#i never found this movement or joke or whatever it is funny but now ive started to see the actual feasible harm it has inflicted onto

[capriszn]

banning the word girl from my vocabulary for good thanks 😉

[ashintheairlikesnow]

A Little Bit Stabbed

Jake Gets Stabbed Miniseries: First Second Third Fourth Fifth Sixth

CW: Discussion of past child abuse/domestic violence, description of stab wound, painkillers/drugged but in a good way, brief IV needle reference, some short references to Jake’s religious trauma, some trauma response stuff

“Took four of us to get you onto the couch, you know,” Kauri says, fingers moving gently to brush Jake’s short hair back off his forehead. There’s a hint of humor to his deep voice, but Jake catches the tremor in it, too. “You’re heavier than you look.”

“Must be… pretty fucking heavy, then,” Jake manages, voice slightly thin. They gave him something - Nat’s EMT friend showed up with IV supplies while refusing to tell anyone where they’d gotten ahold of everything from, except to repeatedly reassure all of them I know someone, it’s taken care of, I probably won’t go to jail for this. Besides, I’ve been in jail before.

Jake might not have found it very reassuring if he wasn’t halfway to unconscious from the pain alone at the time.

Now, though, there’s a needle feeding a steady supply of something wonderful into his bloodstream, holding the worst of the pain at bay. All he can feel now is maybe a little bit of an itch he knows better than to scratch, and a heaviness to his limbs that keeps them limp and relaxed. 

“We had to turn the stupid thing into the pull-out bed just to make sure your feet wouldn’t be higher than your head.” Kauri smiles at him, but there’s worry in those warm blue eyes, and Jake uses every ounce of strength to lift his good hand, the one on the uninjured side, and take Kauri’s, pulling his knuckles to his lips to brush against them. 

“I’m okay,” Jake says softly. “I am, Kaur. It’s not so bad.”

“It’s not-... you got fucking stabbed in your own kitchen, Jake.” Kauri’s lips thin and he looks away, over towards the TV, playing Clue.

Funny, Jake thinks, woozy and untethered to any kind of focus. My mom used to play Clue when we were alone, after. Made her feel better for a while.

“Just a… a flesh wound,” Jake manages in a terrible approximation of a British accent.

Kauri just looks at him, expression serious, and leans over until their foreheads touch. He’s warm, and Jake’s eyes close, basking in the body heat that comes off of him, surrounds them both. “Don’t,” Kauri whispers. “Please don’t make jokes. I thought-”

“It’s okay,” Jake murmurs. 

Eventually, he should probably tell someone he can only sort of feel the hand on the injured side. But not now. 

“It’s okay. It’s not s’bad. I got the good drugs, right?”

“Antibiotics and…” Kauri squints at the label on the bag attached to the IV, then winces and shakes his head. “Sorry. Can’t read today. It, uh. It kind of comes and goes when I’m worried, and today-”

“I get it. But… you don’t have to worry about me, Kaur. It’s over, it happened… I’ll feel better pretty fast. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Kauri says softly, but he relaxes beside Jake, keeping a hold of his hand. His fingers are slightly chilled, but they warm against Jake’s. The two of them settle into silence for a while, a woman in black on the TV with eyes blown wide in comic exaggeration of anger speaking in a blur of sound Jake knows by heart but can’t really pick apart from anything else, not just yet, not right now. 

He knows this movie by heart. He and his mom used to curl up under a blanket while she closed her eyes and prayed for things to get better and Jake prayed for his dad to die in a car accident or some other terrible way, and make it slow, and then pray with terror not to go to hell for thinking like that.

If men like his father go to heaven, Jake would rather burn in hell.

At least my favorite bands would be there, he thinks, and laughs to himself, shoulders shaking a little, sending a ripple of pain down his arm and spiking into his skull. He winces, but the thought still strikes him as too funny to quit circling woozily around his mind, and he keeps laughing a little.

Kauri turns to look at him, eyebrows raised. “What are you laughing at?”

Jake blinks over at him, those wide blue eyes. It had been hell not to be able to hold him for so long, with eyes like that. Real hell, the kind where you spend your days wishing for a connection that seems too hard to make. “Nothing, just… thinking about shit with my dad,” He says, finally. “My mom and I used to watch Clue all the time. It’s her favorite movie.”

“Yeah?” Kauri looks over his shoulder, back at the television, and Jake’s eyes move lazily over the slight bump in his nose where it was broken by someone years ago, the dip of his lips, the roundness of his chin, angling a little with age. The way his neck would feel to trace with just one fingertip, how he smiles when Jake does it, asks him what the fuck he’s looking at when there’s way more to Kauri that needs attention right now than just his face.

There’s a lazy wave of warmth in Jake, a steady thrum of something that goes much deeper than arousal, at the memory.

Adoration.

“Yeah,” He says, softly. “She’d put it on when he left the house, we’d make popcorn and watch it. Saturday night special, popcorn and a movie, Mom and Jake.”

“Where’d your dad go?” Kauri asks, then the answer catches up with him, and he winces. “Wait, sorry. I think I know where he went.”

“Church.”

That is clearly not what Kauri expected to hear. “I-... what?” He turns back to Jake, eyebrows furrowing. “I thought-”

“Nope. He went to church. Fish fry on Saturdays, he volunteered.” Jake is dimly aware that this might be more than he’s ever told Kauri about his father, at least more than he’s ever said that wasn’t laser-focused on the hurts, the bruises, the concussion, the ER visits where Jake learned to lie. “He was a magician with a deep fryer. Best fucking fish I ever ate.” He laughs, then coughs a little against the new round of ache in his shoulder. 

Kauri is quiet for a moment, his eyes searching Jake’s face, maybe looking for an idea of how to respond the right way. Jake knows that look - he’s seen it less and less over the years, but it never fully stops.

Kauri never stops looking for the safe answer, the one that won’t get him hurt. Jake never stops being ready to fight his way out if it happens again. Kauri is still ready to say what the abuser needs to hear, placate and please and keep himself alive.

Jake is still ready to pick up a weapon and use it if his father ever comes near he or his mother again. Not that he ever will. Not that he even wants to, sixteen years after Jake last saw his face. 

But he’s still built, deep within, to fight the threat. And so is Kauri, in his own way. 

“I love you so much,” Jake says softly. “I hope you didn’t pull anything dragging my ass around.”

“Mmmn, guess I’ll find out,” Kauri says softly, snuggling back up to him, then. “Should we change the movie? If it’s, like, a thing for you-”

“Nah.” Jake smiles, slightly. He feels pleasantly drunk, on whatever the painkiller slowly drip-feeding into his arm is. A little woozy, a little bit in love with it. “It’s like a comfort thing, really. I should call my mom-”

“I already did,” Kauri says, gently pushing him back down as Jake tries to make himself sit up. “She’s driving up. She said she’ll get here in the morning, she had to find someone to watch her dog.”

Jake blinks twice. “Mom has a dog?”

“I think it’s new. But, um. You can’t exactly meet her at her hotel, Jake. She’s gonna have to come here.”

Jake feels a rush of old nerves prickling along his arms, the hair of his neck trying to stand up. He closes his eyes, tries to push it back down. “I’ve never given her my address. It’s not safe for us. What if-... I don’t know. I’ve just never… I’ve always worried that if he found her, you know, that he’d… convince her to tell him where I live. He’d turn us all in just to feel like the big righteous moral hero all over again. Probably hard to feel that way when you’re hitting a teenager. Easier when you’re turning in vigilantes with stolen property.” He spits the words, and Kauri flinches a little. “Shit. Sorry, Kaur.”

“No, it’s. It’s okay. I get what you mean. But I don’t think your mom would do that. She loves you.”

“She does.” Jake exhales, closes his eyes. Inside him there is still an angry child that wants to point out that it hasn’t always been enough. But there’s a grown man, and a decade of fucking therapy, telling him there’s a whole lot more to it than that. “And she’s finally come around to understanding why I do this. Yeah… yeah, we’ll tell her where I am. It’ll be fine. Honestly, it’s not so bad. Jameson really did a great job on the stabbing.” Jake tries to laugh again. “Fucking surgeon with a butcher knife. He managed to miss every fucking bit of me that would have killed me.”

“Except for if you bled out,” Kauri points out, voice small. 

“Yeah… but I didn’t.” Jake thinks of Antoni’s face, the focus in his dark eyes, the quick movement of his hands, the blinding agony of the cloth being forced into the wound to soak up the blood, the way Antoni had leaned all his weight forwards to put enough pressure to staunch the bleeding. Jake had never felt pain like that before, and he’s not sure he could handle feeling it again. “Ant was there. It’ll be okay. Where is he?”

“In his room.” Picking at the heavy thick blanket laid over Jake, not quite looking at him now, Kauri asks, “How are you so calm about this?”

“Drugs,” Jake answers right away. “Like ninety percent drugs.” He groans as a throbbing ache travels from the stab wound, up into his skull, all the way down to his toes. “Fuck. The… whatever’s in there helps. But also…” Jake sighs, letting his eyes drift to the ceiling, over the popcorn-texture there. He’d meant to scrape it clean and smooth, when he bought the house, but other stuff kept taking priority, and he hadn’t gotten around to it yet. “This isn’t th’ first time, you know?”

Kauri frowns. “Jake, I have licked just about everything on your body, I’ve never seen a scar from-”

“Not… not stabbed. But… stuck here, on a couch-bed, tryin’... tryin’ to heal from shit. That’s not new.” Jake exhales. Above him, the blades of the ceiling fan circle lazily, and his eyes follow the movement of the shadows. 

“No, I guess not.”

“In any case… I haven’t s-seen… Jameson’s upstairs, right? Can you get him down here?”

Something passes over Kauri’s face, a shadow, a discomfort and darkness that Jake can’t quite read. “Jameson’s not in the house, Jake.”

“What? Why?” Jake starts trying to sit up again, and this time Kauri’s gentle push isn’t enough to get him back down. He grinds his teeth against the pain and forces himself upright, trying to shift his legs over the side of the bed. The room spins around him, dizzy-sick flip in his stomach, but he ignores it. He’s felt worse than this and kept moving before. “Shit, fuck, I should’ve made sure he didn’t leave-”

“He didn’t. I made him go.”

The look Jake turns on Kauri is baffled, but there’s anger, too, welling up inside him. “You what?”

“I told him he can’t stay here if he’s a danger to you and the others,” Kauri says, but he cringes back from Jake’s expression, instinctive fear. Jake hates how he looks like his dad - huge and muscular, a threat inherent in his existence that he might not give off if he were smaller. But his bulk and his strength is also the thing that makes him capable of withstanding the danger he puts himself in for them. It’s the reason he could come home and pick Chris up with a broken rib and carry him after they raided the last safehouse he’d lived in. It’s the reason he could finally fight back with his dad. It’s the reason the kids at his new schools, one after another after another as he and his mom moved constantly to try not to be found, left him alone. 

“Kauri, he can’t-... Jameson’s not. He can’t live on his own.”

“That’s a lie,” Kauri says, lips barely moving. “That’s a lie they tell us-”

“No, that’s not what I-... Jameson’s like Chris,” Jake says, softly. “Like Chris used to be. He was treated like an animal, Kauri. He didn’t get to use fucking utensils to eat in the last two places he was held, he told me himself. He can’t live on his own yet. If you kicked him out… Jesus Christ, Kauri, do you not remember how it felt when you were kicked out?”

Kauri looks like he’s been slapped. “Wait, Jake-... I didn’t mean-”

“We found you half-dead under a goddamn bush, Kauri, you can’t do that to someone else just because I got a little bit stabbed! Shit. Fuck. I gave him a burner phone, if he’s still got it on him, maybe I can call-”

“Jakob fucking Stanton!” Kauri yells so rarely, and Jake goes still, turning to look at him, seeing the anger written across Kauri’s face. Kauri angry is electric, and immensely sexy, and something Jake had gone so long thinking he would never see unless Vincent Shield showed up with a new idea for how to make up for all his failures by forcing himself around someone who hated him. “Will you fucking listen to me?!”

Jake just sits there, staring at him. He can’t even find the words. Eventually, he just nods.

“I didn’t kick him out on the street, I’m not that awful, and fuck you for thinking I am and we’re going to talk about that later when you aren’t half off your head from painkillers. I don’t want him here until you’re feeling better in case it happens again, so I-... so I sent him home with Nat. She doesn’t have anyone living with her right now, and she said okay, so he’s going to stay with her.” Kauri swallows, reaching slowly out to lay his hand on Jake’s leg. “He and I talked. He said it’s always been men, Jake. All of the ones who hurt him were men, one of them was... was really big like you, I guess. So I thought-... if he’s with Nat, maybe it won’t happen again for long enough for him to, to work it through in therapy and Dr. Berger maybe can give him, give him s-something to help. So maybe he won’t, um, hallucinate or… or w-whatever the next time.” Kauri’s eyes well up, glimmer with tears that don’t fall. “I was trying to help. I thought he’d feel safer with only a woman, maybe, and I sent him alone so that he’d know he can’t hurt Allyn, he was really scared of that, and…”

Jake’s mouth hangs open.

Kauri slumps over, his forehead slowly resting against Jake’s back where he sits slightly behind him now that Jake is nearly off the bed. “I had to make sure everyone’s safe. I didn’t know what else to do. I sent Chris to stay with Laken overnight but he’ll be back tomorrow, Antoni’s fucked up but he’s in his room and he’s safe, and all the rescues promised to stay in their rooms and Allyn tried to go with Jameson and I think they hate me now because I said no, but I didn’t-... I tried to think of what you would do, if it had been Chris or me he’d hurt. I was trying to be like you. I’m s-sorry if I fucked it up, I’m sorry, please, I thought you were going to die, please don’t be mad at me-”

“Kauri.” Jake turns, and uses his good hand to lift Kauri’s chin, meeting his eyes. 

