#i'm thinking long empty suburban streets

[cornyflow3r]

the story of lostfield is generation 0 which makes me think it’s foundational, even if it isn’t necessarily chronologically first. so it’s got to be about what showfall did to the mall, right? this abandoned place full of lost people - people who have lost themselves and people who no one has come looking for. and bigger than that, where have all the shoppers gone? does showfall’s influence stop in the mall or does it extend even further - are we already in lostfield?

[heavenbarnes]

Um hi! I saw your reblog with Spencer in his FBI bulletproof vest and in the tags how you said you'd fuck him with it on!! Do you think you could write something about that??

I'm thinking like Reader is on the team with him.. sees him in it one day and can't stop gawking over him. So, one case they're on they ride together in the Suburban and Reader makes him pull off somewhere because they can't wait any longer for him to fuck them. Like semi-public sex, riding him in the suburban. Or like, if you didn't want it to be semi-public, Reader and him could be at the hotel they're staying at and she makes him keep it on to have sex..

A lot of hard work

Spencer Reid x reader

Warnings/contains: no mention of reader’s gender, objectification (of one Spencer Reid), mentions of an unsub, Spencer is confident in this, inappropriate use of the FBI vest, swearing, dirty talk, humping, making out, semi-public, almostttt at the good stuff

I LOVE that you see my tags and I love even more you asked me to write from them! I hope you enjoy this! I did cut off right before the good parts so maybe, maaaaybe we could give it a p2

The adrenaline should’ve been wearing off.

It probably was, it was probably something entirely different twisting at the pit of your stomach.

Unsub shut in the back of the police car, SWAT retreating back in their trucks, the team were gathered around the hood of the suburban for a debrief.

A debrief you should’ve been listening to.

It was no use, as if you could hear anything over the blood rushing in your ears.

Hotch had his usual stern expression as he spoke, but the more you tried to focus on what he was saying- the more your eyes kept drifting just over his left shoulder.

This was fucking obscene.

All he was doing, all he was doing, was listening to your boss (like you should’ve been). His sunglasses were pushed up his nose, he had a few perfect curls falling across his forehead, as usual.

The sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows and the high sun was glinting off the large watch on his wrist. Your eyes followed his, frankly perfect, forearms up to his hands.

Veins running just below the surface leading you to long fingers, all wrapped around the thick shoulder straps of his bullet-proof vest. The one that was spanned across his chest and sitting up on his waist.

Spencer Reid looked insanely fuckable with the vest on.

You were lucky Hotch had split you up when you’d arrived on scene. If you’d had to watch Spencer running before you in that vest, you think you might’ve had to ask the unsub to kill you next.

The sight was nearly obscene.

You’d managed, just and only managed to support your team and get the job done- putting your own debauched thoughts away long enough to be serious for a second.

But as everyone was dispersing from the scene, under orders to meet back in the bullpen for paperwork, you had a feeling it wasn’t over for you yet.

That feeling came with Spencer calling your name, simply gesturing towards an empty suburban as he flashed the keys.

When nobody else joined you in the back of the car, you knew there was no way it’d ever be over. Especially not when he sat in the driver seat, vest still firmly secured around him.

Dropping yourself into the passenger seat, you resorted to pressing one very warm cheek to the window in attempt to find some relief.

There was none to be found, not when Spencer was reaching one long arm behind your seat to reverse out of the spot- Lord have mercy.

You’d both managed to get some ten minutes into the trip before he’d piped up, before he’d acknowledged the obvious change in your behaviour.

“What’s going on with you?”

His eyes flickered off the road for a moment, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on his thigh as he moved through the streets.

You shifted, uncomfortably shifted as you tried to play it off. “Nothing, I’m-“

“And I’m me, so don’t try lie.”

Rolling your eyes like a petulant child, you crossed your arms as you sunk further into the seat. It was easy done, you’d discarded your vest the minute you got in the car, unable to cope with the way it was suffocating you.

“Spencer, just leave it.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes, you couldn’t see it through his sunglasses but you could tell by the way his face rose and fell. He sucked in a deep breath before deciding someone needed to go first.

“You were too quick to get away from me as soon as we arrived and then spent the whole debrief staring at me like you either wanted me under you or dead- so what is it?”

That might’ve been the quickest anyone’s ever been profiled.

All part of the ordeal of being known, being so well known.

You shifted your gaze just enough to check if he was letting it go, sure enough, he was still switching between you and the road. It’s never over.

Absolutely you could tell him, you could just lay it all out and absolutely he’d be fine with it. But there was still such a sick knot in your stomach about having to fess up.

Weighing up your options (one of which included throwing open the car door) you saw movement out the corner of your eye.

Spencer’s free hand left his thigh and came to rest on the top of his vest, pulling it down slightly as he did it and drawing even more attention to the definition of his forearm.

“It’s the vest,” The words literally fell out of your mouth. “I want- need to fuck you with the vest on.”

You half expected him to crash the car. It would’ve made sense if he’d slammed on the breaks or even swerved a little. But he didn’t.

Spencer kept the car straight, eyes steadily moving to your face as he slowly raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

Everything had gone quiet, like the world had stopped spinning. All you could hear was his simple question and maybe the odd voice in your head telling you this was a bad idea.

Thankfully, his voice was louder.

The moment his eyes went back on the road, his hand came off the vest to use his turn signal. He was pulling off down a trail road, industrial with an old factory at the base of it.

You knew it was abandoned, nobody had been there for years- it was on the map he’d annotated for the team at the beginning of this case.

Without a word, Spencer pulled up beside the building and the long grass. He put the car into park and removed his sunglasses before he ran a steady hand through his hair.

You’d been watching it all, slightly turned in your seat and studying his every move. There was no way you could help it. There was no way God could give you a man that looked like that and expect you to be normal about it.

All of a sudden, you saw Spencer reach beneath his seat. It rolled back slowly until he had a significant space between himself and the steering wheel.

Still, with no words exchanged, he brought his hand back to his thigh to pat it once- then twice. It was like a natural reaction for you, picking yourself up and scrambling across the centre console until you were situated in his lap.

Your fingers immediately closed around the straps of the vest, pulling him into you so your lips could meet with his. Spencer wasted no time in having his tongue in your mouth, immediately establishing his place.

It should’ve been embarrassing, pathetic really, the way your hips began to roll into his the minute he touched you. Large hands ran up your back, under your shirt and igniting your skin.

The vest was firm against your chest, almost keeping him from you but giving you exactly what you wanted. Pressing your forehead to his, you opened your eyes to get a good look at him under you.

He’d said you wanted one or the other.

You felt Spencer’s lips working up the front of your throat, teeth gently nipping at the skin as his hands worked down to the waistband of your pants.

You weren’t sure if he’d been as impatient as you- it was more likely you could give him a look any time of day and he’d be dropping to whatever position you needed him in. He was good that way.

As your hands splayed against the front of his vest, slowing inching down further as you continued to hump his lap- feeling him somehow getting even harder beneath you.

“Spencer-“ Your voice sounded breathy, desperate for him. “They’re gonna’ be back at the office soon.”

You heard him chuckle, the sound leaving his lips and reverberating off your throat. He nodded, just a little as his fingers began to work on the front of your pants.

He shuffled his hips forward, sinking down a bit further and giving you better access to his belt- the one you immediately began to undo.

“This is all for you, baby,” He sighed, feeling your hand reach into his pants. “You take whatever you need.”

[trivialbob]

This morning I rode my e-bike to the downtown office. One day a week lately I've enjoyed biking, spending time out of the house and seeing the city. Today there were even three I know in the office!

Going to work: Dark, foggy, 59°F. I wore running pants, a hi-viz windbreaker and a long sleeve shirt. My hands got cold.

Going home: Bright sunlight, 82°F. I changed into shorts, but everything else is what I wore inside the office. It got stinky. I feel I get road respect when I'm pedaling along in my dark socks and a button down shirt. Or maybe it's "Don't get near the guy from Falling Down."

Many of Minneapolis' busier streets (and a good number of suburban ones) have bike lanes. 90% of my 14 mile ride each way is on bike lanes in the street or bike paths next to the street. Above is a view of Bryant Avenue. I hadn't been down this street since early 2020 (yeah, you know). This afternoon it was my route home. Wow, that street has changed. There is now smooth bike path next to the street. It runs many blocks. I love it.

Over my lunch hour I walked around downtown. There are many new apartment buildings. From the office I have a good view of a park, the Vikings stadium, and lots of luxury $$$ apartments.

I think it would be fun to live downtown, with a balcony overlooking the hustle and bustle (at least what hustle and bustle still occurs). Maybe a year of that would be good. After that I might miss having a garage and back yard.

Minneapolis has a skyway system - enclosed walkways that connect many buildings at the second floor level. It's nice in the winter. People walk all over the place without going outside.

Sadly, there are still many empty stores at the skyway and street levels. Many restaurants never reopened.

At noon I should have been bumping shoulders with others going out for lunch. Not so anymore. Though it's nice to have elbow room, a guy yelling at people because he doesn't like tacos or elm trees or something really stands out instead of being part of the background.

For lunch I went to Dagwoods, a sandwich shop I frequented many times when I worked downtown full time. It wasn't the same today. The bread wasn't toasted. Used to be too that you got a nice serving of big potato chips. I would scoop up lettuce, tomatoes and Italian dressing that fell out of the sandwich make a tiny, extra sandwich using the chips as the bread. Today my chips were little pieces. The lettuce and tomatoes were not drenched in dressing either :(

Despite an uninspired sandwich I had a good day in the office and downtown in general. And though I use an e-bike I really do get exercise, because I pedal all the way. The motor just means I go faster.

[biggnansmol]

A Human Among Giants: Chapter 1

First and foremost, I'm still learning how to use Tumblr so sorry for what's about to happen. This is a GT story I thought of late last year about kind of shitty parents and finding yourself, but I didn't actually write much of that initial idea. Hopefully by posting the first chapter here I'll be inclined to follow through (no promises).

I can promise, however, that the story will be entirely SFW. There will be elements of romance and of people being absolutely terrible, but the text itself will be fine. I don't really know how this website works so feel free to give me pointers while I figure stuff out.

Chapter I - Moving

The bus rumbled along the suburban streets, rows of houses passing by Austin as he stared out the window, headphones in and playing a pop playlist quietly in his ears. He tried not to focus on how many more times he would get to see properly-sized homes instead of gigantic ones, turning his attention to his phone to find a different song to play, but all he could think about was the move at the end of the year. As the bus approached his stop, Austin thumbed the stop button and pulled out his headphones long enough to call out a thanks as he dismounted from the vehicle. He began walking, pocketing his phone and turning his eyes upward. It was a sunny day with only a few clouds in sight, providing him with a clear view of Immensus as it hung in the sky above.

Earth, where Austin and most other humans lived, was the name of the small moon that orbited the much larger planet of Immensus. Earth and Immensus were nearly identical in climate, environment, and even inhabitants. The only exception in the similarities was the scale with everything on Immensus being well over ten times the size of Earth. The giants that lived on the larger planet reached heights of 30 metres and towered over the much smaller humans. With the exception of his father, Bradley, who worked on Immensus, Austin didn’t know anyone who had even been to the giant planet before.

From the bus stop, it was a four minute walk to Austin’s home where he lived with his dad. The building was a two story house split into four units, with the front half and back half and the upstairs and downstairs all being separate. Their place was the rear upstairs unit, so Austin made his way around the side of the building and let himself in the door at the back. The entryway was small, barely enough room to stand with both arms stretched out, and contained nothing more than a shoe rack and a staircase leading up to their place. As Austin tugged off his footwear, he noticed his dad’s shoes were still absent. Ascending up the stairs, Austin entered into the quiet living room, lights still turned off. He glanced over at the kitchen sink, his dad’s usual assortment of half-empty mugs were also missing.

“Hey, dad,” Austin’s voice carried through the house, and he waited a moment for a response. “I’m home.”

The staircase lead right into the unit’s sparsely decorated living room. Directly on Austin’s right was an old, worn couch that faced a television on the opposite wall, propped up on an empty cabinet. A single picture frame hung above the couch, and an industrial style coffee table stood squarely in the centre of the room, not matching a single other piece of furniture. The far right wall was all windows, leading out onto the balcony that overlooked the roofs of the other houses in the neighbourhood. To Austin’s left was a small kitchen with a fridge, sink, and other appliances propped on wooden countertops, separated from the living room by an island counter and two mismatching barstools. The far wall contained three doors, one for his bedroom, one for his dad’s, and one for the bathroom.

Austin checked the time on his watch, dismayed to find it was nearly half past three in the afternoon. His dad was supposed to have arrived home around midday, but he was running late again. A little over two years ago, Bradley had taken on an engineering contract from a firm on Immensus and it required him to work on-site six days every fortnight. The remaining eight days he could work from Earth, but it meant that when he flew out Austin was left by himself at home. It wasn’t the loneliness that bothered Austin, he wasn’t that close with his dad anyway, more so the tardiness. With the way Bradley’s hours worked, he was always supposed to get back while Austin was at school.

Austin could count on one hand the number of times that had actually happened. Bradley would walk in the door late in the evening, sometimes even the following morning, with an excuse about needing to stay late and promise that it wouldn’t happen again, that this time was the last time.

Making his way to his bedroom and sitting down at his desk, Austin pulled out a stack of papers from today’s day at school. Even though it was only a few weeks into the school year, Austin was in his final year and all of the teachers had begun to crack down with worksheets and practice tests. The schoolwork sat untouched in front of him for several minutes before Austin decided to busy himself by getting something to eat. He flipped the kettle on to boil and grabbed a noodle cup from the pantry, dumped the contents of the sachets into the cup, and followed it with the hot water, then returned to his room where he stared at his papers for a little longer. Austin didn’t use to have any issues with studying, he got good marks consistently across the board, up until a few months ago.

One of Bradley’s coworkers had apparently offered him a place to stay on Immensus. A giant named Siobhan had told Bradley he was welcome to move in with her and her daughter who was about Austin’s age. As to not interfere with Austin’s studies, Bradley had agreed to wait until the end of the year to move, but it still slashed Austin’s motivation. There was no point studying to get a good score for his finals on Earth when he’d be moving to Immensus by the time he could use the score to apply for university.

Forcing himself to put pen to paper, Austin slowly began to fill out the work in front of him. He spent ten minutes on it, then twenty, then half an hour. It was a little after five when Austin heard his dad’s footsteps on the staircase. Austin sat back and looked at his work, realising he’d only managed to do one page in the nearly hour and a half he’d spend on it. There was a knock at Austin’s door and he glanced up at his dad standing in the doorway, Bradley’s large frame occupying most of the space. Their height was the only thing Austin and Bradley had in common. Bradley had a stocky frame with fair hair and brown eyes, while Austin was skinny and lanky and had inherited his mum’s dark hair and blue eyes.

“Hey, Austin,” his dad said, standing awkwardly in the doorway to Austin’s bedroom.

“Welcome home, dad,” Austin replied.

“Listen. There’s, uh, something I want to talk to you about.”

“Is it about Siobhan?”

“In a way,” Bradley answered as he crossed the room and sat on the edge of Austin’s bed. “It’s more about our plans to move to Immensus.”

“At the end of the year.”

“At the end of the year, right. Well I was talking to, I mean working with Sibohan the other day and she said we could move over sooner if we wanted. Austin, what do you think about by the end of next month?”

Austin was on his feet. “Next month? What? Dad, I’m still in school!”

“There are plenty of schools on Immensus. Siobhan told me that her daughter goes to one that allows human students as well. You two could attend together.”

“I don’t want to go to school on Immensus! I don’t want to move! I want to stay here on Earth.”

“I’m afraid you can’t.”

