Jane who shows me videos and photos from events, exhibitions and footage of her singing at SouthWest Fest. They are currently preparing for an art show and ETAT have even recorded an album. However I am told that the album has a parental advisory because many swear words are sang throughout the song…. Again, the eldest member is 97. I'll just leave that there. What is apparent is how both Jane and Karen, and everyone for that matter, are connected to the community. They seem completely involved in its development. They make it feel this way just by  simply knowing everyones name. There is power in naming.  

Im a little anxious when I meet Jane and Karen, because I am nervous to be seen as a threat to existing services. It has been a challenge explaining why I am coming along to activities which haven't seen a new, or young, member in many moons. I stand out. I feel like a cultural probe at times. However, I'm also there for me. I am interested and excited by these activities and interactions separate from the schedule, the blog, and the cash to eat breakfast. 

We begin chair class in the corner of the huge room. There are around seven of us, all with a mixture of abilities. Emily who is in a wheel chair, a woman with dementia, Barney who is a Chelsea pensioner and wont stop laughing and then me who is giggling along with the energy of the place. We dance to music in our seats which are arranged in a circle. We play volleyball and Barney throws a mean punch. Its fun and I'm happy. I loose track of time and have to run out. 

Later on in the day, after a visit to Victoria library, I head over to the London Mayor’s Parlour to observe the council meeting of the health and wellbeing board. Im early and then I'm late and then I'm lost. Being lost is hard and I wonder what this residency would be like without a phone. Even more, without a schedule. It makes me see even clearer the obstacles in leaving an area where you grew up when you don't have the funds, the ability or the confidence to leave. It is easy to ‘other’ the next streets across the busy road. It is then easy to other the next community, the young teenagers, the refugees. I wonder how much of a knock on effect this inability to access certain spaces shapes us. Urban geography shapes us. 

The streets as you leave Pimlico become busy with suits and men who are walking like they mean business. The buildings get taller and it becomes striking that you have left pimlico. Again, the city scape, the gardens and the design of Churchill Gardens and the surrounding area give you a sense of a village. It is protected. I am desperate to draw this- desperate to map it out. 

I eventually arrive to the building I need to be at. In the foyer but the woman at reception tells me the meeting was last week. The only one today is on transport. I feel a little embarrassed but mainly because I'm a bubbly sweaty mess and everyone is in navy blue suits, not sweating and cool as a business man shaped cucumber. I ask to use the toilet but she says no, so I leave. 

It Is nice walking back to Pimlico and towards the library. I don't need a map anymore and that gives me confidence and a sense of belonging. I know where streets are and have a sense within me like a homing pigeon for the library. 

The day takes a turn and while waiting outside the library in the sunshine I get a personal call with some bad news. I am outside the library in Pimlico, but on the phone feeling very emotional. I am here in Pimlico but I'm transported into my life in Tottenham, in Edinburgh. I wish to be in these places now. I try and clean myself up to go into knitting, but when I walk in I notice only two people sat in the space outside the toilets,  knitting at speed in complete silence. It is not the right space for me at this moment. This is the only time I have felt an overwhelming sense of being in a place which isn't mine. I want someone to talk to who knows me and I want to be with my friend. I crave something normal in an abnormal situation and after abnormal news? For the rest of my night I isolate myself. I get off the tube at one point to isolate myself. To be in control. Its demanding giving all the time during the residency. I am always trying to bring energy. It takes energy to walk into a room, to try and engage someone, to listen to long stories, to listen to upset and to ideas you don't agree with. Even the stories which are happy and interesting, it takes energy. I know I bring energy to what I have been doing. I bring a genuine interest and care and a giddiness to talk and connect. I wonder how much I have given of myself. I told the women who I sat with at choir how nervous I was to sing and walk into the room, and it was in this activity which I felt most happiest, and most transformed when I left to go home. I wonder if I should have gone into knitting but be open and honest about how I was feeling and what had just happened to me merely 3 minutes before. How would this have felt? With action research I am aware of mutuality and transparency. It has been this. But I wonder if I had pushed it a little further, and let go of this need to make people feel good and happy and just talked about me, how would this change the residency and my interactions? I wonder if this had happened just before choir, would I have gone in? What is it about knitting club which meant that in that situation I couldn't walk in and be with the sadness I had just received? I believe it was the intensity of the situation, and the fact it was only two knitters sat in the library space. Even more so after this, I celebrate how all the activities and groups I have attended are relaxed and casual. One doesn't have to commit to a 5 week course going every Thursday night. Life happens. 