Blue on blue, always. 

“I’m not mad,” He says, gently. “Not… not now. You’re right, I shouldn’t have… just been a shit deciding what you did without asking. I’m sorry. So, let me just… you spent the last couple of hours really fucking busy, huh?”

Kauri nods, kissing Jake’s fingertips, one by one. “I’m sorry,” He whispers. “I’m not… I’m not good at this, I’m not... not... I was so scared. I didn’t know what you would do, Jake, and Nat said she thought it was a good idea, so-”

“It is. It is a good idea.” Kauri blinks, surprised, and the tears that have been threatening finally run, clear as crystal, down his flushed cheeks. He looks like a fucking sculpture, Jake thinks to himself, like some artist’s idea of the perfect beautiful person. “Kauri, just. Now that I get what you were trying to do… Shit. That’s really smart.”

Kauri huffs a laugh, a kind of half-sobbing sound, and shakes his head. “It’s just, I was just guessing-”

“That’s all we ever do, too,” Jake says, voice soft. “We guess, at what we can do to help. Nat always says we make the hard choices when nobody else can. Kauri, that’s the smartest fucking idea. I’m… that’s some grace under fire shit. That’s amazing.”

“It… it is?”

“Yeah.” Jake kisses him, and Kauri tastes like mouthwash, like mint, kisses back with desperate intensity. “Yeah, Kaur. That’s even better than what I would have done. You’re so fucking smart. What made you decide to slum it with me?”

“You have a really good d-dick and I don’t w-w-want to lose access,” Kauri says, and he’s crying or laughing or maybe both. “You’re my eye candy.”

“You’re my Einstein.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck me yourself,” Jake says softly. 

“Heal a little first.” Kauri sighs, half-smiling, pulling Jake back into the bed to lay down again. “Everyone’s safe, Jake. At least for now. Everyone’s okay. You need to rest, and everyone’s going to be okay.”

Jake lets his head be maneuvered back onto the pillow, feels Kauri settle back down next to him, pulling the blankets back up over them both. He’s silent for a while, lets the soft sound of the end of the movie wash over him, showing the different endings.

“I love you,” He whispers. The way the adrenaline is fading makes him sleepy, drifting in a new drowsy haze, ready to dose off again. “So much.”

“Love you, too,” Kauri murmurs. 

He knows this - the couch-bed pulled out, watching movies and stand-up comedy at a low volume, a throb of pain somewhere that will heal only with time - by heart.

With Kauri’s weight and warmth beside him, it feels entirely, completely new.

-

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @newandfiguringitout @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whumpiary @endless-whump

[kiras-sunshine]

Beside you in a blinding bliss

Tarlos. 4.4k

For: 911 couple’s retreat  (@911CouplesRetreat) day 1 “you have never looked more beautiful” + hurt/comfort

Summary:

He places it on the floor, near his shin. The fake flame flickers a little, but it is dim, and it certainly doesn’t illuminate the bathroom.

“Now it’s an anniversary,” TK remarks, softly, with a tiny sigh.

ao3

or

**

author’s note: this includes slight descriptions of puking

***

The room spins as Carlos attempts to move and he has to grab the edge of the bathtub to steady himself. He is already sitting on the floor, but even the smallest movement makes spots appear in the corner of his vision and he has to take a couple of deep breaths to get rid of them.

He feels ridiculously weak, and the bathroom smells awful. He cannot get rid of the reeking, even though he has flushed the toilet multiple times since puking his insides out, and he just wants to curl up in a ball and forget the whole day.

The nausea still wallows threateningly in the pit of his stomach, but he isn’t convinced that the guilt wouldn’t be overpowering the waves of nausea.

TK didn’t seem angry or disappointed when he found him puking in the bathroom. If anything, he was just concerned and worried about him. Carlos cannot really blame him, he would probably have the same reaction if it was the other way around, but Carlos cannot help but feel like he has let him down.

It’s their first anniversary, and they actually had plans. Nothing too fancy, but they had a dinner reservation to a place they have meant to try for ages, and he had done the reservation months ago. Sure, it is only a dinner, but it is more about the meaning the date holds rather than about the food.

TK deserves the world, he knows that much and it’s ridiculous and slightly stupid, but he just wanted to give him a nice, stress-free evening and celebrate their love, but apparently even that proved to be too difficult.  

Work was plain terrible. They were understaffed and the whole shift was filled with a call after a call, and he didn’t really have a time to sit down and eat lunch, so he grabbed a sandwich from a food truck and he knew it tasted funny, but he didn’t have time to dwell on the thought too long because the dispatch sent them to another scene.

With his luck, he ended up with a food poisoning.

At least, that is his best guess. He felt a little off when he left the precinct and by the time he got home, the nausea was too strong to keep bottled up inside, and since that he has spent most of the afternoon camping out at the bathroom floor.

Carlos sincerely hopes it is a food poisoning because it could mean he would feel better quicker and the last thing he wants to do is to pass on some stomach bug to TK. It would be a terrible gift as far as anniversary gifts go.

Carlos tries to suppress a yawn and for a moment, he ponders whether he could just lie down and fall asleep on the floor. It feels like every ounce of energy would have been drained out of him, and somehow, even sitting up seems to require too much currently.

His mind definitely feels a little hazy and he knows exhaustion is taking over, but he is almost sure he hears the front door open and close. Despite everything, it makes him smile. It helps to know that he isn’t alone.

A few moments pass before he hears the bathroom door crack open, and TK appears to the bathroom. He is carrying a grocery store plastic bag and Carlos is happy to see him again, but his stomach lurches with guilt as he sees the concern shining in his eyes.

“Your beloved car survived without a scratch,” TK tells him, in apparent form of greeting, as he sits right next to him on the floor without any hesitation. He leans against the bathtub and glances at him, but he presses a kiss on his temple.

Carlos flashes him a lopsided and quick smile.

TK’s driving skills are infamous among the 126, even if they let him drive the ambulance nowadays. Judd sent him a lot of pictures of the destroyed traffic cones when he tried to teach TK to drive the ladder truck. TK himself sent him pictures of the battered rear end of the truck.

Despite all of that, Carlos has always let him drive the Camaro when he has needed it, but still TK immediately took it as some sort of highest form of trust. Carlos does trust him, with everything and anything, so it is not unwarranted of him to think that way, but TK has developed the habit of declaring, after every time he has driven, that his car still remains un-crashed.

“And you?” Carlos asks, hoarsely.

“What?”

“I care a lot more if you survived without a scratch,” Carlos points out, kindly. It feels like an obvious thing to say, but he likes to remind him of it, anyway. He has to close his eyes for a moment because the room spins a little.

Any reluctance he might have towards letting him drive is because he only worries that TK will get himself hurt. But he has seen him drive, he isn’t that bad at it. He just has an unorthodox way of reversing.

“I did,” TK confirms with warm laughter, “I mean I only visited pharmacy and the supermarket.”

Carlos had every intention of texting TK that he wasn’t feeling well when he first got home, but he never got around to do it, and when TK arrived back to the apartment from his own shift, he gave him a full check-up before darting to buy some medicine that would make him feel better and stomach-friendly foods.

“You once got kidnapped from a parking lot,” he mumbles. Moving feels awful, but he rests his head against TK’s shoulder because holding his head up on his own feels impossibly tiring.

“True,” TK says, but his voice softens as he continues, “how are you feeling?”

“Like dying.”

It feels like an honest answer. It is only maybe a tiny bit of exaggeration, but he feels miserable. His stomach aches and cramps, and it is hard to focus on anything else except the nausea. Carlos lifts his hand a little, but as soon as he moves it, it starts to shake.

TK’s fingers immediately curl around his shaking hand and it almost makes it stop. He holds it firmly, but still gently and places their intertwined hands at Carlos’ lap.

Logically, he knows that handholding cannot cure nausea, but it almost feels like it. Feeling the touch of his skin helps him to focus on something else. His touch is almost like a concrete proof that he is not alone and that whatever he is feeling will pass, sooner or later.

TK lets out a sympathetic hum, and his hand feels almost too warm against his. “No dying on my watch, but you do look like crap.”

Carlos snorts. “I guess we’re officially out of the honeymoon stage.”

He means it as a joke, even though his voice comes out a little meek. In all honesty, he has no idea where the end or beginning of their honeymoon stage would lie. He still gets goddamn butterflies in his stomach when TK even as much as smiles at him, and he is probably more in love than ever.

“You’ve never looked more beautiful,” TK replies, and his voice is light and teasing, but it doesn’t sound like a complete joke to his ears, even though it must be.  

Carlos can imagine the way he is looking. He looked pale already in the locker room of the precinct and he knows he is drenched in sweat. Generally, he feels gross. It still feels like a small miracle that TK is willing to sit pressed next to him, kissing his head and holding his hand, without any complaints.

“That’s the spirit,” he manages to crook out before his stomach lurches and he has to puke again.

The sudden movement makes him dizzy and the taste in his mouth is bitter and awful. It sort of feels like he couldn’t breath properly and he is gasping for air, but TK is rubbing his shoulders in a soothing manner and it helps a little to keep the panic at the bay.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, “just breath. You’ll feel better soon. I promise.”

He isn’t sure if he loathes more the feeling of sickness or the fact that TK has to be there to witness it. If there is ever anyone in front of whom he has allowed himself to feel weak, it is TK, but he still cannot shake the uneasiness of being so helpless and small in front of him. He is also willing to bet that TK sees a lot grosser things at work on weekly basis, but that doesn’t mean he should witness it from him.

Carlos doesn’t really trust his voice to answer, so he just nods. He wants to believe that and as he catches his breath, he, at least temporarily, feels slightly better.

TK is still stroking his back.  “Have you drunk anything?”

“No.”

He didn’t even manage to drink a gulp of water when he ate that damn sandwich before they were sent to another scene.

Carlos turns around again, placing himself back to the familiar spot against the bathtub. TK studies him with his gaze for a moment before he pulls a bottle of water out of the plastic bag. He hands it to him, and the bottle feels lukewarm in his hands.

“Try to drink a little bit, okay? If it feels bad or you cannot keep it down, I can hook you into an IV bag of saline. If you want to.”  

His voice is soft and sincere, and full of concern, and Carlos cannot tell exactly how serious he is with his offer. All he knows that his first-aid kit has gone through a proper upgrade since TK started at his new job and he wouldn’t be that surprised if they had the equipment for simple infusion, too.

“I don’t think a food poisoning requires a paramedic,” he replies, slightly tentatively because he doesn’t want him to take it the wrong way. He opens the water bottle with shaky hands and takes a small sip out of it.

“Too bad that you’re dating one,” he remarks, but he watches him like a hawk as he keeps slowly drinking the water. “If the water’s fine, then you can take some electrolyte pills with it. They should help too.”

He lets out a non-committal grunt. Carlos doesn’t exactly mind that he is taking care of him. He rather likes it, and it makes him feel loved, but he doesn’t want to burden him after the twenty-hour shift he has just pulled off. “No need to bring work to home.”

TK stares at him for a moment. He squints his eyes a little as he tilts his head to the side. He opens his mouth but abruptly closes it again. “You--,” he starts, but he ends up shaking his head. “I’m not taking care of you ‘cause of some oath I’ve taken at work. I want to take care of you ‘cause I love you, and that’s really not work.”

Carlos looks down on his own hands, a little abashedly. It’s nothing he wouldn’t know already, but it is still a different thing to hear him say it. He knows TK loves him, he tells him it often enough and he shows it, too. It is almost a tangible thing that he can feel, and his love surrounds him every day, and he had no real doubts he would be doing any of this out of anything else except love. But he has lived most of his adult life alone, and it is difficult to accept help when he is used to managing on his own. He wants to accept it, but he cannot silence the part of his mind that keeps insisting that he is asking for too much.

He bites his bottom lip as he looks back up to TK. “Yeah, okay. I know. I’m glad you’re here.”

TK gives him a small smile, but it is definitely genuine one. It makes a different kind of warmth to spread in his stomach.

“Are we in the realm of possibility of leaving the bathroom?”

“Not really,” Carlos breathes out. He wants to leave the hard and cold floor, and possibly crash into the bed, but all of that feels like a distant wish. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s fine,” TK reassures, sitting back right next to him. “Nothing wrong with a bathroom.”

“You don’t have to stay here,” he points out, softly. He is a grown adult, and he isn’t in any sort of mortal danger. There is no reason why he couldn’t deal with a food poisoning on his own. Knowing that TK is at home would be more than enough.  “This isn’t really how I imagined our anniversary to be.”

“There’s no way I’d leave you alone when you’re feeling this terrible,” he says, without missing a beat, and he sounds determined, “and I brought something.”

TK rummages through the plastic bag and pulls out something small that looks like plastic. He presses something at the bottom of it and orange light appears in the middle of it. Carlos wants to blame his exhausted and dehydrated brain for taking it so long to realise that TK is holding a led candle in the middle of his palm.

He places it on the floor, near his shin. The fake flame flickers a little, but it is dim, and it certainly doesn’t illuminate the bathroom.

“Now it’s an anniversary,” TK remarks, softly, with a tiny sigh.

Carlos is pretty sure his heart clenches with the love he is feeling. The candle itself is a pathetic sight, but it is the thought of it behind it that makes his heart feel too small for all the love it tries to contain.

“That’s—nice,” he says, little lamely, but he appreciates more than he can tell. His mind is still too foggy to form any more coherent sentences and his head suddenly feels a lot heavier than before.

