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matthiasschoenaertsdaily · 4 years ago

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Matthias Schoenaerts full interview for De Morgen Magazine (original in Flemish, translated into English by @matthiasschoenaertsdaily)

Interview by Els Maes, published on November 28, 2020

Even a global pandemic will not destroy the optimism of actor Matthias Schoenaerts (42). Because he knows from his own experience how much beauty can emerge from the most hopeless situations. "I've had my back against the wall often enough, I'll always find a way out."

A bleak autumn day on a concrete square. There is lukewarm coffee, lukewarm Chimay and rolling tobacco. At dusk we see the silhouettes of fat rats that shoot past our ankles. And yet Matthias Schoenaerts will tell us in a glowing argument that this, here and now, is the very best place to be. That there is so much beauty to discover, he says. Le paradis c'est ici. As long as we want to see it.

"It's strange to say in this unpleasant period, but I've enjoyed the past few months enormously. It's the first time in ten years, since Runskop actually, that I'll be home for a long period of time. This is so beneficial: I am photographing, painting, writing. I can devote time and attention to the very simple things we'd otherwise race past."

"Seriously, look at that," he says, picking a leaf off the ground. "Those colors, that pattern. I can spend hours looking at the pure beauty of the things that surround us."

Above us a pigeon is wreaking havoc between the thinned out foliage. "While you are singing about the wonderful beauty of nature, that animal is going to shit on our heads," I say. "And that too will be a s-p-l-e-n-d-i-d moment," Schoenaerts answers.

Matthias Schoenaerts is Belgium's most successful international film star. But here and now, on a bench in his hometown, he is a technically unemployed actor, an all-round searching artist, but above all: fighter of cynicism. "I refuse to go along with all negativity and fear. The true battle today is cynicism versus courage. And I always choose the latter."

We're on the Oudevaartplaats, the square that everyone knows as the Antwerp Bird Market, and where Schoenaerts' childhood memories are waiting to be picked up. It comes into the conversation just like that: Brando, the cute chow chow that little Matthias got from his mom on this square, when here on the bird market puppies were still sold. "My dogs were my great loves. The home situation was often difficult, and with my dogs I found security. We had three chow chows, those fluffy lion dogs with a blue tongue. Brando was the first, I loved that animal."

"We lived in a small apartment with three dogs, anything but ideal. One day we let them go, to people with a large estate. That was heartbreaking."

There is a beautiful lesson in that, about love and letting go. It would have been selfish to keep your dogs if you could give them a nicer life elsewhere, wouldn't it?

"Absolutely, but I obviously didn't process that departure properly. Brando still appears in my dreams, after all these years. Then he returns home unexpectedly, and am I mad with joy.

"I often dream about my parents too: that reunion is so intensely beautiful and warm. Oh, there you are, finally! Those dreams are true to life, and the awakening is rock-hard."

Is that one of the reasons why you like being here in Antwerp, because here you feel more connected to the people that you loved?

"This is my home, my zero, I can't imagine a place in the world where I would rather live. When my mom was alive, and especially when she got sick, in between filming I tried to be with her as much as possible here in Antwerp. In the meantime I have an apartment here, my first permanent place of my own, but I've hardly been there in recent years. Now I can finally enjoy my home, I find peace, tranquility and inspiration there. I have seen fantastic sunsets on my roof terrace in recent months. So much beauty, and you can just admire it there, every day, for free. As long as you take the time to enjoy it.

"Normally I would have started filming again in April, and left for a hectic ride of at least two years, with projects that would follow each other quickly. I was at my limits, sooner or later I was going to bang my head against the wall. I feel how beneficial it is to slow down for a moment. David Lynch said that: 'Just slow things down and it becomes more beautiful'.

"As an actor you have to work in a big machine, according to a tight schedule. I have now discovered the pleasure of creating things for myself very spontaneously in my own cadence."

Is that work something you ever want to go public with?

"I want to do something with my photography someday, but I'm in no hurry. I'm also writing a film script, I've had an idea for a trilogy for a long time. It's a very personal project, and it takes time for it to crystallize into something very pure and proper. Maybe those films will come within ten years, maybe never.

"The most important thing is to keep busy. You have to look for something, anything, on which you can focus your passion, love and attention. Of course I would like to return to set, and those projects will come back later. But if I can't change anything about a situation, why worry about it?