I am someone who recharges my batteries alone and I don't want to talk about hard subject with strangers. I know how to self sooth, how to get back the sunshine. I feel bad I didn't go in but in this moment it wasn't right. It has also shone light on the need for flexible activities in a community which inevitable will encounter childcare problems, ill health ect. Its about designing a service which despite all of what life can throw at someone, the service will continue to be outwards reaching. I think there is value and need for creating something which can be someones fall back. That in despite of sadness, loneliness or not feeling like leaving the sofa, one doesn't feel lonely and isolated from the culture and happenings of the community.

I go home and have a bath, watch some Netflix and I draw a quick drawing of a lobster. I also listen to Stormzy. Lots of Stormzy. 

[thebatmarino]

The DCEU’s next Batman should be played by Dick Grayson

Batman and Robin.  Words that have gone together like Peanut Butter and Jelly for around 80 years.  Everybody in the world knows that Batman’s younger sidekick is Robin. Many know that Robin is Dick Grayson, fewer know that Dick grew up to become Nightwing, and even fewer still that he has spent time as Batman. With the recent activity in DC film, I want to talk about my favorite superhero, what makes him great, and most importantly, why I believe Dick Grayson is the answer to the DCEU’s Bat situation. To start, we’re going to rewind to 1940, when Robin was introduced to the world in Detective Comics #38.

Batman was created in 1939.  A grim figure of the night, Batman spoke very little, a trait that has held through to this day. At the time however, legend has it that Bill Finger and Bob Kane were tired of drawing thought bubbles for him, so they needed to give him someone to talk to.  But who? Well, Batman was a Sherlock Holmesian figure, it was Detective Comics after all, so they needed to give him a Watson.  A character who’s intelligent, capable, and a proxy for the readership so they can join Batman on his adventures. The readership at the time (target readership, we know girls love and read comics too, but this was 1940) was 12 year old boys, and who might they look up to? Robin Hood starring Errol Flynn came out in 1938, he seems pretty cool. And a Robin keeps up the motif of flying animal that Batman started.  And there you have it, Robin the Boy Wonder was born.

The creation of Robin is also the birth of the Teenage Sidekick. Since then, every teen sidekick from Bucky to Kid Flash owes a debt to the creation of Robin.  As more and more sidekick characters populated the comic scene, something happened at DC Comics in particular that is one of my favorite things about the brand: the idea of Legacy Characters.

Consider the Justice League for a moment. Let’s look at the big 6: Wonder Woman, Superman, Batman, Green Lantern, Flash, and Aquaman.  These characters are the Greek Gods reborn.  They are iconic, they are mythological.  Each one of them proudly displays a symbol that they adhere to.  “I believe in love and equality”, “There is hope for everyone”, “I will drag myself through Hell for justice”, “by force of will, I will overcome all fear to save the world”, “I will always make time to help people”, “I will be the great uniter of disparate people”, or whatever you interpret the thesis of these characters to be. They are perfect embodiments.  The problem with perfection is that real people can’t attain that.  We can try.  We can stumble and fall. And that is exactly what the Legacy Characters attempt to be. These characters are absolute representations in ways that humans are generally not. They are aspirational.  That’s why there’s merchandise out the wazzu (do people still say that?), so you can see a person on the street with that Green Lantern symbol and know that person wants to overcome fear.

Dick Grayson was the first.  For many years Dick was happily Robin, going on strange adventures with Batman and friends, whupping ass in green short pants. He even formed a team of sidekicks, known as the Teen Titans along with Wonder Girl, Kid Flash, Aqualad, and Speedy.  All teenagers struggling to live up to their “parents”.  These perfect people who’s symbols they have taken as their own and sworn to uphold.  Then something interesting happened.  In 1984, in Tales of the Teen Titans #44, Dick Grayson debuted his Nightwing persona.

Dick Grayson had been growing up.  Which is a thing yet again, never done in comics before.  For some time now, a rift had been growing between the Dark Knight and his Squire. Dick had gone off to college, formed his own super-team, and was going through the typical growing pains of a young person trying to step out on their own. No longer feeling the identity of his 12 year old fancies were fitting, he picked an adult, darker name that still reflected and honored where where he came from (the origins of this name are toyed with and retconned, but the connections between Bats and Wings of the Night cannot be denied).