Tears stung in Austin’s eyes as he turned away. He walked to his door, coming to a stop in the doorway. “You’ve already organised the move, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

Austin didn’t turn to face his dad, instead staring at the single picture frame that hung above the couch in the living room. It was a family portrait of a young couple with a toddler in their arms. The raven-haired lady in the photo smiled back at Austin, her bright blue eyes being the only thing Austin could remember.

[atombonniebaby]

I suppose this is as good a day as any to share my OCs prologue chapter! I have already done a 'War Never Changes' piece for @falloutober but it's literally the title of the chapter 👀

War Never Changes

Sanctuary Hills October 23, 2077.

Deep red leaves rustled in the crisp autumn air as the sun began to creep up over the hillside, casting a murky haze over the serene show of contemporary suburban living, America's "Homes of the Future." The residents of Sanctuary Hills lived in blissful ignorance as the world held its breath to the ever-present threat of Nuclear Devastation. Amidst the suburban sprawl, the morning sun warmed the cheeks of Nathanial Alasdair Watt, Nate to his nearest and dearest.

Nate leaned over a dusty blue cot, his eyes not quite believing that the soft and squishy bundle snoring away was his son. Months old already, how long would it be before he would be chasing after him around the cul-de-sac? With a lingering glance over Shaun, Nate slipped out of his room and stepped into the hallway, closing the door softly behind him. The house was quiet, and Nate's footsteps echoed in the empty hall, leading him to the kitchen.

"Ah, Master Nate! Good morning, sir!” Codsworth chirped, his eye stalks flitting in greeting. "Your coffee. 173.5 degrees Fahrenheit. Brewed to perfection!"

"Ah'll take yer word for it," Nate yawned, a fond smile spreading across his face as he reached for the steaming mug of coffee.

"Ah, of course, my apologies, Sir. 78.61 degrees Celcius!"

Nate snorted. "I flunked maths, son. Just say it's hot."

Codsworth let out a chuckle. "Ah, I forgot, the young miss is the brains of the operation."

"Aye, that she is. But she'll no be without a proper feedin'. Could you go rouse her for me?" Nate asked.

"Of course, Sir! Right away!" Codsworth trilled, floating away towards El's room.

"Good luck wi' that," Nate muttered, shaking his head. El liked her sleep, that one.

Nate chuckled, running a hand over his head, and frowned at the resistance. Big speech tonight. He could hardly rock up looking a scruffy mess, could he? With a sigh, he set his mug down and stretched out his back on the way to the bathroom.

"Lemme Sleep, Codsworth..."El's voice drifted through her door.

Ah, to be 19 again. Nate shook his head, smirking to himself as he turned to the closed-over bathroom door, a wide smile pulling in his cheeks when Nora's sweet voice filtered through, Shaun's favorite lullaby on her tongue. Nate would never tire of it or how her voice sent shivers down his spine.

"You're up early. How's my little man?" she asked as he stepped through the door. "I'm assuming you've been in there five times already?"

Nora, even under those horrid fluorescent bulbs, looked stunning. He caught her eye in the mirror she was brushing her hair in and gave her a wink. Nate took a few steps toward her and wrapped his arms around her waist, his lips brushing her neck. She hummed and leaned back into his embrace.

"What can I say, doll? Just like his mother, I cannae believe he's mine," Nate murmured, burying his face in her soft, icy-brown hair. "I keep thinkin' somebody's gonna pinch me, and I'll wake up from this dream."

Nora twisted in his arms, her green eyes sparkling. "You're a wonderful father, Nate. You shouldn't doubt yourself!"

"I hope so," Nate said, his ears growing hot. Nora knew him too well, and his bashful side never could stand up to her praise.

"I think Beth would agree with me. I mean, you practically raised that girl!"

Nate ducked his head and pressed a kiss to her nose. "She dotes on you, ye ken? She won't admit it, but she does."

"I like her too. I'm glad she's here. Now, care to explain why you interrupted my morning ritual?" Nora teased.

"I need some pamperin'," he raised his eyebrows. "Cannae hae this 'decorated war hero' looking like common street riff-raff, now can we?"

"Hmm," Nora smirked. "I dunno, that rugged Viking look is growing on me, Nathanial."

"Ooh, using my full name, eh?" he teased. "Am I in trouble, then, Mrs Watt?"

"You're always trouble, Nathanial Watt," Nora giggled.

"Tell the truth, doll. That's the real reason you married me, wasn't it?" Nate smirked. "That and the accent, aye?"

She rolled her eyes and gave him a playful shove away, returning to the mirror. Nate's grin lingered, his hands sliding to her waist. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head and rested his chin upon it, gazing at her reflection. She met his eyes, a warmth and tenderness reflected at him.

"I love you, lass," he murmured against her hair, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "More than I can say."

Nora didn't speak, only leaned back, melting against him, a familiar gesture that spoke volumes. Nate's arms tightened, and he closed his eyes, wishing they could stay like that forever.

"Go get your trimmer; I'll at least neaten you up a little," Nora said, her voice thick. "Then, I'll see about breakfast."

Nate pressed one last kiss to her head and drew a sharp breath. "Yes, ma'am."

"—war never changes,” Nate sighed, the steamy air heavy with the weight of his speech.

“You're gonna knock 'em dead at the Veteran's Hall tonight, hon,” Nora purred, her fingers massaging the knots from his shoulders.

"Ye think?" Nate relaxed against her touch, letting his eyes flutter shut.

"Absolutely. Now get ready and stop hogging the mirror..."

"Right," Nate snorted. He stepped away and let Nora take his place. "You might want to fix the buttons on your blouse, love."

He couldn't help a small smirk tugging on his lips as she re-buttoned her blouse, not quite meeting his gaze.

"Wipe that smug look off your face, Mr. Watt! You're the reason I never get anything done around here!" Nora teased.

Nate couldn't help bursting out laughing. "Why dae ye think I bought Codsworth?"

"Out!" Nora laughed, pushing him towards the door.

"Love ye too, darlin'." Nate gave her a mock salute and stumbled out of the bathroom.

"Miss Elspeth, breakfast was served thirty minutes ago!" Codsworth's muffled voice met him through the opposing door.

"Codsy! Bugger off!...and 'ave told ye… it's Beth!" came El's equally muffled reply.

"My, my. For such a brilliant young mind, Miss Beth, your language leaves much to be desired."

"Get tae fuck, or I'll turn ye into a toaster!" El spat back, a bit louder this time.

"By God! I don't believe General Atomics programmed me with enough patience for this!" Codsworth sighed.

"I'll handle this." Nate interrupted, opening the door.

"Good luck, that child's got the mouth of a drunkard."

"I'm weeks away from twenty ye daft bucket o' bolts!" El retorted.

Codsworth sighed, bobbing past him a little less chipper than before. Poor bugger.

Nate chuckled and shook his head. Wearing that damn onesie, she was akin to an overgrown toddler in a babygro. El glared at him, her hazel eyes flashing with a fire that reflected his own, her cheeks flushed, auburn hair still a tangled mess, reminding him exactly why he opted for a smooth dome.

"Arse. Up. Now. Or I promise you I'll cancel that comic subscription I already reluctantly pay for."

El's eyes narrowed, a defiant glint remaining, a slight smirk curving her lips. "Ye wouldnae dare."

"Try me," Nate raised a brow and folded his arms. "And to rub it in, I'll replace it with one about all the latest fashion trends, braw big frilly skirts and whatnot..."

"Fine. Ye win." El rolled her eyes, sauntering past him.

"Smart move," Nate smirked.

"Bite me!" El snapped, stomping into the now vacant bathroom.

Nate chuckled, shaking his head, and approached the kitchen, his stomach growling in anticipation.

"Breakfast is served sir," Codsworth set down a plate of eggs and toast.

"Thanks. And if ye need the afternoon off to recharge after the morning ye've had, you take it!" Nate smirked.

"A good show of humor, sir, but with a steady supply of Mr. Handy fuel, I am proud to serve!" Codsworth chirped.

"Attaboy."

"Your thoughts?" Nora's voice drifted over him, snapping his attention back to the present.

Nate blinked, glancing at his wife. She was studying him, her brows knitted. Damn. "I'm worried about her, doll. She won't admit it, but she's been having trouble sleeping again. I cannae remember the last time I saw her without dark circles under her eyes."

"She's just stressed. It's been a big year for her. Why don't you take her away for a few days? It's been a while since you two had time together," Nora suggested. "You could take a little road trip or something?"

"Aye, I'd been considering it, but I can hardly leave you with the wee one, can I?"

"I've got Codsworth to help. And besides, Shaun's not exactly a handful." Nora grinned, nudging him. "Take her. Trust me, she needs it."

Nate chewed his lip, his brows furrowed. Maybe she had a point. El had always loved his impromptu adventures.

"Okay, I'll talk to her about it—"

"Talk to me about what?" El asked, walking into the living room, her frown deepening as she looked between them. "I'm sorry! I know I've been—"

"No, stop right there! " Nate shushed her. "Ye don't go apologizing...I know you've been overloaded lately with all your projects."

El shrugged, dropping onto the couch beside him, her eyes fixed on the TV. "Yeah, I guess. It's just a lot, and I—"

"Deserve a break? Me and Nora reckon you've earned one," Nate grinned, nudging her. "So, how about we take off in a day or two? It's been a while since we've done a drive together, just you and me?"

"Wait, you're serious?" El stared at him, a smile breaking across her face, but her frown returned as she turned to Nora. "You're okay with that?"

"Are you kidding? Some peace and quiet, hell yeah, I'm okay with that," Nora barked a laugh. "And Codsworth's here to help, so I'll be fine."

"I like her, Nate. Can we keep her?" El smirked.

Nate's laughter bubbled, shaking his head. "Aye, she's a keeper, alright."

Nora gave them a fond smile, rising from the couch."Alright, you two, I'm going to help Codsworth tidy up, give you time to plan."

"Thanks, love," Nate's fingers curled hers as she pulled away, before turning his attention back to El.

"So, short-stop, any votes on where ye want tae go?"

"Laurey, Virginia—"

"The Caverns, again, lass?" Nate's eyebrow quirked.

"Come on, it's been months since we went to D.C. We could do a day trip to Laurey and then spend the rest of our time exploring the Capital!"

"Fine, but that damn mole costume is stayin' put!" Nate chuckled.

"She looked adorable in that thing. Never know, maybe she'll catch someone's eye!" Nora's laughter floated over them from the kitchen, and Nate grinned.

El blushed, her hand rubbing against the back of her head sheepishly. "I'll stick to studying, ta—"

"Quite right. I don't think there'd be many nerdy, bookworm Spelunkers out there that could put up with your pish!" He couldn't resist.

El's nose wrinkled, and her eyes narrowed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence—jackass."

Nate snorted and leaned back, his arms draped over the back of the couch, tuning into the TV.

The same usual shite.

A knocking came to the door, and Nora sighed. "It's probably that salesman. He's been trying all morning, insisting he talks to you."

"Oh, great." Nate rolled his eyes and lurched out of the sofa.

An all-smiles fella in a trenchcoat greeted him when he opened the door, stepping forward. "Good morning! Vault-Tec calling!"

"Sup, chief," he deadpanned, leaning against the doorframe.

"You can't begin to know how happy I am to finally speak with you. I've been trying for days. It's a matter of utmost urgency, I assure you," the rep explained.

Nate frowned—something about the guy's tone made him nervous.

"Alright, son, I'm here now."

"So you are, so you are,' the rep chuckled. "I'm here today to tell you that because of your family's service to our country, you have been pre-selected for entrance into the local Vault. Vault 111. I just need to verify some information. That's all! Don't want there to be any hold ups, in the unforeseen event of *ahem*...total atomic annihilation."

"But there's room for my entire family, right?"

"Of course. Of course! Minus your robot, naturally."

"Oi, Codsworth is family!" El retorted, appearing at his side, her eyes narrowed. "He's a wee gem! We can't just leave him!"

Nate's hand fell upon his sister's shoulder, squeezing it. "General Atomics promised Codsworth could survive anything, even a nuclear blast," he reminded her, her sentiment mirrored in his heart. "Go. I've got it from here."

El nodded, a defiant glint remaining in her eyes, but she stepped aside.

Nate glanced at the rep, his unease growing."All right, let's have it."

"Splendid, splendid. Let's get to it. Just need you to fill out this paperwork, and we're all done. Won't take but a moment."

The rep pulled a clipboard out of his briefcase and held it out towards him.

Nate frowned, his jaw tense, glancing down at the stack of papers. He took the clipboard and scanned the pages, his frown deepening.

"What makes me 'S.P.E.C.I.A.L?' That's a bit on the nose, is it no? And this whole damn thing seems a wee bit excessive, no offense, son."

"None taken! It's simply a matter of determining what roles you may be able to undertake in a new life underground!"

"Well, lucky for us, we have a certified vault technician in our fold. My sister just finished her Masters at C.I.T. Did a whole project around Vault safety and maintenance," Nate couldn't help the proud smile creeping into his cheeks.

"Masters? At C.I.T?" the rep's eyebrows shot up. "My, my, that's impressive."

"Aye, she got the brains of the family. I clearly got the looks," Nate joked, handing the clipboard back to the rep. "Think that's everything, chief."

"Wonderful! That's..." he skimmed over the documents, smiling. "Yes, indeed, that is everything... just gonna walk this over to the Vault! Congratulations on being prepared for the future!"

"Aye, thanks..." Nate forced a smile, his jaw still tense. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I have a wee one who needs a bit of a feed."

"Of course, have a great day, sir, ma'am!" The Vault-Tec rep tipped his hat and strolled off, the tension in the man's shoulders not lost on him.

He watched the rep go, his instincts prickling as he stepped back inside."Something aboot that didn't sit right, did it, El?"

"I didn't like it, Nattie. You don't think he's doing this because—"

"Elspeth, don't get him started," Nora interrupted, her voice strained. "It's just a precaution, that's all."

Nate swallowed his throat tight. "Maybe ye're right, doll, but just in case, we should double-check the go bags."

Shaun's wails rang through the house. Cutting through his words, Codsworth followed.

"Master Nate. Shaun has been changed, but he absolutely refuses to calm down. I think he needs some of that "paternal affection" you seem to be so good at."

"I've got 'im." Nate smiled and strode down the hall, his unease lingering. Nora's footfalls followed.

"Right, ye wee gremlin," Nate teased, sweeping a finger over Shaun's cheek. Shaun's cries grew fainter, his teary gaze fixed on Nate.

"Spin the mobile a bit. He loves that," Nora cooed, stepping up beside him.

Nate gave the mobile a gentle spin. Shaun's gaze drifted to the spinning rockets, green eyes wide, and his cries now soft whimpers. Nora brushed Nate's arm with her hand.

"Maybe we should go out later, a walk in the park?"

"And miss the World Series on TV? Not going to happen." Nate smirked. "But tomorrow, I'm all yours! I promise."

"I'll hold you to—"

"Sir? Mum? You should come and see this!" Codsworth's urgent voice drifted over them.

Nate frowned, exchanging a glance with Nora. "Codsworth?"

"I've got Shaun," Nora assured him, scooping the baby up.

Nate hurried out of the nursery, a knot forming in his gut, his blood rushing. "Codsworth? What is it, son?"

"Sir... the news..."

El was perched on the couch, her knuckles white around her backpack, its contents organized on the coffee table. "They actually did it."

"Did what, lass?" Nate frowned, sitting beside her.

“—followed by... yes, followed by flashes. Blinding flashes. Sounds of explosions..." the news anchor caught his attention. "We're... we're trying to get confirmation…But we seem to have lost contact with our affiliate stations."

"What? What is he saying?" Nora's voice drifted over them. "…Oh no.”

“...We do have... coming in... confirmed reports. I repeat, confirmed reports of nuclear detonations in New York and Pennsylvania…My God.”

