#it physically hurts me but i know lawrence is the kind of White Man that wheres shoes in the house

[monboyfs-seesaw]

"Unfortunately, to be true to character, he does wear shoes in the house."

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

One man’s curse is another man’s blessing (Prompt: Nightmare)

The raven monster looked around frantically for an escape, he was in the woods again, his woods, his home. But he was being hunted. He could sense the villain pursuing him, like so many of its kind, it came with fire, traps, and a crude understanding of what he was. But unlike the other hunters who had all fallen before him, this one knew the ways of magic and knew how to use them against the feathered king of the forest.

“Mr. Lawrence?”

For the first time in the beast’s life, he genuinely feared what would happen to him, he was terrified of this one-legged hunter who would otherwise be nothing but an appetizer to him. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the hunter, the man was looking directly at him and taking careful aim with his gun...

“Mr. Lawrence?”

Not wanting to get shot with whatever magical concoction the hunter undoubtedly put in the bullets, the raven spread his wings and flew away.

*BANG*

*CRRAAACK*

As the tree fell on his back and he fruitlessly struggled to get out of his self-made prison, he cursed himself for being so stupid! The hunter wasn’t aiming at him, he was aiming at the old tree!

“Mr. Lawrence?”

The Raven king’s blood turned into ice as he heard the uneven yet steady footsteps approaching him, his life flashed before his eyes as he part of him wondered what the hunter’s goal was. Did it come to strip the beast of his lovely iridescent-black feathers? Did it come to take him down for sport? Or did it come to avenge the others that he had killed? He howled and flapped his free wing as hard as he could as his hunter came closer and closer to him...

“’EY SAMMY! SOMEONE’S TRYIN’ TA SPEAK TA YA!”

Sammy snapped back to the present; he was human, in the studio’s break room, there were other people here, some of them looked at him like he was either hurt, crazy, or both.

“Huh?! What?! Oh. ...What was the question again?”

“I just asked how you and Joey met each other...”

“Right, that...” Sammy pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath and recited the detail-scrubbed truth he had told many times before. “He was on a hunting trip and he trespassed on my property. It was dark, and he was firing his gun near me. So at the time, I thought he was out to kill me.”

“Oh.”

“He’s still embarrassed about it and I don’t like remembering it.” Sammy took a long sip from his coffee. “And for future reference, my name’s not “Mr. Lawrence”, Just call me Sammy.”

“Okay then...”

“If that’s all you wanted from me,” He stood up from his seat, taking the coffee mug with him “then I’m going back to work.”

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

His talons were dulled and cut, his sharp beak was given the same treatment, his beautiful, glossy feathers that practically sparkled under sunlight and had been the envy of the world of monsters and world of mankind alike had all been plucked out. He stood naked and helpless in a form he had called his prey as long as he could remember, and was told that it was his true form.

Sammy Lawrence woke up from his nightmare in a cold sweat to discover that he had fallen asleep with his charm on, keeping him in what he called his “work skin”. Reaching for the charm Joey gave him and ripping it off, he sighed in relief as he saw his human body getting covered in feathers. But paused in confusion as he saw no further changes take place.

“Don’t panic...” he told himself as he fumbled around in the dark for the phone. “Don’t panic...” he repeated as he punched in Joey’s number. “Don’t panic...” he repeated again as the phone rang.

“Hello?” Joey’s groggy voice answered “Sammy, what time is it-”

“JOEY SYLVESTER DREW, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOUR CURSED NECKLACE DO TO ME?!”

“Sammy, what happened?!” The bird monster heard shuffling on the other line, most likely Joey getting his shoes and coat on. “Can you describe the problem?”

“When I took it off, it wouldn’t let me change back all the way!”

“That’s... unusual...”

“Does sleeping in it effect the charm’s power?”

“Physically, no, it shouldn’t do that.” Joey grabbed some of his spell books off the shelves “Unless you were wearing it for literal years without taking it off, but I highly doubt that’s what’s going on.”

The bird monster heard the sounds of tires screeching.

“Joey?”

“Yes, Sammy?”

“...Are you driving while talking on the phone again?”

“That’s not the issue at hand, are there any other details about your condition that you need to tell me?”

“Joey you idiot, you’re going to get yourself killed if you keep pulling shit like this! Either hang up the phone or I will!”

“Good news, I’m pulling into your driveway as we speak!”

Sammy slapped his forehead in frustration as he hung up the phone. Sure enough, as he looked outside his window he saw the familiar beat-up Rolls Royce that had somehow managed to survive being Joey’s car for at least fifteen years. The same car Joey threw him into all those years ago.

He exited his house and saw Joey hobble out of the driver’s seat trying to balance the almost comedically large stack of books he had brought with him with his cane.

“Need help?”

“It would be appreciated.”

Sammy wordlessly took the large stack out of Joey’s hands and led him into his ‘home’.

As soon as the pair were in, Joey immediately went to work on trying to figure out what went wrong, flipping through his large stack of books and poking and prodding at Sammy’s feather-covered form.

“Did you recently eat or drink anything that felt ‘off’ to you?”

“No.”

“Have you recently been in or near areas that belong to the fae and or any other supernatural being?”

“Do I look like an insane dumbass?”

“First off: Hey! Second off: What about people, did you recently meet someone who you felt was out to get you and or had strong magical abilities?”

“Not any that know about my “Condition” as you call it.”

“Oh dear...”

“What is it?!”

‘Oh dear’, ‘oh no’, ‘oops’, and ‘oh well’ were the four worst phrases Sammy could ever hear Joey say.

“Sammy, how much are you aware about the nature of your condition?”

“I’ve been a raven monster for as long as I could remember, sometimes I would change my size for convenience's sake and could somewhat alter my form to have an extra pair of talons in my wings if I wanted, and then after you stole me from my forest, I could look like a somewhat-normal human being with your charm.”

“I meant, what do you know about the background of your condition, do you know why you have it?” 

“Well, there was what Allison said, but I still think she was just spouting hogwash to convince me I’m one of you people...”

“What was it?”

“According that fortune teller friend of yours, my ‘curse’ was put on me by my mom’s relatives. They couldn’t stand the fact that she eloped with a black man so they “cursed me to take the form of a monster he’d grow the boy into anyway” and that it would only be broken when I found my “Real family”. But I’m pretty sure that if I had a human family that wanted me, they’d look for me.”

“That makes explaining this slightly easier;” Joey sighed. “Sammy, did you know that magic takes more than just blood relations into account of who your family is? In fact, spiritual family connections that are mutual between two parties tend to be stronger than blood family connections.”

“I think you’ve said something like that before...” 

“I’m telling you this because I think that you’ve loosened your curse.”

The bird man blinked in disbelief.

“Are you telling me..?”

Joey twiddled his thumbs sheepishly as he spoke, the man was clearly uncomfortable to break the news to him.

“You are genuinely a human being, and your curse is slowly but surely being lifted.”

Sammy stared at Joey wide-eyed with his visible skin was white as a sheet. He left the room and Joey heard muffled screaming coming from that area.

“Now Sammy, I’m sure you have a lot of mixed feelings about this, but I know we’re bound to find a solution somehow!”

The muffled screaming continued as Sammy was still taking in the fact that his worst personal nightmare was real and happening right now. The songbird musician felt sick to his stomach... He used to eat humans for fuck’s sake! They were one of his favorite meats before meeting Joey, and now he was being told that he was one?!

“Sammy?”

And the pack... Without him, what would happen to the werewolf pack in the studio?! He needed his wings to properly watch after them! Even if they knew his scent too well to attack him while they were wolfed out, a human being is much slower and weaker than a pack of werewolves, they could get themselves hurt, or worse, killed if he couldn’t keep up with them! And what if one of them accidentally turned him?! None of them would ever be able to live with the emotional turmoil of that!

“Sammy..?”

He was useless now! Nothing more than a pathetic wreck of a human being who had thrown away all his value because he let his guard down, got too soft in the humans’ world, too comfortable talking with them... And now he doomed himself to be one of them, and the wolf pack to a terrible fate.

“Sammy.”

The musician felt a reassuring hand on his back, and looked up to see Joey Drew’s concerned face.

“Take a few days off if you need them, I can understand if you need space to sort all of this out.”

He stayed silent as he thought over his situation.

As it turned out, taking some space was exactly what he needed. All it took was a few days back in the woods, far away from the studio, and the people there and he was back to his former glory, only turning human again when he put on Joey’s cursed trinket.

He knew he’d have to return eventually, but when he did, he’d know better than to let his guard down again.

[lunarfox22]

Bloodied and Broken - Part 3

Pairing: Loki x OFC (of color)

Warning: Violence, language, blood, mentions of suicidal thoughts, angst, fluff

Words: 1927

AO3: Bloodied and Broken by lunar_fox22

FFN: Bloodied and Broken by lunarfox

Summary:  Loki has fallen from the Bifrost, a disgraced prince. He meets Angela Lawrence, a SHIELD agent who helps him, but can he let go of his scorn? Or will he betray the only person who is on his side?

A/N:  I'm moving these over to my new writing works tumblr. Please forgive any confusion!

Part 2 - Part 4

Masterlist

When Loki woke up, the sun was blaring through the blinds filling the room he was in with bright light. He quickly squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out.

There was something soft under him, much softer than the seating he was laying on last night. Maybe the woman had indeed helped him to her home. If that was the case, she was strong as that would require carrying him.

Reluctantly he opened his eyes again. The light poured in his vision and he groaned. His head was pounding, and every inch of his body hurt. He tried to move to get up, but every part of him screamed to stop. Who was he to deny that? The only option was to lay here and not move a muscle. He did, however, take this time to look at his surroundings.

It didn’t take long to figure out the woman had put him in a bedroom. Was it hers? Nonetheless, it was a soft cream color, and only big enough to fit a bed and dresser. The bed he was laying on had a light blue blanket, and the dresser was made of a light wood. There was a window close to the bed. The cream door across the room from where he was laying, was cracked open.

Loki could hear birds chirping from outside, and he could hear what he assumed was the woman from last night walking towards the room.

He slowly sat up, trying his hardest to ignore the pain that shot through him as he did so. Shifting, he sat his back against the pillows and headboard. He watched as she poked her head in, and then stopped as their eyes met. She stepped into the room and examined him with her dark brown eyes.

Loki took this time to also examine the woman. She had warm, bronze skin. Curly, black hair that was pulled up into a bun, which allowed him to get a good look at her face. She had dark brown eyes, and a pair of full, pink lips. He was right in his assessment earlier, she was strong. He could clearly see her muscles as she folded her arms over her chest. She had a very straight posture, that reminded him much of the Einherjar at the palace. Finally, he looked at her body, and noticed she had nice curves. She was attractive, he concluded. Had this been a different time, he would have seduced her and went back to Asgard afterwards. But now he had a mission, and he could not be distracted.

“So, you’re finally awake,” her voice was soft. “You were out like a light last night. You didn’t even move.”

Small talk would get them nowhere, so he cut to the chase. He needed to know where in the Hel he had landed, “Where am I?”

For a moment, she didn’t reply. She instead came to sit next to him on the bed. The bed sunk as she added her weight and came face to face with him. Loki almost backed away but was stopped by the look in her eyes. He knew he was being evaluated, he had seen this look before. From his father, from his peers, by Thor. She was searching to see if he was worthy of something.

It wasn’t even a moment later she sat back a bit, satisfied with whatever she saw, and answered him. “You’re at my house. On Earth.”

He was right, she was Midgardian. So, he had landed on Midgard. Even he could appreciate the irony. He landed on the same place his brother – no, his not brother – loved so much. The place where Thor was banished to. The place where Thor’s precious Jane was. He did promise that he would visit her, didn’t he? This made fulfilling that promise easier.

Angela watched him for another, and saw the glint pass his eyes . Just as Loki knew what she was doing earlier, she realized the look in his eyes. Earlier she had seen the hurt pass his eyes too. And she knew all too well that something had happened to the man, alien, whatever he was. She could tell he was hurt outside of the physical sense. The look reminded her of herself not too long ago. Hurt, angry, and ready to do whatever to prove herself.

Angela chewed her lip in thought. Maybe, just maybe she could help him. She was a firm believer in paying it forward. Director Fury had helped her out when she needed it most, and now was her time to help someone else.

Her eyes slid over to him once more. He seemed zoned out. “I’ll be right back,” she told him.

His head snapped up to watch her leave the room. He looked down and noticed that he wasn’t in his armor but his under clothes. His shirt was drenched in blood, but he didn’t feel dirty. Had she cleaned him?

She returned with a white box and sat next to him again, “I’m going to need to take off your shirt and change your bandages.”

The white box opened, and he could see what looked to be medical supplies. She went to reach for him, and he smacked her hands away. He could remove his shirt this time by himself. She had already taken liberties with his person while he had slept.

Slowly, she pulled her hands back, waiting for him to finish. If he wanted to do it himself, he could as far as she was concerned. Angela could see the pain in his face, but it wasn’t her fault he was stubborn. In the meantime, she began getting out the bandages.

He finished undressing and examined the bandages. There were layers upon layers of them.

Angela looked back up to him to see him looking at her work. “I did the best I could. I tried to give you stitches, but your skin broke the needle. So, I had to use liquid stitches. I wrapped you up to make sure everything stayed in place.”

This time when she went to reach for him, he allowed it. She began to unwrap him, and watched him closely to make sure she wasn’t hurting him too badly. She noticed that the scrapes on his face had healed. ‘That was quick,’ she thought.

The last of the bandages came undone and she examined his upper torso. It was a collage of purples, blues, yellows, and his actual pale skin color. The deep gash on his side had healed some but was still there. The liquid stitches seemed to be helping, and he was no longer bleeding. Overall, it looked a lot better than it did last night.

“It looks good. You seem to heal very quickly.”

He said nothing in reply. Obviously he healed quickly.

Angela didn’t let his little snub affect her. She began to rebandage him and tried to start another conversation. “What’s your name?”