As Nightwing, Dick Grayson was his own man, ran his life and heroics how he saw fit, and most importantly, didn’t answer to Batman.  Until Knightfall happened.  In the events of this story, Bane broke Bruce’s spine, resulting in Bruce choosing a man named Jean-Paul Valley as the new Batman.  Jean-Paul went nutso and nearly killed Bane and begun a reign of hyper-vigilante terror in Gotham, so Bruce badassed his way back to walking because comic books, and whupped his ass.  Before restoring himself as the one true Batman, Bruce asked the one man qualified in all the world to take up the mantle to do so: Dick Grayson.  Yet again, we have a comic book first: a legacy character fulfilling their legacy. This didn’t last long however, Bruce did what he had to do, and Dick dutifully (and reluctantly) filled in as long as required.

Nightwing then got a brilliant solo series by Chuck Dixon and Scott McDaniel, which to this day is probably the most influential run on the character. Before we move on in his publication history though, I think it’s important to understand WHO Dick is, and WHY he is.  After all, what makes this 12 year old boy so special that he becomes Batman’s right hand man in a war on crime?

Richard John Grayson, aka Dick, was born to John and Mary Grayson of the legendary Flying Graysons of Haly’s Circus.  The reason they were legendary was because they flew without the safety of a net.  Dick grew up on the trapeze with no net.  No fear, no cares in the world, except being a child star performer. After a mob boss tries to unsuccessfully extort money from the circus, they murder the Graysons by tampering with the trapeze before Dick’s very eyes. The young orphan was observed by another orphan in the crowd, Bruce Wayne, who took him in.  It wasn’t really successfully explained why a 12 year old seemed okay to take out fighting crime until the two part episode of Batman: The Animated Series, Robin’s Reckoning. Like a young Bruce, Dick was consumed with his parents’ murder.  Each night, unfulfilled by the guardianship of an absentee Bruce Wayne, Dick would sneak out and try to track down leads on his parents’ killer.  Eventually he got in over his head and Batman bailed him out and returned him to the Batcave. This boy knew no fear.  He would return to the streets night after night.  He would get himself killed.  Unless he was trained how to not die by a certain… bat themed expert at not-getting-killed-by-criminal-scum.  Bruce revealed his identity to Dick, which also explained why he was busy so much of the time, and in the Batcave, Dick swore an oath by candlelight to uphold justice and everything Batman stood for. The training was gruelling. Probably inhumane. But eventually Dick was allowed to accompany Batman on the streets as his sidekick.

Dick Grayson was saved by Bruce Wayne. Where Bruce was in uncharted territory sorting his rage, vengeance, and pain, Dick Grayson had a guide.  A Mentor.  Someone who had been exactly where he was, and could keep him from being consumed by darkness.  And that’s reflected in their uniforms.  The bright boy and the dark man. Adding to that, the Wayne’s murderer got away. There will be no vengeance or justice for Batman, just a gaping wound.  Dick got justice for his parents. He saw that what they did worked, and that he could keep doing it for other people.  Whereas Batman is driven by a desire to hurt those who hurt others, Dick is here to help.  That’s something Tom King wrote into his character over and over during his run, the words “how can I help”.  And if you look at the jobs he’s held down since striking out on his own: Police Officer, Guidance Counselor, Personal trainer, even bartending at a cop bar where he could give these guys relief (as well as pick up some leads) are all acts of service towards others.  Which when the time came, made him a very different Batman.

The time eventually came.  Bruce Wayne was “dead” (as dead as anyone is in comics), and Gotham City was in chaos. Initially Bruce left instructions for Dick not to become Batman. Because Nightwing was strong enough.  He was his own man and Bruce believed in what he was doing.  However, Gotham needs Batman, the symbol.  And for the first time truly, not just putting on the cape and cowl, but deep in his bones, Dick Grayson became Batman. Fulfilling the legacy.  He is not Bruce Wayne, just like we cannot be Bruce Wayne, but he can do his best to live up to what the symbol of The Batman means to him, just like us.  Which brings me to where Dick Grayson is the future of the cinematic Batman franchise.