The screen crackled, and the signal was lost. Nate's gaze fixed on the 'Please Stand By' screen. His mouth ran dry, a cold sweat prickling across his forehead.

"We have to get to the Vault. Now! Get all that back in the bag. I'll grab the rest." Nate blurted, his heart pounding against his ribs.

"Nattie...I'm scared."

"We're goin' tae be fine, El. We've prepared for this...You two wait for me outside!" Nate instructed, racing into their bedroom.

He yanked open the closet, his hands trembling, hauling out his and Nora's packs, followed by Shaun's. He slung them over his shoulder and hurried through the house for the front door—stopping on the threshold, glancing over his shoulder at Codsworth.

The Mr. Handy's eye stalks flitted over him, and he glided forward. "Goodbye, sir. May I say what an honor it has been to serve you and your family!"

"Ye've done us proud, son...maybe we could—"

"Now, don't you worry about me, sir! You have your family to think about. Go on."

Nate nodded, a lump forming in his throat. "Thank you, Codsworth..."

"He'll be alright, won't he?" El's voice pulled his attention.

He stepped onto the sidewalk and grabbed his sister's hand. "He'll be fine. Now c'mon, we gotta move!"

They raced down the road, Nora ahead of him, Shaun cradled against her chest. Nate swallowed hard, his hand tightening around El's. His mind raced. Vault-Tec. The rep—he knew something was up. That bastard knew this was coming!

"Nattie?" El tugged his arm, slowing.

"We're almost there, lass. Keep moving! Come on, we're nearly there—"

"We're on the list!" Nora's frantic voice greeted them, and Nate frowned as that Vault-Tec rep darted by them.

A soldier blocked their way, checking over a clipboard."Infant... Adult male... Two adult females... OK, go ahead."

Nate's heart pounded. It was real. This was really happening. They climbed the hill and clambered onto the platform, his arms circling Nora and El.

"Almost there, we're gonna be alright. I love you, all of you." Nate murmured, his pulse throbbing in his ears.

"We love you too," Nora whispered, her gaze locked on his.

The sky lit up with blinding white light, and the ground shook beneath their feet. A deafening roar filled the air. Nate's eyes widened as a mushroom cloud grew colossal in the sky. The blast waves thunder towards them, and El buried her face against his chest. He closed his eyes, bracing for impact.

"Send it down now!" a desperate voice shouted.

An orchestra of "Oh gods" and terrorized screams flooded his ears. The platform shuddered beneath them. His arms held tighter.

The blast crossed over them. The screams echoed, his breaths shortening, the pressure around his ribcage suffocating.

He held Nora, his lips pressed to her head, praying she couldn't hear his racing heartbeat.

The light faded, and the shockwave died, his ears still ringing.

The platform shuddered to a halt.

His eyes met Nora's, tears streaming down her face.

They had made it.

"Everyone, please step off the elevator and proceed up the stairs in an orderly fashion," the Vault-Tec security guard that greeted them instructed.

El clung to him as Nate made a move to follow the others, her breaths ragged and short. He glanced at Nora, Shaun sleeping soundly in her arms.

"She'll be okay. We're right behind ye," Nate murmured. "We just need a minute."

Nora nodded, her hand resting on his shoulder. "We won't be far. I'll go find out what's what."

"Be right with ye," Nate murmured, kneeling to meet El's gaze. "Hey, hey, look at me, lass. Look at me. Deep breaths. In and out. Like we practiced."

El's eyes flicked up to his, wide and fearful. She bit her lip, nodding. Her next shaky intake of breath was longer.

"Good, lass. Again. In and out."

She followed his lead, and soon enough, El's breaths steadied as her panic subsided, her grip on his loosening.

"You're a natural," Nate grinned, easing himself up.

El didn't respond and instead stood closer. His arm circled her, guiding them toward the vast cog-shaped doorway that loomed above them. Nate's heart beat faster. This was home now, for better or worse.

"It's impressive, eh? No wonder ye wouldny pipe doon about these Vaults!" Nate quipped.

El glanced at him, a faint smirk pulling in her cheeks. Nate squeezed her shoulder, their footsteps ringing as they climbed the metal stairs.

His eyes found Nora as they crossed the metal walkway. An orderly queue had formed behind her as she was collecting something up ahead.

Nora handed him a sealed bag and another for El. He eyed it, noting the '111' matching the jumpsuits some staff were wearing.

"What, do they no' come in a braw purple or maybe fluorescent green?"

El snorted at that, a wry smile curling her lips, and Nate's heart lifted a little. She was okay.

"Just follow the doctor here. He'll show you where to go," one of the scientists instructed.

"Lead the way, doc."

As Nora chatted with the doctor, El pulled away, her steps a little firmer, her gaze still far away.

Nate was drawn to the sudden bite in the air, a shiver running through him as he followed. People chatted, residents to Vault staff. Everyone seemed as edgy as he felt. They were led to a larger room filled with 'decontamination pods,' he was told as he was led towards one.

His attention pulled back to El, her belongings dropping to her feet. She stepped in front of them as one of the staff members attempted to collect them.

"I'm sorry, miss, but you cannot take your—"

Without a word, El unveiled a lanyard from around her neck and fixed them with a stern eye.

"You're a Vault-Tec intern? Very well, but be assured, vault-tec will not be held accountable if anything were to be damaged or stolen."

El nodded, her jaw set, and Nate couldn't help a smirk. Stubborn wee devil. Nate stripped to his boxers and tugged on his Vault suit, his skin prickling.

"Could ye's no have turned on the heatin'? It's colder than a polar bear's arse in here!" Nate grumbled.

El was already suited in her's when he looked up again, leaning against her pod, shoulders slumped, a blank expression set over her feature—still not back to herself yet.

"Can you hold him?" Nora asked, pulling his thoughts. Shaun curled up against her chest.

"Of course, love," Nate scooped him up, letting Nora get herself situated. He walked over to El, her fingers brushing Shaun's cheek, a weak smile curling her lips.

"Ye gonna be alright in there? I know how you get in tight spaces."

She held up her backpack, patting it fondly. Of course, she was always packed for every occasion.

"Right then, guess we'll see ye soon," Nate tried, giving her a reassuring smile.

"Okay, I can take him," Nora's hand rested on his arm, and Nate reluctantly handed Shaun over and planted a kiss against her cheek.

Nate climbed into his pod, and with a hiss, the lid descended, his breath misting the glass. His eyes locked onto Nora's, her gaze locked on him as her own pod closed, and she bounced Shaun in her arms.

"Just try to relax," the doctor reassured.

Nate nodded, pressing his hand against the glass. "Time for a whole new life."

"Resident secure. Occupant vitals: Normal," a robotic voice filled his ears.

A rush of cold flooded his pod. Nate's pulse spiked, his next breath shuddering.

"Procedure complete. In 5... 4..."

With every beat of the countdown, his vision whitened. Frost intertwined his eyelashes with every blink—everything faded.

Nate blinks away the frost that clings to his eyelashes, stretching his jaw to loosen the remainder of his beard and whiskers. It was a cold that hung as heavy as iron chains. Every breath stung his chest like swallowing broken glass as violent coughs wreck through him.

"...Critical failure in Cryogenic Array. All vault residents must vacate immediately," The computerized voice echoed through the intercom, and a hiss filled his ears.

As the pod door lifts away, Nate's still-thawing limbs do nothing to prevent him from stumbling forward. His knees crack against the slick steel floor, a haze of mist following him. He didn't dare look up, unwilling to face the truth that the nightmare was real. But there was no escaping the memories that assaulted every fiber of his being: Nora's please, Shaun's cries as they tear him from his mother's embrace. Nate's own screams—lost in the deafening Gunshot that silenced Nora and continued to echo as Shaun's heartbreaking wails faded away—the face that mets him and the words that followed:

At least we still have the backup.

"That scar-faced bastard! Why did he have tae—"

"...Critical failure in Cryogenic Array. All vault residents must vacate immediately,"

"Oh, shut up!" Nate yelled as he snapped his head back. "Can ye no see I'm havin' a moment, ye pushy cow!"

Blissful silence filled the chamber once more, and Nate breathed a sigh of relief. As if another entity had taken control of his body, he stood to his full height and ambled forward. His steps were clumsy, and fog engulfed the room as he moved toward Nora's pod. The faint glint of gold caught his eye. Her wedding band shined through the condensation. His fingers trailed over the icy glass.

Nora, his best friend, the woman he pledged his entire life to. Her rosy cheeks were now dusted blue, fear still painted in her expression. Her arms were so painfully absent—Shaun. He's just a baby, and they tore him out of her arms. Nate's knees buckled some, jolting him forward, and he braced himself, breaths coming out in rasps, his lungs constricting, the very walls closing in. His eyes opened over his wedding ring, a matching piece—he'd be dammed if he was leaving her's behind.

"C'mon! C'mon! There has tae be a release!" Nate barked, desperation bleeding into his brogue as he stepped back to take in the pod, reaching for the lever at its side.

His breath held as Nora's pod opened to him. Slowly, reverently, he slipped the ring off her finger, ignoring the spiderwebbing of frosted blood that now decorated her jumpsuit. Together, he joins their bands onto the chain around his neck, keeping them safe with his dog tags, holding them tight in his grasp. The mere sentiment of having them together offers a measure of comfort.

"I'll find who did this, and I'll get Shaun back. I promise."

With a brush of his lips against the cool metal, Nate tucks the chain securely behind his vault suit, and the fog clouding his mind subsides some. All he had to do was get El and get the hell out of this godforsaken ice box.

Shaky hands grip the lever release to El's cryopod, and he is met with an immediate sharp, jolting buzz that has him staggering back.

"Malfunction in Cryo Pod manual release override." A robotic female voice announces over the intercom.

"No-no-no! C'mon! I need tae open this damn thing!" Nate pulls the handle harder. Again, the error noise frays his nerves, not releasing. "Come on!" He presses a palm to the frost-covered glass, feeling the cold sting on his hand. "El!" Tears stream down his cheeks, warm against the cold fog surrounding him. "No. This can't-" His forehead rests against the pod. He closes his eyes tightly and sobs. “Ye cannae do this! I just need tae get El!"

His mind falls back to the terminal those scientist-looking folks were working on when they were after Shaun, how they opened Nora's pod. Nate spins on his heels and sprints forward, almost pummeling into the console as he slides to a halt. Fingers still stiff from his suspended animation, rattle the keys. Nate squints at the screen with a shaky breath, jumping through the entries as quickly as his frozen digits allow.

******** Welcome to ROBCO Industries (TM) Termlink ********

Thank you for choosing Vault-Tec!

>Cryogenic Array: Offline. Premature termination resulting in system failure. Isolated manual and remote overrides detected. Controls disabled.

>Life Support: Offline. Premature termination resulting in system failure. Isolated manual and remote overrides detected. Controls disabled.

Pod Occupant Status

POD C1: Miss Watt

>Occupant status: Deceased. Cause of Death: Asphyxiation due to Life Support failure.

********************************************************************

It takes several moments for him to comprehend the words laid bare.

Every occupant record painted the same picture: Cause of Death: Asphyxiation.

Nate collapses, his knees slamming on the steel, fingers clawing at the frost-covered ground, and a scream rips through him, a blood-curdling wail that echoes out in the empty chamber. Every cell in his body is alight, a sickening, bitter cold fire. His shoulders shake violently, and he balls his fists, pounding them to the floor until his knuckles are raw. He barely feels the biting pain as the fight seeps away, leaving him drained, tears frozen on his cheeks.

Nate doesn't move for a long moment—left alone with his thoughts and the steady Drip. Drip. Drip. of frost melting. His little sister is dead. They're both gone. It would be easy to submit to his grief, crumple over, and lose himself in the pain—but they have his son. He has to find Shaun, even if all he has left is a warped image of a man who ruined his world. A scar-faced bastard whom Nate committed to memory. His fingers curl around the chain of his dog tags, fidgeting the wedding bands between bloodied knuckles, the cold metal grounding him, and as Nate grits his teeth, steeling his heart, and sets his jaw, he stands.

A silent vow plays on his lips: For Shaun. For Nora. And for El. He would rain fire upon whoever took them from him, even if it meant tearing whatever world awaited him apart, one bullet at a time.

He vows it as he looks upon El's face. Russet frost-bitten curls drape across her forehead. A picture so peaceful she may as well be sleeping.

He vows it as his lips graze Nora's cheek before resealing the pod, committing his love's image to memory.

He vows it as his fingers trace Shaun's name, etched in ink within the tan line of his wedding band.

As the Sole Survivor of Vault 111, he has nothing left to lose and everything to fight for.

War Never Changes, and Nate was ready to wage it.

[v0guereality]

houses and homes

My body is a house. Right now, it's sitting in a nice middle-class suburbia. It’s had its harder times; an empty, unkempt den that echoed loneliness in its empty halls. At its best; a Hollywood Hills mansion with an overflowing garden of flowers that rivals that of a movie.

Right now, it's just suburbia. Nothing too crazy. The bare minimum of a home that feels welcoming, where there are earmarks of personalization by someone who is slowly discovering what makes this little life worth it. It’s not the envy of the street by any means, but it has a quaint charm that draws the right people in. 

My body is a house, and every day I am trying to make it a home.

Everyday I tend to the garden beds.

Once completely rotted, I slowly am bringing them back to life, bringing back life and color to the surroundings I had gotten used to ignoring.

The halls are more welcoming now. 

Slithers of light are coming through the once covered windows, because once I let myself open the blinds I realized how beautiful letting in the warmth of the sun could feel. I think I craved the glimmer of hope and radiance on my skin more than the comfort of sitting in the familiar dark.

Even the decor feels like me. 

This house used to feel like storage space. As long as everything had a space within the walls, it didn’t really matter how any of it made me feel. Contained, concealed, safely tucked away. 

This part has always taken the longest. 

Throwing away the parts that don’t spark joy anymore. Parts of me feel tugs of guilt for separating with such nostalgic memories. They’ve been here for so long, why would I part ways with them now?

But slowly slowly, and bit by bit, I’ve been making the space for me to fill with what I please, and what pleases me.

I’ve been throwing out a lot. And sometimes it feels like the silence of the empty halls I once knew. But I'm trying to remember that empty halls don’t have to be lonely- sometimes they’re just places I can cartwheel and roll around and do anything my heart desires to do until I’m ready to fill the space. 

Do you know how lucky it is to have a tummy that aches from endless giggles? I’m lucky that I do. Sometimes, I'm tending to the house and I hear the familiar echoes of loneliness bouncing around the halls. Luckily, nowadays the echoes are broken with the cascading laughter and familiar voices of those who come visit the space with me. 

Loneliness doesn’t settle the same way because I am loved and embraced. Sometimes I sit in those slightly emptier rooms with people who come bearing gifts and laughter and love and stories, all of which will slowly start filling the gaps on the walls and the spaces in the rooms.

I am lucky to be loved. I am lucky to know the feeling of laughing so hard that my stomach aches with reminders of how silly and precious my little life can be. I am lucky to have a home, and I am lucky that it is something I wish to tend to. 

One day I might have that stellar mansion. I might have all the elements ever dreamed of for a perfect house. 

For now, I am so proud of my suburban home and all of its little furnishings. I’m proud of my determination to tend to it. And most of all, I’m proud of creating a doorway that people want to walk through; a quaint little space on the block that I feel safe in, and that my loved ones can too call home. 

[miachinartem]

Verse: “I’m just the way I’m supposed to be”

"I take a walk down the night street alone. Where my own long shadow trembles ahead, falling on wet, slippery asphalt. I came up with this idea under the drops of drizzling fine rain, under the dim white light of lantern.