He watched her for a moment considering answering her or not. Should he lie? If he did lie, it would have to be an elaborate lie. And explaining how he fell out of the sky would be tedious. When he could just tell her that he was a god and leave it at that. “I am called Loki,” he answered.

Angela froze. Loki? The same Loki that leveled the same town she was in charge of fixing? That Loki? The Loki that attacked his own brother? What were the chances?

Her brain went into overdrive with the millions of questions. She recovered from her shock and started to wrap his bandages like nothing had happened. But her mind couldn’t quit thinking.

‘He seemed confused when he first got here, but was that all a ploy? He was known as the God of Mischief and Lies. Did he have an agenda here? Was he here for Jane? Or was he really here due to circumstance? Should I tell SHIELD? I know I said I wouldn’t but–’

Her thoughts were cut off by Loki asking her a question. He had caught her hesitation, and the knowing look in her eyes. “I take it you know who I am.”

There was silence before she replied, “Yes. I know who you are.”

Angela dared to look up in his eyes. He was waiting, that much she could tell. Waiting for what? She looked closer, and then realized. He was waiting for her to judge him. It was the same reaction she had every time she met someone new in SHIELD. Her reputation preceded her, just as his reputation preceded him. People rarely seemed to want to get to know her all because of who she used to be.

‘No,’ Angela decided. That wasn’t going to be her. She wasn’t going to be the one to toss him to the wolves. But she would be cautious around this man. He was, in fact, a very powerful being who could outwit her. She had to be extremely careful, and hope that she was right.

With that, she looked away and went back to finishing off his bandages.

Loki blinked, stunned, before recovering. Was that it? Most mortals after learning who he was either ran away or went down on their knees. Yet this woman didn’t even bat an eye. Sure, she was shocked at first, but it seemed as if she didn’t even care any longer. She still was helping him. ‘What a curious little thing she is…’ he thought.

Angela finished up wrapping him, and gave him a soft smile. She picked up his shirt and began to speak, “All done. I can wash this for you to get the blood out. I don’t have anything else for you to wear, but it shouldn’t take long for me to wash this. She stood up and made her way to the door. When she got there, she turned and faced him, “Are you hungry?”

Loki shook his head, unsure how to proceed. She had thrown him off his game. She had offered a complete stranger refuge in her home, and was tending to him. He couldn’t be rude to her.. At the moment he had nowhere to go, and if anything Frigga had raised him to be polite. So he put on his most charming personality possible.

“No, not at the moment,” he paused, “Forgive me, you seem to have me at a disadvantage. You know me, but don’t know you. What is your name?”

She gave him another polite, small smile, “My name is Angela. Angela Lawrence.”

“Angela, what a lovely name,” he complimented. “I’m actually rather tired at the moment, Lady Angela. But I thank you for allowing me in your home and tending to my wounds. You are truly kind.”

“Then go back to sleep. I’ll wash your shirt, and be out in the living room if you need me. And you can call me Angela.”

He nodded at her. Angela made her way out of the room, and shut the door in her wake.

Loki settled down into the bed, and shut his eyes. He honestly was tired. The fall had taken a lot out of him. He could feel the wear and tear his body went through from slipping through space. His mind also felt sluggish after the fall. That wouldn’t do. He needed to figure out what exactly he was going to do.

It wasn’t long before he fell into a deep sleep. And that was when the whispers started.

[queenofcats17]

In hell's studio I can see a homeless kid somehow sneak in the studio and make themselves at home in Wally's janitor closet and end up getting(somehow) adopted by Sammy as the kid needs a safe place and Sammy being extremely nervous that he might do something wrong(knowing him), but it would probably end on a good note with the two(though I do see that the kid might have some physical and mental issues from being on the street for some time)

Oh boy. I am going to make this as fluffy and comforting as I possibly can.

Sorry this took so long. ^^”

——————————————

Sammy Lawrence was not a heartless man. He may have been grumpy most of the time and had a reputation as the studio curmudgeon, but he was far from heartless. The younger members of the studio all knew this quite well, although they kept it to themselves. Many had been shown kindness by him at one point or another. More often than not it couldn’t be traced back to him, but they always knew who it had been that had helped them.

The truth was that Sammy had a soft spot for children. He always had. There was a secret part of him that hoped that one day he would be able to be a father, although it was something he shared with very few people. Susie knew, of course, but knew better than to bring it up in a work environment. But she brought it up sometimes when they were alone. She saw how happy he was when he babysat for his siblings or her family.

Sammy got quiet whenever she asked. As much as he wanted to be a father, he was absolutely terrified that he’d somehow mess up. He knew he could have a temper and he didn’t want to be the kind of father his children would be scared of. He just didn’t think he was ready yet.

But the universe evidently thought he was. Because one day, when he opened up Wally’s closet to get a broom, he found a kid sleeping on the floor of the closet.

Sammy froze, staring down at the child. They were small and absolutely filthy, so covered in dirt and grime that it was difficult to tell how old they were or what they even really looked like. Their hair was long and matted, similarly covered with dirt, and their clothes were essentially rags. They were shivering a bit, a spare blanket pulled tightly around their thin form. It was abundantly clear that this child had been living on the street for some time.

Sammy felt his heart beginning to melt. It had been especially cold the other night. The kid must come in to get out of the cold. There was no way their clothing would provide any protection from the cold. Sammy didn’t give much thought to how they’d gotten in. Wally had probably left the back door unlocked again.

“Poor kid,” Sammy murmured. He set the broom aside, kneeling beside the child.

“Hey, kiddo?” He gently shook the kid. The child’s eyes fluttered open. Upon seeing Sammy kneeling beside them, they screamed and scrambled back, ending up banging their head on one of the lower shelves.

“Hey, hey! I’m not going to hurt you!” Sammy put his hands up, keeping his voice low. The child whimpered, pulling the blanket tighter around themselves.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Sammy repeated, keeping his hands up. “My name is Sammy Lawrence. I’m the music director here. What’s your name?”

“Charlie,” the child mumbled.

“It’s nice to meet you, Charlie.” Sammy smiled gently at them. “Do you want something to eat?”

Charlie lowered their shoulders a bit, their expression suspicious but hopeful.

“Is Mr. Wally here?” They asked.

Ah, that explained a few things. Wally had probably left the backdoor unlocked on purpose for this kid. Everyone in the studio knew Wally would often help out the homeless people around the studio.

Sammy was about to say that he didn’t think Wally was in yet, only to have Wally round the corner with a pile of clothes and a thermos of what was probably soup. He froze when he saw Sammy kneeling beside Charlie.

“Mr. Wally!” Charlie lit up, trying to get to their feet. Unfortunately, as soon as they attempted to stand their legs gave out from under them and they went tumbling back down. Sammy caught them, noting with some sadness how skinny they were.

“Easy there, kid.” Sammy gently put them back on the floor.

“I’m fine,” Charlie mumbled, although their face was looking a bit red.

Sammy looked back at Wally. “Those employee showers Joey had put in are still working, right?”

“I, uh, yeah?” It took Wally a second to response, seemingly stunned by the fact that Sammy hadn’t yelled at him.

“Good.” Sammy looked back at Charlie. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up and then you can have the soup Franks brought.” Charlie’s gaze flicked to Wally, who gave them a nod and an encouraging smile.

“Okay.” They nodded slowly.

“Can you do it yourself or-?” Sammy began to ask. Charlie scrambled to their feet, bright red now.

“I can do it!” They stammered indignantly. “I’m not a baby!”

“Alright.” Sammy stood up as well. “Franks can show you where the showers are. I’ll guard the soup.” He smiled gently at them, taking the thermos of soup from Wally.

“Right, uh, follow me.” Wally gestured and Charlie followed.  

Once they were gone, Sammy went into his office to guard the soup and start to get some work done. After about ten to twenty minutes, Wally entered the office. He looked a bit nervous and wasn’t holding the clothes he’d brought.

“So, uh, you aren’t gonna yell at me about letting the kid in?” He asked.

“Of course not,” Sammy said. “They probably would have died if you hadn’t let them in. It was freezing last night.” He knew his reputation, but he couldn’t help but be hurt by the fact that Wally thought he’d be angry about this. It wouldn’t do to dwell on that, though.

“In any case,” he continued. “Do you know anyone around here who can cut hair? I doubt we’ll be able to brush out those knots. And we’ll need to find someplace for them to stay long term. Do you know if their parents are around? I don’t want to just turn them out onto the street again, not with the weather being what it is.”

There was no answer. Sammy frowned and looked over at him.

“Franks?”

Wally was just staring at him, his mouth hanging open a bit. Then his face split in what Sammy could only describe as a shit-eating grin.

“Y’know, I didn’t take you for the fatherly type,” he said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sammy sputtered, feeling his face beginning to get warm. He’d gotten so caught up in being worried about the kid that he’d forgotten that Wally didn’t know about his secret paternal instincts.

“You’ve known the kid for less than an hour and you’ve already basically adopted them,” Wally said, his smile getting even wider.

“L-Like I said, I can’t in good conscience turn a child back onto the street in this weather.” Sammy cleared his throat, trying to hide how red his face was getting. Thankfully, he was saved by Susie slamming the door open.

“I heard you found a kid in Wally’s closet!” She yelled. “Tell me everything!” Wally shrieked and stumbled away. Sammy quietly breathed a sigh of relief and explained the situation to Susie.

As he was explaining one of the interns appeared, pushing Charlie in a wheelchair. Charlie was now dressed in the clothes Wally had provided, which looked to be old clothes of his and were far too big on them. A faded sweater, a pair of old slacks, fuzzy wool socks, and a rumpled white button-up shirt.

“They said they wanted to come here?” The intern said, looking around at Susie, Sammy, and Wally.

“What happened? Why are they in a wheelchair?” Susie immediately looked concerned, as did Sammy although he wasn’t saying anything. He just walked brusquely over and knelt in front of Charlie.

“Are you alright?” His voice was soft.

“Yeah…I’m okay.” Charlie hunched their shoulders. “I just…Can’t stand too long. My legs got tired and I fell over.”

“I found them and helped them get dressed,” the intern explained. They didn’t need to explain where they’d gotten the wheelchair. Joey had started putting them in to make things easier for the workers who had mobility issues and those who had injuries.

“Sounds like I should’ve stayed and helped you get clean,” Wally joked. This, evidently, was the wrong thing to say.

“I’m not a baby!” Charlie snapped, their face getting even redder. “I don’t need help doing easy stuff like that!”

“Oh, sorry.” Wally backed up a bit, looking sheepish.

“There’s no shame in needing help,” Sammy said gently.

Everyone aside from Charlie was surprised by the tenderness in Sammy’s voice. None of them had ever heard him speak so softly or sweetly before.

“Everyone needs help sometimes and there’s no shame in asking for it,“ Sammy continued. “No one is saying you’re weak.”

Charlie said nothing, but their eyes were wide and shining.

“Now.” Sammy stood up, dusting himself off. “We’ll need to do something about your hair. I suspect we’ll need to cut it to get rid of all the matting. After that, we’ll figure out where you can live.”

“Where I can…live?” Charlie said slowly, almost too quietly to be heard.

“Oh! Oh! I can cut their hair!” Susie clapped her hands together excitedly. “I’ve been learning how to cut hair!” Sammy gave her a rather incredulous look.

“Well…You can cut the matted parts away,” he conceded. “But we’ll need to take them to a proper hairdresser later.”

“It won’t be that bad.” Susie folded her arms indignantly.

“I mean…No offense, Susie, but the last time you tried cutting my hair I couldn’t take my hat off for two months,” Wally said. Susie let out a small humph, sticking her tongue out at Sammy and Wally. By this point, the intern had fled, sufficiently weirded out by the situation.

“What did you mean when you said, where I can live?” Charlie asked, tugging on Sammy’s shirtsleeve.

“I’m not about to turn you out onto the street.” Sammy smiled at them. “So, we’ll figure out somewhere for you to live where you can be safe and happy.”

“Maybe we could adopt them,” Susie suggested, grabbing Sammy by the arm. “You’re already acting like a father toward them.”

“W-Well, I, er, um…” Sammy began to stammer and sputter, his face going red. He wasn’t ready. He couldn’t be ready. What if he messed up? What if he traumatized this child?

“Sammy? A dad?” Wally almost couldn’t believe what Susie was suggesting. There was no way Sammy would do well as a father. But…he was acting surprisingly kind and patient toward Charlie.

“You guys would want to adopt me?” Charlie’s voice was quiet and uncertain, as though they were afraid the offer would immediately be rescinded.

“Of course!” Susie pulled away from Sammy, taking Charlie’s hands in hers. “Sammy won’t admit it, but he’s always wanted to be a father. It would be lovely to welcome you into our home!”

Charlie looked at Sammy, as though to confirm Susie’s words. Sammy sighed. It looked as though the jig was up.

“I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect father,” he said, coming to stand at Susie’s side. “But I would like to try.” He knelt down, placing his hand on Susie’s and Charlie’s. “I would be honored to be your father.”

Charlie’s lip began to quiver and they sniffled loudly. Soon enough, they were bawling as Susie and Sammy hugged them. Wally edged out of the office. He figured he needed to tell Joey about this. And also probably find some way to get some adoption paperwork.

[themoonandotherslikeit]

The Hand That Reaches for God -Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

“We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.” - D.H. Lawrence

-18 Days After-

Dean grabbed the hand without question and allowed himself to be pulled into the Jeep, before reaching for Emerson’s hand. What was his choice? Stranger in a Jeep or a bunch of fleshy monsters that were trying to bite their faces. It was an easy decision, if he thought at all about it.

“We have two more. My brother and her sister. They’re just ahead.” Dean pointed to where Sam and Pheli were when he and Emerson got settled in the Jeep.

“Thank you.” Emerson said softly. “We were dead out there.”

The person, who’s build lead them to believe was male, gave them a big thumbs up. Nothing else could be made up behind the mask. It was all too eerie, but so much better than the alternative.