Over the last few years, we are experiencing a massive shift in how our male heroes are percieved.  In the 80s which gave birth to Dark Knight Returns, a huge influence on the DCEU Batman, we saw a trend of hypermasculinity in our heroes.  They were JACKED, strong, fearless, .50 Cal from the hip, Macho Men, stoic badasses that were too busy punching out teeth and blowing shit up to feel sissy-ass feelings.  And that is where Batman has lived for years in comic continuity. He doesn’t say I love you, he doesn’t hug, he doesn’t feel feelings, he’s a rage-powered badass dressed all in black that kicks in criminals’ kneecaps because he probably kind of likes it.  At the end of the day, you read enough of these comics and question whether or not Batman is actually a good man. Is he doing this to save the day, or inflict pain? Probably some of both.

As we survey the current landscape of masculinity, of heroism, of feminism, it’s important to question our heroes. It’s important to question, is this the ideal that we want people to strive for? In Batman V. Superman: Dawn of Justice, we saw that Frank Miller Dark Knight Returns in all his glory.  In my opinion, Ben Affleck’s portrayal of Batman was my favorite thing about that film. He was deliciously brutal, he was stubborn in his righteousness, he was extreme in his methodology, he was....murdering people? He was losing himself.  He was so caught up in his need for violence, his need for war that he attempted to murder superman with a freaking spear. I suspect Justice League was intended to have a more redemptive arc for the demon he had become, but in any case, he has still become a monster.  He has dwelled in hell so long that he has become the very type of devil he sought to destroy.

The best thing for Bruce Wayne would be to leave this life behind somehow. Pass the cowl on to the man who he trained for this very purpose. A hero that exemplifies modern healthy masculinity.  Who can say “I love you”, who wants to seek justice more than vengeance, who can maintain healthy friendships and relationships, who believes in kindness, friendship, and laughter.  I think it is time for Dick Grayson to take his place in cinematic history as Batman.

That doesn’t even touch upon the fact that the DCEU Batman is around 45 years old.  While incredible and imaginative, they’ve set him at a natural age to retire from jumping off rooftops and withstanding repeated head trauma. If you look at Batman as a pro athlete, you simply do not see them at his age and doing tremendously well.  Which when your sport is dodging gunfire and acting as bait for super aliens so other super aliens can clobber them, is not great.  I think DC Entertainment is looking for ways to have a more youthful Batman, and I believe Dick Grayson is part of that natural path.

And that doesn’t mean we won’t have Bruce Wayne stories.  As the news has just dropped, Matt Reeves is telling his own young Bruce tales.  But as far as the Batman that stands shoulder to shoulder with Wonder Woman, and Superman?  Here we have a young man in Dick Grayson coming into his own as a hero on the world’s stage, just like Diana and Clark.  A young man with the strategic mind of Batman, the physical training, the gadgets, resources, but without the blinding rage, pain, and cynicism.  A superhero that looks at the world and wants to genuinely help people. Not out of a deep psychological need to harm those who harmed him, but because he was broken and then saved, and he can do that for other people.  Being a good person is all the superpower you need. As a culture, I believe those are the heroes we need right now. And as for Dick Grayson, he’s a born showman, and I think it’s time for him to take the stage.

[lizthefangirl]

And Now I’m Losing You

Rated T for some language. Takes place directly after 5.08. 

Clarke finds herself in yet another cell, with no real hope of being saved. Meanwhile, Bellamy faces the consequences of his actions—both external and internal.

Read it on Ao3!

Thanks guys, enjoy!

But this is all I ever was


And this is all you came across those years ago


Now you go too far


Don't tell me that I've changed because that's not the truth


And now I'm losing you

Clarke was wondering if every twisting road in her life eventually led to a prison cell.

There had been the first, thousands of miles above, covered wall to wall in drawings. She had been waiting for death there, too. And for something like it when she awoke in Mount Weather, ever haunted by the blank white walls. Then there had been the holding cell Diyoza had chucked her into, so very recently. After the dream that hadn't been a dream, the figure that stood illuminated in the glare of headlights. 

This cell, this sentence, felt altogether different.

Because there was simply no escaping, no evading an execution. Her instinct screamed that Bellamy would fight for her, argue a way out—or, God forbid, a way in for himself. No, he wouldn't; he couldn't keep his promise to protect Madi if he did that. She was certain the realization had crossed his mind.

But her only way out was unshakable, perhaps most of all by him; though he was plenty aware of the sheer wrongness of Octavia's behavior, he would never go to the necessary measures to stop her. Then again, Clarke might say the same for herself. Not because she was incapable of killing Octavia, but because of what it would do to him. To the way he looked at her, thought of her.

Maybe prioritizing his opinion of her was selfish, or would be, were Madi not also at risk. 