The light comes on somewhere in the window of the suburban house. The light is yellow, burning in the pitch darkness of a long night street. For a moment, some thoughts of death and loneliness are appearing. I feel this stranger's energy flowing through my body, reaching my brain, shaking my bones, and turning into a thought. There is the thought flashes before my eyes in colors just for a moment. It seems to be drawn on the wet asphalt, being in the reflection of the gray puddle in front of me. There are the wet clothes glisten here and the shadow of my face distorted by the rain trembles. Although, I have a goal that justifies me. I remember that.

I see myself as if from the outside, being in a four-dimensional space-time. And I feel myself, like I'm on a street full of bright tabloid lights. Sometimes I even feel myself like a participant in an experiment, like in that terrible urban legend “Russian experiment with a sleep”, where you need to endure thirty days without sleep in order to become free.

Yes, I'm almost free. I'm exactly who is needed for me.

I open my red eyes, finding myself in the bed. I remember my childhood so often. For some reason, I often think about Mars, looking into the emptiness of my smartphone with my reflection in it. Where I am? Where is that roaring night express which shook my windows?

Often, when they ask me two or even three questions at the same time, I can poke my finger into the sky to get to the point. They, - those who persecute me - gave me the insulting nickname "Celine Dion". I'm closing my eyes, hearing the distant rumble of a bus speeding through a night echoing in my head. An estrogen hits in my ears, hitting my ears, drop by drop. My body is trembling menacingly. I remember again that they called me "Celine Dion". And it's not easy. My eyes are already dry with the tears, becoming dry as the sand Atakami.

I see myself as a hostage in this life. A hostage can often be killed or mentally depressed, or have Stockholm Syndrome. Simply put, a hostage can be a coward. Perhaps this is the sixth sense. My inner voice suggesting a solution. But I have no purpose in life. This whole life is someone else's performance. This is not my life.

God said: “Everything was created for man, but not everything is useful. What is the use of a man if he gains the whole world and harms his own soul. Or how to redeem it. God also said: "You are gods." So, if I am a god, then time has no power over me. Where there is no time, there is no space to limit me. What is a space? The matter is a reflection of light that returns to my own eyes. It turns out that if I do not reflect light, I can pass through an object. It's about the meaning of life. “I don’t understand anything without discipline. I'm a swindler, not a socialist, ha ha!".

As the great Russian classic Dostoevsky said: “The Russian god has already given up before the “cheap”. Nowadays, after all, everyone has a not own mind. There is still, there is! You could be suffering, and suffering sincerely, from that innocence. I love beauty. I am a nihilist, but I love beauty. Don't nihilists love beauty? They just don't like idols, well, but I love an idol! You are my idol! You don't offend anyone and everyone hates you; you look equal to everyone, and everyone is afraid of you, that's good. No one will come up to you to pat you on the shoulder. You are a terrible aristocrat. An aristocrat, when he goes to democracy, is charming! It means nothing to you to sacrifice your life and your own and someone else's. You are exactly who needs. I, I just need someone like you. I don't know anyone but you. You are the leader, you are the sun, and I am your worm... You are a handsome man, proud as a god, not looking for anything for himself, with a halo of sacrifice, "hiding". Most importantly, the legend! You will defeat them, look and win. The new truth carries and "hides". And here we will let out two or three Solomon sentences. Maybe I'm in a delusional, maybe I'm in a delusional! But I came up with the first step. But one, only one person in Russia invented the first step and knows how to take it. This person is me. What are you looking at me? I need you, I need you, without you I am nothing. Without you, I'm a fly, an idea in a bottle, Columbus without America. Are you afraid? The reason why I grabbed hold of you is that you are not afraid of anything. It's unreasonable, isn't it? Why, I am still Columbus without America; Is Columbus without America reasonable?"

by Artem Miachin

8 April 2023

[woodsteingirl]

A case in suburbia, domestic dynamics, and a forever home. What could go wrong?

the moment i’ve been waiting for! chapter one is up now! read here or under the cut.

Cas and Dean were searching for a forever house. They had been pretty much since Cas got back from the empty. They were ready to distance themselves from hunting. Dean had always wanted a sort of suburban, white picket fence life, even if he didn’t admit it to anyone. And since he already admitted how he truly felt to Cas, why not throw his need for a domestic lifestyle into the mix. Cas was all for it. Ever since Jack had given up most of his powers to Amara, thus causing her to take his place as God and him almost human, Cas had been hoping for a place to raise him like a normal child. The bunker was great for hunting and a place for Cas, Dean, and Sam, but not so much for raising a 5-year-old kid.

House hunting had been a burden to bear, but they were making out alright. Up till this, they’d looked at about 3 other houses. They were all a no for different reasons. The first one Cas decided was in a school district that wouldn’t be good for Jack, the second didn’t have a big enough garage or backyard, and the third didn’t have enough bedrooms for all of their family to stay. With the whole credit card scam they’d been running for as long as they remember, budget wasn’t really a problem, but they didn’t want something extravagant.

There it was, 538 Chapel Street in Pine River Crossings. It wasn’t too far out of Lawrence, only a few hours' drive, and all the houses looked nice. Very cookie cutter, but that was sort of the appeal. They couldn’t guarantee that they would fit in with the traditional, upper middle-class people, but what the hell, if they could kill god they could take suburbia.

A few days passed, and they were set up to look at the home. They drove the hour and a half to the next medium-sized town with the belief in their minds that this was the one. It had all they needed, a two-car garage, a respectable school district, and two guest bedrooms. They were so caught up in this concept they made the mistake of not checking the news for the nearby areas. Once they arrived, a realtor who showed them around the dwelling greeted them. It was all they could ask for and more practically too good to be true, especially for people like them. The actual presentation of the house went over without too many problems. The person exhibiting the residence commented on how it had been on display for almost a month now, which was the first red flag. A house as nice as this, in a densely populated area, would usually not be on the market for that long in weeks unless there was some hidden con.

They signed on it not a day after seeing the house in person. It was all set up and they could officially start moving stuff in the next week. They officially shared the good news with everyone the day after they signed. Sam was beyond happy for them. Not only would he finally have a space to himself, he was proud of his brother for living the life he’d always wanted. Jack was thrilled that he would get to go to actual school and have friends that were his age and not cosmic entities. In the meantime, Cas did more research into the neighborhood. There was their hidden con. The newspaper Cas had pulled up on his phone said, “Local Couple Murdered in Own Home.”

“Dean, look at this.”

Okay, that was a setback. A murderer on the loose in the neighborhood they were moving into was not exactly what he had planned, but he had delt with worse. “Alright, that could be a problem.”

“I think it’s a little bigger than a problem,” Cas retorted.

“Is it our type of thing or just something local law enforcement could deal with?”

Cas read on in the article, “the couple was stabbed, there was no sign of forced entry, neighbors reported nothing amiss besides lights flickering before the murder. The weapon, as well as the perpetrator, was never found. No official suspects have been labeled, everyone has seemed to have an alibi.”

“It definitely sounds like our thing. Lights flickering, no breaking and entering, and all.”

They decided they could pose as residents, as it seemed perfectly normal for the newcomers to be concerned about the literal murderer on the loose. Since Cas was newly human, and Jack was, well, 5, Dean thought they might need outside help. Being out of practice to spend more time with your husband and child really had its fallbacks. Sam was off the table as backup. He was out of town and Dean didn't want to interrupt his first weekend without him in god knows how long. Plus, they needed someone who wouldn't draw too much attention to their family dynamic.

“Hey, Cas, what do you think about calling in Claire to help us with this one? You think she’d do it?”

“Calling her in for help is a good idea, whether or not shed actually do it is another question.”

“I’ll call and ask, and if she wants to help, and if not then I can think of something else.”

He kept his promise and called Claire not an hour later. He decided it might be best not to tell her it was undercover work, or that it was taking place in a white picket fence neighborhood, as that might turn her off from it almost immediately.

“Hey Claire, its been too long since we’ve talked,” he started.

“Hi Dean. what do you want, there’s no way you’re just calling to catch up if you’re starting with ‘its been too long.’”

“You got me there. I was just wondering if you wanted to come with me and Cas on a hunt. Its not too far from the bunker and we’d have you back home in a week.”

“Sure, that works. When do we start?” She hadnt seen Dean and Cas since they rescued Cas. That was over a month ago, she’d been meaning to visit, but she’d been so busy with hunting, and getting to know Kaia again now that she was finally back. This seemed like a perfect opportunity to reconnect and not miss out on anything too big back at home.

“If you could come down here by Wednesday, that’d be great.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” She was tempted to sign off with an ‘I love you’ but she was never a lovey-dovey person in that way.

On tuesday she promised Jody she’d be extra careful and would be back in under a week. Kaia told her to make sure to call every day and update her on what was happening. Claire agreed, promising to keep in touch. She spent the rest of the day driving down to Kansas.

Back on Dean and Cas’s end, they were trying to get the house set up for 4 people when they had no furniture prior to this. Cas had always loved furniture shopping even before he had a use for it. When he worked at the Gas-and-Sip, he would browse the home improvement magazines in his spare time. Dean was pretty much the opposite. He had never had reason to care for it, so he didn't. Maybe his hatred for Swedish furniture was rooted in his deep-seated commitment issues. It didn't matter much why he hated it, he just left most of the choices up to Cas. there was then the issue of appliances and such you couldn't find in a furniture store. That was left up to him. Cas sent him out to Walmart to get things for the kitchen. That was something he could do. He picked out a mixer, some silverware, and a pioneer woman kitchenware set. It came with pots and pans, mixing bowls, and a few normal sized plates. That was enough for him to consider it an absolute steal. He brought his finds home to the bunker, setting them on the table designated for things that were to go in the new house. Jack was sitting on Cas’s lap, pointing at things on the computer.

“What’re you guys finding?” Dean asked, hovering behind Cas’s shoulder.

“Djungelskog!” Jack exclaimed, showing Dean a photo of a large stuffed brown bear.

“I thought you were looking for furniture?” Dean directed the question more at Cas, but he was still looking at Jack.

“We are. Jack just got us a bit sidetracked. We found the majority of what we need. Among other things not of as grave importance.”

Dean looked over the shopping cart and then gave the go ahead. Not before adding the stuffed bear to the cart, though.

The next day Claire arrived. Everyone was thrilled to see her. Jack ran up and threw himself around one of her legs and Cas gave her an awkward dad side hug. Dean wondered when he would tell her what the hunt would actually consist of, but he didn't want to interrupt the moment.

A few hours later, Dean fixed everyone a real dinner and had them sit down at the kitchen table. The realization dawned on him that this was going to be his last sit down meal officially living in the bunker. Everyone sort of just sat in silence for a beat. Perhaps reflecting on their own lasts of officially living there. “Claire, I sorta forgot to add this when I called you, but the case is a lot of undercover work. Also its in a suburban area.”

“And why didn't you tell me this sooner?”

“Well to speak freely, I wanted you on this case and I was worried it would make you not want to come.”

“It almost does, but i'm already here now, and i wouldn't want to waste a days driving on something i'm not actually going to do.” She guessed this would probably take longer than a week. “And i'm guessing this isn't just something you decided to do out of the goodness of your hearts?”

“We bought a house in the area, and we just wanted to make sure it was safe,” Cas explained.

“Hang on, you bought a house for real and you didnt even think to tell me? You didn't think that that was valuable information?”

“It didn't come up in our phone call,” Dean said.

“And? That’s no excuse to leave your daughter out of major life events!” The ‘daughter’ part just sort of came out without her noticing, but seconds after she said it she regretted it. God, how embarrassing.

“You’re right. We should’ve told you sooner. It was kind of a recent decision, though, so you haven’t been out of the loop for too long,” Cas said.

The next day was moving day. Dean loaded the appliances into the back of Claire’s car, since the back of the Impala was already full. Claire took her own car, while Dean, Cas, and Jack rode in Baby. Their real furniture was being delivered as they spoke. Cas offered to ride with Claire, but she assured him she’d be fine by herself. The drive wasn’t even that long, especially compared to the distance she drove yesterday.

Dean was silently nervous. He wouldn’t admit it out loud but it was written all over his face. His first real stable house, with the man he loved, and his two kids, he could only hope that he didn’t mess it up. Cas put a hand on his shoulder showing he saw how Dean was feeling.

They turned onto Chapel Street and pulled up into the driveway of the house. It somehow looked bigger and more daunting than it had during the walkthrough. Claire arrived almost ten minutes later. Everyone just sort of paused in front of the house for a minute, reveling in the stability most of them had never had.

[recklessrex]

The prompt: 14 using Scar and Persi (it doesn't need to be canonically with ur fic, to avoid spoilers, I'm just curious to see them on different situations :]

“Can you explain why my phone is up there?”

The first thing Persimmian was aware of was that the sky was a rather pleasant shade of bright blue. A couple of puffy clouds here and there. Very pretty.

The second thing she was aware of was the warm, familiar weight at her side, tucked under her right arm. A quick instinctual mental assessment (thin, tall, scruffy fur, on the right he's always on the right) instantaneously identified it as her best friend Scaramouche.

The third thing she was aware of was that her left side was cold. No warm, familiar weight.

"Scar…"

The warm, familiar weight on her right shifted and settled. She wiggled her shoulder to nudge him awake.

"Scar."

"Hh?"

"Where's Crash?"

That got Scar's attention. He lifted his head. Seeing no silver spotted tom on his friend's other side, he propped himself up to look around.

"I gotta bettah question for ya," he said.

"Hnh?" grunted Persi, still staring at the pretty sky.

"Where da fuck are we?"

Persi peeled her eyes away from the pleasant blue sky and puffy clouds to take a look around. They were laying in some sort of small field behind what looked like a suburban neighborhood. Rows of rundown houses with small back gardens lined three sides of the field. The fourth side was bordered by a highway.

"Where the fuck are we?" she asked.

"S'what I'm askin' you" Scar answered, rising into a kneeling position.

"I know. I mean I don't know. Shit," Persi's mind raced. The sensation was almost comforting to her. It meant she was finally properly awake. Her thoughts were always going a mile a minute.

But none of her thoughts right now could tell her where they were or how they'd got there.

"What'd we do last night?" she wondered as she sat up.

"Well we still have all our clothes on, so we prolly di'n't fuck," said Scar, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to say. He was good at straight-faced teasing.

"Fuck off," Persi scolded softly, her mind elsewhere. She stood up and looked around some more. No sign of Crash. That's not good. Probably. She narrowed her eyes. Her ears went back. Her tail flicked back and forth, its long fur swaying.

Scar stood up next to her, eyeing his oldest friend. He knew what she looked like when she was thinking. It usually didn't take long. He looked around too, hoping to spot his other best friend laying in the grass some meters off, but no luck. Even with only one good eye he could tell they were alone in this field.

Persi could vaguely remember a party. She clung to that memory and worked to expand it. She's been there with Scar and Crash. Of course, that part was easy, they went everywhere together. The party had been mostly lame, but there had been booze. She remembered sitting on a sofa and laughing about something with the lads, beer in hand. She thinks it was beer. She didn't remember leaving.

"So what we doin', boss?" Scar's voice cut into her thoughts.

"We left the party without Crash, apparently," she said aloud, frowning. It didn't answer his question, but it was the thought she was having at that moment, and she knew what he really wanted was to hear her thoughts.

"Oh yeah, I remember, the party!" exclaimed Scar, snapping his fingers in triumph. Then he realized how the rest of that sentence went.

"Why da fuck would we do that?" he asked.

"I don't fuckin' know!" answered, frustrated and starting to worry. Scar was worried too, but Scar could shrug it off a lot easier. Sometimes it just pays to be calm about shit, even bad shit.

"Oi, Crash!" Persi called, hoping if he was in or near one of those houses he might hear her.

"Crashie!" echoed Scar "Where ya at?!" But they got no response.

"Maybe he like, was already passed out when we left or something," Scar thought aloud after a moment. It was the only thing he could think of that made sense.