The Jeep pulled forward, over more bodies, easily crunching over their bones. Sam and Pheliwere behind the glass door of the building, curled together. Sam’s eyes lit up when the Jeep door flew open and Dean waved them in.

“I thought we lost you, man.” Sam said as he helped Pheli in. they were hurrying, the groans of the creatures were too close for comfort.

“You almost did.” Emerson said, wrapping her arms around Pheli’s waist.

“Whose this?” She asked, eyeing the driver.

“We don’t know.” Her sister whispered.

The man turned toward them and after what seemed like some careful consideration before removing his gas mask. He revealed messy dark hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a perfectly straight white smile.

“Holy fuck.” Dean whispered. “Holy fuck.”

“Hello, Dean.”

A grin grew on Dean Winchester’s tired, pained face. A real one, not the kind that he had become so familiar with that was painted with regret and fear. “Cas.” The two men pulled into a tight hug. “Holy shit it’s good to see you.”

“Likewise.” Cas said into Dean’s shoulder. He pulled out of the hug and looked Dean over. “You’re not hurt, are you? Any injuries? Bites? They didn’t bleed on in you, or gas you, did they?”

“What?” Dean asked, alarmed. “No, uh, we are good. Fucked up my knee, and Phel over there got grabbed and hurt her ankle.”

“But they didn’t bleed into you? Your mouth? A wound?”

The group all looked at each other and shook their heads. “No.” Emerson said quietly. “Why?”

“You don’t know, do you?” The dark haired man asked. His chin was tight as he put the Jeep in gear. “We need to go.”

“What do we not know?”

“I thought it was why you were here.” Cas licked his bottom lip. “We will talk more when we get to the base.”

Emerson reached for Dean’s hand and he laced his fingers with hers. He trusted Cas. “It’s okay.” He whispered against Emerson’s ear. If someone was going to pick them up he couldn’t have picked a better person. She nodded back at him, her other hand on Pheli’s knee.

He drove quickly, taking unconventional turns to lose the creatures on their trail. The Jeep crunched easily over bodies and the trash in the street. Before they knew it, they’d lost the creatures on their tail, and were back on the road to the base.

It was right outside of town, just like Dean had mentioned. The perimeter of the base was a tall fence made of different items that seemed to be procured from the city, and then lined again by barbed wire. Cas leaned in and grabbed his walkie talkie and pressed the button. “Castiel Novak reporting in. I have four recruits with me. There are no level red injuries that I can see.”

“I hear ya loud and clear Hot Wings.” A gravely Southern drawl met Castiel’s through the walkietalkie.

“You won’t believe who I found.”

“Lookin forward to it, Brother.” The voice said as the gates in front of them were pushed open by men in military uniforms.

Dean felt his chest tighten at the sight of the men in their ACU’s. He unconsciously tugged at his dog tags around his neck. Castiel pulled the Jeep forward. “Alright, first we will get you to Medical to get checked out. Have you eaten?”

“Not in a while.” Pheli squeaked, suddenly hyper aware of her empty stomach.

“We will get some rations for you and set you up with a place to rest.” He put the Jeep in park. The area seemed to be sectioned around an old strip mall. There were units that had new spray painted signs of their uses. They stopped in front of a shop that had a big sign that was painted Medical in dripping red spray paint. “The guys will be happy to see you, Dean.”

“Me too.” He grunted.

Castiel swung his door open and got out of the car, the rest of the group followed his lead. Pheli leaned on Sam for support. Emerson jumped out before Dean, and held out a hand. He winced as his bag leg touched the ground, but he didn’t lean on Emerson. “You good?” She asked him softly. He shrugged in response.

Cas waved for them to follow him into Medical. The door chimed, perhaps the bell was left over from when it was a shop. It looked like the shop used to be a clothing store, the walls were still lined with garments, but the rest of the racks were taken out and moved. There were folding tables scattered intermittently that were covered with sheets to be used as exam tables and beds for the injured.

“You’re back!” A small woman said, looking up from her table. She was organizing medical supplies. “Hello Clarence.” She almost purred, moving from behind the table toward Cas.

“Meg.” He said, his blue eyes studying her. “I have some patients for you to look over. New residents. No level red injuries.”

“Have they come into contact with any Rogues?” Meg asked, pulling her dark waves into a ponytail.

“Swarm of them in the city. My timing was impeccable.”

“Rogues?” Dean asked with a frown.

“Not your turn to talk, tall dark and handsome.” Meg snapped, before turning back to Castiel. “You’re okay, Clarence? No close calls?”

“I’m fine.” He assured her.

“Good.” She exhaled before turning toward the rest of the group. “Name’s Meg Masters. I’m the resident doc around here. Just got lucky I guess. Take a seat. We will do physicals first, and then assess injuries. I know you told Clarence over there that you haven’t been bitten, but I’m still going to need to do a once over. Not worth the risk, ya hear me? Whose first?”

“Can you look over my girlfriend first? She hurt her ankle...” Sam asked, gesturing to Pheli.

“Sure.” Meg shrugged. “Bring Princess over here.”

“Cas,” Dean began, grabbing his arm before he could leave. “What do you know?”

“I don’t know if this is the right place, Dean.”

“I think anywhere is the right place. Rouges?”

He sighed in response, and pulled Dean away from Emerson so they could talk a little more privately. “It’s what we call the creatures that you encountered.”

“We came from out East, Cas. We saw the explosion. How were there effects way out here?”

“You really don’t know. Didn’t you go report when things went down?”

“I’m out, Cas. I’m a civilian. Not exactly anywhere for me to report to.”

“There were explosions everywhere. All over the US. A lot of bases were attacked. From what I understand the Capital is completely down. We haven’t received any communication or orders so we came here. Just like we all discussed.”

“It’s all dark?”

“That is how it appears.”

“Why are you so concerned about bites?” Dean frowned, his head spinning, but being back there across from his former brother in arms was bringing back old habits as he stood practically at attention.

“From what we can gather the Rogue’s were created from the blast and the red rain.”

“You had that here, too?”

“Haven’t in a while, but yes.” Castiel said with a sigh. He crossed his arms. “Things are bad, Dean. Our resources are good, but they won’t last forever. The Rogues are multiplying faster than we can pick them off.”

“Multiplying? I thought they happened from the blast.”

“That’s one way. From the intel that we’ve gathered, there are two levels. First level are the ones you saw. Nasty mother fuckers. They have the bubbled and burned flesh, and they are unbelievably hot to the touch. They’ll burn your skin right off if they grab ahold of you, and then there’s level two. These are the ones that have been infected.”

“Infected.” Dean repeated. “You’re saying this can be caught? Like a damn disease?”

“Exactly like a disease. Without a scientist or a real doctor it’s hard to be sure, but we think it is spread through bodily fluids. Saliva and blood are the big ones. Some of the Rogues also deplete a gas that is toxic. It’s unsure if this will cause an outbreak of the disease or not. No one has escaped the gas yet.” Castiel explained grimly.

“Christ.”

“You’re telling me.” He forced a smile. “It’s good to see you, Dean. It really is.”

“You too, Buddy.”

-2 Years Before-

“Winchester, do you need something?”

“Captain Novak, permission to enter?” Dean asked, standing at attention in the entryway to Castiel’s tent.

“Granted. What can I help you with?” Castiel scribbled at his paperwork on his desk, not looking up at Dean.

“Can I speak freely, sir?”

“Personal or business?”

“Personal.”

“Granted.” He finally looked up at Dean and smiled widely. “What can I do for you, Dean?”

“Morale is shit, Cas.” He said casually. “I was wondering if we could take some of the guys into town? You know, to have some fun.”

“I’m not sure if that would be wise. You do know these people want us dead, right?”

“I’m aware.” Dean said smoothly. “Or maybe a movie night? The guys are in a shit mood, sir.”

“Don’t sir with me right now.” Castiel waved Dean off. He’d been recently promoted, and there was no hiding that the two men were close friends. It still felt weird pulling rank. “But you’re right. I heard Garth crying in his bunk again. He’s a sensitive one.”

“He is.” Dean agreed. “Benny is down, too, Cas. He’s worried about his niece. I just think a distraction is in order.”

He pursed his lips in thought. “Okay, fine. We will arrange something. You’re due some fun, too, Winchester.” Castiel promised. “You head out tomorrow to work on those Humvee’s right?”

“Yup. Headed that way at oh-four-hundred.”

Cas grinned at him. “Up before the sun, I’m sure you’re thrilled.”

“Yup, jumping for joy over here.”

“Alright, Winchester, get out of my fucking face so I can get some work done. Dismissed.”

Dean gave his friend a loose salute and turned on his heels before exiting the tent.

“What’s the news, Brother?” Benny asked, a cigarette hanging out of his lips.

“He’s going to work something out.”

“Strip club?” Charlie asked, wiggling her eyebrows. She was a tiny thing, pale with red curls that always fell out of her tight bun at the base of her head.

“Aw, you wish.” Dean caught her around the shoulder and rubbed the top of her head.

“Get off, you ass.” She laughed. She always looked at Dean as a brother and he felt the same. She was brilliant and nobody could deny her computer skills. She was a fucking genius, and why she was out in the dirt with a bunch of men was beyond him. “So what, a football tournament again?” She complained.

“He didn’t really say.” Dean shrugged. “But you know Novak, he’s good for his word. Now get back to work, you lazy assholes.”

He moved forward, back to the tank he was supposed to be tinkering with, his mind far away. “Dean, hey you got a second?”

“Hm?” He turned back to Charlie.

“Don’t leave without me in the morning, I’ll be heading out with you. They’re having some technical difficulties, and I’m going to see what I can do to help.”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “We leave at oh-four-hundred sharp, don’t be late. It’d be a long ass walk.”

“Heard.”

-18 Days After-

They wrapped Pheli’s ankle and applied burn cream from where the Rogue got a little grabby. She would be good to go in a few days, she just needed to stay off of it. Dean’s knee was out of place, before Meg popped it back in. She warned him that it could happen again, since she didn’t have the resources to fix it permanently.

The sun was going down on the camp, the orange sky causing the tents and people to seemingly glow. Some were washing clothes, hanging them up on a line; others cooked over a fire in the center of camp.

“No fucking way.” A deep drawl came from behind them. Dean turned, recognizing the sound immediately.

“Benny?!”

“Hey, Brother.” The man said, pulling Dean into a hug. He wore a dirty Henley, and a gray hat over his dark peppered hair.

“Damn, it’s good to see you.” Dean grinned. “Oh, uh, guys this is Benny he was a buddy of mine from Afghanistan. He was in my unit. Benny this is my brother Sam.”

“So good to finally meet you.” Benny said, offering him a hand.

“This is his girlfriend Ophelia.”

“Call me Pheli, everyone does.”

“And her sister, Emerson.”

“Nice to meet you.” Benny said, kissing both girls hands. “Not very often we get pretty girls in here.” He grinned widely before turning back to Dean. “We are going to play some music by the fire tonight, like old times. We have to keep it low because of the Rogues, but one of our own is back. That’s cause for celebration.’

“Aw, man I don’t know. We are kind of tired, I think.”

“It’s okay.” Emerson said softly, touching his arm. “Benny is right. We almost died today, we should celebrate.”

Dean looked at her for a moment before nodding. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Alright. Fuck, I guess we’re in.”

“Great!” Benny said, slapping Dean’s shoulder. “I’ll see you at the fire after dinner.”

“You got it.”

“Dean!” Castiel called, waving at the group. “We have your quarters set up for the night. We don’t have an extra tent at the moment. We can do some shuffling tomorrow, but it’s a nice night so we got you and Sam set up under the stars.” He gestured to the set up that was under a tree. “The ladies can follow me. We have some extra space with Meg and me.”

Emerson replaced Sam on Pheli’s side. “We will go get settled and meet you.” She promised the boys before following Castiel to the tent.

Dean leaned on the makeshift crutch that Meg made him. “Fuck, man.”

“You’re popular here.” Sam said once they were alone. He grinned widely. “Want to go sit for a bit? You look beat.”

“I feel beat.” Dean said, before scanning the camp. “I think I saw a sign for coffee on our way over here.”

“Sounds good.” Sam agreed.

“Why don’t you go settle our stuff, and I’ll grab a cup of joe.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I want to get a lay of the land before we get too comfortable.” Dean said with a nod before hobbling toward the coffee counter. It was a small stand, set up with just a table and a crudely painted sign. She had a small fire behind her in a metal ring that kept the coffee heated. His stomach ached for food, but his head throbbed from exhaustion. Caffeine would have to do. He didn’t want to know the kind of nightmares he would have if he closed his eyes.

“Heard you’ve got the caffeine.” He said as he approached the brunette behind the table. She was turned away, fiddling with the fire. “We will be seeing a lot of each other.” He laughed dryly. He knew it was smart to befriend the person supplying him with coffee or booze. He was always very chatty with his bartender.

The woman laughed and turned to him. “That’s me. I must say, ever since I took over this position I’ve been very popular.” Her dark eyes caught his as she turned; her pink lips opened in shock. “Dean.” She murmured.

“Lisa.”

—————

Chapter Thirteen

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Sum’n Bitch: pt3

|2 years later…|

“Why won’t you just tell me what to do, Steph? Just tell me! I’ll do whatever you want. But I will not let you treat me like a damn carpet. That I won’t go through again.” I could hear my father say behind the door. I looked over at Nicole and sighed.

“Do you think they’re gonna get a divorce?” She asked me. I shrugged.

“It’s possible…” I frowned.

“Good. Then I won’t have to have a freak like you for a sister.” She snarled, turning on her heel to go to her room.