She felt sick. Unsteady.

It wasn't death that troubled her; she had shook its hand on more than one occasion, even prepared to let it embrace her completely that day, knelt in the sand.

But who she would leave behind. . . 

She believed in Bellamy's final promise to her. And yet, she wondered if Madi would let him keep her safe, or if taking her place at Blodreina's side had truly changed her. Clarke told herself it was too soon, that she wouldn't be turned so quickly. But she'd seen her grip Octavia's arm in lethal accord. The spark in her eye as she'd fought in the pit. The way it had flared with pride at Octavia's offer.

Had she already lost her? Just like that?

For the first time, a rotten part of her wished Bellamy and the others had never returned. That the bunker had stayed sealed. That Diyoza's ship had never landed. That it would have been Clarke and Madi, the latter always safely within her reach. 

She cursed herself silently. Six years, she'd hoped every day that she might see her friends again—see him again. And it was a blasphemous lie that she would trade anything for those moments in that cell, finally seeing his face, hearing his voice. Even after, when the time that had passed became increasingly evident. . .

She wouldn't sacrifice Madi. She wouldn't sacrifice Bellamy.

It was a raw, blatant truth that wrung out her heart. 

Suddenly I'm the one letting my heart rule my head.

Mama bears don't think. They just protect their young.

She cracked a smile, eyes stinging. It had taken her breath away, his understanding. His reassurance. She had forgotten what it was to be known by anyone but Madi—not just recognized, but known, truly and deeply. They didn't know each other as they had, of course. Too much had happened, too many days spent apart.

But she was starting to find that time and distance mattered to her less and less.

God, she didn't want to leave them. Didn't want to imagine what might be unleashed in Bellamy when she died on his sister's command—

A terrible chill crept over her skin.

Like prison cells, goodbyes seemed to be a sort of curse in her life. Or lack thereof.

She couldn't count the times in her life she'd regretted words unsaid upon separation. Naturally, the worst had been the rifts at Praimfaya, between her and everyone she loved. But even before. . . 

She remembered standing by the river with Bellamy one day, before he had to depart. He'd been about to say something—

If I don't see you again. . .

She had stopped him immediately, much like he had done to her that day in the lab.

No, you will.

The truth was, she'd often wondered exactly what he would have said. What it might have meant for them, if she'd let him. 

Perhaps she wasn't completely powerless in this cell. Perhaps she could at least fix this one thing.

She rose from the concrete bench, guards turning at the noise. She held her hands up. "I need to write something down, please."

The taller man sneered; she very vaguely recognized him as Trikru, where he'd been in a similar role. "Prisoners of Wonkru are not entitled to—"

"I'm not asking for much," she countered, as evenly as she could. "I just need to say goodbye to the people I—"

"You will sit down and be silent," he snarled.

"A member of my family is Blodreina's newly appointed Second in battle," Clarke snapped, the words burning her throat as they always did. "She will be outraged to know about this execution, let alone that you denied us a farewell." 

Mama bear, all right.

"I have no mercy for traitors to Wonkru."

She almost rolled her eyes. There was no Wonkru six years ago—

The thought stopped her dead in her tracks. Heart pounding, she carefully chose her words, as well as her language.

"Yu get klen Blodreina nou ste fousen Heda."

You know Blodreina isn't the rightful Commander.

The other, smaller guard whirled, his angrier counterpart turning deep red. "That—is treason—"

"What, are you gonna kill me twice?"

The second guard interrupted the first's growling retort, voice low and forlorn: "Ba Heda stedaun."

But the Commander is dead.

Clarke shook her head, quoting Gaia: "'Auda riskines, Fleimon-de kigon. Medo gyon klin, ba Keryon ste yuj.'"

Through the dark, the Flame lives on. The body passes, but the Spirit is strong.

Their eyes widened.

"There is a true Commander who still lives," she breathed, tasting bile. "Do you still protect Heda?"

"Otaim," the second guard said softly, eyes shining. He shoved the man beside him, who reluctantly agreed.

Always. Of course, she didn't trust them. She would never reveal who Madi was. Instead: "Go to Gaia, tell her I sent you. She'll understand."

Because Gaia, at least, would not let harm come to Madi. And Clarke had to believe her when she said the child would have a choice. 

"Now let me write something. Please."

They shuffled, murmuring. The calmer guard withdrew, returning moments later with a sheet of notebook paper and a pencil. She accepted them through the bars.