"From a very young age I learned that there are not many certainties in life, I adapt easily to unexpected circumstances. There is one thing I can't stand, and that is feeling powerless. I never want to be the victim of a situation, I will always think: what can I do myself? Which way can I go? I have often enough stood with my back against the wall, I will always find a way out and take matters into my own hands."

So Schoenaerts decided to use this period to put Zenith - his artist name as a street artist - to hard work. Since the lockdown he has already created nine impressive murals, including one in the courtyard of the Oudenaarde prison, and one at the beginning of this month in the Antwerp Begijnenstraat, on the bare walls that form their furthest horizon for the prisoners. A moving event, he says. Not only by the touching conversations with inmates, and the forty-minute applause with which the prisoners welcomed him. "The mural contains a poem by my father. While I am there painting those beautiful words of my dad on the wall, I suddenly remember that my mom used to give meditation lessons to the prisoners there in the Begijnenstraat. I had completely forgotten about that until I stood there. How beautiful that is. Suddenly I felt my parents very tangible, very close to me."

It's a bit funny: a long time ago you were arrested for graffiti, now they invite you to prison to make a mural.

"I used to tag a lot, but I really don't like the vandalism that sometimes comes with graffiti. Defacing a facade, that's just ridiculous. But trains, bridges, tunnels.... frankly I think that's the max. Soon I'm going to do another oldskool graffiti wall, with some friends, back to the roots. But with permission, yes."

Scary dudes

The problems of the Belgian detention system are well known: outdated infrastructure, overcrowding and a system of pre-trial detention which means that some people are innocently stuck for years. Schoenaerts: "These are human lives that are destroyed by the Belgian state, isn't that scandalous?"

Schoenaerts' engagement started years ago, after meeting Hans Claus, prison director in Oudenaarde, who contacted him when he wanted to organize a screening of Le Fidèle, the film by Michaël R. Roskam starring Schoenaerts. Claus has been fighting for many years for a reform of our detention system, among others with the non-profit organization De Huizen, small-scale centers that are more focused on rehabilitation and reintegration of the detainee. How does Schoenaerts see his role? "Those murals are a kind of lubricant for me, to get attention for this problem. I am not the expert and I am certainly not a politician. This injustice touches me as a human being, and my message is clear: please listen to the people who have been working hard for decades to reform the system from the inside."

In The Mustang, your last feature film to be seen here before the lockdown, you take on the role of a prisoner who learns to tame wild horses and his demons. Has that role changed your vision?

"That rehabilitation program with mustangs really exists, and the chance of recidivism is almost zero percent. I had a conversation in the Begijnenstraat with the minister of Justice Vincent Van Quickenborne (Open Vld, ed.), and he told me that the chance of relapse here is 40 to 50 percent. Isn't that madness?

"That's what fascinates me most of all: what do we do with those detainees while they're stuck? How can we help to break the destructive patterns that put them in prison? Imprisonment is a punishment in itself, but someday we'll send those people back into society, so let's mainly support them in their self-development.

"In preparation for The Mustang, I visited prisons in the U.S., and talked to men who had been detained for 20, 30 years. Heavy guys: Aryan Brotherhood (powerful crime syndicate of neo-Nazis in American prisons, ed.), Mexican gang leaders... real scary dudes. You know what those say to me? That they live in fear every day, but they must not show weakness. Psychological counseling and things like that have their value, but that's often very cerebral. I especially believe in the healing power of art. Imagine that inmates can express all those fucked up emotions through art: I think that there is an enormous potential in this."

I heard you're playing with the idea of giving acting lessons to inmates?

"That's not a concrete plan yet, but I would love it if people from the creative sector would commit themselves to this: musicians, sculptors, dancers. Or writers who help prisoners put their own story into words.

"The cultural sector needs to start sticking its neck out. The sector is lying flat, and that's terrible. But we have to keep moving. We can all do something for the community, without being paid for it. Planting small seeds, doing something good for your fellow man, something beautiful always comes out of it."

Had you been to a prison before The Mustang?

"To visit friends, yes. In Merksplas, Hoogstraten, Hasselt, Dendermonde... We shouldn't talk about that any further. A prison is deep tristesse. Who dares to call that 'a hotel', shame on you."

This summer you painted an impressive mural in Paris in honor of George Floyd, murdered by American officers. And in Ostend last week a new mural was unveiled, with a 'decapitated' Leopold II. Is activism an important part of your street art?