2 years ago, I got in trouble for making Nicole bald. My father and her mother went out to dinner to discuss our punishment. Instead of discussing punishment, they ended up talking about each other’s lives and found that they were kinda similar. They continued talking for a while and they soon began to date. Knowing my father, he’d propose to her once they reached a year. He moves quickly that way. My sweetheart of a father. He fell for Stephanie’s elegance and humor. She fell for his strong arms and big heart. The thing about my dad was that he was always there to listen to you and regardless of whether you wanted to talk or not, he managed to get it out of you and make you feel better. Stephanie was a good cook and was pretty. Overtime, she would take Nicole and I shopping for dresses to go to formals and dinners. She didn’t like the fact that I did magic though. Throughout my school years, I had gotten stronger and started practicing physical magic like binding, immobilization, telekinesis, false memory; but the trouble came as I practiced levitation… This particular night, I was practicing levitation on myself. I had gotten the hang of levitating simple things like books, pencils, dressers…. my bed even; so I decided to try it out. I sat on my bed, crossing my legs and whispering incantations, white candles lit all around me. I focused on my breathing and relaxed my muscles, thinking to myself “light as a feather” repeatedly. The words spilled past my lips like a prayer. It was quiet and peaceful…..until I heard her scream.

“OH MY GOD! MOOOOOM!!!!” Nicole was hollering bloody murder, running down the halls. My heart was pounding and I was terrified. I didn’t want anybody to find out anything yet. Especially my father. I flopped on the bed from midair and ran after her.

“Christ, Nicole, what is it?” Stephanie asked, placing a hand on her shoulder, my dad looking at me with worry. This happened often, Nicole telling on me. However, tonight felt different. This wasn’t any regular terrorizing moment….

“Maya’s a freak! Mom we can’t stay here anymore! She’s a demon! She’s possessed- fuck I don’t know! Something’s not right with her!” She cried grabbing my father’s arm.

“Dad I’m not-”

“She was floating above her bed just now!” She shouted.

“Steph-”

“She’s a devil worshipper, mom!” She said and I began to panic.

“Daddy, help me!” I cried, hyperventilating uncontrollably. I shook my head as I backed away, the ground beginning to shake like an earthquake. I was terrified. Nicole latched onto Stephanie and screamed. My father tried his best to get us to calm down so he could quickly think of an evacuation plan. But once I stopped crying and my anxiety calmed, the ground stopped vibrating. I looked at my family with confusion and terror. I was genuinely afraid of myself.

“You did that? You did didn’t you?! I knew it! Mom see I told you! She worships Satan!” Nicole screamed, pointing at me.

“Nicole, relax. She’s not a devil worshipper.” My father said rushing to me, holding me close to large chest.

“Are you positive, Virgil?! She’s always got her head stuck in some weird leather book and it’s in a language I don’t understand!” She exclaimed.

“It’s not the bloody book of Satan!” I screamed.

“You guys I swear! You have to believe me!” She cried. “She was like four feet off her bed when I went in there! Candles were lit, there were a bunch of weird rocks out-”

“Daddy, they’re cleansing crystals!” I shouted.

“Ok that’s it! I’ve had enough of this.” Stephanie said pushing by us all to go upstairs into my room.

“Stephanie, what are you doing?!” I yelled, running after her. But my father paused me.

“Maya, stay right here.” He said running upstairs after her.

“Like hell I will!” I exclaimed, running up after them. By the time I had gotten to my room, the door closed in my face. I banged on the door until my fists hurt. “Don’t touch my shit!” I screamed. I could hear them shouting things that I couldn’t make out beneath the sound of clutter and movement. Then I heard something large hit the floor, causing a loud noise. I jumped. I was genuinely worried about what was happening behind my closed door.

“What are they saying?” Nicole asked sinisterly, instinctively I turned and punched her in the gut, not feeling even the littlest bit of guilt, before turning to place my ear to the door again.

“This is against God in every way, Virgil, and you just let her do this?!” I heard her shout.

“It’s books, candles, and a couple gemstones, Steph! What’s wrong with that?! She’s not hurting anybody!” I heard my dad defend me until his second marriage fell apart and that hurt my heart.

“So everything Nicole had been telling me was the truth and I didn’t believe her… I didn’t want to believe her. I didn’t want to be against my own step daughter!” Stephanie yelled, rummaging through my things.

“So then don’t!” my father snapped.

“Spell books, Virgil?! Really?!”

“They’re white spells! They’re innocent!”

“Jesus Christ…” They went on like this until they stopped arguing about me and started arguing about each other. Nicole and I sat by the door until it opened. She would leave and come back when things sounded interesting but I stayed by the door faithfully. When it finally did, Stephanie looked at me with a never before seen look of hatred. “Nicole, pack your things. We’re leaving.” She said before walking away. The look on my father’s face was heartbreaking. I glared at Nicole with tears in my eyes.

“What did I ever do to you?” I croaked, trying my hardest to breathe. “I hate you….” With that, she stood and walked away, her lip trembling. I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or sadness. But I wasn’t alright after that… I turned to look at my dad and his eyes were filled with sadness as he looked back at me. I curled into a ball and began to cry. I didn’t do anything but why did I feel so guilty. I also felt slightly privileged to have a father that would accept me and protect me regardless of whether he was married or not. “Dad… I’m sorry…. I never meant to….”

“This wasn’t your fault, baby girl…. You have to believe that…” he told me, engulfing my small frame into his arms, kissing the top of my head. Even though he said that, I couldn’t believe it. I knew it was my fault. By the time Nicole graduated, she and Stephanie had moved out and I had transferred to a new school. We moved to the middle of Butt-Fuck-Nowhere, Kansas. I had to say goodbye to Louise and I cried a lot that day. I hated Nicole Healy for destroying everything good in my life.

|Lawrence, Kansas|

It was a week before my senior year began and we just moved into our new house. When junior year ended, it was the greatest gift I could’ve ever received. Being 19 was a breeze. My summer had come and gone rather quickly though. I had one year left to complete in an entirely new school. No one knew me at all. It was awful. I didn’t know anyone in Kansas. ‘What would I even talk about with these people?’ I thought as I decorated my new room with succulents and candles. I groaned at my new surroundings. It was nothing but farms and small town communities. Something like a fall postcard. Had my situation been a little different, I might’ve loved it. There was nothing interesting here. I set up my plants along the windowsill and hung up trinkets from the ceiling when the doorbell rang. I looked outside my window (just to be nosy) and saw the prettiest black car sitting in the driveway. The very same car that I begged my father for when I got my license but all I got was a stupid, beat up junkyard Ford truck. I almost didn’t notice my name being called whilst admiring its beauty. I looked in the mirror to fix my big, coily hair, adjusting my red checkered shirt as I made my way to the front door. I was greeted by a tall man with dark hair and a salt and peppered beard. He was tall with kind brown eyes and a friendly crest white smile played across his lips. Standing behind him was the most gorgeous pair of young green eyes that I had ever seen. His jaw was chiseled and he had short, classically spiked sandy blonde hair. His face bore a look of confidence and I also picked up hints of obnoxious cockiness. I didn’t know how to feel about that trait just yet. He was broad shouldered and his wide, muscular chest was covered by a thin grey tee shirt; his arms long and probably the size of my head. He was a bit shorter than the other man but I could tell he was at least 6 feet even….

“Maya. This is John and Dean Winchester. They’re our neighbors.” My dad said in a positively toned voice.

“How ya doin’, sweetheart?” The older man whom I believed was John put out a large hand for me to shake with a warm smile. Shyly I took it and shook. My eyes wandered to the 1967 black Impala but the younger one locked eyes with me, interrupting my train of thought and line of sight.

“Hiya, princess.” Dean smirked with a quick wink. He may have been cute but I could always smell trouble when it was presented to me and Dean Winchester was the epitome of trouble.

“Howdy…” I said, completely unamused by his greasiness. I tried once more to look at the Impala and he turned to see that I was ogling the vehicle.

“Y’know, it looks a lot better up close if you wanna check it out.” He said and I looked at him with a closed lip grin, nodding immediately. “After you…” He said gesturing the way. I looked at my father biting my lip and squeezed between John to run towards the shiny beauty.

When I got to it, I peaked my head inside to view the beige leather interior, smiling from ear to ear. I walked around it, admiring every dip and curve of its shape. “Is it yours?” I asked.

“Nah, she’s my dad’s. We work on her together.” Dean stated proudly, sitting on the hood of the car.

“She?” I asked raising my eyebrows.

“We call her Baby.” He chuckled.

“That’s hot.” I joked and he laughed.

“Yeah. It catches on.” He smiled. He was damn near a perfect human being. His eyelashes were long and brightened the seriousness in his eyes a bit. The cocky smile played across his smooth pink lips as he watched my hands slowly glide over Baby’s shiny black coat of paint. “You wanna ride?” He smirked. I whipped my head to look at him with widened eyes, my face burning red.

“Y-You mean the car right?” I stuttered. I was completely flustered. ‘Of course he meant the car, dumbass!’ I thought, mentally smacking myself for my stupidity as he hopped off the hood.

“What did you think I meant?” He grinned as he stood towering a whole extra head and shoulders above me. The wind blew, pushing my hair in different directions as I bit my lip hard, trying to think of something to say. I decided to just not answer the question.

“Hey dad! We’re gonna take a ride!” I shouted to my dad, jumping into the passenger seat of the Impala as he and John held their doorway conversation.

“Oh- ok. Be- Hey! Be safe! Wear a seatbelt!” He shouted.

“I know, daddy!” I chirped.

“Aye, Dean! Keep it under 80, buddy!” John yelled with a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah!” He said as he pulled the keys from the front pocket his dirty jeans. He climbed inside and sat down with a grunt. He jammed the keys in the ignition and turned the volume all the way up on the radio, “Immigrant Song” blasting obnoxiously loud. I smiled and began to bounce up and down in my seat with excitement as I heard Baby purring beneath the music. I could feel the engine running from where I sat. “YOU ALL SET?!” He shouted above the music with a grand smile.

“HELL YEAH!” I chuckled.

“Hell yeah!” He laughed as he stepped on the gas.

We drove down the street at lightning speed. We may have been going a bit faster than 80. The wind blowing at my face, the roar of the car, the attractive company… I felt like my day was starting to turn around. During our adventure, we stopped at a gas station and bought a ton of snacks and a case of beer. “I won’t tell anybody.” He said to me with a toothy grin. We bonded over our choice of snacks: mini pies, bbq chips, the mini pizzas that you cook in the store; all the way down to the gummy bears and sour gummy worms. We took our snacks and drove all the way out to a secluded area by a lake where we decided to kick it and shoot the shit for a while. Dean and I got to know each other rather quickly. He wasn’t much older than me. Only 21. He loved his family. His face lit up like a Christmas tree whenever he brought them up. Like me, his mother passed away and I still remembered the sting when my mother took her own life. His mother passed in a fire though, which was arguably worse. However, I believe that losing a mother is the worst thing that could happen to a person in general. Our father’s were there though. And Dean had a brother about my age. He just recently went to college. He didn’t leave on the best of terms, but I could tell that Dean was still proud of him. I told him all about my interest in magic and that I was a witch in practice as I sat on the roof of the car with my legs crossed, devouring my cheese puffs. His face contorted a bit as I spoke and that worried me; I feared that I might’ve messed up a friendship. “What kinda magic do you do?” He asked me, casually sipping on his summer lager before continuing to eat his nachos.

“What do you mean ‘what kind’?” I said, knitting my eyebrows together. He took his lager and sat it in the roof next to me, taking a couple steps back from the car to look at me.

“Y’know. What kind? Like do you practice black magic, Hoodoo, Wicca spells, campy magic, alchemy, ceremonial magic…” he listed them off and I got more and more confused. Maybe I didn’t know as much about magic as I thought I did. “You don’t even know?....can you even do anything?” He chuckled. Maybe he was taking me for a joke. Maybe he didn’t think that I was serious.

“Well...yeah-”

“Mmmmm. And what is it that you can do?” He said sarcastically.

“I can levitate.”

“Pansy shit…” he coughed.

“Excuse me?” I chuckled.

“I said we need...some fans n shit. Because it’s hot out here.” He chuckled nervously.

“You’re so full of shit!” I giggled.

“And so are you! Show me your levitation.”

“I can’t do it on command….. I need my candles….” I pouted as a corner of his lips pulled up.

“If you’re a real witch, you should be able to do it no problem.” He teased as he approached the car, resting his forearms on the roof. He was absolutely right. “Look… I’m not gonna tell you to stop doing what you love. I’m just sayin’ dig deeper.” He said grabbing his beer to take a sip. “You don’t need candles to cast spells. Candles are there to raise inspiration. Now there are a few spells that require a candle but that’s because someone probably made this candle with ingredients used to cast a spell.” He explained. I just listened, soaking up all the information he had to give me.

“How do you know so much about this stuff anyways?” I asked scooting to the edge of the roof to dangle my short legs off the side.

“I uh…. I like to read.” He said.

“Liar.” I chuckled.

“Seriously!” He laughed, smacking my calf. “Ok so maybe I watch a bit too much TV.” He said with a chuckle.

“I knew it. It’s all bullshit.” I laughed.

“It’s not! I promise. I may or may not have tried a thing or two.” He shrugged.

“And what do you know about witchcraft?” I smirked.

“You’re not in any position to judge me! You can’t even levitate without your candles.” He was mocking me. But he didn’t push me away at all. The more we talked, the closer he got to me. He was a fair bit of distance from me when we first got here. Now, he stood so close, grinning in my face. He began to open up to me about his feelings and told me all about how he would go traveling with his dad and brother. We debated healthily over whether cherry pie was the best pie. He swore it was because it was his favorite but I knew for a fact it didn’t hold a flame to my dad’s sweet potato pie. It was beauty in itself. Then we would talk about music. He was a strong classic rock supporter and I was right along with him. For the first time in a long time, I found a kindred spirit almost identical to me in every way. Eventually, the night came and I had to say goodbye. After he drove me home, we traded numbers and stayed outside of the house continuing to talk a while longer. “So there’s a new burger joint opening in town and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go?” He asked me suddenly.