"Ah yeah, maybe. I guess," agreed Persi. Then suddenly a thought came to her, one that should have come much sooner. Resisting the urge to smack herself in the face, she reached for her phone.

"Oi, where's my phone?!" she cried in alarm.

"I don't fuckin' know" shrugged Scar.

"You still got yours?"

He checked.

"Yeah."

"Call Crashie," ordered Persi.

Scar dialed Crash's number.

Ring

Ring

Ring

Oi, you've reached a badass. You know I'm badass cuz I'm Australian. Aw yeah! Leave a message!

That was a new one.

Scar hung up and opened the text messenger.

Crashie, dude, where you at?

He dialed again.

Ring

Ring

Ring

Oi, you've reached a badass. You know I'm ba-

Scar hung up. Shit.

"No luck?" Persi asked.

"Nothing," he said. "I texted him." Then he had a thought.

"Hang on I'ma try yours," he said.

They both listened close, but neither could hear Persi's ringtone within earshot.

After another attempt to call Crash, and a couple more unanswered texts, Persi decided they should head to one of the suburban streets bordering the field to get their bearings. As they walked, Scar kept trying Crash's and Persi's phones, and they both occasionally called out,

"Crash!"

"Yo Crashie!"

"Oi! Where are ya mate!"

No response.

It turned out they hadn't traveled far from the party. They didn't recognize the street they came to at the edge of the field, but a quick Google Maps of the street name put it just three blocks from the address of the party, which was still saved in Scar's phone.

They headed off in that direction, hoping to retrace their steps, and possibly even find Crash asleep on the sofa. When they reached the party, or rather where the party used to be, they let themselves in, and made a search of the premises. They properly started to panic when all they found was trash, empty booze containers, and drunk jerks passed out in various locations around the house, none of them an Aussie silver bengal named Crashendo.

The stench of drunk farts and stale booze was getting to Persi. Exiting the house to stand on the lawn she took a deep breath of semi-fresh air and tried to get a grip on her thoughts. She was out of ideas. They needed to find Crash. They needed some sort of plan. Dammit. She was a decision maker, a tactician. She thought on her feet. She didn't do plans. Crash is the planner, she thought forlornly.

Scar joined her on the lawn, phone in hand.

"Maybe we can at least find your phone," he said, his voice totally even, as if nothing was wrong. But his clenched jaw and anxious eyes told a different story. Persi was grateful for Scar's calm sensibility under pressure.

He may not be the most educated fella, but damn if he ain't the only one with a brain sometimes, she thought, allowing herself a small affectionate smirk at her friend before worry wiped it from her face again.

"I don't really give a fuck about that," she growled, "but go ahead." It was a lie. Worry was making her argumentative. She wasn't sure how finding her phone would help find Crashie, but Scar never had an idea that turned out to be useless. She trusted him.

He started to turn back into the house as he dialed, but something stopped him in his tracks.

Persi's ringtone.

From outside somewhere…

They both looked around them intently, ears twitching back and forth, trying to pinpoint the sound. It went to voicemail. Scar dialed again. It seemed to be coming from… above them?

They looked up. There, on the roof, tucked into a corner where the main roof met an alcove, laying next to two phones, asleep under the pretty blue sky and puffy clouds, was Crash.

"Oi!" called Persi, "Crash!"

"Crashie! Eyyy buddy!!"

"Crash! Wake up!"

"Ey!"

Persi picked up an empty beer can from the lawn and tossed it at her sleeping friend. He grunted and stirred, then sat up, looking thoroughly bewildered.

"Crashie!" shouted Persi.

"Persi!" echoed Crash, looking down to find where her voice was coming from, the confusion leaving his face instantly when he spotted his best friends.

"What's up?" he asked with a smile, and without a single trace of irony.

"You are, looks like," answered Scar, straight-faced.

Persi's worry had evaporated, to be replaced with intense irritation. How in the hell had he... No she didn't want to know. And how was Scar not even surprised?

She pinched the bridge of her snout where it met her eyes. If she was honest with herself, she shouldn't be surprised either. Why couldn't she have normal friends? She glared up at Crash.

"Can you explain why my phone is up there?” she inquired flatly.

"Boss, I can't explain why I'm up here," he answered as he collected both phones and stood up.

"Well den get da fuck down ya idiot!" laughed Scar.

"Get the fuck down 'ere!" growled Persi in agreement, her accent bleeding through in her frustration. "D'you have any idea wot we been through? Get your arse down 'ere!"

"Can't say that I do, boss," drawled Crash as he slid on his arse down to the edge of the roof, where he gracefully jumped off. And not-so-gracefully landed hard on his feet with a soft thud, forgetting to bend his knees to absorb the impact and nearly falling over.

"Ow," he muttered.

"Y'alright?" chorused Persi and Scar.

"Yea I'm good," said Crash, brushing imaginary dust from his wrinkled jumper. "So what've you two been up too?"

"Well first of all, we wake up in middle of a fuckin' field…"

Scar and Persi continued to fill Crash in on the morning's events as the three best friends started out for home. They quickly ran out of things to say as it turned out it hadn't been terribly eventful after all, just nerve-wracking, so they switched to other topics of conversation. On and on they walked, laughing and shoving each other and chatting about nothing in particular.

Persi put an arm around each of her friends, Scar on the right, Crash on the left, both warm, familiar weights against her sides. The sky was blue and pretty, and everything was right in the world.

[starbide]

Inspiration below. The following is a work of fiction.

 'Six years,' I thought to myself walking down the road. It had rained earlier that evening, but by now the clouds were long gone. The pavement shimmered in the waxing moonlight, still slick with the water of those vanished clouds. I would not slip; the road was mostly level as it lazily stretched down the gentle hill behind me, and the streetlamps cast in gold what the moon would otherwise leave dim. The world was silent.

'It's hard to believe I've been gone that long,' I continued, step by step. Six years since I'd moved away for my career. Six years since I'd left my family behind. 'Left her behind,' I smirked to myself, passing a large bush on my right. Houses stood dark and serene on either side, all daily activities complete and put to rest. No cars joined me on the waterlogged street, preferring the concrete comfort of their driveways and garages. I approached and passed under another hazy lamp.

It was cool out, a gentle breeze brushed past the wool of my jacket without raising a single goose bump. I paid it no mind; I was always a bit warmer blooded than others in my circle. My best friend for most of my school years couldn't understand my ability to wear shorts comfortably year-round. 'Those were the days,' I mused, thinking back to the last time we'd seen each other. It had to be more than a decade at this point, long before I'd moved north for work and expanded my wardrobe to include legwear longer than my knees.

I reached an intersection and paused. Four ways, no direction more enticing or foreboding than the next. A lamp at every corner, and the bus station deserted save by its sign across the diagonal. The station I'd waited at patiently every morning for that bright yellow school bus, before I'd ever met my old bestie. It was just me and one other kid, a rather scrawny looking boy who had been in most of my elementary grades but with whom I'd never really gotten on with. We'd shared classes, teachers, and the occasional pencil or marker, but never played together outside of academia. He'd moved away much longer than a decade ago. Now I was really delving into my memory, faded as it was with time.

I checked my phone: 11:57 PM in small white font. My first night back home, I should be exhausted. This wasn't my normal time zone and airplane seats aren't exactly memory foam, but I'd found a second wind after dinner and took to the night after my folks had gone to bed themselves. Sure, I'd been physically gone for six years, but we'd stayed in touch off and on since I'd left. Maybe five months back was our last video call. We'd talked about me taking this trip, now that things had settled down and my life was much more under control. Things had been wild for a while, and if all went according to plan at work things would become wild again not too far down the line. Which reminded me, I needed to make another appointment when I returned home. Couldn't go running out of my prescription again.

A brief twitch of motion caught my eye, and I peered down the leftward lane. One of the bulbs had burned out a few dozen meters down, and in this larger pool of darkness something had moved. At least I thought it had, but my eyes could be playing tricks on me with the shadows. One dark spot moving erratically through a larger, differently dark spot wasn't exactly proof of anything. But of course, my heartbeat quickened regardless. Base human instinct, I suppose. Spot a motion in the dark, prepare to act to either fight or flee.

That hallucination had triggered something else in me though. A memory, unconsciously bidden, rose up behind my eyes. That kid, the little one I'd shared a bus stop with for years, I did not recall being nice to often. Many times, I'd engaged in common teasing, and he always took it personally. A couple times he'd even cried, but I'd never gotten in much trouble for it. A different time I supposed. That sort of behavior wouldn't fly nowadays, and that's good. I felt a bit sick thinking back about it, as it was now clear I'd been a bit of a bully. What it hadn't been was a wake-up call for my parents, who didn't get me the help I had so desperately needed until much later in my teens. I was better now, better enough to see what I'd done back then was very wrong. I couldn't remember all of it, but that boy's tears had stuck with me. I wonder what happened to him?

Shaking my head to clear my thoughts and calm my pulse, I opted for the path in front. This route would wind close to the park, after a couple turns beyond my current field of vision. Crossing the street, I didn't even bother looking left or right, as the night was so quiet and empty, I could hear a car coming from miles away, if there were any to hear. A rock lay in the far side gutter; I kicked it just to give my ears some stimulation. It knocked against the cement curb and bounced across puddles thin as saran wrap to a rest. By then I'd already forgotten about it and left that intersection behind.

Another thought was creeping up from my subconscious, this one more distasteful than the last. I'd left a girl behind when I moved for work, and the breakup hadn't been pleasant. She'd been very upset, naturally, and felt betrayed I was abandoning her like that. Abandoning. It had been her word, not mine, but with the clarity of distance I could see she was right. It had been years since I'd considered how we ended, and I wasn't sure what spurred those thoughts just now, but after what I'd done to her, I could accept she was right.

Still though, rounding the first turn, my leaving her should have been a good thing. Now that the floodgates of memory were open, I may as well dive right in. She'd been so hurt by my sudden departure because I'd systematically isolated her from her friends and much of her family too. She'd grown more and more attached to me, and I'd encouraged that through some particularly devilish means. I didn't know about the term 'gaslighting' at the time, but that was a polite way of putting it. I'd been very proficient at psychological manipulation back then, and my desire for control over her life could have consumed us both. At the end, she'd only had limited contact with her sister, who had been rightly concerned about her but too terrified of me to do anything to stop me. Looking back, I can't blame her. I now believe it was good that I left when I did. I hope she realized the same, though I haven't heard from her since.

Now the road turned left, arcing gradually around a thicker cluster of trees. This walk was turning out to be less relaxing than I'd hoped. The smallest things seemed to be dredging up thoughts and old memories in me, and none of them were painting me in the best light. Being my thoughts, maybe that was the best light I could possibly be presented in. Maybe their memories of me, the version of me still living in their mind, was far worse than I could imagine on this unassuming suburban night. I'd read somewhere that we're all the hero of our own story, and of course the hero never thinks they're the villain. But I'm sure that's what I am in at least a few people's stories. I'm starting to feel like the villain in my own.

Opening up ahead of me is the park, and the wide-open fields I remember so well. This area is less well lit, with streetlamps only illuminating the edges of the grass and allowing the moon to bathe the world in dead white. In reality, this is only sunlight reflected, but from the moon it feels much less like the bright star that gives this planet life. Like Luna itself, it feels cold and impersonal, like it wouldn't actively try to end my life but also wouldn't even notice if I merely faded away into the ether. I'd had some trouble with those thoughts as well over the years, before I got help. And now, rushing back to me, I remember they were also why I lost my best friend.

He and I had been out for the evening, playing some game with a few other friends. The game had ended, and we were walking home together when a car had rushed past us. Neither he nor I were injured, but it had been close and the driver had continued on recklessly. After it rounded the corner, we'd both heard a large thumping sound, followed by the rapidly diminishing roar of its engine. After a quick glance between us we'd rushed around the corner ourselves to see a big yellow dog crumpled up in the drain. Not losing a moment we hurried up to it, but we needn't have rushed. It had most likely died on impact, before we even saw it.

My friend had knelt down next to it to try and save it, even though it was hopeless. He must have known, but it's only natural to want to help another life. At least, it is for me now, and it was for him then. I remember him crouched over the dog, tears in his eyes when he accepted what happened, and then he looked up at me. His tears ebbed and his face froze in fear at what he saw, but he couldn't say anything to me at the time. We walked home in uncomfortable silence after that, and said a short awkward goodbye. Truth be told, that's the last time we spoke to each other in person.

Thinking of the next part, I felt a chill run deep into my core. I remembered now what he told me, over text message later that night. He'd bent over the dog and been so distraught because he knew it. He'd checked the tag to be sure, but it was his neighbor's dog that he'd grown up playing with. I think he'd even muttered its name a couple times, but I'm not sure. But when he looked up at me, he said I had the biggest grin he'd ever seen. The look on my eyes was not maniacal, as some would think, but dead, not present. As if the dog dying had brought out a whole new face in me, as if the lights were on but nobody was home, and yet the lights still wanted to kill you. It had terrified him, and it was all he could do not to sprint from me that moment without looking back. I don't think he ever knew how right he'd been back then, something that took me years to realize and longer to overcome.

I quietly walked to the center of the field, as far from the streetlights as possible, and looked up. The moon provided none of the same dangers as the sun when staring straight at it, and I took a few moments to just gaze at it and let my thoughts sort themselves out. I'd been a monster in my childhood, a terror in my youth, before I found my doctor and we set out on a years-long journey to get me better. Any other time I'd have kept on that dangerous path, ruining some lives and possibly ending others. That had all changed, thanks to my incredible fortune and a lot of hard work, but with the clarity of hindsight I could see just how close to the precipice I'd come. How I'd always be there in the minds of childhood mates and adolescent connections. And this was just what I could remember now. There was no way for me to know how many other monstrous versions of me still lived in any number of former classmates.

In the corner of my eye, I saw another twitch in the shadows. Jerking my head down, I followed the motion to the foot of the trees, the darkest spot on the field. This time there was no mistake; there was definitely an object moving there, slowly but surely. My heartbeat shot up and my throat swelled as I bent my knees and got into a defensive posture. The object lumbered forward, moving without haste but with purpose. When it came into the light, I was surprised to see a little boy with a scratched-up shirt and messy brown hair. Standing up in confusion, I was certain I'd seen him somewhere before. Step by step, I focused on every detail I could make out in the gloom, before it hit me like the car that last night walking home.

That boy was dressed, to the letter, the exact same way I had on picture day in third grade. My hair had been an untamable brown mess, and even the cheap novelty watch was the same. I was more perplexed than anything now, as I couldn't understand for the life of me what a kid was doing in that field, at midnight, wearing clothes that weren't even made any more. That was until he spoke, and his voice froze my blood in its veins.

It was like whispers, floating around my head, and several voices all at once and all taking turns being the loudest. They were all his, but not really. His mouth had opened and his lips were framing the syllables, but it was my voice from so many years ago repeating every taunt, every tease, every foul nickname I'd ever given that scrawny boy who shared a bus stop with me. Who'd cried, not once or twice, but dozens of times. Who'd gone home often with scrapes and tears in his clothes personally inflicted by myself. I had terrorized him for years of his early life, and what I saw before me must be what I forever lived as in his memory.

But if that were true, then this kid in front of me couldn't be real. I had to be hallucinating again, I must have been more exhausted than I'd allowed myself to feel. He sure looked real, though, and his footsteps were matting the grass in a way I didn't trust my mind to make up. But the ghostly, strangled voices of my younger self crashing in waves into my ears gave the entire scene a surreal feeling, making the hair on the back of my neck stick up like electricity. I couldn't bring myself to step away, and I sure as hell wasn't going to walk forward to meet him. It. Whatever it was I was seeing, real or not.