“I had to improvise,” TK laughs, but he stops quickly when he looks at him. “You want to lay down?”

Carlos manages to nod, and suddenly TK’s hands are on his shoulders and he gently and slowly steers him into lying position, but he places his head on his lap. As soon as he settles there, TK’s fingers are already in his hair and he runs them along his scalp.

“You know, I don’t mind that much that our plans got cancelled,” TK says, softly, breaking the silence after a couple of quiet moments.

“You don’t have to try and make me feel better.”

He already feels miserable enough lying curled up on the bathroom floor and using his boyfriend’s thighs as a pillow. His self-pity is already covering all the pity he needs, and he knows he brought this on himself by eating the sandwich even when his instincts told there was something odd about it.

“I’m not just saying it to make you feel better,” TK huffs, almost amusedly, “of course I hope you’d be able to stand on your feet and not to puke everything out, but we can have dinner some other time.”

Carlos knows he is right. It is already a small miracle that both of them have the evening off, and he guesses the meaning and idea of the anniversary is more important than celebrating it on the actual day.

“Yeah.”

“It’s just a day,” TK says, almost casually.

It is ridiculous, but it breaks Carlos’ heart a little. He knows it is not TK’s fault if he isn’t bothered by the cancellation or if he doesn’t see their anniversary the same way as he does, but he cannot control the pang of hurt it creates.

Carlos knows he might come off as a reserved person, but he has always liked to make a big deal of any sort of celebrations he has shared with his loved ones. His sisters’ and friends’ birthdays. Their high school graduations. All the holidays. His parents’ anniversaries. TK’s one year of sobriety.

He likes making his loved ones happy and sharing happy moments with them and showing by that how much he loves and appreciates them, and just how proud he is of them. TK has always appreciated everything he has planned for him, and he had gone out and the above with Carlos’ birthday and with that horrendous tumour cake for his dad.

And it had been nice, that he had finally met someone who appreciated that side of him, and matched with him and made the similar effort for him, but he should have guessed that at some point, eventually, he and TK would clash on it, too.

He knows TK loves him, and it is not like he would be second-guessing his feelings or commitment, but it feels stupid and selfish to hope that the day that is supposed to be about the two of them would hold more significance for him.

That it wouldn’t be just a day among the rest of them.

If there is a silver lining, it is that his nonchalant reaction is easier to deal with than plain disappointment of their plans being cancelled.

“It is,” he lies, quietly.

TK lets out a heavy sigh. “That came out wrong.”

“It’s fine,” he rushes to murmur.

It is the truth. It feels worse than it actually is because he is already wallowing self-pity, and he knows it will be fine once he manages to sleep through the night and when he doesn’t feel like his stomach is plotting to kill him.

“It’s not fine,” TK insists, accompanied by another sigh, but it is a lot softer this time. “The anniversary, it’s a big deal. Of course it is and I want it to be a big deal. And I don’t want you thinking that it wouldn’t mean a lot to me, because it does.”

Carlos quietly hums as a response because it sounds like TK has something more to say.

“You mean a lot to me, and I’ve been so—happy during this year and so obviously I want to go all out on the celebrations, but just—all I wanted, really, was to spend the day with you, and while this,” he continues softly and vaguely gestures towards the bathroom “wasn’t the plan, I’m still not disappointed. I get to be with you, and I love you as much here as I’d in some fancy restaurant.”

Carlos is certain he is so dehydrated that there is no possible way for him to tear up, but still, as he listens to his quiet rambling, his eyes start to sting. It definitely awakes a whole another twirl of emotions inside of his heart, but this time it is just raw happiness, love and plain affection.

A tiny bit of embarrassment mixes in with it all, because he misinterpreted his words and demeanour, but he wants to blame that on his own insecurities and the food poisoning clouding his mind. But he is still a little bit of in awe because somehow TK knew exactly what he needed to hear, and all of it is just overwhelming.

“The restaurant would probably smell better,” Carlos ends up deadpanning, because he is still a little speechless.

A surprised laughter escapes from TK’s mouth and he shakes his head, but he scrunches his nose. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And it means a lot to me, too,” he adds with more serious tone.

Carlos has known since the beginning that they share a connection that is special and profound, somehow, and he has wanted him since he saw him, but he is still a little bit in awe that they have made it so far despite their rocky start.

He wants him to know it, too, even if his mind cannot come up with anything too eloquent.

“I know,” TK replies, simply, “and you’re in no shape to go to work tomorrow, so I took a day off too.”

He sounds almost delighted as he declares it.

“You didn’t really have to do that.”

It feels just a bit unfair that TK has to use one of his day offs to take care of him, and only because he ate something that had gone stale.

TK brushes his thumb across his forehead gently. “The twenty-minute trip to the store was nerve-wracking enough, I’m not going to leave you alone for twenty-something hours. And it hardly is your fault that you got food poisoning, babe. It’s just bad luck.”

“I’m not complaining if I get to have you all for myself,” he murmurs as he shifts a little on the floor. He closes his eyes for a moment, but surprisingly the wave of nausea never comes. “I don’t know about the fault, but I cannot have that bad luck, I still ended up with you.”

TK laughs, and he is pleased because that is what he was aiming for. His laughter is beautiful, and he always wants to hear it, but right now it is the most soothing sound he could imagine.

“This has nothing do with luck,” TK says, gently, “but I sure feel lucky.”

Carlos just smiles at him.

“We could do new plans tomorrow,” he continues, running his fingertip along his collarbone. “I think we both have next Thursday off?”

Carlos knows that they have been together for a year and that it shouldn’t be too big of a surprise that TK knows his shifts by heart, but it still fills him with particularly fond warmth because they both have irregular shifts, so he has to learn his rooster, on top of his own, every week, and he does it every time.

“I guess we can celebrate our 371 days together too,” Carlos caves in, and through the exhaustion, he can feel the corner of his mouth twitching into a gradual but affectionate smile.

Carlos was never too caught up on the idea of celebrating the anniversary on the exact day, but it could have been nice. He guesses the anniversary is more about what they make it out to be, because after all, it is theirs. And knowing that TK is at least as much into the idea of it, warms his heart a lot.

“Exactly,” TK chuckles, “it will be the best 371-day anniversary you’ve ever had. And we can have dinner today, too, once you’re ready to depart the toilet. I’ll come up with something.”

“Trying to give me a double food poisoning? That’s cold.”

He tries his best not to smile, but it is impossible, and a grin breaks out on his face quickly. TK pretends to be shocked and offended, but his smile persistently stays visible, too, and the softness of his gaze never fades. He nudges him gently with his elbow.

“Hey, you’re on a strict stomach-friendly diet and just for that, I’ll mix the applesauce with the rice.”

Carlos frowns at the mere thought of that.

“The other option is bananas and toast. Mint tea is supposed to help, too.”

His stomach is wallowing still, but he is rather sure that all of that would sound unappetizing, even if he was feeling perfectly fine. He is also aware that he will at least try to eat whatever monstrosity TK comes up with because it is still made by him.

“Sounds—bland.”

“It’s supposed to be,” he remarks, “it won’t be a mind-blowing culinary experience, but when anything I’ve cooked for you would’ve been. The difference is that this time it’s going to help and make you feel better.”

“Thank you,” Carlos whispers, more seriously and sincerely than the situation probably calls for, especially when TK is cracking jokes about his own cooking skills, but he wants him to know he is grateful. More than those two little words can convey.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles, “are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah, a little,” he lets out a sound that only half-resembles a chuckle. “I’m still sorry I ruined tonight.”

TK might not blame him, and maybe, despite his own thinking that this would have been preventable, it is one of those uncontrollable things. Yet, he thinks he deserves an apology.

“Nothing’s ruined, really,” TK starts, “and this isn’t a terrible anniversary. Little unconventional for sure, but we’re together, in love and there’s candlelight, so I think we could’ve done a lot worse.”

“I know,” Carlos breathes out, “the candle really saved this.”

It sends TK laughing again. “And if we’re being completely honest, we have a tendency to mess up dinner plans. Especially the big ones.”

“True.”

“I’m willing to bet that if we ever get married, a natural disaster will strike,” TK jokes.

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Carlos feels how TK’s muscles tense up, and he goes a little still. His fingers stop moving in his hair, but at least he isn’t pulling his hand away.

Marriage isn’t something they have ever outright discussed. Obviously, they are both in it for the long haul, and he has always assumed that marriage is something they are slowly heading towards to. He knows TK has his own baggage about his failed proposal, but it makes him happier than he could say that TK can make jokes about marriage already.

Because Carlos can definitely imagine himself marrying him. He can more than imagine it, he wants to do it. He knows there is no rush, and that taking their time is a good thing, but he would marry him in a heartbeat or in ten years. Either way, he knows it would be something that will bring immense joy to him.

“Bold of you to assume it would be only one natural disaster,” he comments, a brilliant grin spreading on his face, “it will probably be at least two.”

TK immediately relaxes. He lets out a breath and continues to run his fingers through his hair. “There should be a safety manual for the whole thing.”

“Oh, definitely,” Carlos laughs, still little weakly, “evacuation plans and everything.”

After the active volcano, it feels like nothing that the universe throws at their way would surprise him anymore, and he knows they have had their fair share of weird and ridiculous calls, and that they have survived all of that so far, but a wedding would definitely be the biggest dinner possible, and it seems like tempting fate.

“We’ll send it with the invitations.”

He still feels weak and sick, but the feeling of pure happiness is starting to overpower both of them.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Carlos admits, quietly.

“Yeah, me neither.”  

[forever-halone]

IV. baleful

(cw: death, loss) 

When I come back down, I don’t see where my sword lands when I toss it. It can get lost wherever it wants in these weeds for all I care. Because right now my back hurts, my arms hurts, there’s a gash on my thigh might be still bleeding, and I’m tired as all shit. And in a minute here, I’m gonna have to go dig a ditch to go bury the woman I loved and her lover I killed in. 

I’m such an idiot.

I should cry. Maybe even scream, or something, I can’t feel anything no matter how hard I focus on it. I stubbed out that instinct long ago, and I’m still working on getting it back. Fuck, I have to get that back. This war won’t break me. I won’t let it. No one is ever going to get that satisfaction. 

My hands are still soiled with her so I end up wiping it against my faded harness, because only the Destroyer knows how many times I’ve cleaned that thing, before I go search through the satchel at my hip. If I can’t feel a damn thing, then a quick smoke break will put some warmth in me, at least. And if I remember correctly, the last few packs I have are the ones she gave me. 

I thought it weird she had so much to give, more than usual, before I found out she was fucking some motherlander. Maybe this is poetic if I smoke one over her corpse. Or maybe this is just pathetic. I can’t be mad at her when she would have probably had a better life with him than me— but she knew that she knew too much about too many people to be doing shit like that. 

Why couldn’t she have just she told me? Was she afraid of me? Did she not really—

The movement seems to spook my brother (but not really, it’s complicated, more like my little brother, but I don’t like it, and I’m tired of explaining it to people, so don’t ask me, so stop asking me) who had been spending his time staring at the Imperial’s dismembered leg like some kind of weird asshole. I wouldn’t have brought him along, honestly, I can take care of my own problems, and I’m tired of him thinking he can solve them for me. But he’s the one that found this out and told me, and he is more into that vengeance shit than I ever was.

But I’m polite, so I offer him a cigarette out from the rations that her Garlean suitor gave her. He declines, of course, but it was more of a formality than anything— he usually only accepts a smoke when he’s drunk or trying to convince me he’s not on the verge of hysteria.

So I take my first drag alone, and try to ignore him before he tries to pretend to bring up conversation for my own sake.

“...I’m sorry.” He says, the misery in his voice likely making up for mine and more. Rhalgr’s fat teats. 

“Shut up.”

“...you didn’t deserve this.”

“Yea’. But it’s whatever.” When he turns to look back at me at that, I’m already in the midst of fuming out a thick smokescreen between myself and the miserable scene in front of me. The warmth in my chest is comforting, and I’m beginning to feel the ache in my thigh less and less.

“...are you alright?” My chest hurts a bit. Thank fuck, there it is. “You don’t look...”

“Angry?” I finish the sentence for him. I’m not usually good at that, but I know him better than anyone when he’s like this.

“Yes.” A pause, and he asks. “...or sad. It’s worryin’ me. You know, you just...”

I’m not going to let him finish, because I don’t want to be here until nightfall. “Yea’. I’m sad as all fuck. But I’m not goin’ to cry in front of you, though. Even if you want me to.” I pause, too, and end up trying to stuff my matches back in some random pocket of my harness. “But I’m not angry, either, even if that’d make you feel better.”

I see his brows furrow at that, unfortunately— my smokescreen is gone, and I can see him glooming in all his glory. I’m so tired.

“You don’t hate her?” He asks, and I get reminded again he’s younger than me. Probably. He doesn’t want to figure that out, and I don’t care.

“Fuck no. Lovin’ people is hard, Farid. Hatin’ people is the easiest thing in the goddamn world. It takes nothin’ out of you.” I sound so stupid, but I don’t care, I’m allowed to sound stupid because I’m grieving or whatever, “And I’m not weak like you.”

He barely manages to smile at that despite his somber getup, like I had managed to get him there with some bad joke. Maybe I really do sound stupid. I’m forgetting to take another drag. 

“I just say all this mean shit because I’m a bitch.”

“...no you’re not, Pan.” He says. He always says that when I say that. He always does. It’s because he loves me, isn’t it? This asshole.

...fuck. Zaansha never said that. She thought it was funny, though. So I’d always say it. Did she believe it? Did she hate me for it? Did I end up being too much? Did she ever actually love me? Was doing all of this to me easy? I loved her so much. Was loving her only hard because it was just me?