“You had me at burger.” I grinned. Eventually, dad opened up the door. He and John were drinking beer and watching a baseball game.

“So you finally came back, huh?” John joked from the living room as we came inside.

“Where’d you guys go?” My father asked.

“I just took her to Clinton. We grabbed some snacks, sat out there, got to know each other a little bit…” Dean answered. He looked to me and I just smiled. Not a fake smile but a real smile for once.

“Cool...cool. Sounds like you had fun.” He said, a hint of relief in his voice.

“Yeah, we had a good time.” I said. A moment of comfortable silence passed over and John groaned as he stood up to put his beer bottle in the trash.

“Well, Virgil. I had a great time. We’ll have to have you and your lovely daughter over for dinner some time, yeah?” John smiled as he and my father shook hands.

“Sounds like a plan.” My dad smiled.

“Alright then! Guess we better be headin’ out.” He said. “It was nice to meet you, Maya. You guys enjoy the rest of your night. Dean!”

“Yup!” He said militantly. When it came to his father, he was like a soldier awaiting further orders. He looked at me and winked before following behind his tall father. “I’ll pick you up in the morning?” He asked at the last minute.

“Okay.” I smiled shyly.

“10 alright?”

“10’s fine.”

“Alright! I’ll see ya.”

My father and I waited in the doorway from the to see that they drove off safely and finally went inside. “What are you guys doing tomorrow?” He asked me as I went to grab a bottle of water.

“A new burger place just opened up. We’re gonna go.” I said smiling a bit too hard.

“Oh ok…. that Dean Winchester looks at you like he likes you. I don’t like it.” He joked, hugging me and kissing my cheek.

“Dad!” I groaned in embarrassment as I settled into his hug. He sighed.

“Do you like it here?” He asked me.

“I mean… it’s not Texas but…. it’s an adjustment.” I answered as honestly as possible. “I’ll be ok.”

“Are you sure?” He asked. I nodded.

[dracosollicitus]

35 do you regret it + 44 I still remember the way you taste

I’m guessing this is Damerey?! I’ll just go with Damerey. 

Modern AU – Angst 

Word Count: 2848 words

“Don’t talk to him, peanut.” Rey set her Solo cup down and glared at her best friend. Finn gave her an almost apologetic smile and held his hands up defensively. “It’s been what, three months since you’ve talked to him? And the last time didn’t go very well.”

Ah yes. The infamous “Rey Kenobi Dances on a Table and then Cries in a Waffle House” debacle of ‘18. Who could forget?

“I’m not going to talk to him,” Rey said, examining her green nail polish. “I don’t have anything to say to him.”

That was a lie. She had plenty of things to say to him. But she didn’t want to say all the things she had stored up inside of herself, not to his face. No, those things, those hurts, were best reserved for the safety of her shower, her ranting angrily into the falling water, arguing with an invisible person who wasn’t there. Those were the best kinds of arguments, the kinds you could control. 

Rose Tico sidled up next to them and slipped her arm through Finn’s. “Poe Dameron’s here!” She said excitedly. “Can you believe -” She cut herself off, catching a glimpse of Finn’s face as he shook her head desperately at her. “Oh- I’m - sorry?”

“Don’t be,” Rey assured her, smiling at their newest addition to the friend group. Rose started dating Finn four months ago, six months after – 

There was no reason for her to know, after all.

“It is exciting that he’s here. Good for the town.” Rey frowned out the back door of the Organa-Solo house. Leia and Han were at their summer home, and Ben threw world-famous parties in the basement in their absence (and no one commented on the fact that a thirty year old man was still throwing ragers in his parents’ basement, if only because Han Solo was the coolest person of all time and could still do a keg stand, and who wouldn’t want to live with Leia Organa?).

“He won two Grammys, right?” Rey’s attention was broken by Rose’s innocent question.

Rey liked Rose, and she really had no problem with Poe being here, but she couldn’t talk about him so casually. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “Three,” Rey said simply. “If you’ll excuse me.”

She pushed past Rose and Finn and walked outside. It was an oddly cool summer’s night, and Rey sighed with relief, finally away from the noise and chaos of the party inside. The backyard was spacious, with plenty of trees to get lost in - up ahead was a swingset that she used to play on with Ben (alright, so he pushed her on the swings begrudgingly; it was hard to find common ground when you were eight and your guardian’s godson was thirteen). Rey sat down on the left swing and kicked her heels off. She pushed off and pumped her legs in and out, soothing and familiar in its rhythm. 

Rey tilted her head back and regarded the stars, her favorite pastime of childhood, bridging into adulthood. She closed her eyes and continued to swing, letting her head fall forward, her hair tumbling around her shoulders and in front of her face, both ignoring and leaning into the empty, horrible cavern in her chest, threatening to swallow her whole, the rip in herself that had been there for ten and a half months, ever since -

“I thought you’d be out here.” 

Perfect.

“I thought you’d stay in there,” Rey said, not opening her eyes. She adjusted her grip on the rope of her swing and continued to kick her feet lazily. He had the audacity to laugh. Bastard. 

She didn’t look at him, but she heard him walk through the grass and settle on the swing next to her, at her right. “Let me try again. Hey.”

Rey snorted and ignored him for a moment, still swinging.

“How’ve you been?” 

Rey stalled herself, dragging her feet along the ground until she came to a stop. She tossed her hair out of her face angrily (and he used to say it’s like you’re shaking your mane out, look at you, wild thing, God, you’re perfect, and while saying those things, he’d kiss her forehead and temple and cheek and jaw and lips and - ) and looked at him at last. 

“Really?” Rey said. She didn’t know what her face looked like, but whatever he saw, Poe was inspired to look down at his feet. “That’s your opener? How’ve you been?” She scoffed and scraped her fingernail along the painted plywood of her seat. “Two bets on how I’ve been, Dameron. I don’t need to ask how you’ve been, though. I can open any teen magazine and find out.”

“That shit isn’t real, Rey.” Poe sounded so tired, and for a moment, she felt bad that she’d lost her temper. For a moment. “That isn’t me.”

“So you aren’t dating Jennifer Lawrence?” Rey said, trying to sound bored, but really sounding furious. “You didn’t break up Brie Larson’s engagement? Weren’t spotted canoodling with an Instagram star in SoHo?”

“Stop it,” Poe whispered. “Please, Rey.”

Rey stood and walked away from the swings, but she made it ten feet before she spun around to face him. There was no excuse for her yelling at him. She wasn’t drunk, wasn’t even tipsy. She was just hurt, and with the childhood she’d had, before Uncle Ben came to get her - it had taught her to hurt others before they could see how badly they’ve hurt you.

“Do you regret it?” She demanded. Poe looked at her, the only light in the backyard from the moon and the distant porchlight behind her. A shadow fell across his face, carving his handsome features in half. Maybe that’s why he looked so - “Do you ever regret leaving town? Leaving me?” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she hated herself for it, hated herself even more than she hated him.

Poe cleared his throat, and even in the darkness, Rey could see how his knuckles were white, from where he clutched at the wood of his swing. His broad shoulders - even broader now, probably because he had a nutritionist and a personal trainer and whatever fuckall they set up for you when you went on tour with a platinum album - spilled over the boundaries of the ropes, his muscular thighs a little too wide for the seat. Poe stared at her, his gaze boundless and broken, and Rey felt whatever was left inside of her, whatever strength she still had, crumble. 

“Forget it,” she said. She forced herself to smile at him. “Forget I said anything, Dameron. Enjoy the party.” Rey turned around and wrapped her arms around her middle and walked inside, face burning with humiliation. She should have listened to Finn’s advice, should have walked away the moment he sat down, she should have - 

“The second I walked away from you, I knew.” 

Rey didn’t turn around, but she did stop walking. Poe’s voice was coming from behind her, but it sounded closer, like he’d gotten up out of the swing. He didn’t continue, so Rey coughed slightly, refusing to wipe at the tears forming in her eyes. “Knew what?”

“That I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.” Rey squeezed her eyes shut against it, a single tear falling and cutting down her cheek. He didn’t need prompting to continue this time. “I walked away from you, and it was like a physical pain. I was stupid, and I hated myself the second I suggested we end things. Because why the fuck would I end things with you? I gave myself a lot of reasons, but they didn’t make sense the second I walked away from you. Because why did I leave? To make your life easier, so you didn’t have to wait around on me while I toured? To make my own life more convenient? Because let me tell you, Rey, listening to every voicemail I have saved of yours, over and over again, just so I can fucking sleep at night, it’s not convenient. It’s not fucking convenient, or healthy.” 

Rey stood stiller than a statue, the only movement in her body coming from her jaw, which trembled horribly in an attempt to keep the sob building in her chest from leaking out. She refused to open her eyes. She refused to look at him. She refused to believe him. 

“I still remember what you taste like.” Rey’s entire body burned from that confession, and her breath caught in her throat, perhaps forever. “Still remember how your lips feel on mine, how your hands felt in my hair, how much better my name sounded when you were the one saying it. I dream about you every night, and the bed’s cold next to me when I wake up, and I have to live with the knowledge, all over again, that I was the one who walked away, that I’m the one who hurt you.”

“So, do I regret it?” Poe laughed, a harsh sound, and he was closer than before, clearly walking towards her as he spoke. “I fucking regret it more than I’ve regretted anything in my entire life. For my birthday this year, the record label set up some shitty party in LA, with all these fucking people I didn’t care about, and booze and drugs and all the fucking cliche shit we used to make fun of when we’d sing together. And I sat in a bathroom stall and cried for half an hour, listening to the birthday message you left me when I turned thirty, listening to the message you left me eleven months ago where you were at the store, trying to figure out the difference between two percent and one percent milk. On that one, you say, ‘fuck it, Dameron, if I can’t read your handwriting, I’m just getting whole milk.’ That’s one of my favorite ones to listen to, by the way, because you sound angry with me, but you also sound like you still love me, and that was the only way I could live with myself, was by imagining this stupid, alternate world where I hadn’t fucked up too badly, and you’d taken me back an hour after I drove away, and you were mad at me, but you still fucking loved me.”

Rey lifted her hand to her mouth and chewed on her thumbnail, trying to refocus her attention anywhere besides the gut-wrenching confession behind her; the one she’d begged the universe for each night; the one she was realizing she didn’t really want to hear. 

“I got your last call when I was on the first leg of the tour,” Poe said then, and Rey’s entire body locked in terror. So he did want to talk about it. “What was that, three months ago?”

Rey nodded, still frozen. She stared at the back of the house, praying for Finn to sense her distress and come get her out of this. Rey could just walk away, she knew that, Poe would never stop her or try to keep her if she didn’t want to talk to him, but she was frozen, she didn’t want to talk about this, not right now, not -

“You sounded so upset,” Poe whispered. “But you said you loved me. You said you needed me. And I thought, ‘thank Christ, I’m not the only one.’ So I tried calling you back. I tried to call you, ten times a day, for a week straight. And then it said the number had been disconnected.”

“I broke my phone,” Rey muttered. “Dropped it into a pond.” At the cemetery. Don’t go there. Don’t go there, Kenobi.

“Oh.” Poe laughed, and she did too, albeit a little shakily. He sounded closer than ever. He must have been less than three feet away from her now. Run. Run now before he - “Oh, that sounds about right.” If he were anyone but Poe Dameron, she would have slugged them, but he sounded so damn fond, she forgot to be angry. “I almost got a plane and came here, but I figured you didn’t want to see me.”

“I did,” Rey admitted. The tears were forming more quickly than she cared to admit now. “I needed you, Poe, and you weren’t here -”

“I’m sorry,” he was right behind her. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby, please look at me - why didn’t you pick up the phone? Even if I didn’t - even if - God, Rey, you’re so fucking important to me, I woulda come back for you, in any context, at any time -”

But she was proud, and they both knew that. She was proud, and she didn’t call him back because - 

“He died.” Rey folded in on herself more, and Poe’s breath staggered behind her. 

“What?”

“Uncle Ben.” Rey turned around to look at him finally; her hips turning so she nearly faced him, tears pouring down her face readily now, no stopping them, no hiding this grief, this three month old, still fresh grief. Poe was staring at her, tears drying on his own face, new ones building in his large brown eyes, and Rey’s voice shattered when she spoke next. “Ben died, and I was trying to call you to see if you wanted to come home for the funeral, but I was drunk, and I just ended up -” she sobbed, uncontrollably, her hand covering her mouth. Poe reached out for her and then thought better of it, and the fact that he’d think she wouldn’t want him to hold her, that she was so far done with him that she’d reject it - it was too much.

“I needed you.” She faced him fully, fists clenched at her sides. “I needed you, Poe, and you were gone. And I don’t know what would have happened if you’d picked up that night, or if I’d picked up when you called back but-”

“I would have been here,” Poe said fiercely. “Fuck, Rey, I had no idea, none, I didn’t know Ben was - that you were alone-”

“Alone.” Rey sniffed and laughed angrily. “I felt alone when I called you, yeah. But I wasn’t really alone. I had Finn, and then Rose. And Ben Solo’s been really nice.” It was a low blow, and Rey knew it, could see his shoulders stiffening for a moment before they released. Poe was too good of a person to begrudge her happiness if she did end up dating Ben Solo (which everyone thought was a good idea). Ben had been interested in her for years, Rey knew that. Poe knew that. But he wouldn’t hold it against her. He was too kind, and he’d left her, after all. Poe was probably too decent to even ask if she was with Ben now (she wasn’t, would never be).

“I’m glad you weren’t alone,” Poe said after a moment. He was less than six inches away from her, and he looked taller than she’d remembered. He was tanner, his teeth whiter, his clothes nicer. Like a Malibu Ken version of the man she loved.

She hated it. 

“Don’t be glad,” Rey said venomously. “Don’t fucking stand there and tell me you were glad other people were there for me after my father died, Poe.”

“Okay.” Poe’s eyes burned into hers. “So. What should I tell you, then?”