"And if anything happens to Heda—if you betray this person," Clarke intoned slowly, "Then I will rise from the ashes and kill you both myself." On the impossible chance she did escape, she likely would anyway.

The men had the foresight to keep their backs turned as she sank to the floor, using the bench as a table. The concrete's texture made her letters a bit haphazard, but she didn't deign to pause. 

She couldn't bear to address it to Madi. Instead, she wrote to Bellamy—as meticulously as she had written his name on that list of a hundred. She followed with her message to Madi, asking that he would relay it. And then. . .

She decided if they were really to be her last words to him, there was a lot to say. Some of it would hurt. 

Some of it was selfish. Cruel, even. But she hoped he would understand, later. She hoped he, too, had felt the lingering sting left by improper farewells—and might be grateful that she hadn't left him to wonder. — Bellamy had called the guards, just after he'd placed the tainted bar into his pocket. And after he'd decided his voice hadn't disappeared for good.

"I want names!" he bellowed to her followers, desperate. "I want to know every person who would do this to her."

"Bellamy," Miller said quietly, "We will not rest until we find—"

"She was listening," he breathed, turning to Indra's calm face. "We were talking, she was finally listening—"

"Compose yourself," she snapped. "Your conversation is confidential. You must not speak so openly about Blodreina's plans."

He hated that name. Wasn't faking the venom in his voice as he said, "She pardoned her."

Indra's face hardly shifted, though the guards around her blinked in surprise.

"Clarke was framed for Cooper's death," he continued hoarsely. "She must have been. I was with her the whole day. I only got to explain that after you all dragged her away to be killed." He stared right at Indra as he said it, a challenge. "But you were just following orders."

"Em dula dison," a guard hissed to her.

She hesitated before replying sharply. "Du ste seingeda." 

His lip curled. "Wonkru em java seingeda!" 

"Noumou! Yu nou chich op kom Blodreina," she roared. "And I believe him."

Luckily, they were all focused on her, for he was sure relief limned his face. 

"I will escort him to the cells," Indra said. "The rest of you—take her to her chambers. And find the person responsible."

"We don't have a healer," someone said.

Bellamy stiffened slightly. "Maybe one of my people could take a look."

"Later," Indra said, already filing out, calling behind her, "Dula'm op nau!" 

He didn't need a translation, for everyone snapped into action. He was a bit breathless as he followed her. "Indra—thank y—"

"Have you killed her, too?"

He faltered, heat rising in his face. "Of course not. It's a coma from something she ate."

"What something?" "Space algae. She should recover in a few days—after we find peace. Indra, where is Madi?"

"With the other children, finishing her training."

He nodded to himself. He wanted to go to her first—but realized she wouldn't know what had happened to Clarke. Or Cooper, or Octavia. And the guards could still think the execution was on—

"When was she supposed to be executed," he choked.

"Tonight." He paled, noticed their brisk pace for the first time. Live panic flared as he realized begging for her life, as Octavia had suggested, may have been pointless.  They entered another gray corridor, the doors heavier-looking, windows barred.

"Stay here," Indra ordered, giving him no choice as she stalked around a corner.

Muffled Trigedasleng met his ears, its tone far from liberating. A lock slid and a door opened. A chorus of steady footsteps—

Then grunts of pain. 

He immediately bounded ahead, finding a pale Clarke pressed against a wall some meters off—and Indra stood over two bodies, blade bloodied. It wasn't her own, he realized as she dropped it to the floor. 

"What have you done," he rasped. Clarke's head whipped around at his voice.  

"If someone else was responsible," Indra said, "Then why would that be their only crime?"

He half-saw her logic, still stunned. His adrenaline was waning as he finally met Clarke's eyes. "You okay?"

She stared at him, something odd in her expression. His brows lowered, another question forming before Indra quipped, "We need to get away from here—and have a discussion."

He nodded, letting her pass, waiting until Clarke was at his side. In his examination for any signs of harm, his eyes slid to her hands, a crumpled paper folded between them. "I was just sketching," she said softly, sheepish. "Calms me down."

"Nau, Wanheda," Indra pressed.

As they fell into step behind her, he spoke quietly. "You do a lot of that?" No need to say before.

She glanced sidelong at him, an appreciative glint to her eyes as she nodded.

He was experiencing a subdued sort of panic that baffled him; he'd managed to keep his composure in the tent and the office, even as his sister tried to provoke him. He was keeping it now, seeing that Clarke was safe. But it was a mask over the unequivocal truth that he couldn't handle the alternative.