I realize I’m crying when I can’t see a damn thing, and I can feel Farid trying to take the cigarette out of my hands to have his hands there instead. But I don’t care if I’m a damn liar— he doesn’t give a shit, probably, and I’m relieved I’m doing it in the first place. 

I’m going to cry, and I’m going to cry until I’m satisfied.

[sweetness47]

Heartache

Pairing Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Warnings: none really, fluff, angst, amnesia, mention of argument, ABO stuff, pregnant reader

Her head was pounding as her eyes fluttered open, sunlight momentarily blinding her. Autumn leaves crunched beneath her body and hands as she struggled to sit up. That’s when she realized she was completely naked. What the hell? The pounding in her skull continued, crippling her, not allowing her to stand. It was unbearable.

She curled into a ball, fighting the waves of dizziness and nausea that plagued her. Trying to stand up had been a serious mistake. She gingerly lifted her head to look around, hoping she could find her clothing, or at least some clue as to why she was out here. But every movement brought more nausea.

She groaned, feeling gently with her hand to see what kind of damage had her so immobile. Her fingertips came across a large goose egg, sticky from blood, at the back of her head. What had happened, she couldn’t say, at this point she didn’t even know her name. Thinking hurt, moving hurt. If she didn’t get to help soon, she would probably die here.

“YN!” a voice echoed in the distance. She turned, wincing as dry heaves threatened her fragile state. If she could get their attention, maybe they could help. Assuming, of course, that whoever was out here wasn’t a deranged serial killer. The voice sounded worried though, like he was concerned for the woman he was looking for. So…maybe…

“Please! Help!” she managed to cry out, trying to stay as still as possible to avoid the retching again.

She heard movement and prayed it was the help she needed. Strong arms wrapped her in a blanket and picked her up with a gentleness that gave her hope.

“Easy YN, You’re going to be ok.”

She whimpered as she buried her face into this male, his scent calming her. He was a good person; she could feel it. Wait, did he call her YN? Was that her name?

“You know me?” she croaked. Her throat was dry and hoarse.

“Yeah baby, I know you.” He paused. “You don’t know me?”

She barely managed a shake of her head. “My head, I…”

The man walked faster. “It’s ok sweetheart, I’ll get you home. We’ll get you better.”

“Sam!” he growled as he came to a clearing. A few buildings close together, like a farm, greeted her eyes. Another man, she assumed it was Sam, ran out to greet them, followed by another woman and two more males.

“She needs water, food, and medical attention. She,” he paused, “she can’t remember who I am.”

Sam took YN into his arms. “It’s ok Dean. We got this.”

“Come inside and have something to eat Dean. You’ve been out all night. Pacing and worrying won’t help anything. Let Cas and Sam take a look at her.”

Dean looked over at the woman who’d spoken. “I know mom, but…”

“No buts, c’mon. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Dean sighed. He’d given up arguing with his mother’s sound logic years ago. She wasn’t wrong. Worrying didn’t help anyone. All it did was create anxiety and stress. His mate was in good hands. He trusted Sam and Cas to help her.

Except, in this case, he was worried, his mind playing over scenes from two nights ago, when he and YN had come to blows over some stupid comment he’d made. Usually she didn’t get riled up that easily. His mate was a spitfire. It was one of the things he loved about her. Even as an omega, he admired her courage and tenacity when confronting something she didn’t like, or something that scared her. She stood her ground during pack meetings, and didn’t take shit from anyone. The pack admired her, and admired the Alpha for choosing such a strong mate.

He didn’t choose, it was more like soulmate bonding, but whatever, same thing. Either way, he was one lucky son-of-a-bitch.

He had been talking about an upcoming children’s event they held every spring and fall. Sam, Mary, Cas, and Jack had all been present, and Dean had made a joke about skipping the event entirely, saying something about ‘who needs happy kids anyways?’. He’d made similar jokes before, and it never bothered YN, she knew he was kidding. It’s who he was.

But this time she’d snapped, saying he was heartless, saying that children deserved happiness and how dare he even suggest cancelling the event. Then she’d stormed out of the house. Mary had tried to run after her, but she’d already shifted and was galloping off into the forest, not caring that it was dark and rainy.

She was a strong wolf, there wasn’t much that could scare her honestly, or take her down for that matter. She was above average size, and could easily handle herself in a fight. That wasn’t a concern. But he was worried about the fact that she’d run off at all.

Sam and Cas walked into the kitchen, sitting down as Mary dished them out some food. Dean looked at the two men and pressed for information. “Well? How is she?”

Sam scooped up some eggs and a piece of ham. “She’s resting. She’s had a bag of fluids through IV, and we gave her some medicine to help with the pain.”

Cas looked at Sam, and then to Dean. Dean saw the hidden information in his third in command’s eyes. “What aren’t you telling me.”

Cas cleared his throat. “YN is pregnant. She’s carrying two pups.”

His jaw dropped to the floor.

Suddenly everything made a whole wack load of sense. Heightened emotions, the argument, the hurt in her eyes.

“Fuck! God I feel so damn stupid! I can’t believe I hurt her like that!”

“It’s not your fault Dean. You didn’t know.” Mary came over to console her son. She placed a kiss on his cheek. “She’ll forgive you. Just give her time.”

He snorted. “Yeah, if she even remembers who I am.” He gave his mom a half-hug and walked out the back door.

About an hour later, Charlie, Dean’s best friend since childhood, sought him out at the request of Sam. If anyone could bring Dean out of his mood, it was Charlie. Well, his mate could too, but she wasn’t available.

“Hey Dean, s’up?”

Dean turned to the familiar voice. “Hey Charlie, not much.” He smiled at her before turning back to the lake.

“Then why do you look like you just ordered the death of a thousand panda bears?”

“Because I’m an ass.”

Charlie couldn’t help it. Her laughter echoed through the open fields and across the cool water. “Well, we already knew that. So, that’s not the reason.”

“Ha, ha, ha. Funny.”

She sat down beside him. “Yup. So is this.”

Before Dean could even blink she pushed him off the deck and into the murky water. He came up sputtering and glaring at his friend. “Are you fucking nuts?”

Charlie was laughing so hard, tears were rolling down her cheeks. “You should see the look on your face! God you look like a wet dog!”

“I’m gonna kill you Charles.”

She grimaced at the nickname. “Watch it pretty boy. Gonna have to beat some sense into ya.”

He growled. “Really? You feeling suicidal today?”

“Nope, but you’re depressed, so if you want to go a few rounds, I’m game.”

He climbed up to the deck surface, shaking off his jacket to lay out and dry, followed by his shirt. “Well hotshot, since you dunked me in that cold lake, I have to shift to get warm. So, I guess we’re sparring.”

Charlie went around the other side of the boatshed and removed her clothes to shift, while Dean finished removing his. Bones cracked and readjusted, shifted. Two wolves came around to face each other then, a dark sandy blonde wolf and a red wolf.

Fighting and training was a normal part of pack life. And no one held back strength or tactics. The only rule for pack members was no killing moves. You could pin and force submission, but no death blows or deadly bites.

Sam heard wolves snapping and fighting, and ran to investigate. He and a few others found the two wolves going at each other, and began rooting for their favorite. Everyone knew it was fun, so no one worried about outcomes being bad.

After half an hour, Dean finally pinned his friend, and Charlie submitted defeat. He took his clothes into the shed, while Charlie took hers to the woods behind a tree. Sam sought his brother out, remembering why he’d been looking for him in the first place.

“Dean? YN’s awake.”

Dean peeked out from a stack of canoes. “Does she remember anything?”

Sam shook his head. “No, but she’s asking for you. Not by name, but as the guy who helped her.”

With a sigh, his heart aching, he nodded and followed Sam to the pack med center. YN lay on one of the beds, an IV still in her arm, her head wrapped in white bandages.

Dean walked over to her and sat in a chair by the bed. Sam left the room to give them some privacy.

“Hi.” Her voice small but more upbeat than before, had him looking up. “I wanted to talk to you, and I wanted to thank you.”

Dean took her hand in his, feeling her tense slightly before relaxing. “I’m just glad you’re ok.”

“Who am I?” The question caught him off guard, and he frowned. She tried to reword the question. “Specifically, who am I to you?”

He bit his lower lip, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. “You’re my mate. Your name is YN. We met about two years ago at the local bar.”

She squeezed his hand. “That explains why I feel safe around you. But why was I in the woods alone?”

Dean ran his hands through his hair. “Because I said something stupid, and hurt your feelings, so you ran off to cool down, except you didn’t return. That’s when we started searching for you. I’ve never felt so terrified in my entire life.”

“Sam and Cas told me about the pups. Did you know?”

He shook his head. “No. But your reaction to my stupid comment makes more sense now. I’m beyond relieved you aren’t seriously injured.”

She brought his hand to her lips and placed a soft kiss on his knuckles. “So am I, and it’s thanks to you. I don’t have my memories back yet, but I’d be grateful to have your assistance in finding them.”

He smiled at her words, and stood to place a kiss on her forehead. “That sounds like a wonderful idea YN. As soon as my brother clears you, I’ll take you on a tour.”

“I think I’m going to like that, a lot.”

“Me too sweetheart, me too.”

@legion1993​ @akshi8278​

[ladylynse]

Part IV of Down the Rabbit Hole for the lovely @lumanae​, even though they’re currently drowning the Merlin fandom. *grins* Sometimes distractions are needed, right?

Wirt had heard a lot of stories about college, but somehow, he still wasn’t prepared for one of his roommate’s crazy friends to smuggle a hatchet into their dorm room.

(Previous) Also on FF and the AO3.

-|-

Wirt knew Danny wasn’t in the washroom, but he stepped inside and looked in every remotely feasible spot anyway, including the medicine cabinet that sat above the toilet which would be hard pressed to hold a small child.

He just…. He didn’t know what else to do. There wasn’t anywhere else to go. It’s not like Danny could have crawled out the tiny window, and he definitely hadn’t slipped past Wirt and out into the hallway. It was like he’d gotten sucked into the same black hole as most of Wirt’s socks, except obviously that didn’t exist, but—

Wirt pulled out his phone and started to type a message to Jazz, but how could he tell her he’d lost her brother? He certainly couldn’t explain it. He had no idea where Danny was. Or how he’d gotten there, wherever there was.

Wirt half-hoped Danny would text Jazz and Jazz would text him, but he never heard anything, and he couldn’t find the words to say anything about this to Jazz. He’d find Danny first. Then, if Danny hadn’t already told Jazz, he could pretend this had never happened.

He could get a proper explanation from Toby after he figured out what the heck had happened to Danny.

Wirt locked the room behind him and set off at a quick walk, looking around and weaving past anyone he saw without slowing. Danny couldn’t have gone that far. If he had somehow slipped past him—

Maybe this was a prank. Danny liked pranks. And Jazz had as good as warned him not to leave Danny by himself.

Except Danny was gone, disappearing as easily and completely as the ghosts he had apparently grown up surrounded by, and Wirt couldn’t see a sign of him anywhere.

He did, however, find Wendy.

Sitting cross-legged under a tree in the shade.

Apparently doing nothing except enjoying a cup of coffee.

Wirt slowed to a stop in front of her. “Hey,” he said, though he already had her attention since she was looking up at him with a smile. “Have you, um, seen Jazz’s brother anywhere?”

“Danny? Never met him.” Wendy rose to her feet in one smooth movement. Wirt rather envied her gracefulness; he certainly couldn’t do that, at least not in the shape he was in now. “Jazz has a psych exam today, though. You won’t see her till it’s over.”

“No, I…know that. She’s out now, anyway, but still busy.” Probably. Maybe Danny had texted Jazz to get her to text him, and she just hadn’t because she was catching up with some other friends of hers after the exam. She had to have other friends, right? They could have ambushed her right after she’d texted him and Danny. “What about Toby? Have you seen him?”

“Should I have?”

Wirt bit his lip. “I just saw him and Claire.”

“Claire’s visiting?”

So Wendy didn’t know either. Not that that meant much. Claire’s visit might’ve been unexpected. Or maybe Toby had told both of them and they’d been too busy to listen? He could believe that of himself more than so Wendy, who had a surprisingly good memory. At least compared to him, who was hard pressed to remember what he’d had for lunch the day before. Or what day of the week it was. Or what he’d been doing five seconds before, when things got really crazy.

Wirt just nodded. “Yeah. She came to help with costumes for Toby’s play. Do you know when it is?”

Wendy raised her eyebrows. “Since when was Toby in a play?”

“He’s in drama….” Wirt didn’t add isn’t he? but he was pretty sure Wendy knew it was there.

“Uh huh.” Wendy sounded like she didn’t believe it, but what other explanation was there? If it was cosplay, Wirt definitely wasn’t familiar with the source material, and he couldn’t think of what else it could be. No one went around in a getup like that just for the heck of it. And it’s not like Toby would think he needed to lie about making a cosplay for something. He already knew Wirt thought he was weird and didn’t judge him for it. He thought that was funny.

For that matter, so did Wendy and Jazz.

It was one of the reasons Wirt was so convinced they were involved in some giant conspiracy to troll him. Because they’d kill themselves laughing over it. They’d find it hilarious, and they knew he’d be laughing in the end, too. Assuming he got to the end of whatever this was.

And assuming he could find Danny.

Seriously, how he could have lost Danny?

Maybe he was in on all of this, too. Maybe—

“Earth to Wirt,” Wendy said, waving a hand in front of his face. “Did you hear me?”

“Um…no? Sorry.”

“I wanted to know if Toby’s talked to you yet.”

“About what?” It couldn’t be the play if Wendy hadn’t heard of it.