Tell me you still love me. Tell me you’re sorry. Tell me that I’m good enough to stick around for. 

“Tell me not to walk away.” Rey stared at him boldly, and Poe’s expression wavered for a moment, something almost grieved taking over, and he reached out at last, and pulled her into his arms. 

“Don’t walk away,” Poe said brokenly into her shoulder, begging her in the way she’d been too proud to beg ten months ago. “Please, Sunshine. Please stay, let me fix this, let me prove to you how much I love you.” He kissed her shoulder over the thin shirt she wore and held her tight to his body. Rey wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes, burying herself in his neck and re-familiarizing herself with the smell of mahogany and chocolate and home. 

“Okay,” Rey whispered. His hands tightened on her back in response. “Okay, I’ll stay.” 

“I love you, and I’m sorry,” Poe said, dragging his hands between her shoulder blades, tangling one in her hair. “I love you.”

A year ago, she would have said I know, and kissed him on the nose cheerfully and then accepted his equally happy kiss on the lips. But Rey Kenobi’s heart had been broken and re-formed and neglected too much in the last year, so her response was worlds different, and had Poe Dameron crying into her shoulder. 

“I want to believe you.” 

She’d try to believe him.

It was a start.

[artinmovingframes]

The Bitter Irony of Commander Lawrence’s artworks in The Handmaid’s Tale

[CW: physical and psychological violence against women, violence against minors, murder, racism]

These are my thoughts regarding the relation between the art displayed in the set and the tv show The Handmaid’s Tale. Over-interpretation is part of the reflexion, but please let me know if anything I said may have hurt you or seemed to be completely misconstrued.

In the 12th episode of the second season of The Handmaid's Tale, we were introduced to a new character, Commander Lawrence, who "welcomes" Emily (Alexis Bledel) into his house. The whole setup is somewhat disorienting and the artworks displayed are an important part of it, so I would like to give you my train of thoughts when we were introduced to the house and its inhabitants.

Aunt Lydia (Ann Dowd) accompanies Emily and comments on how no-one wanted her, following her history of revolt. Of course we are intrigued as to whom would open their house to her, in the context of Gilead. And when the door opened for the first time on a one-eyed Martha, Cora, I had two very opposite insticts, which were then kept up during the episode:

first I thought the Commander would be a cruel cruel man, taking the women nobody wanted anymore to do whatever he wanted to them, a sadist even worse than the "norm" in Gilead.

then I hoped it'd be a kind and considerate man, trying his best to help the scorned, tortured women, (since Emily has also suffered inhumane mutilation).

We then enter the house, a cluttered house full of trinkets, books, paintings unlike the ones we've been accustomed to before (naked bodies, abstract and expressionist art etc.). Quick side-note: most of the art on display in Commanders' houses so far were Impressionnist works, Monet in Waterford's office, Pissarro in Emily's previous commander's bedroom.

Aunt Lydia is surprised, as we are. The maid freely "jokes"(?) and talks back to the Commander as though there wouldn't be any consequence, or maybe she doesn't care about the consequences.

In the staircase, two paintings:

"Julius Caesar on Gold", Jean-Michel-Basquiat, 1981, Sotheby’s "Dark tree trunks", Georgia O'Keeffe, 1946, Brooklyn Museum

Contemporary art in these households?

But then, Commander Lawrence appears. And of course we know Bradley Whitford from The West Wing, but the role which he's now associated with is that of Dean Armitage in Get Out (what, you haven't seen Get Out? Go watch it and come back thanks). In Get Out, his racism (and that of his family) is for the first part of the movie contained to a "fascination" towards black people, hypocrite statements and intrusive behaviour. And the same uneasiness transpires through his character in The Handmaid's Tale.

During this episode, we learn from his wife, seemingly mentally broken and abused, that he is the founder of the Colonies system. We also learn that she was an Art professor.

“Life didn’t turn out the way she wanted it to. She was an art professor. She wanted everything to be beautiful.”

And like Mrs. Waterford who's in charge of the decoration in her home and chose impressionnist paintings (we can assume stolen from museums) to reflect her love of watercolor, it might be an indication that she at least participated in the decoration of the place, maybe even collected these pieces before Gilead existed. However, like everything in this world, and an earlier scene of Commander Waterford supervising the hanging of a family portrait reminds us, men are in charge, and the art surrounding them reflects on the taste and character of these men.

According to me, the art in the Lawrence household is very loud, and talkative.

The Handmaid's Tale has handled very poorly its treatment of race relations (or lack thereof), even though the Colonies are a shameless parallel to slavery and plantations. Here, the casting choice of Bradley Whitford combined with the artworks is voluntary, even though no explicit commentary is made. The irony of a Basquiat representing a black Julius Caesar hanging in the home of what would clearly be described as a white supremacist is not lost on us. O'Keeffe's paintings are known for their erotic symbolism, but here, deprived of any woman agency, the dark trunks might be an echo of a (black?) woman's body, dehumanized. This point of view is reinforced when Commander Lawrence forces his wife back to (her or their) room, and you can see in the background a painting representing two naked women, akin to the orientalist harem paintings of the late 19th century.

This manipulation of art, described as "the elite absorbing the Rebellion" is also evident in the painting by Sidney Nolan featured in the dining room during their last talk.

“After Glenrowan Siege (Second Ned Kelly series)”, Sidney Nolan, 1955, MoMA

The artwork depitcs Ned Kelly, a bushranger, an ambiguous figure of Australia's history, a defender of worker's rights, also associated with the killing of policemen. As an ultra-conservative religious system based on strict order, we could hardly see them align with the politics of Kelly; but as a sectarian minority who imposed their law by force, they might see themselves as rebels (remember the right always complaining of being oppressed by people wanting to be treated equally and respectfully...)

Gauguin is featured as well, surrounded by sculpted women torsos. in my opinion joining the contradictions of this Commander. The painting is that of christian Britton women in a landscape. For the post-impressionnist, Britanny was already an elsewhere, a place of wonder, deep religious fervor even though he was anticlerical, but not enough. He then traveled to French Polynesia where his "fascination" for the autochtones led him to abuse women, minors. We remember the art as one lauding the simple state of nature, with bright colors, celebrating pleasure and harmony, even though that art emerges from his imperialistic and machist desires and abuses.

“Landscape with two Breton Women”, Paul Gauguin, 1889, Boston MFA

The invasive and creepy conversation imposed by Commander Lawrence on Emily is ambiguous at best. I have little hope that we are presented with a respectful, righteous man. Even though in his turns of phrases he seems to disregard the hypocrite politeness of Gilead, and even their beliefs, as he seems to recognize Emily as a woman married and with a child, and not a gender traitor. But his interest is that of a man who maybe enjoys the brutality itself, celebrates genius and intellect and thinks art strives only from pain. So he appropriates that struggle, that of the artists, their history and fights. He is as entitled as the rest. His wife, complicit to a point, may have understood too late, may have felt guilt over their actions (her panick is shown as an illness when she is a voice of reason). She participated in that art deal, because she felt she could make the world beautiful, evidently according to her vision of beauty, so she bought, decorated, put varnish on a system that stripped creators from their agency, perverted their voice, or hid away their true nature.

At one point, Emily, who, as a woman, is not allowed to read, leaned over an open copy of Art Spiegelman’s Maus. The graphic novel is (as best as I can remember), about the artist learning about his family's history, the Shoah. This, too me, is as perverse as the game gets for Lawrence. He purposefully let that book open, at a page where people are shown hanged. We can imagine in this world how "provocative" art could be burnt, destroyed; maybe Aunt Lydia thought so when she entered. Commander Lawrence knows how Gilead could be compared to Nazi Germany (interestingly enough, right wing conservatives who call everyone nazis for wanting gun control, abortion rights etc. always feel offended when Trumpism and their "free thinking is called out as fascist, but I digress). Lawrence shows the totality of his power, how he controls her no matter how free she thinks she can be (by reading). He controls the narrative.

There is something potent in art, especially when we consider who owns it. Because there we either see the limit of the works, or that of the owner's honesty. The apparent failure of a piece brings about that of the person who chose to select it. Therefore, the failure, the crackling varnish, is not only that of Lawrence, whose perversity filters through his presence onscreen and not just because of how the artworks mirror his ambiguity, but a failure of the show itself, either because I gave them too much credit where it is not due, or because this awareness reflects on its previous flaws. I really hope I am wrong about this character, that he is in fact charitable, that the art is there for the wife, and allowed because he’s such an important member of Gilead (think of the high ranking officials who kept artworks for themselves in Nazi Germany). However, I wanted not to give a diagnostic but merely to try and think of ways to interpret art as reimagined in their fictional surrounding. For more debate I invite you to check the Handmaid’s Tale subreddit (as I did... after writing all this down urgh) here here and there. Other mentioned artworks I seem to have missed include Cézanne, Klimt (another wink at Nazi spoils)...

[buddiebeginz]

Because nothing, NOTHING, would had happened to Robert if he hadn't gone looking for them in the first place! He brought them to Emmerdale, he cheated on Chrissie, he didn't take care of Lachlan when he was supposed to, he scammed them over and over again, he brought Rebecca, he stole from them multiple times, he tried to purposely hurt their health in several occasions. HE WENT FOR THEM, EVERYTIME. Why do you like him if you won't even see him for what he is? It doesn't make you a better fan.

Oh anon where to even begin with this

1. We don’t know how Rob and the Whites officially first met. Unless I’m mistaken that’s a topic that’s never been thoroughly discussed in the show. It wasn’t his decision to go to Emmerdale. Aaron, Sandy, and Paddy went looking for Lawrence after Edna told Aaron about some of the history she had with Lawrence. Lawrence eventually comes to Emmerdale looking for Edna and eventually he decides to buy Home Farm bringing Chrissie and Rob there. His main decision to stay in the village though is because he knew Rob didn’t want to stay and he was hoping to drive a wedge between him and Chrissie. It was never Rob who wanted to go back to Emmerdale and never his decision to bring the Whites there.

2. Yes Rob cheated on Chrissie with Aaron. I’m not excusing him for that it was fucked up that he did that especially considering how long it went on for. However Rob has also struggled tremendously with coming to terms with his sexuality. Even Aaron said that Rob was fighting who he truly was. Rob was physically abused by his father when Jack found out that Rob was attracted to men so of course it was going to cause Rob to have psychological trauma attached to his sexuality. Rob has continued to be on a journey of figuring out who he truly is, what he truly wants, and allowing himself to follow those things without being afraid. I’m not saying Rob cheating with Aaron was okay or that the ons with Rebecca was okay either just that I try and understand why these things happened.

 As much as I don’t like Chrissie how Rob hurt her was fucked up and he should have just ended it especially before the wedding. I just think to him letting go of Aaron represented letting go of who he really wanted and wanted to be and letting go of Chrissie represented letting go of who he thought he was supposed to be and he didn’t know how to do either at that point. I think it’s possible to dislike a character’s actions and still try and understand them and why they happened. This is a soap things aren’t always so black and white especially when it comes to questions of morals. I’m not just going to stop liking a character because they’ve made some mistakes. 

3. While it’s true Rob did become Lachlan’s step father when he married Chrissie it’s obvious Lachlan had been having serious problems for a long time, much longer than Rob had even been in the picture. Not long after he even showed up in Emmerdale Lachlan was in the hospital from a drug overdose. Yes being married meant that Rob should have stepped in more and helped Chrissie with Lachlan more but Chrissie has also been very hands off when it comes to Lachlan and even doing a lot of things that have added to his issues. Obviously Rob has done things to help add to Lachlan’s troubles as well but he’s certainly not fully to blame for why Lachlan is the way he is. Chrissie should have been getting Lachlan help a long time ago and recognizing the warning signs because I wouldn’t be surprised if Lachlan ends up killing someone at this point.

4. Yes Rob has scammed the Whites numerous times and ways and and that hasn’t been okay but if we’re talking about money what about all the work he put into the business that Lawrence just kicked him out of? 

5. Rebecca came to the village willingly knowing that her main reason for coming was to double cross her family and get some info for Rob who was trying to get back at them for Andy. She also obviously showed up to try and get Rob to herself because like a day after her arrival she was in the pub trying to flirt with Rob and talking about how he didn’t seem gay when he was in her bed. And regardless just because he asked her to come there doesn’t mean it was okay for someone he and his husband considered a friend to take advantage of him in a vulnerable moment.

6. The Whites have also gone for him everytime too. Rebecca has been trying to get in Rob’s pants and sabotage his relationship with Aaron since she arrived. Chrissie threatened to Kill Rob on numerous occasions, blew up his car,  has been saying homophobic and rude things to him and Aaron for a long time. Lawrence tried to do everything to break up him and Chrissie when they were together, told Aaron on multiple occasions he should leave Rob. Lachlan threatened that he was going to lie and get Rob put away for being a pedophile.

7. I do see Rob for who he is. I do know he’s hurt a lot of people and made a lot of mistakes. But I also recognize that he’s not a villain and he continues to try to be a better man no matter how much he falters again and again. I also know that for the people he loves like Aaron, Seb, and Liv he’d literally die for them and that makes him worth fighting for in my book. 

8. I never said or acted like I was a better fan. I’m just tired of seeing people in this fandom claim to love Rob and act like he’s a piece of shit. This kind of stuff doesn’t happen with Aaron and it just hurts to have to see all the time. I love Rob, seeing him hurting the way he’s been over and over again in this storyline hurts me too. I personally don’t think he needs this huge redemption because if he does then so do a lot of other characters on this show. He doesn’t need this big dramatic change he just need to care, be sorry for his actions, and try to change which he is. Why the hell isn’t that enough? 