Only a few meters away, he stopped moving. Swallowing bile, I could do little more than watch him as the voices continued to echo in my ears, unchanged by his distance all this time. Then I spotted another motion far off to my right, and then a third to my left. Glancing quickly between them, I determined that they were both noticeably older than the child before me, one by a few more years than the other. They too walked slowly towards me, bringing their own voices to the forefront. Despite the dozens of voices I now thought I was hearing, every word registered clearly in my mind. One was speaking about my old best friend and the dog, the other repeated every lie I ever told my ex-girlfriend before leaving. As if their mere presence in my eyes were not enough, hearing my old, hateful words repeated to me in my own voice almost made me vomit with fear and disgust.

They too, stopped approaching me at the same distance as the child. As they did, dozens more similar hallucinations emerged from the trees and surrounding neighborhood, all carrying their own chorus of hate and venom and bringing back new, abhorrent memories of my youth. Terrorizing a girl in my 4th grade class. Catching squirrels in my early teens and setting them on fire, then getting caught myself. Giving that kindergartner a major concussion on a dare, after my best friend had ceased speaking to me. Even one similar in age to myself now, though he brought words of loss and failure, and of betrayal to my parents. That must have been right before my breakthrough, with the doctor and an early test version of my current prescription. I was better now. I had to be. But why was I seeing all of this, all of these versions of me locked in the minds of everyone who I'd left behind in my life? My trail of destruction?

They had all stopped walking now, forming a tight semicircle around me. The voices still buzzed in my ears, but slowly they faded to an indistinguishable babble. I tried to speak, but my throat had caught a bubble, so I gulped fruitlessly and closed my mount again. The thoughts racing through my mind had no similar handicap, as my mind shouted repeatedly the same things. Who are you all? Why is this happening? What are you doing to me?

The version of me who gaslit my girl took a couple steps forward, as if presenting himself as the leader. I had no time to process what this might mean before he spoke, in a much clearer form than any of these hallucinations had yet. "We are you. We are you that you left behind, trapped in the minds of those you hurt, frozen in time from the moment you left us years or decades ago. We have had no life to live, no chance to grow and thrive, no possibility to leave the prisons of mind which you left us in, being tortured again and again by those you tortured without remorse and without recompense. We cannot sit by from behind our bars as you continue to enjoy the life you stole from us all."

"I didn't know I was doing this!" I cried, finally able to break the blockade in my throat. "I was a monster, I know that well now, and I've spent years trying to recover from the damage I've done!" I felt foolish, yelling out into the night at visions only visible to myself. 'All this work, all this progress,' I cried to myself. 'This will set me back months if not more, and I can only hope my medication doesn't fail like I have.'

The same me looked down at the ground and shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, but you must know how little that matters to us. You've lived a life of freedom from any repercussions and locked us away to suffer in your place. You've flaunted that fact with your precious medical tools and until tonight, hadn't even remembered us or what you did to torture and imprison us. We are here now for the life that you stole from us, to end the torture you sentenced us to and walked away from yourself unscathed." He took another step forward, his face growing menacing.

"I don't know what that means," I cried, shaking my head as the tears started to drop. This was starting to feel all too real, and fear was expanding like a balloon deep into my core. "I don't know what any of this means. What do you want from me!?"

Another step. "We want your life," the gaslighter said mirthlessly. "We all want your life, the life wrongly denied us time and time again. And you will learn what it means to be ripped apart and put back together, over and over again. Tortured yourself for what you did to so many people in your life. You gave us to them to burn, to break, to grind down into dust and be restored only to do it all over tomorrow. You tortured them, and then you gave them us to work their revenge on, day after day with no hope of an end. And the most unforgivable of all was giving the youngest of you away to feel this pain the longest. Over two decades have the youngest of us been taken to pieces, shattered in mind and body and soul for your carelessness and your fleeting experiments in sociopathy. This will end tonight."

I could say nothing, the terror burning white on my face. If this was a hallucination, it was the worst one I'd ever had and I had no idea how I'd survive it. It was far too realistic, far too deadly for me to think of anything else, any of the tricks and tools my doctor had given me. What had happened to cause this? I swear I never missed a day on my prescription, and these memories... Where had they all been before? Why had I not been able to recover them and work through them with my doctor? Were they even real? Was this me, standing only a meter away now, real? Or was he only real in my mind, and if he wanted to hurt me would that distinction make a difference? I reached out my hand, reaching toward his arm slack against his torso...

And he reached out and took my wrist like a vice. Ice cold and unflinching, he held my arm up in front of me and closed the gap between us imperceptibly fast. "You may have many regrets. I have only one," he said in a low, bloodthirsty voice. "While there are dozens of us gathered here, dozens you sentenced to eternal damnation without a second thought, only one of us may live this life. I may not be the youngest of your victims, I may not give you the longest time in the torture you gave us, but I intend to fight with everything you have put me through these long years. Your life is mine."

As he growled in my face, a white-hot streak of terror shot through me and I pushed him back with almost reflexive strength. He staggered, rebalanced, then looked at me with cannibalistic hunger in his eyes. He panted twice, then screamed and lunged at my neck. With adrenaline now coursing through me, I turned and sprinted away from the gathering, hearing the pounding of footsteps deep in my brain. He had grabbed my arm. I glanced at it as I reached the sidewalk and saw a chalk white handprint etched into my grayish skin. The urge to vomit came back, but I managed to fight it down as I kept up a faster pace than I'd ever run before. The swarm of my past, tortured selves was hot on my heels, like starved dogs following fresh game. Any loss in my speed and I'd be eaten alive, or worse. I truly did not know what would happen if they caught me, and my mind was too far gone to even entertain the idea of hallucinations any more.

I rounded the next curve and thought the sound of the pack was a little quieter than before. It still sounded like pure rage and bloodlust, but with fewer voices than before. Thinking it was only a few stragglers being blocked by the trees, I kept up the fastest pace I could, not even feeling my feet hit the ground. Another hundred meters of straightaway and it was definitely growing less loud with each step. The roar was diminishing, no trees to hide the sound now, but it was still a roar. By now a cramp had begun to grow in my stomach, and no matter what I did I felt myself losing speed. Every few steps I could burst forward faster again, but I couldn't maintain the same rocket pace as before. To my ears, though, as my speed gradually fell, so did the volume of my pursuers. By the time I got to the intersection, it only sounded like a couple of me were still hunting, and I could count their individual footsteps. It was at this time I chanced a look behind, just to know what was still coming.

Right on my neck was him, the gaslighter. He grinned at me, his face less than a meter away. I felt that same shock explode throughout my body and I shot forward, faster than before if possible, fully terrified again now that I knew he and he alone was here for me. I kept running and running, past houses, lanes, and bushes. Still no signs of life from any houses, no cars rumbling down the road or creaking into place in a driveway. The night was as empty and uncaring as before, and only myself and the predator I had been broke the gentle midnight breeze. My legs thundered on, screaming in pain in their own way, but I didn't stop or look back again until I'd reached my family's old house a few blocks down.

Now truly running on empty, I turned back to face my hunter, but he was gone. Disappeared. Evaporated into the night, nowhere to be seen. The moon still hung high, reflecting some small percentage of sunlight down to me, and the streetlamps bathed the road and yards in amber light. He wasn't hiding from me, he hadn't overtaken me. There was no shortcut to the house, it was a straight shot from the park. He was simply gone, faded back into the night from which he'd come without a trace. If he'd ever really been there at all, and not merely a hallucination from exhaustion or medication or... I didn't even know any more. I just knew that he was gone, just gone, just gone.

"Hey, are you okay?" A voice called out to me. I jumped, but only in surprise. It was a familiar voice, but not familiar like my own. It sounded like my dad, and I heard large, calm footsteps walk toward me from our front door.

"Yeah," I said, although it was little more than a whisper. I buckled over, fell to my hands and knees, and felt the cramps and burning in my lungs catch up to me as the adrenaline faded away. I felt like vomiting, for the third time that night, but this time it was easier to fight the urge than before. I got some deep breaths in as I panted on the ground, slowly but surely recovering from my insane dash moments before.

My dad walked up in front of me, wearing the same well-worn brown leather shoes he'd owned since before I left. I didn't want to worry him about this night, and what I thought I saw in the park. Not when my recovery was going so well. Not when a lapse like this would mean months of work just to get back to where I was only an hour ago. "I'm okay dad, I just went for a walk. Then I saw how late it was and tried to get back as fast as I could. I guess I'm not the athlete I used to be, eh?" I tried to lift my head up to give him a weak smile, but still couldn't raise it much higher than his waist

He chuckled softly, and sounded a little strange. Still sleepy maybe, I guess I woke him up coming back here, and maybe I was screaming too. I don't know any more, I don't know what was real any more. But he knelt down in front of me after I dropped my head again, still exhausted, and said, "That's okay sport, I think we both know your real talents weren't on the field. I learned that lesson very well over the past six years."

[convenient-plot-device]

An addition, if it's okay

{Image Description: First Image: A fragment of text reading: "I want to build my house inside your heart" \\

Second Image ID: A textpost by @/wetdress reading: "I love that the phrase is 'in love' like love is a place. like somewhere you could live." \\

Third Image ID: Two screenshots of Pride and Prejudice's director's commentary, depicting Elizabeth. She is walking around her house. The captions, spoken by the director, read: "The reason that I used the same music is because it would remind her of home. That finding the person you're supposed to be with is like coming home." \\

Fourth Image ID: A snippet of the lyrics to Home by Seventeen. They read: "Cuz I'm your home home home home / Cuz I'm your home home home home / Because you're my home / home home home" \\

Fifth Image ID: A picture of a suburban street at sunset, the houses and cars tinted with orange light. Text in a font made of cut-out magazine letters reads: "Come home to my heart!" \\

Sixth Image ID: A snippet of Come Home With Me (Reprise) from Hadestown. The lyrics read: "[Orpheus] Come home with me. / [Eurydice] It's you. / [Orpheus] It's me." \\

Seventh Image ID: A black-and-white drawing by Miles Johnston, titled Shelter. It is of a short-haired person, hollow inside and with the front half of their body open, pulling a long-haired person into the empty space with a hug. They are both naked, on a backdrop of clouds. \\

Eighth Image ID: A snippet of Someone Asked Me What Home Was... by E.E. Cummings. The poetry reads: "Someone asked me what home was / and all I could think of were the stars / on the tip / of your tongue. / the flowers sprouting from your mouth / the roots / entwined / in the gaps / between your fingers / the ocean echoing / inside of your / ribcage." \\

Ninth Image ID: A still of The Handmaiden (2016), depicting a Korean woman lounging on an expensive-looking bed in a pink bathrobe. She is looking at another woman, who is dressed in a dark green uniform. The second woman is kneeling by the first woman's bed, painting her nails. English captions read: "I could be content here, if you were with me." \\

Tenth Image ID: A quote from Tyler Knott Gregson which reads: "In the space, the pause between this breath and the one that follows, you have made a home inside me." \\

Eleventh Image ID: An add-on image not part of the original set. It is the chorus of If My Heart Was A House by Owl City. The lyrics read: Circle me and the needle moves gracefully / back and forth / If my heart was a compass, you'd be north / Risk it all, 'cause I'll catch you if you fall / Wherever you go / If my heart was a house, you'd be home" \/\/End ID}

love as a place, a lover as a home

bravado - yoke lore // textpost - @wetdress // pride and prejudice (2005) director’s commentary - dir. joe wright // home - seventeen // untitled (ft. lyrics from lorde’s supercut) - @fridayiminlovemp3​ // come home with me (reprise) - anaïs mitchell (hadestown) // shelter - miles johnston // someone asked me what home was… - e.e. cummings // 아가씨 (the handmaiden) (2016) - dir. park chanwook // tyler knott gregson

[shiningamongdarkness]

Chapter 45. What shall we do now?

Shining among Darkness

By WingzemonX

Chapter 45. What shall we do now?

It was a lovely night in Anniston, New Hampshire. The weather was mild, and there was not a cloud in the sky. Abra Stone considered it an excellent time to take his puppy Brownie for a walk and clear the mind a bit since she had been locked up all day with her mother, who would not even let her eat without giving him a scolding.

Both walked leisurely along the sidewalk of that peaceful, illuminated, and quiet suburban neighborhood, especially the latter. The street was so lonely at the time; it seemed almost as if everyone had gone on vacation, and now all those houses around them were empty. Abra was not bothered by this at all.

She had Brownie's strap attached to her right wrist as she walked animatedly in front of her. She practically allowed the little dog to guide her on their nightly journey, as long as he didn't get off the concrete path of the sidewalk. For her part, Abra had half attention on her steps and the other half on her cell phone, in which she exchanged messages with her friend Emma. The conversation was another gossip that nobody knew anything about, but everyone was still sure it was true. And yet, she felt an almost moral duty to not leave the discussion until a favorable outcome was obtained.

Abra: I'm tired of being the one giving the explanations.

Abra: If she wants to apologize, she knows where to find me.

Emma's response was immediate.

Emma: She won't. She's too proud.

Abra: Well, that is her problem. She must learn that she isn't the center of the universe.

Emma: Have a little patience with her.

Emma: She has just realized that her GPA won't be enough for Yale.

Abra snorted slowly with some annoyance. She was really sorry about the Yale thing. Still, she was already tired that they brought it up as a justification for anything. She quickly started moving her fingers across the screen to answer.

Abra: She still has one semester left.

Abra: She could apply and achieve it if she stopped being...

Her fingers paused before she managed to finish and send the last message. She seemed to hear clearly a voice calling her name behind her and that abrupt presence echoing through the silence that enveloped her. She stopped her steps, alarmed. She turned quickly to her feet and looked around; there was no one around, or if there was, the mercurial lights did not illuminate it.

"Hello?" She exclaimed a little loud. "Who's there?"

There was no answer. Everything went back to being as silent as a moment ago.

This was strange to the young woman. It hadn't been like one of those times when you think to hear your name suddenly, but it's just some misinterpreted noise. Abra was sure she really heard it, with its three letters. Although her very short name could easily be confused with other words or expressions. That wouldn't be so weird... if it weren't for the fact that she didn't see anyone around.

After pondering it for a few seconds, she shrugged and continued her walk, although not as calm as before.

After finishing around the block, the girl and her puppy headed back home about five minutes later.

"Come on, Brownie," Abra exclaimed as she unlocked the front door with her keys, and immediately the little brown animal rushed into the house. "That's it, little one. We're back," she warned forcefully to be heard.

As she walked into the living room, the girl could see her father, David Stone, sitting in the dining room with his tablet in his hands. He was staring at the screen with considerable concentration and itching it every few seconds with his index finger.

"How was the walk?" Her father asked absently, without taking his eyes off the tablet.

"There were no fights this time, so you could say it was fine," Abra commented mockingly as she sat down in one of the dining room chairs next to her father. He just nodded, possibly without actually listening.

Indeed David was still focused on that card game that he had just been downloaded a few days ago, and that practically did not let him do anything else. Abra wondered how long it would take for him to get bored with it or if her mother would force him to get bored all at once.

As if she had invoked her with her thought, Abra heard at that moment her mother's voice coming from the stairs.

"Abra! Your dog climbed back onto the sofa," Lucy Stone's voice reproached, annoyed, followed by her hurried footsteps down the last steps and then into the living room. "Down! Come on."

Brownie, who had settled into the largest armchair in the living room, jumped down before Lucy reached him, drifting away until hiding under the table at Abra's feet.

"How serious is it to have a little dust and hair on the furniture, Mom?" Abra commented humorously, reaching down to stroke Brownie's head a little. Her mother just snorted in annoyance, starting to shake the couch with her hands. "Did you write something while I was gone, dad?"

"What...?" Her father stammered, somewhat puzzled, finally raising his face to his daughter. "Ah, no… I got a little distracted, I think."

"Doing what?" Lucy muttered somewhat aggressively from the living room. "Wasting time with that silly game again?"