Wendy rolled her eyes. “Please tell me you’re just playing being clueless or you will die if we reach an apocalyptic situation.”

“Uh…pretend I was living under a rock and fill me in?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Wendy muttered. Louder, “Something’s up. You know that, right?”

Was she finally admitting that they were playing a massive prank on him? Good. It had taken long enough. Wirt nodded, and Wendy relaxed. “Great. Then you’ll understand why I’m absolutely certain that Toby’s not actually in drama?”

Or not.

“Uh….”

“Seriously, this isn’t a game. College might not kill you, but there’s stuff out there that will if you’re not careful.”

The hatchet in his dorm room could technically kill him, but Wirt was pretty sure Wendy would just dismiss that if he brought it up. Or nag him about his nonexistent self-defence skills, since he hadn’t signed up for a class despite her not-so-subtle suggestions.

Wirt glanced around, but no one was close enough to overhear their conversation. That was probably Wendy’s plan. He met her eyes again, seeing no trace of a smile behind them. “You’re my friend,” she said, “and I don’t want to lose you.”

She might lose him as a friend if she kept on like this. He could only be expected to put up with so much, right? If she really believed this, maybe she needed to talk to someone. Someone who could actually help her. Which wouldn’t be him. He had zero training in that area. He’d think Jazz would be ideal if she weren’t encouraging this. Whatever this was.

“Okay, look,” Wirt said, trying to get a handle on this situation again, “if you want to be serious for a moment, why don’t you just tell me why you’re so wrapped up in all of this? Why you think I’m wrapped up in all of this?”

Anger and hurt flashed across Wendy’s face before she schooled her expression again, and Wirt knew she felt that was uncalled for. “Because I’m not stupid,” she said, her tone carefully even, “and because this isn’t my first rodeo. And because whatever you want to pretend, that Unknown of yours isn’t just a story. You wouldn’t care about all of this so much if it were, and I don’t need Jazz to tell me that.”

“You’re back on that again?”

Wendy frowned. “Fine. Keep pretending. But you can’t ignore the truth forever, Wirt. You have to know that. And even if you think it’s just to humour me, it’d be nice if you played along and prepared yourself for the day you can’t.” She pulled a small notepad out of her pocket and held it out. “Dipper transcribed some relevant spells. At least take a look at them before you throw it out.”

Wirt knew better than to ask if she was kidding. He pocketed the notepad without looking at it, and Wendy turned away without saying goodbye. He felt like a fool, but what was he supposed to do with that? If she was delusional, telling her the Unknown was real wasn’t going to help matters.

And if she wasn’t delusional….

He didn’t want to think about what it would mean if she wasn’t delusional.

He didn’t want to think that there might be more out there than what he’d faced in the Unknown, that that experience hadn’t been a fluke, that finding out Jazz had grown up hunting ghosts wasn’t going to be the strangest thing he discovered about his friends.

He didn’t want to lose the control he’d have if it turned out the Unknown was only a tiny piece in everything that was unknown.

And now he felt horrible for what he’d done to Wendy.

Sighing, Wirt pulled out his phone and dialled Toby’s number. If he could at least find out more about this play while he looked for Danny, it would prove that the world wasn’t going crazy.

XXXXXX

Toby didn’t answer.

Wirt actually walked into the drama building, poking his head into any room that didn’t have an ongoing class, and found nothing. He even tried looking around education, in case the rehearsals were in that building instead, and he couldn’t find so much as a poster advertising a play—or at least not one that would require fanciful armour.

Danny, of course, never turned up anywhere.

Wirt circled back and checked the food court, thinking Danny had probably found it and bought himself a snack, but no matter how he scanned the shifting crowd of people, he couldn’t convince himself that Danny was there.

Why hadn’t Jazz given him Danny’s number? That would have made finding him so much easier. He should have asked for it, but it hadn’t occurred to him that they’d get separated when he’d been asked to spend time with Danny.

Maybe this was just one of Danny’s practical jokes. Jazz had said he was a joker. Wirt couldn’t really think of any other way to explain his vanishing act.

Although, considering where he had disappeared from, Wirt wasn’t sure even being some kind of magician-in-training would explain Danny’s disappearance. It’s not like he happened to be in the one dorm room that had a secret passage hidden somewhere in the bathroom. There was no trick to it. And he couldn’t imagine how Danny had gotten past him, even though he must have.

Wirt couldn’t remember which building Jazz’s psych class was in, so he couldn’t see if Danny had gone to meet her there. Not that that would help him much, since Danny and Jazz would probably be long gone if they had met up, but he was getting desperate, and Jazz hadn’t texted him to ask why he’d ditched Danny—or whatever story Danny might’ve told her about what happened. He did check his dorm room one more time—in the vain hope that Danny would be hiding in there, maybe sitting on his bed with a big grin on his face, waiting for Wirt to come back and realize Danny had never left—and then went to Jazz’s. He rang the buzzer.

“Yes?”

Wendy. “Um, it’s me.”

“Danny’s not here, Wirt. Neither is Jazz. Do you still want to come up?”

“Uh, no, thanks.” He wasn’t ready to face her yet. He figured he’d read whatever Dipper counted as spells before talking to her again. Granted, knowing Wendy, she’d just do a phenomenal job of pretending the conversation had never happened, and he’d feel like even more of a fool.

“Good luck with the search, then.”

Now he really felt like an idiot. Wirt headed back to campus, not even sure where he should look next.

He walked through the food court again, standing on his tiptoes in the hopes of spying Danny among the shifting crowd of students, and eventually gave up. He checked his watch again, his stomach churning as he realized he’d been running around for over an hour. He should just phone Jazz and tell her to phone Danny and find out where he was. He could swing by and pick him up and then meet her. And then be done with this.

Of course, that would mean admitting he’d managed to lose her brother in the first place.

Hopefully, she’d just chalk this up to Danny’s love of practical jokes.

After more dithering, Wirt finally made the call. Jazz picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Jazz, um, I’m calling instead of texting because this is kinda an emergency? I might’ve, uh, lost your brother, and I don’t—”

She let out a sigh. “Don’t worry about it, Wirt. I’ll text him my location and he’ll find me. He has a bad habit of disappearing sometimes. And if he pulled this on you…. We should really talk. Meet me at the library.”

She hung up without waiting for an answer, not clarifying which library, but that was fine, because Wirt knew exactly which one she meant. And he didn’t plan to blow her off after what he’d done. Should he be flattered her brother felt it appropriate to pull a disappearing act on him? Did he only do it with family friends? She’d sounded exasperated enough that it really couldn’t be uncommon, but….

Jazz was at her favourite table in the library when Wirt arrived, the one off in one corner and half-hidden behind the shelves to the point that was hard to find if you didn’t know it was there. He slid into the chair opposite her, and she frowned at him as her eyes flicked over him. “Do you remember everything that happened? Can you tell me?”

That was…an odd first question. But this was Jazz, and she asked weird questions. And if Wirt tried to figure out why, he’d somehow wind up in a deeper hole than whichever one he was going to dig for himself anyway, so he decided to just go with it. “Yeah? We were in my dorm room. Surprised Toby and Claire— Did you know that she was in town? Or that he’s in a play?”

“My question first, please.”

Wirt blinked. “Um, right. Well, we surprised them, I guess. Toby must’ve cut class because Claire was in town to help him with costuming, and then they went to show everyone else in the group. And then Danny, uh, said he had to use the bathroom, except he didn’t come back out, and when I finally checked it, it was empty.”

Jazz rolled her eyes. “Of course it was,” she muttered. “Because that’s not at all suspicious.”

“Um.” She thought it was suspicious, too? What did that mean? “I, uh, never saw him leave, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t sneak by me. I mean. He must’ve. Because he wasn’t in there. And it’s not like he could go anywhere else from the bathroom.”

Jazz just nodded. “Well, I didn’t know Claire was in town, or that Toby was claiming to be in a play, but I suppose I should’ve guessed it earlier.”

“That he’s secretly a drama nut and didn’t want any of us to know?”

“No. That he might be the one I need to worry about more than you.”

Wirt raised his eyebrows. He knew Jazz was a worrywart, but that was ridiculous. “Are you kidding? He’s at least passing Wendy’s weird apocalypse classes with flying colours.”

“Which is what should’ve been my first clue.”

“Clue to what?”

“That he’s involved in something.” The answer came from behind Wirt, and he jumped. He caught a fleeting look of Jazz’s thoroughly unsurprised face as he twisted to look at Danny. How long had he been standing there? “Jazz, uh, we should talk. Not here.”

“It might have to be here, Danny. Wirt’s Toby’s roommate.”

“Uh….” Chances were Danny was right and he didn’t actually need to be here for whatever the impending conversation was going to be. Chances were—

“Yeah, but does he even believe in ghosts?”

—it would just make him feel like the only sane person in the entire world. Which he knew was an exaggeration. It just felt like an appropriate exaggeration.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Wirt burst out. Seriously, was Danny as crazy as Jazz? Okay, he probably was, but still. This obsession with ghosts was weird, even considering their parents studied it. And it’s not like Toby was involved with drugs or something bad. It was just a drama club or something like that. Wirt was planning on going to see the play, whenever it was, once he got the date and time and place out of Toby. To support his roommate.

He was really thinking he shouldn’t ask Jazz to join him. Maybe not even Wendy.

“Shh. Library, remember?” Jazz said as Danny sat down next to Wirt.

“I hate this,” Wirt muttered. He didn’t mean it, but was it too much to ask to have a couple of normal friends? He had a few acquaintances from various classes, but no one he hung out with beyond Toby and Wendy and now Jazz.

…Greg was right. He really needed to get out more. He got stuck in his own little world too often to make friends easily, and he didn’t want to think what it said about him if the only people you were friends with tended to be remotely like-minded. Becoming friends with Toby had been inevitable, and it was through his association with Toby that he’d wound up friends with Wendy and Jazz—almost without realizing it.

Except that Wendy really hadn’t given him a choice in the matter.

And he was pretty sure he still counted it as friendship now even if their first few interactions had seemed more like he’d been coerced into it.

“That’s a no, isn’t it?” Danny asked, looking between Wirt and Jazz. He rolled his eyes and turned back to his sister. “Why do you, of all people, think this is a good idea? You were pretty much skeptic of the year when we were growing up until I, uh, until Phantom started showing up regularly.”

Jazz just crossed her arms and stared at her brother.

Wirt didn’t know what that meant, but obviously Danny did. “C’mon, Jazz. He’s not overshadowed. I checked. I don’t think he’s…involved.”

Involved? In what? And what did Danny mean by overshadowed? How the heck did he check for that, whatever it was? When did he check for that?

“And Toby?”

Jazz should not be treating this like a normal conversation. It was not a normal conversation.

Danny shook his head. “Not a ghost thing. The hammer, the armour, whatever it is. That’s…something else.”

“I’ll have to check with Wendy and see if she knows anything about it,” Jazz murmured. Wirt decided against telling her that Wendy also said she hadn’t known anything about a play. Mostly because he didn’t want her to phone and invite Wendy to this conversation when it would mean explaining everything to Jazz about how he’d acted and she’d psychoanalyze him or something. As if this weren’t bad enough.

“But the girl—Claire, I guess—has a staff. Not like Freakshow’s, so don’t panic, okay?”

Wirt didn’t want to ask. Well, he did, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t like the answer, so he thought it best to keep his mouth shut. Why would Danny panic about the prop Claire had been holding for Toby’s play? It was just a prop. And he didn’t even know them.

“I caught her using it. It makes portals, Jazz. Into or through the Ghost Zone. I didn’t follow them because I wasn’t sure I’d make it back and I still can’t do that, but….” Danny shrugged. “I could check with Frostbite and Clockwork. Frostbite might have heard of it. Clockwork would know, but he might not tell me.”

“Check with Dora, too, if Frostbite doesn’t know anything.”

Fine, now Wirt was tempted to ask. “What you mean by portals?” Jazz had told him about the Ghost Zone, but a staff that was capable of making portals to the afterlife or whatever didn’t make sense.

Of course, neither did the fact that an entire town had wound up there.

Wirt really wished that had been a joke newspaper, but—

“Doorways,” Danny said flatly. “Holes in the fabric of reality. Exactly what you’re picturing.”

He shouldn’t have asked.

“Um, why do you think the staff does that, exactly?”

Danny stared at him. “What part of ‘I caught her using it’ did you not understand? I saw it with my own eyes. She’s either skipping into the Ghost Zone whenever she wants—risking Walker’s wrath and whoever else’s—or she’s taking a shortcut through it somehow, like a condensed version of the Infi-Map that she can actually control.”

Okay, he was going to pretend this conversation wasn’t completely insane. “How do you know it’s connected to the Ghost Zone?”

He expected one of them to say something along the lines of ‘what other dimensions do you know?’ or something that would make it very clear that they figured the Ghost Zone was it. Instead, Danny said, “I just know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I can feel it, okay?”

He could—? “That’s even less of an answer!”

“No, it’s not, and keep your voice down. I am not about to be kicked out of my favourite library.” Wirt groaned but held his tongue as Jazz asked, “You’re sure it’s the staff and not something else?”

Danny nodded as if that were the most normal question in the world. “I don’t know how she got her hands on it, but yeah. If I can get some of Mom and Dad’s tech to Tuck, he might even be able to make something that’ll pick up on where she’s been using it. We could figure this out that way.”

Right. So now Danny and Jazz were completely convinced that Toby’s friend Claire was some dimension hopper. Like it was normal for people to jump through dimensions.