[haidas-anxiety]

Ted Hughes's Winter Pollen Has Descended Upon The World

I omit my mother increasingly every day. Gerard says quite a few unkind matters approximately people that I don't like however possibly that is just her way. But on our wedding ceremony day she turned into my Cinderella. I became her prince. For the young making love is only for fun. I even have never study Charles Buckskin, William Faulkner, D.H. Lawrence, Nadine Gordimer, and J.M. Colette. I've by no means even heard of Salinger. They have all swept my eldest daughter away. Sometimes I suppose to myself will she ever be a bride? Will she ever fall in love? Feel what her dad felt as he checked out his new wife. With our married existence in advance people. A day vintage. Will a man ever take her in his palms and say, 'I love you pleasant?' But these are simply the thoughts of an old guy inside the autumn of his years. This morning I felt depressed. The world can do this to you while you're infirm. You think nothing will ever hurt you again. You're built like an impenetrable fort inside the mountains at the give up of the sector. Our marriage had promised us new beginnings. Wonderful beginnings. But now there's silence  Custom Made Jewellery I cry for what I have misplaced. Not real tears. Just a sob or  that wracks my frame. She's now not up to now faraway from me. The  double beds are inside the identical room. Gerda is analyzing through the light from a lamp even as I search for my prescription drugs. Swallow my pills as if they were aspirin. Curbing my enthusiasm as I watch her disrobe. Looking at her now I recognize how a good deal I still love her. Let me matter the ways. Love has a sensitive scent. It manner to provide you the rituals of sacrifice, buying a residence, transferring furniture, a wife with the aid of the name of Gerda observing her mirrored image inside the replicate while she brushes the tangles out of her hair, pats her hair down, puts a stocking on and wraps a headband round her head. She is still beautiful, however no longer simply to me, to different human beings as well. I nonetheless suppose I didn't deserve her. Is she satisfied? Have I made her happy? She stayed with me for better or for the worst. I ministered to my kids. I lectured my children when it had to be achieved. To set them instantly. To set them on their life adventure. Their pilgrimage of kinds. And I took them all, my loving, boisterous circle of relatives from hell to an eternity of hell. And of direction in the wards of hell, or the wards of Valkenburg, there isn't always a whole lot of a presence of turning into indoctrinated with the aid of religion. I failed to discover Buddha once I was in Valkenburg. I failed to turn in a Brahmin. I turned into most effective brought to that a good deal later when my children were youngster-agers. Things like meditation. I did give up smoking, however not red meat. Wiping the fat off my lips. I never drank lots. I hated the stuff. I saw what it did to my own father.

Gerda is silent. In her own world, and I marvel (it isn't always for the primary time) what is she considering? Does she nevertheless love me as a lot as I love her? What I would not do to embrace her like I did the first night of our married life? I hate this loneliness that is flowering interior of me like a lotus. I need to write about what I like, what I mesmerises my all-knowing, all-seeing eyes, approximately the difficulties of married life, the first meal my spouse cooked for me as my wife, how I watched the moves of my spouse at our wedding ceremonial dinner set out in a church corridor, packed with Johannesburg human beings, and some contributors of my circle of relatives. I ought to write approximately what makes me emotional (yes, even guys get emotional, over-excited about the annihilation of evil with the aid of properly). I have to write about what makes me misty-eyed, what cuts me deep where the depths of suicidal infection awaits, watching my youngsters in Victoria Park playing whilst I watched them from afar, sitting on a park bench that turned into as soon as reserved for Whites only in a White people's park. Over weekends the park would usually be abandoned. I'd get chocolate and packets of crisps for the kids. I'd see their smiles. Their laughter and sticky fingers might carry me. Give me a buoyant mood. Perhaps you are sensing that I am no longer telling you the whole fact. There had been days once I needed to pressure myself to get away from bed. I was a man who had lots of duties. I could not just deliver in, end existence, cease family life, lie at the couch, stop taking bloodless, clean showers that restored some power, some electricity to my mind, and readability of idea, vision and self-actualisation to my insight. I couldn't escape my youngsters, I could not no longer renowned me them (their pain turned into my pain, their emotional material in time, become my emotional material in time and area, and their moments of early life depression stopped me dead in my tracks). I could not simply stop my kid's global, divorce their mom, live with out the problems of a husband, live in a bachelor pad with relative freedom, no home duties from their world, due to the fact they wanted me. My family wished me. And as I watched my small kids looking at all of the things I could not buy for them (their picks they already knew had to in shape my pocket), such things as that could soften my heart within the Greek's keep, and as they carefully made their purchases I was endlessly thankful that I had made it through any other day. I had made it thru another manic depressive episode. No greater aspirin for me. I had placed Valkenburg at the back of me. There turned into Elizabeth Donkin, and the start of lithium remedy. There become my beautiful wearing blue denims, a comfy jersey that I had visible her in usually, and a white shirt. There became my wife getting out of the auto. I was expecting her on the steps of ward F. Waiting for her perfunctory kiss at the cheek. Waiting to take a seat down in properly-worn chairs.

'How are you?'

'I've missed you.'

'I've overlooked you too. When are you coming home?'

Well, the verbal exchange could move some thing like that.

I watched her guard her eyes, looking, searching, and seeking out me. And then her discipline of imaginative and prescient modified. Her eyes met mine. And then she become locking the auto door. Making her way towards me with that day's newspaper, a variety of magazines, bottles of juices, or a fruit basket. And the depression, with its elated highs that felt so invincible, that made me sense fantastic frustration, the faith that I had that the emotions were killing me, each day could include their turning points. My coronary heart turned into suicidal melancholy's apprentice. My brain turned into its master. I put my wife on a pedestal, however did she realize it? In the beginning earlier than I become married, I concept of all women as sex objects. Did I tell her how tons I loved her? I worshiped the ground she walked on. Before her I became now not romantic. Before I met my future wife my fashion and technique of a lover turned into dry after I changed into depressed. She made me into the man I am nowadays. Throughout it all she satisfied me to pick life, discriminate loss of life. For each season there may be a mindless tragedy. In love nothing is insignificant.

'Off to the vintage age domestic with you.' She stated the other day. It broke my heart to hear her say that. We do not make love anymore. We sleep in separate beds. There's a distance between us now that I can't describe. It has no time or area. It's like a bridge. If we stayed together or maybe for so long as we've got it's far only due to the kids. Sometimes I wonder what my spouse changed into like as a child. The grief she have to have felt as a younger child after losing a sibling, a brother. But we never spoke approximately things like that. I never yearned to invite my fiancé, or new bride anything that might make her sense uncomfortable. In her eyes, I desired to be give her simplest top recollections. I desired to make her forget about about the ache of her early life the way she made me neglect approximately my very own painful childhood. How I became bullied, terrorised at the playground, teased, called names.

As a toddler I become a watcher, a dreamer. I changed into constantly in love with books. With self-getting to know. With coaching myself new matters about the world around me. Life revel in. That's what White human beings referred to as it. White human beings had motors. White humans sold. White human beings had been business minded specialists. When I became a child I fell in love with training. Maybe that is after I became a instructor. In adolescence. I had an unquiet mind. I still do. There are a whole lot of rituals when I visit church on Sunday morning. There's the breaking of bread and Holy Communion. It's now not actual wine of course. It's simply grape juice. I'm a modified man after I go away the church (less depressed. I feel less lonely. I do not know why this is. Maybe is has to with the biochemistry of the brain, or social sports, being involved in some thing although it is as mundane as going to church). And the bread is not the thin wafers we used to get on the Union Congregational Church that the youngsters looked at so longingly of their innocent hearts with that angelic shine on their faces. My wife and I could bite into the wafers. With that one bite the body of Christ become now a part of our spirit, our soul awareness, our physical our bodies. Abigail could not take into account that she needed to be confirmed earlier than she could partake of the body of Christ and the consuming of grape juice. She advised me that we (it become always we despite the fact that I turned into the one in the back of the steerage wheel of the auto) road past Mrs Turner in the road, and that even though Mrs Turner (Abigail referred to as her Mrs Turnip at the back of her lower back after that day) saw us, need to have regarded our car she did not wave lower back. Well her body is all weirdly fashioned like a turnip was Abigail's concept and I instructed her that is what befell to people as they got older. Everything bodily modified and on occasion they commenced to forget matters too like their manners (etiquette to Abigail).

I just smiled after which I laughed and stated, 'Really? Maybe she didn't see us.'

'Daddy, really? Are you certain? She looked right at me and I waved and I waved and I waved and she nevertheless didn't wave back.'

I couldn't inform her this then. She turned into too young. An innocent. They should harm me, however I would no longer allow them to hurt my children.

The following 12 months we started out going to Pearson Congregational Church which was located in Central. Everyone who went there has been White. You love your youngsters. You without a doubt do whether they have got carried out some thing precise or horrific. You're the one individual within the international they are able to to after they want something. If they ask you for cash you bend down and you inform them to select the money off the money tree. You tell them that you love them because that is the treatment for the whole lot. When they may be sick you nurse them back to health. When it's their birthday you buy them a cake, provides wrapped in brightly coloured paper, blow up balloons, and also you give them a celebration and invite all the neighbourhood. You provide them a hug once they it the most even if they are at their most rebellious nature. Shower them with fatherly subject whilst giving recommendation. It's also your honour, and privilege to offer day by day inspiration from a verse in the Bible, to high school initiatives. But after they get depressed of course you worry for them. You have discussions in the back of a closed bed room door within the nighttime that go and cross on until the early hours of the morning and you observed back to when you had been in high faculty. I become from a distinct technology. The extra matters alternate the greater they live the same. Isn't that what the adage says? Should all of us cross and speak to someone like a family counsellor, a therapist. Gerda was usually the only who become two steps in advance of me. She didn't pop out and say it or tell me what she turned into thinking. She took Abigail when she turned into barely out of her teens to a psychiatrist who studied in Vienna. He had wild hair like Einstein. She have been prepared for an eventuality of this value. She become the one who had been organized. Not me. And there was part of me that felt like a failure. I were absolutely blindsided. I had now not seen the diagnosis coming. Not from a mile away. My beautiful, darling daughter. My darling, darling daughter was a manic depressive much like me. Bipolar. Bipolar. Bipolar. I was struck dumb. Speechless. What may want to I say? How ought to I comfort her?

She hated college. She hated each minute every 2nd of it. A monumental waste of her time it became she said. She already knew that everything she changed into being taught got here out of a textbook that supported the reason of a colonial grasp. That supported a White motive. A liberal's troubles. Not hers through a protracted shot. We needed to do a whole lot of speakme, and listening, and the having of extra conversations in the back of a closed bed room door at night time to try to persuade her to live in faculty. They were masses of tears. Everybody cried. There were arguments. There had been instances when she stayed with her aunt in Johannesburg and we'd be underneath the false impression that now the entirety could be all proper once more in her world. We had goals for me. She became brought up with norms and values. And we failed to, could not simply let her throw her lifestyles away like that. Somehow, somewhere whilst she become fifteen years old she had written away to The London Film School. 'So she wants to run away to London now.' Gerda sighed. She wore a perplexed look on her face, chewing her backside lip in pensive mode. I notion back to Abigail's last phrases of the communique the 3 folks had, mother, father, with their rebellious, fiercely clever, notably temperamental daughter. 'I hate you.' She almost spat. 'You're killing me. If I stay right here I'll die. You'll see. I'll display all of you. I'll kill myself if I do not visit film college. I want to go to London.'

Gerda had greater intuition, information and insight into how ladies thought and bonded and  at the hours of darkness she bloomed. Her face pale in the moonlight, with aquiline features that her daughter Abigail had inherited from her however no longer her tennis legs or her mom's love for that recreation. I could not make out her face but I knew it changed into shining full of affection for me, and for our daughter. All 3 of our children had been conceived in love.

'Where will she stay? Where will she sleep? What will she devour each day for breakfast, lunch, and supper? Is she drowsing now I marvel? She just sits glued in front of that tv all hours of the day and night time. Ambrose inform me, what do you watched I need to do? We? Us? She'll never be widespread. I read that tale. It's terrible. But if I say that to her it'll damage her coronary heart. She's fifteen taking place sixteen.' Back and forth my flashbacks goes. Presently we are right here. The house is quiet haunted by ghosts from the past. Stephen. Jean. Magdalene. My mother and father. Gerda's own dad and mom surpassed away while Abigail turned into nonetheless a infant. Baby Ethan is sleeping soundly among his parents on their double mattress. He is a real busybody. He best has eyes for his mom Already he has two milk teeth which has anybody in a frenzy inside the household.

I want sometimes that I had listened extra, praised her cooking skills (even though she burnt the pots more times than I should maintain track of), given extra attention to my spouse. Had no longer dealt with her like I had handled all the ladies in my lifestyles. Indentured slave women best there to make me tea, be my secretary, flirt with. Women who could stroke my ego given the danger. She had given me the entirety of herself that she may want to as a wife, but I had no longer been absolutely open with her. Only on reflection after I look again on the activities of the beyond decade and that they fashioned all 3 of our kids's futures did I see how egocentric and arrogant I had been. I had not come smooth. Pharmaceuticals can not wash away sins. With my silence I had passed down three lifestyles sentences. I want I had achieved some thing. Said anything to console my spouse it'd be twenty years until we got our daughter returned. Have I made Gerda satisfied, and what about my kids, are they satisfied? Are they successful? Have my children fulfilled all their childhood goals? People exchange from one generation to the following. That's the factor with humans, milestones and events. They are usually changing, and yet constantly staying the identical. I concept I would be my daughter's anchor in that second like my mom have been in mine.

'Fine. If you need to head then leave. We won't stand to your manner if that is going to make you glad.' I stated with my eyes assembly the floor we covered in carpet.

I failed to want her to see the dejection in my eyes. I would omit her laughter, our talks, heated discussions, and debates. Mostly I would omit her presence. But she changed into depressed. She hated school. She had carried out very badly in the tests. Magdalene become still alive then. So Swaziland it turned into then for O and A levels after which The London Film School this is if she ought to get a British Council scholarship if she become lucky.