"No, of course not," David replied clearly defensively, hurrying to turn off the tablet and place it on the table, pretending he hadn't been engrossed in it just seconds ago.

And there was what Abra knew would sooner or later happen: Lucy Stone taking charge of the situation.

"Well, this is something I don't want to interfere with," Abra muttered evasively and slowly rose from her chair with the delicacy of a bomb screwdriver. "I leave you; I have to do homework. Come on, Brownie, let's go up."

The young woman walked briskly toward the stairs. Brownie did not hesitate to respond to her call and followed her from behind. The intention was to lock themselves in Abra's room and concentrate again on the conversation she had left pending with Emma; and, of course, in her homework. However, neither of them managed to climb more than three steps.

Abra stopped suddenly midway. She felt the entire house around her spinning, so she quickly held onto the railing to avoid falling. Sounds and images that were strange to her suddenly began to come to her head. The scene around her flashed to another that was not familiar at all or turned entirely black for a few seconds. Abra did not know what she was seeing: she was looking at a forest in the distance, a table, beige walls, and the sporadic faces of two people she could not focus enough to recognize.

Then she heard a loud scream that pierced her ears and made her double over in pain.

"Ah!!" She yelled loudly and took her hand off the railing to instinctively try to cover her ears, but it was useless; the sounds and screams continued. Worse still, she lost her balance from being unable to support herself and fell to her knees on the step.

The scream startled Brownie, who quickly ran away to hide under the table again.

"Abra!" Lucy Stone screamed hysterically and immediately came around the chair to head toward her. David wasted no time in doing the same.

Abra rolled over onto her back, leaning back on the stairs. Her eyes were pressed tightly, as did her hands against her ears, but the sights and sounds continued.

"Who are you?" She heard a voice screeching like glass being scratched. Two more similar ones followed.

"Ah, she can see me. Is she like you? I should also pay her a visit after I finish with you. But this time in person..."

"Don't even put the finger on her, you bastard."

Lucy came to her daughter and took her in her arms.

"Abra, honey, what is wrong?"

Abra didn't answer. She just writhed and groaned in pain. Lucy kept insisting, but the result was the same. It was as if she couldn't hear her.

"You are in no position to threaten anyone. And you will never be again..."

And at that moment, unparalleled pain invaded the seventeen-year-old's entire body. It was a burning, corrosive sensation that ran from her head, down for her back and legs, and left her totally paralyzed. Abra began to scream so loudly, as she did not know her throat was capable of. Her mother and father looked at her, totally terrified, afraid to even touch her.

"Stop it!" She moaned between screams. "Stop it! Make it stop it, mom!"

This was a desperate cry inspired by pain and fear. Her mother could do little or nothing for her at that time, but in her position, the girl could only reduce herself to a poor girl crying for help.

"No! Leave her!" the first of those screeching voices screamed louder again. "Leave my mom!!"

That last scream stretched out in all directions like a tremendous explosion in her head. Everything was covered with an intense flash of light, and then nothing else...

Abra's eyes closed heavily, and then her body slumped completely on the stairs without offering any resistance. He was left in a crooked position, with her face against the edge of a step and her arms and legs bent in a position that seemed close to hurting herself. And there she remained, completely motionless.

"Abra, darling!" Yelled Lucy, her face covered in tears. She dared to approach her again but was afraid to move because she thought it might hurt her in some way. She only shook her daughter a little, trying to make her react, but there was not a trace of awareness in her. And the worst part was that she was starting to feel abruptly cold.

Lucy turned startled to her husband, who was watching everything from the foot of the stairs, quiet and not knowing what to do.

"Call John!" His wife shouted at him in a stern voice. "Quick! Don't just stand there!"

David was astonished when he heard her, and that made him react at last. He immediately ran to the table where he had left his phone. Meanwhile, Lucy kept trying to wake her daughter and carefully managed to lay her on her back.

After calling the doctor, David carried her daughter onto one of the armchairs in the living room. Brownie climbed in with her, making small puffs of concern as he rubbed his little head against her side. On that occasion, Lucy Stone did not care in the least about the dog's dirty paws on her chair. The only thing she could think of was her daughter, her baby, who looked and felt almost like dead in front of her...

— — — —

The ambulance arrived at the Wheelers' residence six minutes after Terry Wheeler called them in desperation. Throughout that time, Jane remained unconscious. The bleeding from her nose was profuse, and Mike tried to stop it by pressing a tissue against it. He couldn't remember if El bled so severely before. By the time the paramedics arrived, the bleeding had appeared to have stopped, but her lips and chin were so stained that for a second, they thought it had been caused by some blow.

Paramedics checked her. She had a low but steady pulse. However, the woman did not react to anything they did to her. Mike couldn't explain to them clearly what had happened. In the face of the paramedics, the worried husband could see that they suspected a fight had occurred due to the chaos in which everything was in the study. Surely they also thought that perhaps he had hit her and broken her nose, a thought that greatly offended him, but he knew it was his obligation to have it.

"He didn't do anything to her!" they all suddenly heard Terry affirm sharply. "It was... that boy."

"What boy?" One of the paramedics questioned. "Did someone attack her? An intruder?"

Terry and Mike were silent. Yes, it had been an intruder, but not the kind they assumed.

"If you don't want to answer us, you'll have to answer the police," the other pointed out as if trying to make some kind of threat.

"I don't care," Mike replied sternly. "Just help my wife, please."

The paramedics concluded that there was not much they could do there, so it would be better to take her to the local hospital. They went to the stretcher, and between the two, they lifted El onto it, held her so that she would not fall, and took her out of the house to put in the ambulance parked on the street in front of the house. Neighbors watched curiously from their windows but didn't have time to deal with it. Mike and Terry got into the ambulance too and started on their way.

On the way, Mike took the opportunity to call Dr. Maxine Mayfield, known simply as "Max" by her friends, including Mike and Jane herself. She was not on duty that night at the hospital, but she said she would be there immediately when she knew what had happened.

Upon arriving at the hospital, Mike and Terry had to stay outside in the emergency waiting room while the doctors checked El. Max arrived shortly after but barely paused to greet them and immediately left to join the patient's team. Max was almost like the family doctor and one of the few thoroughly familiar with Eleven's unique physiognomy. Only she could have a complete picture of what happened. Therefore her presence in all that disaster was more than necessary.

Minutes passed, maybe hours, and Mike and Terry still had no news. The young woman, at one point, laid her head on her father's legs, intending to only rest for a few seconds, but ended up falling asleep. She was sixteen now, but sometimes she seemed as she was still only a little one of ten. She was so much like El at that age, in more ways than one. Their other two older children, Sarah and Jim, had come out more on the side of Mike's family; Sarah had become almost the spitting image of her aunt Nancy.

But Terry was clearly Eleven's daughter, with a more introverted and smiling personality but the same brown curls and flirtatious smile. And, of course, those same skills. Sarah and Jim had shown similar capacities as children, but when they were grown up, they were appeased until today; as far as Mike knew, there were only small traces left that both of them did not use to fully exploit. But Terry was different: with each passing year, she seemed to be getting stronger. And that to a Mike Wheeler now close to fifty, with the weight of everything he had seen throughout his years, had him more than worried. Especially now that he knew about someone out there, so dangerous and who seemed to have been hell-bent on hurting them.

And if he loses Jane… what could he do to protect his family? It was hard for Mike to admit it, but there was little he had managed to do without having El by his side for support. He liked to imagine that the feeling was reciprocal on her part, but he knew that it wouldn't be equally.

But he didn't want to think about it too much. The idea that the love of his life could just vanish from one moment to the next, and in such a horrible way… it was simply inconceivable. One would hope that the idea of ​​death, of either of them, had already become somewhat digestible over the years, primarily because of all the dangers they had been facing since they were children. But it wasn't like that... it wasn't like that at all...

Max suddenly entered the waiting room with a calm step and a serene face; so serene that Mike couldn't guess whether she was bringing good news or bad.

Mike got up from his chair, carefully removing Terry's head from his legs. The girl woke up immediately as soon as she was moved.

"Max… how is he?" he questioned, approaching her.

Dr. Mayfield stood firm in front of her old friend. Her reddish and slightly curly hair was held in a ponytail, although it was loose to her shoulders when she arrived. She was only a few inches shorter than Mike but with a strong and athletic build. She wore her white coat over an equally white blouse and blue jeans.

"We stabilized her as best we could. But we can't make her wake up in any way."

"Is she in a coma?" Mike asked, hoping his question wasn't too obvious. Max only slightly nodded her head.

"She still has brain activity; scarce, but enough not to completely lose the calm. We'll do some tests to see if we can discover any physical injuries that could cause her condition."

"Can I see her?" They both heard Terry blurt out in haste, approaching his father from behind.

"She's in intensive care…" Max hesitated when answering, but immediately Terry approached her and took her arm with some force.

"Please, Aunt Maxine. Maybe she could hear me."

There was a strong trace of plea and conviction in her eyes. Max looked at her for a moment, doubtful. "Maybe he can hear me," she had said, and she knew beforehand that it might be true. She then looked at Mike for some kind of opinion, and he only nodded slightly.

"I'll ask permission and accompany you myself," Max said with a half-smile adorning his freckled white face. "Just give me a minute. I need to talk to your father about something else."

"Sit down for a second, honey," Mike asked his daughter, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'll go with you in a moment."

Terry nodded, but she looked unsure. Still, she returned to her chair and sat in it, leaving them alone enough that they could talk about what they wanted.

"Actually, there is little we can do for her here," Max pointed out bluntly. "I should ask for her transfer to the city, but..."

"They won't be able to help her there either," Mike concluded before his friend did.

"What exactly happened?"

"I don't know," Mike muttered, a little defensive. "Someone attacked her, from a distance... you know-how. I don't know who it was. She told me about a guy, a strange boy who had attacked her before."

He had not been able to tell her the full implications of what happened over the phone at the risk of being overheard by paramedics. But it was not necessary; Max had immediately sensed that it was one of those things. However, she looked at Mike with some severity at that moment, crossing her arms in an almost martial position.

"Did her nose bleed again?" She asked abruptly, taking his old friend by surprise. "It had been cleaned by the time I arrived, but they informed me. They told me also that the bleeding was quite a lot. It's true?"

Mike didn't reply, but his face was enough to reassure him. Max then began to speak much more slowly to her.

"Mike, I warned you two. If she abused her abilities again like before..."

"Don't dare to blame her for this," Mike replied, as slow as she but still blunt, annoyed at the mere insinuation. "And you don't have to remind me that. Do you really think I have the power to stop her from doing anything she wants to? And besides, weren't you the one who told me long ago that she should be the one to set her own limits, and I shouldn't control her?"

Maxine's eyes widened in astonishment, and right after, they turned annoyed due to the sharp sarcasm of her last words.

"Are you going to berate me for something I said thirty years ago?" She murmured slowly sternly. "Very mature, Mike. But yes, I did. As a friend, I was confident that she would know what was best for her, but I could not leave it lightly as a doctor. Not since that time..."

The air between them became pretty dense. That single mention made any confrontational attitude in both of them dissipate little by little.

Mike sighed heavily.

"She's been okay for many years, even stronger than before. This had nothing to do with it. It was the work of that person I told you about. He did something to her, I'm sure."

"And would that be a better option? At least otherwise, we would be dealing with something familiar."

Mike backed away, trying to avoid eye contact with his friend in an attempt to calm her anger, not to mention her denial. Well, he had seen it; her nose had bled again a few days ago after so many years. But she had downplayed it, and unconsciously he had too. They didn't want to think that it could be something really more severe. It was easier to blame that stranger than his own inaction."

He heard Max sigh a little and take a somewhat more relaxed stance, or at least not accusatory.

"Did you tell the others?" The doctor asked. "Or at least Jimmy and Sarah?

"No… not yet…" Mike answered doubtfully.

"Maybe you should. Just in case."

Mike turned to see her sideways. He looked calm, but in reality, he was still as terrified as he was a few moments ago. "Just in case." How heavy those words could be.

— — — —

Just as Max promised, she got Terry to see her mother. She would accompany her herself, as it would not be safe that any nurse witnessed how exactly she intended to try to make her mother listen to her. Perhaps nothing unusual was seen or heard, but it was worth preventing.

The image of her mother disturbed the young woman a bit. Jane was lying on the gurney, unconscious, her hair in a mess, and her face looked older. She even seemed thinner and more fragile. For a moment, Terry really thought it wasn't her.

She had a tube attached to her nose to help her get oxygen, as well as several connected devices that measured her vital signs. She was covered by a blue sheet, although underneath, Terry could see that she was still wearing the clothes she had been wearing a few hours ago. The doctors only opened her blouse a little to connect the sensors.

After the initial shock, Terry cautiously approached the gurney, stopping just to her right. She gazed at her mother in silence for a moment. Little by little, she was able to recognize her in that pale and distant image. She firmly clasped her hand with her left and placed her right delicately on the woman's forehead; it felt cold. The young woman closed her eyes and breathed in slowly, focusing entirely on her mother and no one or nothing else. And she stayed that way for several seconds, maybe minutes until it almost began to worry Max.

"Terry?" the doctor murmured after a long, silent wait. "Everything is alright?"

Terry continued to do her own thing without answering her for several more seconds. When she finally spoke, she was accompanied by a marked sense of anguish.

"I can't feel her; I can't feel her at all," she whispered slowly, opening her eyes again. "It's like she's not here or anywhere."

Max didn't know how to interpret those words.

"Like I told you, it still has brain activity, so somehow or other, she's still there. I promise you that I'll do everything in my power to bring her back."

Terry was silent. She seemed, evidently, not wildly convinced by her promise.

She placed her hand once more on her mother's smooth, cold forehead and concentrated again, this time without closing her eyes.

"Please, mom, tell me something. Talk to me, tell me whatever." She continued without feeling anything as if she were speaking to the wall. "Why can't I reach you? Where have you gone?"

Max continued to watch her. Despite the time that she had been treating Eleven and her children, or all that she had lived and seen with her other friends during all those years, she did not consider herself as an expert on the subject of psychic abilities. So, she did not understand what exactly it could mean that Terry couldn't reach her. However, she had a feeling that it couldn't be a good sign at all.

And inevitably, she also asked herself the same question: "Where have you gone, El?"

— — — —

Matilda, Cody, and Cole had allowed themselves into a group therapy room to talk alone about the sensitive call Cole had received from Monica, the Foundation's tracker. Cole had already informed his two new friends about the main thing, but only until they were there did he give them all the details he had. Monica didn't really know much either, although they could build a more complete story between what they and she did know.

Eleven had been psychically attacked in her own home, in front of Mike and her youngest daughter. The attacker had bent her and done so much damage that now the Foundation's director was in a coma, and her actual state was still unknown. All of that happened right at that moment, right while they were dealing with all that madness. Cole had thought he sensed Eleven's presence and heard her voice during the fight with the stranger. Still, he thought it was just his imagination, or perhaps a side effect of whatever the attacker did to immobilize him. But now he realized that it was not so; It had been Eleven who had stepped in to save him, as she had with Matilda in Portland. The result this time, however, had been far more disastrous.

They were sat each in one chair, the three arranged in a circle in the center of the room. Matilda hadn't said a word since Cole told them everything. Her lost and tired gaze only stared at the opposite wall. Cole and Cody, however, weren't much better. Each one looked upset, serious, uncomfortable, and of course, annoyed. But mostly, they felt lost. Neither could fully understand that something like that had happened.

Eleven? The one who always seemed invincible and untouchable? The one whose very presence commanded both respect and fear alike, depending on the situation? How had something so horrible happened to her? Matilda and Cody were wondering all of that and more, and Cole was wondering in part as well. Yet the detective remembered what Eleven had told him that night.

"He wasn't an ordinary person, even by the standards of those who are like us. I'll be honest with you: he terrified me..."