This definitely explained why all his friends kept bringing up the Unknown. They really didn’t think it was just a story. But he’d sound like an idiot if he changed his story now, right? He could at least wait until they brought it up again. He didn’t have to volunteer this information right away. Especially not when Jazz’s brother was around—because even if he would clearly believe it, he didn’t need to know everything.

“How did you get past me in the dorm?” Wirt asked.

For once, Danny looked uncomfortable. He rubbed the back of his neck and slouched. “I just sneaked out when you weren’t looking,” he mumbled.

“I was still standing in the hallway when you went into the bathroom,” Wirt said, “and then I went into the room and closed the door and you weren’t….”

“I’m…good at illusions?”

It wasn’t even a good lie.

“I ducked around you when you weren’t looking. I used to do it to Jazz all the time before she left for college. It’s not a big deal.”

Wirt expected Jazz to chime in with support, but she didn’t.

He swallowed and looked at her. “The truth’s gonna sound like a story, isn’t it?”

“A story for another time,” she said by way of agreement.

He would’ve preferred silence. What the heck was really going on here? What was Toby involved in? What was Danny not saying? If the Ghost Zone and the Unknown were somehow connected, and he definitely didn’t know if they were, and if Claire and Toby could access it, why would they need armour? The Unknown might’ve had one room schoolhouses and paddle steamers and stuff, but it wasn’t so far off their own time that anyone required medieval armour.

Not that Wirt actually knew if it was supposed to be medieval armour.

Not that he was completely abandoning the idea that Toby was really in a play, either. Because he certainly could be. That would make so much more sense than all of this. He couldn’t believe he was going along with this. He shouldn’t be. And yet even Wendy had said—

Something’s up. You know that, right? This isn’t a game.

You can’t ignore the truth forever.

“I don’t know if Wendy knows anything about Toby and Claire,” Wirt said slowly, “but she definitely knows something.”

This time, Jazz read something in Danny’s expression that Wirt missed and shook her head. “She’s not overshadowed. I’m confident in that much or I would’ve had you check her out, too.”

Wait.

Wirt pointed at Danny. “Is that why you wanted me to babysit him?”

“You weren’t babysitting,” Jazz said at the same time Danny exclaimed, “I don’t need a babysitter!”

“So you’re not denying that the entire reason you wanted me to hang out with him all day was so he could check me out for whatever this overshadowing thing is?”

“Wirt—”

“What did you even do?”

“Library,” Jazz hissed, and Wirt rolled his eyes.

“Just tell me the truth! Then I’ll be quiet.”

“You want the truth?” Danny asked. “When you aren’t even telling them the truth?”

“Seriously? Is there anyone you haven’t told about that stupid assignment?”

Jazz narrowed her eyes. “Yet you’re the one who keeps mentioning it, Wirt. Not me.”

Right. He’d walked into that, hadn’t he? Fine. “You want to pretend it’s not just an assignment? Then let’s pretend it’s not just assignment. Let’s pretend it’s real. I went to the Unknown with my brother. It’s another dimension. I faced demons and made friends and nearly died trying to get home. Your turn.”

Jazz’s expression didn’t change. Danny looked around, maybe to see if anyone was looking their way after his earlier outburst. Jazz’s favourite little nook was fairly secluded, but there were tables nearby, equally as hidden, and the seclusion was more artificial than anything else. Still, apparently they hadn’t disturbed anyone, since Danny was grinning when he faced Wirt again. “I’m the tragic victim of a lab accident,” he said. “Safety wasn’t exactly our parents’ highest priority, but like I said, it was an accident.”

Wirt raised his eyebrows. “So?”

“So that’s how I got past you earlier. And that’s how come I know you’re not overshadowed. And that Claire’s staff has ties to the Ghost Zone.”

Wirt glanced at Jazz, but her face betrayed nothing. Danny was a lot easier to read. He was having fun with this. There was a definite note of sarcasm in his tone. But he also looked perfectly sincere, even though Wirt had no idea how a lab accident was supposed to explain all that. “So you, what, burned yourself on a Bunsen burner? Accidentally smashed a couple of test tubes of chemicals and stepped on the glass? And that made you the annoying prankster you clearly are?” He could think of several more choice words to call Jazz’s brother, but it was safer to stick with Jazz’s words. If Toby really was wrapped up in something, Wirt didn’t intend to burn all his bridges before he could help his friend.

Jazz snorted.

Danny’s grin widened. “Not exactly,” he said.

And then he disappeared.

He just…disappeared.

Wirt was staring at him, and then he was just gone. He didn’t move. There was no distraction to catch Wirt’s attention while he ducked under the table or hid somewhere in the stacks. He was just there. And then he wasn’t. And this was a bloody library; it didn’t have mirrors or whatever else would’ve been needed to make an illusion. And Danny had pulled out the chair to sit down, so it wasn’t some kind of high-tech hologram, and—

“I’ll call Wendy,” Jazz said, “and warn her that we’re going to reconvene at our place. You can think of exactly what you’re going to say as we walk over.”

-|-

(see more fics | next)

[seanpatricklittlewriter]

The Movie Post

Greetings and salutations, true believers. I haven’t posted anything in a while other than shameless book promotion stuff for #FourthAndWrong, and for that I apologize. I always say I’d let you know if anything good happened immediately, but nothing good has happened. The new book is out. A few people who have read it told me they liked it. It’s not selling well. Lack of sales means a lack of reviews, which only helps it not sell faster. It’s all a vicious cycle. At a certain point, you have to remember that you’re only writing books because some tiny voice in your head won’t let you stop, and you just throw your hands up and let everything else fall as it may. For the first time, I’ve actually bothered to try real advertising. I’m giving advertising on the Kindle lock screens a go. I’ll let you know if actually works.

 In the meantime, I’ve been listening to a lot of podcasts while puttering around the house, going for walks, and ignoring the gym. (I gotta stop ignoring the gym…) If you haven’t watched “Ted Lasso” on AppleTV yet, I HIGHLY recommend it. It’s one of the best shows I’ve watched in a long time. Great writing. Great characters. Great story. Very uplifting and wonderful. One of the show’s writers, creators, and stars, the wonderful Brett Goldstein (who plays the gruff Roy Kent on the show), has a podcast called “Films to Buried With.”

 I started listening to his podcast because I enjoy him on the show so much, and I’ve found out that I enjoy his podcast as much as the show. He’s a genuinely sweet man, and he gets comedian and actor friends to guest on his podcast. The show’s conceit is that Brett invites guests on, tells them they have died, and then gets them to relive their life through the films that meant something to them. It’s a fun little chat show, and a solid way to waste an hour while you’re getting through doing the dishes or mowing the lawn.

 It’s precisely the sort of podcast I would love to be on. I’ve always said you can judge your level of success by what people invite you to do. I always said I’d know if I “made it” if I could ever get invited to be on one of the podcasts I enjoy, rather than trying to wrangle my way into someone else’s podcast or blog. So far— this has not happened. That should tell you what level of success I’m stuck at. I don’t get invited to the movies by my imaginary friends. But Brett encourages people to share their ideas and opinions on social media, anyhow. It’s a fun way to play along at home, tell other people about the podcast, and start conversations around your favorite movies. Stories bind us together. They give us common ground and build bridges toward strengthening relationships. If you meet someone new, you can tell if you’ll get along with them by what films they enjoy. So in that spirit, I’d like to answer the questions Brett asks his guests by discussing a few of my favorite films. If you’d like to play along in the comments, please do. I always love reading about what other people think about movies, books, or music. I won’t bother going through the death/afterlife conceit he uses, but I recommend listening to a few of his podcasts if you enjoy this sort of thing. It’s a fun little premise he uses to generate the episodes.

 --What’s the first film you remember seeing?

         I remember bits and pieces of several films from my childhood. I remember the Muppet Movie in the theater. I remember seeing The Black Hole. I remember a lot of little chunks of a lot of Disney animated films. But the movie that sticks out in my head is “Raiders of the Lost Ark.” It was 1981. I was six. I remember going to see it on a Sunday matinee with my family. I remember it was packed. People were literally sitting on the floor in the aisles. We got three seats someplace, but I remember my dad having to sit in the row in front of us. I don’t remember a ton about the movie the first time I saw it other than being scared of the pit of snakes and the melting Nazi faces. However, I remember the iconic moment when Harrison Ford pulled the gun on the swordsman and shot him. I remember the audience reaction and thinking, “That’s a hero.” I’ve long been a Harrison Ford fan. Between Han Solo and Indiana Jones, he played two of the most iconic heroes of my childhood. When I wrote the TeslaCon novels, I made no secret that my protagonist, Nicodemus Clarke, was just a shallow rip-off of Indiana Jones. It’s funny, but to this day, in my head, if you ask me what a hero looks like, it’s always going to be Harrison Ford.

  --What’s the scariest film you’ve ever seen?

          The scariest film I’ve ever seen is Kevin Smith’s “Red State.” It’s a movie about a religious cult that’s very reminiscent of the Westboro Baptist Church, David Koresh/Waco compound, or any of the other extremely far-right Christian separatist movements. It’s scary because there are many, many of these gun-hoarding compounds, and the movie, while extreme, is not too far off from possibility. Michael Parks plays the leader of the family at the heart of the film, and his performance was award worthy. He was truly terrifying.     As an aside, prior to Red State, I always told people the movie that scared me the most was the original “The Amityville Horror.” Basically, I saw the scene where the poltergeist made the drop-sash window fall on the kid’s fingers and nearly sever them, and that was it. I had the same drop-sash windows in my bedroom, and I was scared of them from then on. I’d like to say that I outgrew my fear of drop-sash windows, but I’m 46 and they still skeeze me out when I see them. A movie I saw 40 years ago warped me forever.

  --What’s the movie that made you cry the most?

         I used to not be someone who cried at movies. However, years of thyroid issues and depression have messed with my response to emotional moments, so I do get teary nowadays at movies. Emotionally speaking, it’s not sad movies that get to me. It’s movies where someone overcomes something difficult. Especially sports movies. The ones that get me the most teary-eyed now are movies like the first “Rocky,” “Hoosiers,” “Miracle,” and “Rudy.” I also get teary-eyed at points of bravery to the point of stupidity. The best example of that is the climax and denouement of “How to Train Your Dragon.” Strangely enough, when a movie does something that is supposed to be a tear-jerker moment to the point that it panders to the audience, I don’t cry— I actually get angry. Anything Nicolas Sparks has ever had his name attached to, for instance. It’s maudlin, and it doesn’t deserve our respect.

  --What the film that made you laugh the most?

       This is not going to be a popular answer. If I was a little more erudite, I’d say something like “Airplane” or “Blazing Saddles” or “Monty Python and the Holy Grail.” However, I didn’t see any of those in the theater originally. I was home, watching them on video. While they were funny and some of my favorite movies, I did not really do a ton of laughing while I saw them. I went to see “BASEketball” with my sister, and the theater was packed. Something about seeing a movie in a crowded theater heightens the emotional impact of jokes, and for whatever reason, that movie put me on the floor a couple of times. It’s a silly movie full of cheap laughs, but I remember hurting as I was leaving the theater. My sides and cheeks were sore. Second on that list was the movie “Bridesmaids.” I don’t think I’ve laughed harder at any movie than the scene where they all get diarrhea in the bridal shop. Especially Melissa McCarthy: “LOOK AWAY!”

  --What is the sexist film you’ve seen?

         For me, I will never forget seeing “Bachelor Party” on HBO at a friend’s house. Monique Gabrielle’s scene is probably the first time I saw full-frontal female nudity in a film. It burned itself into my brain. I probably have a thing for redheads to this day because of that scene. The rest of the movie is very wild and funny. It was one of the launching blocks for Tom Hanks’s ridiculously amazing career. But that one moment stands out as one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.

  --What film did you used to love, but now it’s not that great?

         Pretty much anything with “Rocky” in the title and a number following it. I still enjoy them, but Rocky III and IV, especially— not that good. I used to love them. I used to watch them whenever they hit TV, but now I only need to watch the first “Rocky,” and maybe the final fight in “Rocky II.” Anything else, I can leave out. They just feel a little overclocked at this point in my life.

  --What’s a film that people and critics panned, but you enjoyed?

        “Goon.” It’s a hockey film written by Jay Baruchel and starring Seann William Scott. It didn’t get wide release—almost straight-to-video. It didn’t get great reviews. I think Metacritic has it around 60%. But something about that movie hit me, and I love it. I suggest it to people all the time. It’s got great performances. It’s a solid flick. It’s not going to overwhelm you. It’s now one of my comfort films. When I’m bored and need something on in the background, I will often choose “Goon” or its sequel, “Goon: Last of the Enforcers.” The sequel was not as good as the original, but it’s still worth a watch. Kurt Russell’s son Wyatt is the villain in the sequel. He’s extremely good.

  --What’s a film that people love, but you hate?

        Hands down: “Avatar” or “Titanic.” Something about a lot of James Cameron films just don’t work with me. I think it’s because they’re too grandiose. They try too hard. Also, the scripts are just there to get him to the big, visual set-pieces. They’re thin on both character and plot. I can’t stand either of them.

  --What’s a film that means a lot to you, but it’s not because of the quality of the movie (i.e. you saw it with someone and it’s special, or it has importance to people around you, etc…)?

       Easily, “The Man From Snowy River.” This is a family favorite. I grew up watching this flick, and I made my daughter watch it when she was younger. I will never get tired of it. I probably watch it maybe three or four times a year. There’s just something about the cinematography of the climax when Jim goes down the mountainside on Denny’s back. It’s always breath-taking. Also, if you watch “The Man From Snowy River,” you see what my dad always wanted his life to be. Most boys’ fathers want their sons to be doctor or lawyers. My dad wanted me to be a cowboy.

  --What film do you relate to the most?