"Graffiti used to be more of a style exercise for me, you want to create things that get noticed within the scene. But gradually I felt like communicating with a wider audience. I like to incorporate a lot of symbolism in my paintings, such as the cracks I photograph all over the world and then magnify them in another place. And the praying hands, a universal image of hope and faith in yourself. Art has the power to speak to our deepest emotions, and that is what binds us to the other. Connectedness, empathy, harmony, solidarity, that's the essence for me."

The corona crisis is one big exercise in empathy and solidarity. Sometimes we seem to lack that.

"I refuse to surrender to cynicism, and I surround myself with positive people who do beautiful things for others. This period would lead us to insights: how do we deal with each other? Do we help each other, or is it every man for himself? A human is such a wonderful creature, but we mess it up so much for ourselves.

"Yeah, I know. Some people who read this will think: this guy is smoking too many joints. (laughs) I don't smoke joints, and I'm not an unworldly idealist. But I will always focus my attention on the good, in spite of everything."

If you always want to see the good in people, are you sometimes disappointed?

"Yes, of course. I'm not a naive brat, I've learned to guard my boundaries. I can't please everyone all the time, and I don't let anyone rush me. I react badly when people put pressure on me because they want things from me. The perception of me that others have of me, I can't control. I don't let myself put out of balance easily anymore."

I saw that on your Instagram Stories you warned about fake profiles on social media, of people pretending to be you. That made you visibly angry.

"Really, that makes me angry. Every day I receive screenshots from people who have been tricked by crooks who approach innocent victims with my name and my pictures. There are stories of fans who have paid thousands of euros because they were promised a meet-and-greet with me. How disgusting is that? One person has transferred 14,000 euros to someone who pretended to be my manager.

"Of course, that raises questions about how gullible some people can be. But I've seen those chat conversations for myself: those criminals are terribly sneaky. They know how to play on the vulnerabilities of their victims in a very cunning way. This is manipulation and swindle of the filthiest kind.

"Really, I get physically unwell when I think about it. How can someone be so mean? If I ever catch these guys, I'm gonna bash their skulls in, I'm not kidding. Sorry."

Or: those crooks get a jail sentence, where you're going to give them acting lessons.

(laughs) "Okay, let it be clear that I think everyone should be punished for their crimes. My commitment to the prison system is not a plea for impunity, and I certainly don't want to romanticize crime.

"But when someone abuses innocent people's trust in such a cunning way, the question is: how did you derail so morally? And above all: how can we initiate a transformation in that person? Surely you can't lock someone up and expect that person to suddenly make better choices years later? First such a person has to take responsibility for his own actions."

Do you have something criminal on your conscience?

"No." (Thinks for a second) "No. Thank God. I couldn't live with that.

"I've probably hurt people in my life, like everybody else. Sometimes we just hurt people because of who we are, or because we can't fulfill what others want from us. But I have never harmed anyone consciously or criminally, no."

As a teenager you sometimes came into contact with the juvenile court, for vandalism. Do you think you could have ended up on the other side of the bars?

"Probably, a life can take strange turns sometimes."

What made you sit here today, and not get on the 'wrong' path?

"Wait... that's a good question. There's the one terrible dramatic event that caused a total turnaround in my life: when my dad went into a coma after a psychosis, and I was told he only had 24 hours left to live.

"I was 21 then, thrown out of school for the umpteenth time. I was doing graffiti and wanted to find my way creatively. But I was messing around, going with friends who... Anyway, there was latent danger, it threatened to go a little bit the wrong way.

"And then I got that phone call: come and say goodbye. Bam. The relationship with my father had been sour for years, we hardly saw each other. Until I stood there at his deathbed in intensive care... I only felt love, a wave of emotions that I had pushed down very deeply. That realization was rock-hard: this was it. My father and I will never get the chance to figure shit out, I thought.

"Long story, the rest is known: after 72 hours my father woke up from a coma against all odds. Like a plant: he could not speak, reacted to nothing or nobody. According to the chief psychiatrist, we had to accept that his condition would never improve. That was without the fighting spirit of my mother and me.

"It's because of that unlikely event that I've changed my whole lifestyle. For eight months, my mother and I went to visit my father every day. We talked to him, but he seemed to look straight through us. For hours we sat with him at the psychiatry department of Stuivenberg, how desperate those first months were also. We continued to fight, taught him to talk, to eat, to walk. A miracle, the doctors called it. Bullshit of course. It was love, dedication and stubbornness. Especially thanks to my mother, the lioness who kept fighting for him. And see how much beauty came out of it. My life then received an entirely different impulse.