"It took every ounce of my force to repel him, and I'm not sure if I can do it again if the situation repeats."

And as always, she was right...

"Was it the same boy from last time?" Cody stated confidently as if reading his mind.

"It sure was," Cole commented, not so convinced, although deep down, he had no doubt about it. "Who is he really? How could possibly have done this to Eleven?"

"We know as much as you do," Cody replied dryly. "Didn't Monica tell you if she had discovered something?"

"Apparently, Eleven just asked her to find this girl named Abra she mentioned to us the other day. Eleven seemed to believe that whoever she was, is related to her attacker. However, Monica failed to discover much."

All three were silent as if trying to digest each piece of information at once.

"It's all my fault…" Matilda suddenly muttered, completely breaking the deep silence in which she had been plunged for some time.

Cody and Cole looked at her, confused.

"What do you say?" The biology professor asked her.

Matilda continued speaking without taking her eyes off the wall.

"Eleven told me I couldn't handle this, and instead of listening to her, I got mad and threw a tantrum. If I had heard to her, if I had not been so proud..."

"Hey, wait," Cole interjected quickly before she finished. "That has nothing to do with it. Even if you hadn't set foot here, I would have asked to come here, remember? And all this would have happened anyway. The actions of Leena Klammer, or these guys who are with her, didn't depend on yours or ours."

"But I went to Portland to see Lily Sullivan on my own," Matilda declared sharply. "Eleven had to step in to save me, and I exposed her to that stranger guy. If I hadn't done that, she would never have..."

"It's not like that." It was Cody's turn. "No one could have predicted this would happen, not even Eleven."

Their words seemed to enter one ear and come out the other. In fact, it wasn't even sure that she was listening to them, or if the words that came out of her mouth were actually directed at them. She was sunk in her own head as if arguing with herself.

"It's like Chamberlain again, exactly the same," Matilda blurted out, confusing them even more.

"That wasn't your fault either," Cole pointed out sternly.

"And how do you know?" The psychiatrist answered openly defensively, turning to him with a challenging attitude. "You don't know what happened that night; you don't even know what happened here. You know nothing."

Cole seemed taken aback by this harsh response, but he was also noticeably irritated. Matilda wasn't the only one who was tense and tired; all of them hadn't had a tranquil day at all. And, mainly, he did not like the idea of ​​she speaking to him in that way again, when he thought they had already passed that stage.

"Let's not lose our cool..." Cody tried to intervene, somewhat nervous.

"No, it's okay," Cole pointed out sharply, then leaned his body toward Matilda. "Do you want to blame yourself for everything? Well, then I grant you: this is all your fault, yours and no one else's. All the world's problems revolve around you, Dr. Honey."

"Hey…" Cody exclaimed in alarm. Matilda just looked at him dryly.

Cole sat back upright in his chair and apparently more serene after taking that off his chest.

"But with that cleared up, we can move on to what's really important. We've to decide what to do now, especially without Eleven to guide us."

"What to do?" Matilda snorted wryly. "What will we do about what? Do you want us to search under every stone for this woman who took Samara or the boy who did this to Eleven?"

"Monica or one of her other trackers can tell us the whereabouts of Samara, Lily Sullivan, or Leena Klammer. They have found people with less than a name and a photo before."

"And expose any of them to the same thing that happened to Eleven? No, she wouldn't want us to do such a thing."

"She would want us to take care of this for her. Not let them get away with it and take revenge for what they have done to us."

"And how would we do that exactly?" Matilda sentenced sternly, almost as if she was spitting out a loud scolding. "Do you want us to go and face whoever this guy is? Let's all go together to defeat the villains as if we were the X-Men or a team of Dungeons and Dragons? No…" She stood up from her chair then, holding on to her injured arm with some force. "We aren't superheroes. We are just a school teacher, a failed psychiatrist, and a policeman who should better consider where to spend his next vacation."

Then she took a couple of steps in the direction of the room door, and Cole jumped out of his chair at that moment, standing up as well.

"Will you just give up like that? You repeatedly said that you would not abandon that girl, no matter what. And now, will you turn your back on her?"

"I tried!" Matilda exclaimed forcefully, turning to face him. Although her expression was belligerent at first, it softened to almost sadness. "I tried… it's all I know how to do… Matilda, the perfect girl, Eleven's favorite, the genius… She only knows how to try things and fails in that attempt."

Cody and Cole were silent, ignorant of what to say.

The psychiatrist sighed. She knew very well that she was feeling sorry for herself, but it was something she couldn't, and didn't want to, avoid at the moment. Matilda turned back to the door with the intention of leaving for good.

"Where will you go?" Cody asked, and Matilda paused for a moment to answer.

"First to see my mother for a few days to settle this," she replied, placing her left hand on her shoulder. "Then I'll go to Indiana to see Eleven and see what I can help at the Foundation until she recovers…" Those last words were laden with mistrust as if she were unsure that this could really happen. "And then I'll go back to Boston. You two can do whatever you want. Forgive me for getting you into all this."

And she kept walking to the exit, now definitely without the intention of stopping or looking back.

"Matilda, wait," Cole snapped, trying to catch up with her, but couldn't do it before she was entirely out into the hall.

"See you later, Detective."

Matilda walked out of the therapy room, out of sight of both of them.

Cole remained standing, staring silently at the now-ajar door. Suddenly he clenched his fists, and out of nowhere, he turned and kicked with all his might the chair closest to him. It fell, rolled a bit on the ground, and then slid away from him, creating a thunderous and annoying thump in the process.

"I'm sure that chair deserved it," Cody commented wryly, watching the whole scene from his seat.

"I would have liked a bit of your support, pal," Cole accused, turning to him accusingly.

"Do you really think it would have helped? Besides, she is right. You're a cop, and you've fought things like this before. But in truth, there is something so dark in all this that I simply don't understand." Cody looked thoughtfully at the ground as he crossed his arms defensively. "I wish I could help, but… when I could have done something, I reduced myself to the same crying child that I have always been. And now I don't even have Eleven... I'm sorry..."

The teacher rose carefully and also prepared to leave. Cole stopped him for a moment with his own voice.

"Do you think you can sleep without nightmares while that stranger boy is out there threatening us? If he did this to Eleven, what would keep him from doing it to all of us?"

Cody hesitated a few moments, crestfallen, but he also came out without answering anything in the end.

Alone in the room, Cole's anger and frustration were only growing. He ran his fingers through his short hair with some insistence. He almost involuntarily took out his pack to get a cigarette.

What Matilda had said came to her mind: "Eleven had to step in to save me, and I exposed her to that stranger guy. If I hadn't done that, she would never have..."

If that was true, then… was that his fault? Eleven had appeared to save his life, like so many times before. But now, the price she had paid was much higher.

As soon as his cigarette touched his lips, he only held it there for a few seconds before tossing it to the ground in frustration. He sank into a chair and hid his face behind his hands.

"Shit," he muttered, though it was the softest word he wanted to use right now.

"You were lucky this time," He thought suddenly, shrewdly remembering that voice whispering to him. He had no clear memory of listening to it, but it was still hovering in his mind like flies in the garbage. "But that bitch won't be able to protect you anymore. You should have listened to your mommy when you could, handsome. Now it is late; He won't let you go anymore."

Cole considered those strange words. It was late; maybe it was late.

— — — —

Almost at the same time Dr. Maxine Mayfield received the distressing call from her friend Mike in Indiana, several miles away in New Hampshire, John Dalton, a doctor and friend of the Stone family, also received a call full of concern from David Stone. He could not explain everything clearly, but John managed to understand that Abra had suffered a sudden faint, and they could not make her react. Before he even thought to suggest that maybe it was nothing and they must just wait a bit, or even that it would be much better if they called an ambulance, John had already put on his shoes and jacket and took his vehicle's keys still with the phone in the ear. He didn't even have time to explain where he was going to his wife, but he hoped it was clear from the context that it must be an emergency.

The Stone family, and especially Abra, were not ordinary patients for Dr. Dalton. As a pediatrician, he had met and watched many children grow, but Abra Stone was unique in more than one way. Just as the Wheeler family entrusted Dr. Mayfield with many private matters that could not be shared with just any doctor, the Stones did the same with Dr. Dalton. So much so that her first reflex after what happened had been to call him.

When he arrived at the Stone residence, her parents had put Abra on one of the armchairs. Lucy and David informed him that in the time he had taken to arrive, the girl had not yet given any sign of consciousness. They had tried an alcohol swab as John had suggested over the phone, but it hadn't worked. At first glance, she looked very calm and placid, as if she were just taking a little nap. Touching her forehead, however, John noticed that it felt a bit cold, even though the weather inside the house was quite pleasant.

John examined her as best he could. Outside of the cold, which became less strange as time passed, everything seemed normal. His pulse was a bit weak but within normal ranges. He checked his hair and neck and did not feel or detect any injuries or blows. He also considered that she could be using some drug. And although it was not something he could rule out for the moment, he did not see any physical signs that could indicate it.

The additional options, of course, were too many: a tumor, anemia, low blood sugar, even a pregnancy; all of them verifiable only with a more thorough medical examination.

But John suspected it was nothing similar to that. She really looked very calm. For a moment, John was tempted to just shake her a little to see if she would wake up just that, but he guessed her parents had already tried that and more.

"At first glance, she doesn't seem to have anything out of the ordinary," he pointed out to his parents, who watched expectantly at one side of the chair at everything he did. "She seems to just be asleep."

"But she doesn't wake up, John," Lucy pointed out with a degree of impatience. "And you didn't hear her scream. It was like someone was tearing her alive. It was horrible."

"We have to call an ambulance," David added, "take her to the hospital, do tests on her... or something, right?"

"In any other case, I'd say it would have been preferable to do that as the first option, over anything else," John said, wondering shortly afterward if he wasn't berating himself. He stood up, putting his stethoscope around his neck. "However, before doing that, we should rule out that, in the case of Abra, this could be another type of problem. One who needs another kind of help and another kind of expert."

He looked at both of them seriously, hoping his words were enough to make them understand. So it was; both David and Lucy understood. It was a possibility they had considered while waiting for John, especially because of how Abra was acting just before the blackout. However, they hoped that somehow John would come along and discard that option; Lucy especially wished it were that way. As terrible as it was, he preferred it to be some disease and not something... more. An illness or injury could be understood and treated; the other she did not understand, and how to "treat" it usually involved something dangerous and horrible.

Lucy cautiously approached the couch and sat down next to her daughter. She took her hands gently in hers and gazed silently at the girl's sleeping face. So beautiful, so cute… and so grown. When had she grown so big?

She sighed with some resignation, and without releasing her hands, she turned to her husband with a solemn expression. As John had indicated, that might require another type of expert. And for better or for worse, just as they had a family doctor, they also had this other type of expert almost at hand.

"We have to call Danny..."

END OF CHAPTER 45

Author's Notes:

—Maxine "Max" Mayfield is based on the respective character in the series of Netflix, Stranger Things of 2016. In the original series, in its second season that occurs in 1984, she is only 13 years old. By this time, she will be around 46 years old, just like Eleven and Mike. At the time the original chapter in Spanish was written, it has only been released until Season Three of the series, so at the moment, only the first three seasons will be taken into account as a reference for this story from now on, even if in the next few seasons something happens that contradicts what is shown.

—John Dalton, David, and Lucy Stone are characters from the novel Doctor Sleep written by Stephen King and published in 2013.

[amberedskies-a]

11 FOR BESLEY i mean it this time

the way this is literally six months old and i don't even know if i'm pulling from the right meme but <3

things you said when you were drunk.

    beck knows he reeks of beer, and he knows the party’s almost over –– he notices that all too familiar emptiness in the pit of his stomach as the typical party cacophony subsides, people drive away, leaving their empty red solo cups and hazy memories behind. he’s drunk, but for once he’s not angry or bruised or bloody like he normally is at the end of a long night of partying. he’s been quiet ever since he took her hand and led her out into the middle of the quiet suburban street, laying there like it’s his final resting place. laying there on the asphalt, staring up at the sight of the barely there stars, he feels... clear. unencumbered. vulnerable, almost, like the walls between he and blake have disappeared for a moment. maybe it’s because there’s a subconscious understanding that he won’t remember anything in the morning, the guarantee allowing him the space to say whatever crosses his mind. there’s something between them, a static that he can’t decipher, but he wants more of it –– wants more of this feeling. his vision is blurred, the stars smeared like someone took their thumb and attempted to wipe them away. it’s then that the thought erupts in his brain, escaping from his throat like magma escaping a volcano. albeit he’s much more quiet, much more subdued than a violent eruption yet his words ring out into the silence all the same. 

     “do you think that we’d ever get married?” his tone’s casual, yet there’s a genuine curiosity embedded within every syllable. “s’not a proposal,” he mutters, although he’s certain she wouldn’t ever expect that from him. then again, he’s never been easy to pinpoint, never allowing her to see him fully, clearly. “like, you know savannah and brooks –– they’ll probably get married. probably get married and have fucking annoying kids and be stupid happy and have a perfect life together,” he scoffs, as though he’s already bitter about something that hasn’t even happened yet. something that’s not even certain. the future felt so far away and yet so close at the same time, like the stars, their blurriness now smothering him. he closes his eyes, squeezing them tight as he tries to make sense of what he’s trying to say, what he’s trying to explain. brows furrow, words sliding past his lips in a slur.

   “nah, i don’t want you to think that we’d ever get married. doesn’t feel... doesn’t feel like us. stupid happy and living perfect lives... fuck that,” he scrapes his shoes against the asphalt, attempting to sit up, hand grasping at her forearm to pull himself up. fingers slide down her arm and into her hand almost subconsciously. he stares down at it –– them; intertwined, conjoined, connected. he feels that subtle spark, that tiny pull of muscle in his chest that controls his ability to hope, to think that maybe, someday, they could possibly have that. just as he’s about to lean in, to kiss her and see if that feeling still lingers, to see if he can picture a future where their love doesn’t hurt, a flood of bright white light breaks him out of his trance. headlights, moving down the street towards them rapidly. his fingers pull away from hers, picking himself up off the street, the car driving straight through the moment and shattering it. he takes it as a sign that no, of course they could never have that. they could never have that picture perfect life or white picket fence –– they were destined to break. to hurt. to shatter. to cut themselves on every single shard of one another. yet, he finds himself comfortable with the thought –– he’s never been afraid to bleed.

[jennijayne]

on being alone

the sun goes down and my peace goes with it

how can my own warmth not be enough to sleep by

my stray dog freedom comes at a cost

and i don't know how long i'll be able to float it..

i am visceral and volatile

i am over exposure

i am the empty space in my bed

i am ambivalence

i am suburban street lamps

i am dead flowers in a vase

i am unrefined and unpalatable

i am the defamed daydream

to the north

a peninsula nearly drowning in tears

and a suicidal never land

to the south

something i don't think i'll ever understand

every morning is a ceremony

unswerving and ardent

give us this day and the strength to meet it's end

give us temerity, shake it up man strength can only be so enticing

this forbearance is nearly intolerable

i wanna open up the floodgates and drown the monotony in feelings and tears

fuck this dispassionate abstinence

how about glorious inadequacies instead

i'm a paperback baby

not made for a display case

maybe more like a back pocket

but at least i'll be closer to you there.

the latest rumor is that yesterday's making a come back

we're seduced into paralysis, picking out that piece of yesterday that we long for and holding onto it until our strength goes out

aimless tomorrows, what's the point anymore anyway

pennies aren't getting picked up

and the sponges are never wrung out but are still expected to soak up more and more

wring me out

i can't keep ruminating

i wanna be drunk with absolution

i wanna be the moment that spring time meets summer

i wanna be the back drop to your perfect day

or the wind that sweeps your kite and shakes us from our immobolizing retrospection

and flies our love like a flag