        “Clerks.” I saw “Clerks” when I was a senior in high school. Rented it from a local video store. I saw two dudes who were outliers in their social group working crappy jobs and dealing with the mundane nothingness of life. It hit me right in the gut. I resolved to do something better than that. So far, I’ve failed to do so, but I keep trying.

  --Empirically speaking, what is the best film? (Not necessarily favorite film— but what film do you think is the best film ever made?)

         I have to say it was “Lawrence of Arabia.” The casting was amazing. The cinematography was incredible, unrivaled, really. The story was excellent. And the ordeal of the entire filming process was without peer. What they went through to make that movie, hands down, makes it the best film ever made. The scope of the film alone is mind-boggling.  The Lord of the Rings trilogy is a close second, but that’s technically three films, so I went with Lawrence of Arabia.

  --What film have you seen the most?

         I have watched “The Muppet Movie” a ton. I still love the movie “Roxanne.” I have also seen “Seven Brides for Seven Brothers” and “The Quiet Man” more than any single person probably should. If I had to think about it and pick one film I’ve seen more than other…it’s probably “Meatballs.” Growing up, my sister and I watched that flick a thousand times. I can probably recite it from memory. It’s also one of the films that cemented an undying loyalty to Bill Murray.

   --And finally: You die and go to heaven. And in heaven, they ask you to pick one film that summarizes your life, one film that makes people understand you, or a film you want people to watch to help them know you better. What is that film?

         Nothing has had more influence on my life than the movie “Ghostbusters.” It defined me in several ways: my love for comedy, my love for the paranormal, and my love for snark and snappy comebacks. I loved Ghostbusters so much that I watched it on a weekly basis. I ran the audio cables from our VCR to a tape deck and recorded an audio copy of the film to play on my Walkman while I road the bus to school every day. I still have the film memorized word-for-word. I will often let my eyes go a little weird and turn to my daughter and say, “Then, during the Third Reconciliation of the Last of the Meketrex Supplicants, they chose a new form for him, that of a giant Sloar! Many Shubs and Zuuls knew what it was to be roasted in the depths of a Sloar that day, I can tell you!” To know me is to understand Ghostbusters on a molecular level. I owe that movie a lot.

  Anyhow, this was a fun way to waste my night. I encourage you to play along. Answer some or all of the questions Brett asks his guests. I highly recommend listening to a few episodes of “Films to Be Buried With” on your favorite podcatcher app. And if anyone out there knows Brett Goldstein, please let him know I’m available to guest on his podcast. Until next time—Thanks for reading.

--Sean

[parrishminyard]

because i am absolute garbage and i love to cause myself emotional pain, i bring you yet another ‘neil gets injured’ headcanon (loosely inspired by this post)

Neil knew Riko and Kevin had rabid fans. He knew how mercilessly dedicated exy fans were to their favorite teams, and players. But he’d never imagined himself staring down the barrel of a gun because of one.

“It’s because of you,” the guy shouted, waving the pistol the slightest bit. “You are the reason Riko is dead. You are the reason Kevin never rejoined the Ravens. You, you, you!” He was shouting now, his voice verging on maniacal.

All Neil could do was breathe. His brain was filling with a sharp panic that pushed every reasonable or logical thought out of his head. Just like that, he was back with his father, with Lola, with every threat he’d ever seen in his life.

The fan had caught him on a jog, and Neil still hadn’t recovered from someone sneaking up behind him while he stopped for water. The cold tip of the pistol had sent a shiver down his spine.

He was so close to Fox tower, too. A minute more, and he would have been walking through the doors. But it was five in the morning, and no one was around to see this.

“Nothing to say? Do you have no defense? Or do you already know you’re guilty?” The fan looked less maniacal and more angry now, and Neil was searching for something, anything, to say. 

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. He thought what kind of joke Andrew would make right now, something about Neil finally shutting the hell up. The thought of Andrew sent a pang through his chest, but it was also  grounding thought. Even the memory of one of his deadpan jokes brought a insistent half-smile to Neil’s face. He immediately regretted it the moment he felt the muscles twitch in his cheeks.

“So you think it’s funny huh? I can be funny to,” the fan’s face went taught, and Neil only had a second to realize what he meant before a loud echoing bang went off.

Neil felt it hit him with a force that sent him immediately to the ground. He couldn’t tell where the bullet had hit him, but he knew his chest was on fire. 

Distantly, he heard the gun clatter to the ground. The fan whispered a small “oh my god oh my god,” before footsteps thundered past Neil’s head and faded away.

Neil began to feel cold, and his mind was growing slow. He knew what that meant; he was losing a lot of blood, and fast. He kept thinking if he could just roll over, or crawl, or do anything, he could get help. He lifted his head and was smacked with a wave of vertigo that had him slamming his head back down on the pavement. 

“Help,” he said, trying to yell but instead his voice came out as more of a whisper. 

Again, he found his mind wondering to Andrew. Andrew, and his knives, and his sharp attitude that Neil liked for whatever reason. Andrew, who always smelled like cigarettes. Andrew, who was going to find him dead on a sidewalk.

“Help,” Neil tried again, his voice at least coming above a whisper. He heard a door bang open, and Neil thought for a moment that it was Andrew. That Andrew had come to be his saving grace now, like he had been for the past year. 

Neil lolled his head to the side and saw that it was only a random resident of Fox tower, someone he had never seen before. He was blonde though, so in his dazed state Neil pretended, just for a moment, that it was Andrew.

“Oh my god!” The guy yelled, practically throwing himself the several meters towards Neil.  “I got up early to study, and I heard the gunshot, and I…” He trailed off. Either that, or Neil was losing so much blood that the other man’s words were growing fuzzy. He swore he heard the blond mumble ‘oh my god’ again before picking up his phone.

As he heard the guy begin to go through the script to calling 911, he closed his eyes. He was tired, and he figured he’d be woken up when the ambulance got there.

“Hey, buddy, c’mon. They said I have to keep you awake. Please, you can’t-”

Neil ignored the student’s pleas and kept his eyes firmly shut. It felt too good. Soon he drifted into a cool unconsciousness. 

Flashing lights are the thing that bring him out of it. And after the lights, it’s the sirens. After the sirens, it’s the screaming. Neil can’t make out who it is, but someone is raising their voice louder than everyone else. It’s low, and angry. Like everything this morning (was it still morning? Neil couldn’t tell) the voice reminded him of Andrew, but he couldn’t match Andrew’s face with the sound.

“Andrew,” Neil choked out anyway, barely getting the word out. The yelling stopped. 

“I’ll get him for you, kid,” the voice replied. Neil fell back asleep.

When he woke up again, he was blasted with a bright white light. His first thought was that he really was dead. His second was that he couldn’t believe the white light cliche was true. Then everything stared to piece themselves together. The area around the light came into view. White ceiling tiles.

He tried to get up, but a sharp pain in his chest stopped him, as well of several painful points in his arm that prevented movement. He moved his head as much as he could and saw that he had an IV hooked into each arm. 

With this, he also saw a tuft of blonde hair laying very carefully next to him on the hard hospital bed. A hand sat next to Neil’s; close enough to be touching, but very consciously not. Neil grinned. Finally, he thought.

“Andrew,” he whispered, followed by a coughing fit. His mouth and throat were so dry they felt like sandpaper. Immediately though, the figure bolted up off the bed as Neil took a last long breath to calm down.

“Yes or no?” He asked, looking over Neil like he was assessing the damage of his car. Neil only nodded, and Andrew slipped his hand into Neil’s own while the other went straight to his neck.

Andrew looked for a minute like he might start interrogating Neil right then, but he let out a breathe and moved his hand down to Neil’s chest.

“You’re making it really hard to do my job, Josten. I can’t protect you if you get yourself shot before I even wake up.” Andrew paused, his face as emotionless as ever. “Damn Wymack had to come and tell me you were here.”

Neil would point out hat it wasn’t Andrew’s job to look out for him anymore, but he didn’t have it in him to argue. 

“I won’t do it again,” was all he said, staring at his own fingers interlocked with Andrew’s. He brushed him thumb over Andrew’s hand ever so slightly.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Josten.”

[nottheoccult]

oblivion access: except it’s poetry

Social self-obsessive species, everything is peachy

Having cyber interactions, get erections from the TV Vocal bout opinions bout elections up in DC With a total lack of knowledge, rope around your neck was easy Chemical complaint, deformity machine Skin eraser, loss creator, poison that you breathe Traitor, parasite, xenophilic golden boy Seen him with a soy product, wrote the Village Voice about it Tell me conclusions to stories I don't have time for Situations with the information missing, misinformed We've seen the same rain through separate systems, different storms We're stacking bodies up in boxes in a distant war I eat my vegetables, I like the broccoli What is more fictitious, the gods or you and I? You needs a court's admission, you think the cops comply? I don't acknowledge systems, I never found it wise I wasn't born to just support the shit that's palpable I don't see Earth as disproportionally valuable If there's a god, I'm sure his name is unpronounceable If there's a hell, I'm sure we'll all be held accountable I drew a portrait of Abraxis on a napkin Sex has never given me an ounce of satisfaction Life throws a lot of questions but I never ask them Facts are human arrogance, we barely know a fraction I don't know anything (This is the way the world ends)

From the inside of my corpse, 30 seconds is like a century Imprisoned in necrotic flesh Cognizant beyond my death Paralyzed and frozen in this carnal penitentiary Lucidly projecting hellish spectres Ghoulish architecture, enveloped In a darkness far beyond my mind can measure Suffocating violent pressure It just goes on forever, are these electro- Magnetic hallucinations? Is this everybody's afterlife or something I've created? Abandoned and dismissed in a flaccid Impotence with the cold illumination that I no longer exist In a grave within a grave It was the first time I prayed, no one There to tell me that I shouldn't be afraid Falling endlessly deeper, yet immobile and still In this infinite aethyr washing over My filth, neither angels or reapers or ghosts were fulfilled Just a cavity to soak up my guilt In my depravity, the flowers Up above me wilting down so they can laugh at me To think we spend our lives Convinced we understand agony, a familiar Voice: "He's finally at peace" Shrieking through the silence to remind me I'm deceased I tried to answer but the dead can't Speak, the biggest prison in the world's underground six feet

I got soaked through the rainiest days They made me this way Should have left the street but it paid me to stay The path that I walked on was paving my pain So I strayed and laid bricks for the opposite lane If you ain't rich you don't play about that gwop I view the city like a section of a swamp A lot of shit grows but nothing that you want A lot of shit gross and that's just being blunt Bitches acting foul and bitches wanna stunt But nothing ever change until you willing to confront Crooked cop, crooked cop, yeah, I see him too Erry' person has autonomy, we ain't got a clue I know it sound hazy when I twist that J That Richtown way, these dummies catch a 6 round fade And yeah I know them hunnies got them big round things But really don't give a fuck about that blasé blasé I play the resurrector like the Tribe cassette Cuz your third eye is just a fucking hole in your head I play the resurrector like the Tribe cassette Cuz your third eye is just a fucking hole in your head Gallon after gallon, brain's wet Seeing dead shit, morning never happened I'm still somewhere in my head space Walked for blocks, never figured out my destination 40 Glock pops, talk a cop into resignation I'm a mental patient, safety's not a strong suit Wrongdoer, safety off, one chambered, I'm dog puke Tell them shoot or just get off me, sociopathy probably Shit that bothers y'all probably never bothers me Told you not to follow me, newspaper's a shit show "Idiot with a slit throat stuffs coke in his pisshole Kills family with missiles" "Politician fucks bitches with issues" Everything I read is just a sick joke It never really registered as funny Rather figure out the time they fill the registers with money It never really registered as funny Rather figure out the time they fill the registers with money

I'm blowing on a backwood stuffed with psychiatrics Coughing with a hack like a playa out of practice 20 in my nose whatever get it done the fastest Eyes closed praying for apocalypse disasters No gods no masters no befores no afters Ugly mane will make you disappear just like a rapture Dodging destiny still the coffin like a bed to me The voices spoke incessantly My pride is what they fed to me Tried to read the messages but words was wrote illegibly Hennessy suppressing all my memories Mirror showed me glimpses of the enemies possessing me Toxic thought telepathy Living legacy Rocking weapons like accessories, dying for supremacy Really we're as significant as centipedes Crawl around the earth with no identities You're not special, don't pretend to be Your tendencies are so predictable it's difficult to remedy I could read a billion books still not know what pill I took I could have a million guns still walk with Achilles foot

HE USED TO LAUGH THE LOUDEST/NOW IT NEVER SHOWS HE TRIED TO BE THE TALLEST/BUT HE NEVER GROWS HE WATCHED HIS BROTHER DIE AND NEVER TOLD LOOKED AROUND AND KNEW HE HAD TO GO HE KNEW HIS FATHER HAD A BETTER DREAM BUT YOU CAN’T LEARN FROM WHAT YOU NEVER SEEN HE TRIED TO MINGLE WITH THESE JEALOUS THIEVES WATCH A HUMAN INTERACT WITH A MACHINE WATCH A HUMAN INTERACT WITH A MACHINE WATCH A HUMAN GET ABUSED BY A MACHINE WATCH A HUMAN GETTING USED BY A MACHINE NOW HE’S USELESS AND HE’S STUPID AND OBSCENE HE NEVER LEAVES HE NEVER LEAVES HE COMES AND HE GOES BUT HE NEVER LEAVES HE NEVER BREATHES HE NEVER BREATHES HE INHALES AND HE EXHALES BUT HE NEVER BREATHES