Octavia had known it; she just hadn't known. . . The gravity of it. Even he hadn't until their conversation, these moments of relief.

Indra stopped in an alcove. "Tell me more about Madi."

Clarke's coldness was palpable as she replied, "What does she have to do with anything? Where is—"

"Algae," Bellamy muttered to her. "I. . . She's unconscious. Temporarily."

Pure shock lit her gaze for an instant before she gently went on, "How did she know it was me?" 

"Both of you," Indra corrected curtly, explaining the ploy with the eggs. 

"An accident," Bellamy gaped. "God."

"We need to take Diyoza's deal, right now," Clarke said. "While there's still time."

"It won't happen," Indra said. "Wonkru won't accept any decision without Blodreina's approval."

"The only decision she's been willing to approve so far is massacring hundreds of people!" Bellamy countered. "Surely everyone here can't want war."

Clarke appeared pensive, gears turning. Instead of finishing whatever thought she was having, she said, "Whatever happens, I have to protect Madi. I can't take her from here; it's too late for that. Indra, you have a daughter. . . What would you do to keep her alive?"

"A foolish question," she scoffed. 

"Exactly," Clarke said, dipping her chin. "Hopefully it won't come to that."

He searched her face, longing to decipher the wrinkle between her brows, the slight frown of her mouth. "To what, Clarke?"

She just shook her head. "Like I said, we need to contact Diyoza. Octavia is technically taken out, for the time being. People can choose whether or not they want to comply with the deal, but. . . We have to hope plenty of them want a peaceful arrangement. And that she will keep her word."

They continued this manner of terse negotiation for a few minutes before it was decided that they would make the call in an hour—after Indra reported the dead guards she "found" and explained Clarke and Bellamy's whereabouts. 

She practically bolted to Madi's training area, Bellamy on her heels. The young girl peered at them as they approached, bewildered. "Clarke, what—"

But she already locked her arms around her, clutching her like she'd turn to vapor if she let go. Instead of speaking to her, she called Gaia's name. The former Flamekeeper approached, tense enough that he figured she had some knowledge of the situation at hand. "Madi. I need you to stay with Gaia, okay? There's been some trouble."

Madi pulled away to stare up at her. "Where's Octavia?"

Bellamy held his breath as he felt Clarke shatter somewhere inside, hesitating.

"Blodreina is in a mysterious sleep," Gaia answered smoothly. 

"You mean. . . like. . ." Her brow furrowed as she glanced up at Clarke. "Snow White?"

"Kind of like that," she replied, smiling gently. "No one knows much, but Bellamy and I are going to help them figure it out. If someone did attack her, I want to know where you are, Madi. If they could take down a warrior like Octavia, they could get anyone. . . Even her guards." The other children listened as Clarke gravely explained that she'd heard commotion while in a "lab," only to be met by a stunned Indra, who reported the casualties in the prison sector.

 "Whoever this is might be lethal, but not to Octavia. Not yet."

Madi nodded, though clearly frustrated at her assignment. 

God. 

Second in battle. 

Devastation wrought Bellamy's gut. Not just at the title she'd granted, but at the fact that he'd let Octavia do this. He hadn't been able to interfere earlier, when she'd been gone long before.

He'd made it a significant amount of time without pondering the words that had singed him, but hearing the lie that Clarke spun. . .

A traitor.

Who you love.

He had immediately filtered it out of refusal to ponder it further, unsure of what responses that might produce. The empty, frantic explanations had come fast: Maybe it was another attempt to undermine his relationship with Echo, Clarke just happening to be the best candidate for comparison. Or maybe, she was simply using the word love to throw him off, knowing there wasn't truth to it—not like that. Of course he loved Clarke. He also loved Monty and Raven and Harper and a number of others.

But. 

Clarke's name had come right after Echo's, or close enough. 

Who you love.

Not friendly love—or some deeper, devoted version of it. 

A traitor.

Octavia had seen their embrace in the desert.

Who you love.

She'd seen another embrace years ago, at the gates of Camp Jaha.

He looked at her now, heard her speak to Madi as if from a distance, that paper still in her fist.

And he felt chagrin wash through him at last, as lies and truths abruptly began to unravel.

Now there's something I thought I'd never see.

She saw it now. And had forced him to see it, too—a blow immeasurable to the rest.