My mom have been my anchor for the duration of my depressive episodes. The crushing highs that took me to the wuthering heights of Rhodes and London and the numbing, frustrating lows that took me to my mattress. Sometimes I could simply lay on the bed still in my fit.My body become not sore, did not experience tired, my eyes had been burning, but sleep could now not come, handiest a numb sensation starting from the top of me head that could make its way all the way down to the guidelines of my feet. Every parent desires to protect their infant, once in a while guard them from the entirety. The world isn't always all awful. Tomorrow isn't going to be all doom and gloom like today become. There are desirable human beings in this world who are simply as affected by sickness, continual contamination, cancers, diseases

Madness? Madness! What is madness? What a query! Do humans query John Nash? Do they call him mad, insane, tell him that he is weird? Do they query this genius's sanity, his intelligence, or do they just write him off as stressed out otherwise from the rest of the human race. Is he an anomaly? One nighttime my youngsters came to me. My son looked at me. Tall, darkish, and good-looking, one might be forgiven for questioning his introversion is conceitedness he stated, 'Dad. It's time in an effort to sit down down and write your tale. Write your memoir. Write your autobiography if you may.' To tell you the truth it's been  years now, almost 3. I can't sincerely don't forget if that communication ever passed off. I cannot consider who said what, when, the how I become going to head about it. I actually have written approximately depression. I actually have written about mental fitness. I have written books. South End. The aftermath of the forced removals. To be honest with you human beings didn't stand in line for me sign that book. My guess that that become a signal. A sign from God. I paid attention. I listened. And I grew to become my attentions elsewhere to committee conferences, studying the newspapers. People simply failed to like me to talk approximately apartheid. That e-book quietly disappeared, and went out of print. People simply were not into that vibe. The book wasn't giving off suitable vibrations so human beings were not turning up to buy that ebook. But out of the whole lot that I have written thus far that book is my favourite. I have written about melancholy earlier than from a victim's perspective, and that little e book grew to become out to be an tremendous little bit of loose cannon, then a diamond in the tough, after which a little gem of a book.

[youngwidowofbrooklyn]

Happy, happy birthday, baby.

Today is your birthday, my love. I told our son that it was. Last year I didn’t; I decided he was too young to understand how we could celebrate it without you. This year, I told him and explained that even though you can’t be here with us, he and I could still have some chocolate cake, your favorite, and celebrate for you.

I told him earlier this week, then thought better of it, but this morning he remembered, and he’s excited to have a birthday treat when he’s out of school this afternoon. I hope I did the right thing by telling him. I hope it doesn’t lead to questions I don’t know how to answer.

This morning, he broke a pair of nail clippers. “I’m sowee, Mommy,” he said, “I’m sowee.”

“It’s okay, honey.”

“Maybe when Daddoo is not sick anymore, he can fix them.”

I nodded, “Or maybe I could just fix them.”

It kills me, sometimes, his optimism that you’ll be back, that you’ll be better one day and come home to us. Even though our home now is hundreds of miles from where we last saw you.

I know you never really made a big deal of your birthday. You never much cared for it, never took the day off work for it, never wanted a party. But I’m thankful that I can remember the last birthday we spent together. Your 40th. Home from the hospital for a bit. We invited your two closest friends and their families to celebrate with us. I made a few of your favorite Indian dishes and we had the same vegan cupcakes that we’d made for our wedding. We sang “Happy Birthday” to you, all of us, and our son’s eyes were alit because he’d never seen such a ritual - a cake with a candle, people surrounding you and, as if on cue, singing a song together, to you, as you smiled and then blew out the candle. Our son asked us to sing it again, again, again, and we laughed.

I’m glad I have that one memory of the time we made a big fuss for your birthday.

Incidentally, I still wear your wedding rings - the cheap, black titanium one you picked out for our wedding, and the white gold one I had inscribed with our wedding date, an infinity sign, and our son’s birthdate, the one I surprised you with on that same birthday. The rings fit my ring fingers on each hand perfectly, and that reminds me of your slender, soft fingers, of your remarkably soft hands. “The hands of a man with an office job,” you used to joke.

For a long while I didn’t wear them, couldn’t bring myself to. But then, scatterbrained as I am, I went to look for them and realized I couldn’t remember what “safe place” I’d put them in. When I found them again, I was so relieved, and I realized that the only way to truly keep them safe is the wear them. So I do. And doing so doesn’t pain me as much anymore.

Chris Cornell died two days ago. Immediately, I remembered how we used to listen to his solo album and the first Audioslave record in our first apartment together. You always thought he had the best voice in his genre. He did, I agree. I think of his wife, and I hurt for her, remembering what those first few days of grief and loss feel like.

It’s raining today. The sky is overcast and it’s cool outside, much different than the weather we have been having, that’s browned our son’s forearms, that’s left my shoulders and nose sunburnt from spending too much time unprotected in our garden. This weather always reminds me of the day we got engaged, on my birthday in 2007, driving into Kansas, stopping in Lawrence for vegan milkshakes, walking back to our car with the rain spitting down on us; then, as I got into the passenger seat, you surprised me by kneeling down in the rain in front of the open door, pulling out a little black box and saying words so sweet, words I can’t remember, maybe couldn’t hear, because I was crying and swearing so much while you did. This weather reminds me of the day you died. A warmish September, but a gloomy day, overcast, spitting down rain, as I walked out of the hospital, leaving your body behind, a mass of our friends holding me up, while I tried to make jokes so that they could see that I was okay, it would all be okay. Every time the sky behaves like this I see you. Is it you? Are you here? Jesus, I hope so. I really do. But even if you’re not, in some mystical way, I know that you are and were always a part of this world, particles, mass, bones, and the more ethereal, the feelings and passions that exist, continue to exist in our world. And so, yes, it’s you. You’re here now and I haven’t forgotten you. 

You know that there have been men who’ve come after you. I struggle with this, and I struggle with moving on, in general. Physical comfort is something that I know you wouldn’t deny me. I’m at peace with that, mostly. But no one has my heart in the way that you did. No one ever could. Maybe one day someone else will find a new, different way to give and receive love with me. I remain hopeful that this could happen. But you’ll never be replaced. Not ever.

I think about the state of American politics right now, and I wish I could hear you spout on about it. I can’t believe the turn that our nation’s taken since your death. I want to talk to you about it; I’m so curious how you would react, what venomous words you’d use to describe our situation. But then again, I wouldn’t enjoy seeing you in that state, so that’s as much as I’ll say about that.

Today I paid an electrician a hundred dollars to show me how to open the light fixtures in the kitchen and replace the bulbs. It makes me feel foolish and like a failure. I know if you were here, this would’ve been something you’d taken care of swiftly and saved us some money. I wish you’d been a homeowner, like I now am. You deserved it. You, quite literally earned it; after all, it was your hard-earned money that paid for the house I now call mine.

Our boy is tall. He’s bright and sweet and funny and kind. God, I wish you knew him. And I wish he knew you. And, really, I wish I knew what life would be like with both of you in it at the same time. I wish the two of you had games and jokes to share that I wasn’t in on. I wish you were here to comfort him when he exhibits traits that I know come from you, ones that I have a hard time understanding. I wish I had your wisdom to guide me through parenthood.

I don’t know what else to say....even as I want to keep talking to you, even as I want to go day by day through every thing you’ve missed, even as I want to know how you are, where you are, how this whole awful mess weighed on you in different and similar ways as it did me.

I want to celebrate you, my love, and I will. I will try, tonight, for the sake of our child, and for me. And for you. It will be hard, though. I’m trying my best to get all my tears out now, in hopes that there won’t be many left by the time I pick up our child from school.

I love you. I miss you terribly. I didn’t expect to be able to go on without you. And in some ways, I haven’t. I hope you understand, and forgive me that. I’m trying my best. It’s very hard, harder than either of us could’ve known. 

I love you. I miss you. Terribly.

[huhnerhexen]

1-100!

1. Who was the last person you texted?- my grandma2. When is your birthday?- June third3. Who do you want to be with right now?- my boyfriend4. What sports do you play?- literally none5. Who is the first person in your contacts?- Academy Kids Daycare6. What is your favourite song as of the moment?- Take it Off by The Donnas7. If you were stranded on an island, who do you wish to be with?- my dad8. What do you feel right now?- Hungry9. What chocolate is your favourite?- white chocolate10. How many boyfriends/girlfriends did you have?- 6 boyfriends/girlfriends11. Why did you create a tumblr account?- I was in a super cringy superwholock phase12. Who is your favourite blogger?- as of late @toziertrashmouth I love their writing style and hc’s!!13. Where do you want to be right now?- in bed14. What do you want to be in the future?- mentally stable15. When was the last time you cried? Why?- october 27th, stranger things season two got to me16. Are you happy?- I’m alright17. Who do you miss?- I miss Leto, one of my coworkers who moved away.18. If you were given a chance, would you like to have a different life?- no19. What was the best thing you were given?- my snake20. Who was the last person who called you?- the doctor’s office21. What is your favourite dish?- Dutch potatoes22. Who is your best friend?- @soft-mccoy23. What is your biggest regret?- I don’t have one24. Have you ever cheated on your partner?- heck no, my guy, heck no25. Who do you spend crazy moments with?- my sister26. Name someone pretty- my moms27. Who was the last person you hugged?- my boyfriend28. What kind of music do you listen to?- I’m into pretty much anything but if I had to specify I’d say 80s classic rock29. Are you over your past?- for the most part30. Who is the last person in your contacts?- my old horseback riding coach31. What kind of person do you want to date?- I guess the person I’m already dating??32. Do you have troubles sleeping at night?- not really, but its easier to fall asleep and I sleep better when I’m with my boyfriend33. From whom was the last text message you received?- my grandma34. Do you prefer jeans or skirts?- jeans35. Hows your heart?- healthy enough, but the smoking doesn’t help36. Did you ever have a girlfriend/boyfriend whose name started with the letter J- kind of yes, my boyfriend is going through the process of changing his name, but he’s thinking of changing it from Jads to Jack so if that counts??37. Do you like someone as of the moment?- I like everyone except Trump and Jennifer Lawrence38. What would you say to your latest ex-boyfriend/ex-girlfriend?- I hope schools going well for you, and youre keeping up with theatre because you’re really good at it!!39. Do you have any phobias?- spiders and abandonment40. Did you try to change for a person?- yea, it was a really toxic relationship41. What’s the nicest thing you’ve given someone?- I bought my boyfriend a star42. Would you go back to your previous relationship?-no, I’m too gay for that shit43. Are you in a goid mood or a bad mood?- a good mood44. Name someone you can’t live without- the guy who does my taxes45. Describe your dream date?- fuck man idk46. Describe your dream wedding?- it’s a little early to be thinking about that…47. How many roses did you receive last valentine’s?- none , I was given a ukulele instead and that was waaay better than dumb flowers. 48. Have you ever been kissed?- yes49. How long is your longest relationship?- as of now? 9 months50. Do you regret your past?- no51. Can you do something stupid for someone else?- I can do a lot of stupid things52. Have you ever cried over someone?-yes53. Do you have a grudge against anyone?- a guy I went to highschool with54. Are you a crybaby?- I’m the opposite, I’m a stone cold bitch55. Do people praise you for your looks?- yea,56. Did you fall for someone you shouldn’t have?- yep, an exchange student57. Have you ever done something bad that you don’t regret?- yep58. Do you like getting hurt?- physically, yes if it leaves a mark, I’m into that shit. Emotionally, hell no59. Does anyone hate you?- probably60. Did you slap anyone whose name starts with R?- I’ve only ever slapped my sister when we were growing up and her name starts with an M61. What colour hair do you prefer?- on myself and others, darker tones62. If you can change anything about yourself what would it be?- I’d get rid of my eating disorder and give myself thick thighs63. Do you love someone as of the moment?- my boyfriend64. Have you ever thought of killing yourself?- yea65. Do you have issues with somebody in your school?- I’m not in school, so no66. Can you live without Internet?- apparently not67. Whats the song that reminds you of your special someone?- rose coloured boy by paramore68. Are you good at holding back your tears?- no69. are you a crybaby?- no70. have you ever experienced being hysterical?- once, it was awful71. Are you a kpop fan?- not actively72. Do you study hard?- I was never taught how to study and have never studied once in my entire life73. Have you ever sacrificed something important to you for someone you loved?- not really, but I’ve never really been in a situation where I’d have to74. Did you ever kiss under the moonlight?- I’ve kissed in a club and it was dark outside? Does that count?75. Have you ever ridden a boat?- yes76. Did you have an accident last year?- yea, I was in a car accident77. What kind of person are you?- the jokes on you, anon, I’m not a person at all78. Have you ever thought of killing someone?- no79. Have you ever been jealous?- that’s my first personality trait, actually80. How can you prove your love to someone?- listen to them and remember special things about them,things they think you won’t remember81. What are you thinking right now?- I should get out of bed and go eat breakfast, also my skin is really soft82. Who is the sixth person in your contacts?- my hairdresser83. Do you have any memories you want to erase?- no84. Have you ever hurt so bad you couldn’t find words to describe how you feel?- yea, that’s what drove me to self harm a couple years ago85. Did you ever badmouth someone?- I basically badmouth everyone86. Have you ever had an argument with someone?- of course??87. Do you have trust issues?- like you wouldn’t believe88. Are you broken hearted?- no89. Who’s the person who first comes to mind when someone says “love”?- my grandma90. Do you think all the pain is worth it?- I don’t know? Whats the payout?91. Do you believe the phrase “if it’s meant to be it will be”? - to a certain extent92. Who do you want to marry?- I’m 19 and broke, let’s save that question for a couple years into the future…93. Do you believe in destiny?- to a certain extent94. Have you ever thought “I already found my soulmate”?- yea95. How do you look right now?- topless and tired96. do you believe that first true love never dies?- I don’t know, I’ve never really thought about it97. Have you found your true love?- yes, my snake98. What should you be doing right now?- eating breakfast99. Name one of your exes- Carla100. Did you ever feel like you’re not good enough?- every day of my life