I fell apart and took my mind with me. i have been barely sustaining My pain just marinating. i fell apart and took my mind with me. just a Ghost cloaked in lies with a broken spine. i fell apart and took my mind With me. just an unrecognizable creature caught under an avalanche I fell apart and took my mind with me. my presence unnerving. im a Shadow always lurking. surrounded by death. even the towel rack Reminds me of the handles pallbearers grip tightly on the way out of Church. what they use to lift you up into the back of that hearse. i see A woman tighten grip on her purse. can’t be offended. she doesnt Know my intentions. she imagines the worse. around here. the Conditions severe. around here. you tightrope between detachment And fear. between the shattered fragments of existence that collapse And appear. never changes. just exacerbates depression deeper year And year. pain weaving in. pain weaving out. heartworms. sharpturns Sparsewords. scarsburns. i spent a long time dying. dont wake me up Yet. public executions. you’ll never see me upset. forcefed myself with Blow but now i settle for sedatives. no longer in the street. i belong in The crevices. positively negative. popular ive never been. hard to be a Person when you lack the mental requistes. emotionally deficit Consumed with all the wretchedness. not optimist or pessimist. my Politics are in exodus. spouting countless fountains out while drowning In the brine. my lifes the foulest algorithm science can't define. they Trap you in these systems that are phallic in design. because they fuck You in the mind. boy. they fuck you all the time. i fell apart and took My mind with me. being strung up at the ligaments with cultural Derivatives. i fell apart and took my mind with me. pronounced dead By a nemesis. a doubt without a benefit. i fell apart and took my mind with Me. just a cluster of atoms thrust deep in a chasm. i feel apart and now Your mind is with me. smoke in your eyes. the worlds a joke in disguise

Funny how the hours stretch and melt away my empathy Persistence of a memory Everything is very temporary except decisions Just a navigation of this future I envisioned Humoring these people that too stupid to be living An arbitrary figment A movement that I never was Obvious when people seem different than the rest of us Or think less of us Only hoes I care about Pumping in the pipe fumes Car running, windows up Hoping I'll die soon Night time Eyes dilate bigger than bike tubes That's the reason that I stay up past the sunset "I liked your record! Where's the new one? Is it done yet?" Problems that I run from impossible to sublet You don’t want them either There's a fever in the subtext Boiled all the mercury I questioned what it's worth to me Hard liquor fire breath Slurred dialect In the mist like Bix Beiderbecke With overdose side effects Probably take a Prilosec and try to get some rest Cut the Midas fingers off and never sign a check "What about your future?" I-D-G-A-F World so cold I can see they breath Feeling like distance is a bitch to express Pissing upstream when your dick is erect Or when you're picking up steam and get a fist in the chest

I'm dead meat, I'm dead weight Dragging my body, holding my chin straight Probably never make it home again at this pace Waking the Devil up cause I've been staying at his place I'm dead meat, I'm dead weight Dragging my body, holding my chin straight Probably never make it home again at this pace Waking the Devil up cause I've been staying at his place I'm dead meat, I'm dead weight Dragging my body, holding my chin straight Probably never make it home again at this pace Waking the Devil up cause I've been staying at his place I'm dead meat, I'm dead weight Dragging my body, holding my chin straight Probably never make it home again at this pace Waking the Devil up cause I've been staying at his place

Funny how the hours stretch, melt away my empathy Persistence of a memory Funny how the hours stretch, melt away my empathy Persistence of a memory Funny how the hours stretch, melt away my empathy Persistence of a memory Funny how the hours stretch, melt away my empathy Persistence of a memory Funny how the hours stretch, melt away my empathy Persistence of a memory Funny how the hours stretch, melt away my empathy Persistence of a memory Funny how the hours stretch, melt away my empathy Persistence of a memory Funny how the hours stretch, melt away my empathy Persistence of a memory

Back when I was 15 it seemed Ugly was untouchable What, they gonna throw me in the juvy for a month or two? Try me, I still ain't doin' nothing that you want me to Cuttin' and disrupting every classroom discussion Cussin' out my mom, puffin' blunts, gettin' dusted Overwhelmed with distrust in everything that I wasn't Things I know now (I guess I felt 'em back then): Power and control reflect fear among men The shit that they condemn you can see amongst them So I never ever ever want to be amongst them See a landscape littered with the blisters of potential People letting ghosts govern most of they mental The opposite adults your folks hope you'd resemble Doomed from the get like a goat in the temple Hard to not dwell among fear Knowing that the court treat crime so severe But I'm blowin' smoke out the window being so cavalier Sh-shakin' up the bottle when I open the beer Only obligation is to prosper in my operations Money motivations stay gaudy ostentatious Ain't even a challenge cuz the rap game basic I ain't heard talent since ["Incarcerated Scarfaces" Sample] Face it, it's fact not assumption Rap sound like shit like "ship" with the fronts in Hate getting lumped in, giant next to munchkins Catch me on the other side wildin' in the dungeon

You got sativa, ignite it World stiff as arthritis Dreaming about a crisis, all I fucking hear is sirens Climates turn to ice and your life turn to lifeless Sitting on my throne, I'm alone in the silence First hit the wax then you exhale the vapor Economies collapse and your stack just some paper Running round a maze while they laugh in your faces Rather burn down the city get me fucking 50 acres Slugs are just snails without shells The perception: evolution fucked them over and failed But they survive without protection in this jungle they dwell With giants throwing salt on all their people Can't consider them frail Spit vinegar in sour times Live under the power lines I'm just a bag of tumors full of alkaline All you do is carve them out and sew up any abscess Go about your business, keep your distance from the dragnets Backseat driving, passenger traveling Bumming a ride in my own brain Pointless meandering, using the vanity mirror to break up the cocaine Loitering, lost in a memory somewhere between a first kiss and a dope vein Nursing myself as an infant and in the same instant I'm shackled and cuffed and restrained How does this fucking pertain to anything other than coping with pain? All of the time I spent hoping to change Just an obsession with stoking the flames Haunted, something hovers over me I feels its breath The skeletal projection of accumulated stress

That could be our teenager, that could be our kid doing that. How could that possibly happen?

I got bad news Nothing really changes We just wander aimless Friends turn into strangers Chalk up my exchanges and discard the conversations As just carcasses for vultures in decomposition stages Endless entertainment for these culture commentators Stylish innovators that just vanish minutes later Say "his style is very painterly" But painting's not an art Art is tricking you with statements that the painter's painting art Without an explanation, it's just pretty little marks The market sold imagination just to keep you in the dark Like you bitches need a cosign to rock a fashion Like you can't see a bigger picture without a caption Until some critic go and write it out A long winded trite amount of words That you can slide around some websites and fight about Meaning's what your life's without Surf until you're wiping out Conservation activist You're living with your lights out

What's it all mean? What's he saying when he says it? What's the underlying topic? What's the motive in his message? But what if he was bored and there was no between the lines It was a way to pass the time, he liked the way it rhymed What if he was bored and there was no between the lines It was a way to pass the time, he liked the way it rhymed

What's it all mean? What's he saying when he says it? What's the underlying topic? What's the motive in his message?

You know what the rattling pieces are in this, don't you? Some little pieces of buffalo chicken

[babeys1x1]

Four times Colby Keane Kissed Someone and One Time he Didn't

I.      At twenty, Jeremiah Rian was three years older than Colby. He was good looking and, at times, funny enough to get a laugh out of the younger boy... and he was a really great kisser. Really, that was it. It wasn't love. They didn't talk about their families or their lives at home, they didn't delve into school or the subjects they liked or wanted to study. They could’ve ended the relationship the next time they met and it wouldn't have really upset him because he wasn't attached. At the end of the summer Jeremiah would go back to college and he'd dive head first into his senior year of high school. A majority of the time when they met up, they spent kissing, lips locked and hands wandering lazily up the fronts of each others t-shirts. That was enough.      The horizon was just starting to turn pink on the horizon when Colby left the diner to begin his walk home. It was a peaceful way to end the night, his body craving a few hours of sleep before he got up to begin the second part of his day. His mind was wandering far from the sleepy suburb when a hand grabbed his wrist. He didn't have time to be too startled before he was spun around. The momentary terror that he had felt melted away when he saw who it was. Jeremiah. Their lips crashed together. It wasn't romantic or sweet, the motion jarring both of them as Colby stumbled back against the brick wall of the diner. He pulled away with a laugh, his hands balling into the front of Jeremiah's hoodie. “What the hell are you doin', 'Miah? Come to walk me home?” he teased him, pulling him in to place a softer kiss against the corner of the other boy's mouth. “Couldn't wait to see me?” His train of thought turned from teasing as Jeremiah's lips trailed down his jawline, making his heart leap in his throat. The teasing was done, his mind pleasantly blank as the older boy sucked on his pulse point. He sighed softly before pushing him back, a grin stretching across his face.      “Save it for later, 'Miah. I'll see you later today. Right now, I'm going to go home and go to sleep.”

II.      Audrey was a charming girl with dark hair and chocolate brown eyes that Colby liked to imagine could see right through him. It was unsettling, in ways, but something he admired in her all the same. She was temporary, even more so than usual, because she was a nomad, an army brat that moved from town to town, made herself useful where she could, and then left again. She was leaving again. She had told him that when he'd come in at the beginning of her shift. Their little flirtationship would have to end there. They had both gone about their business then, and he hadn't thought about it once until they started cleaning up to go home.      It wasn't that he cared about her; not past the way one superficially cared when it came to acquaintances, but he couldn't help but feel the place would be very lonely without her. She liked to clean tables with her shoes kicked off, swaying to whatever the song of the day was she'd chosen on the old jukebox tucked in the corner. He found it oddly charming; the inconsequential way she danced like there was nobody around to care. He had never joined her. It felt almost sacrilegious to interrupt whatever she was was feeling in that moment but this time he did.      If she was surprised as he cut in she didn't show it, allowing him to pull her in and place one hand on her waist and take her hand in the other. He didn't know what song it was and maybe he wouldn't remember much past the way her hand felt in his but it was nice. Just existing was nice. She pushed closer to him, tilting her face up to look at them with her big brown eyes and he reacted in the moment, kissing her lightly on the cheek before pulling away with a grin.      “You're not a bad dancer,” he grinned. “I think you might have taught me a thing or two.”

III.      He wasn't a school dance kind of guy but he went anyway. He would've been content to lean back against the wall and sip whatever kind of watered down fruit punch the chaperone put out. He had no plans on dancing with anybody but when Polly Greenfield asked him to sway to some nondescript slow song that he'd forget as soon as he fell asleep, she looked so hopeful that she couldn't say no. He could hear her humming along. As sweet as it was, he really wanted to do was grab a glass of punch and retreat back to the corner to lurk at the edge of it all and watch. Regardless of what he wanted, the girl's smile was so dazzling that he would never step away, never make her feel that he wanted to be any where but with her. He let the song was over him, some cheesy sentimentality that he never would have listened to in a thousand and one years, and found himself surprised when it changed to something else. He looked down and smiled at the girl, bowing at the waist and kissing the back of her hand. The movement caused a smile to blossom on her face as he backed away, finally grabbing a cup of punch and vanishing back into his corner.

IV.      He wasn't normally a tease. He knew what he wanted and went for it; pretty straight forward, but there was something about the boy he was straddling that brought out the worst in him. He ground himself down against the other boy, a smirk blossoming on his lips as he moaned, hands gripping at the curve of his hips hard enough to bruise. He didn't let him keep control long before he was moving, bending over him to drop his mouth to Carson's neck. His pulse was pounding, blood racing as Colby kissed and sucked. He was probably leaving marks but he didn't care. That was Carson's problem to deal with after he'd left.      He moved down lower, hands pressed against his heaving chest, taking in every inch of skin he could get a hold of; fingernails raking down the other boy's tight body. This was a new side of him and he might never see it again but he was enjoying every sound that came out of Carson Raleigh. “Please, Colby...” He sat up and looked down at the boy, chewing on his lip as Carson squirmed beneath him?      He leaned forward, brushing his lips against Carson's before smirking. “Please... what, baby,” he practically purred, his lips wandering lower and lower on his bare torso until he reached the waistband of his underwear. He stopped and looked up at him through his lashes. “If you want something from me.... you're going to have to tell me how much you want me.”

V.      Elena Blackthorn was the most beautiful person that Colby had ever met. The thought is one of the utmost pervasive thoughts that he'd ever had and, although it went away for a little bit, it always came back, tugging at him, reminding him. It hit him the hardest when he was driving her home from a movie night and she's sitting right beside him. He wasn't worthy of any attention from him; wasn't worthy to even be in the same car as him, but she was there, laughing at some movie quote she'd found particularly hilarious.      As he pulled into her driveway he wanted nothing more than to reach across the space and to kiss her. The impulse was strong but he sat on the urge. Nothing based on impulse ever worked out long term and there was something in him that told him not to ruin what he had going because he'd never forgive himself if he did. He wanted to say something to her but for once nothing lept to mind. There was no clever joke or well placed sarcasm and that was weird. He let it linger though, their shared banter filling in the space until she pushed her door open and hopped out of the car.      He didn't want her to go. It was an interesting feeling to have because he had certainly never felt that way about anyone else before. He leaned forward as she stuck her head back into the car. “You better not stare at my ass when I walk away. I'm a good girl.” She smirked at the look of surprise on his face. He did his best to work up a retort but she was already sashaying away in a manner that was meant to make him stare.... and stare he did. She paused, glancing over her shoulder with a laugh. “I said DON'T watch me walk away, you perv.”      “Oh my God!” he yelled back at her. “Just go inside so I can go home!” She grinned and jogged up the porch, unlocking the door and vanishing inside. He sat back and exhaled before driving off towards his own place. He wasn't sure what this was but he was certainly excited for it. He couldn't wait.