"I suddenly think of an anecdote I've never told before. After a while we were allowed to take my father to the cafeteria once in a while, or to the garden. But he was absolutely not allowed to leave the hospital. Fuck it. I hid a bag of clothes for him, secretly dressed him in the toilet and took my father to the city. By bus, because I didn't have a driver's license. I wanted to stimulate his senses, test if any memories would come back. He was fond of Our Lady's Cathedral, so that's where I wanted to take him."

Matthiaske, why am I crying?

He plays it out. The written version here is only a dead script compared to the lived-through performance, right there on that dark square, just around the corner of the Arenbergschouwburg, where Matthias made his stage debut as a 9-year-old boy next to father Julien, as The Little Prince.

Matthias shows how he supported his frail dad, and how they shuffled in small, careful steps towards the cathedral. Dad looking at the ground to be sure not to fall. "I say, 'Dad, look up'. He looks up, and I see the tears rolling down his cheeks. I had never seen my father cry. 'Matthiaske,' he says, 'can you tell me why I'm crying?'

"I had already decided then that I would take my father into my house. Overconfident, yes, at that age, but they have become the most beautiful years of my life. Mom came by every day to help. Suddenly we were a bit of a family again, something we had only been for a short time when I was young."

It was at that time that you decided to become an actor. Why did you decide to become an actor?

"I had always resisted following in my father's footsteps. In my youth I mainly wanted to break away from my father, and seek my own path. I didn't want to have anything to do with him and all those loudmouths around him in the theater world. But most of all I was terrified that compared to the great Julien Schoenaerts I would never be good enough.

"Only now do I understand why I then decided to go to the conservatory. Not to become an actor, but to understand my father. We had so many years together, and now that we had been given a second chance, I wanted to get to know him as well as possible. By acting, maybe I could get closer to him." (pauses)

Sentimental fuss

He banishes the tears. It's one of the many things he has in common with his father, he says: they're both very emotional, but they hate sentimental fuss. "Come on, Matthias: breathe," he commands himself.

"Voilà, see how much beauty can come out of misery. What a chain of beautiful things came out of the fight my mother and I put up in the most hopeless situation. Who knows how differently my life would have turned out?"

"There are so many lessons in that. If we just talked about the rehabilitation of detainees, for example. It takes commitment. Not a workshop of two hours. You have to persevere, even in the event of a setback, with no guarantee of a happy ending. That's why I think it's so important to keep telling that story about my dad. Those are the values I believe in: dedication, stamina, attention, love. You can apply that to everything in life. Love is the fuel."

You often talk about your parents as if you want to keep them alive with your words.

"Because my mom and dad are the people I've loved most. With them I shared the most important moments, built the most beautiful memories. That loss is enormous. Life has been really fucking tough since they've been gone.

"That's what grabs me so much in this period. How many people have died of corona in Belgium?"

According to Google, today, on the day of the interview, the counter stands at almost 14,000 deaths.

"Fourteen thousand! Imagine how many people that has an impact on? How many people have suddenly lost their mother, father, brother, sister, best friend or neighbor? Behind those figures lie tens of thousands of poignant stories, of people who see a loved one torn from their lives. That is a mountain of unresolved grief, and far too little attention is paid to it."

Earlier during our conversation a guy had walked past coughing and maskless. It pissed Schoenaerts off: "And whining about masks or strict measures. Grow some fucking balls. Having to say goodbye to a loved one, that's the worst thing."

"Isn't that what this period teaches us? That our time here is limited? And what really counts in life: sharing moments of beauty with the people you hold most dear. All the rest is wallpaper. Having success, making movies, that's all fun. But the day you lie on your deathbed, you really don't think about the professional successes on your resume. No way."

#matthias schoenaerts #interviews #misc #by us

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twilightfansofcolor · 4 years ago

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Black!Bella (New Moon edition)

wc: 1.7k

So the summer is here and Bella is on cloud 9

Without a doubt one of the best summers ever

When her leg healed up, Charlie took her hiking just like when she was little, or they’d go to La Push to look at the tidepools or they’d just go to Seattle to visit the aquarium

Sleepovers with Jessica and Angela where they’d stay up watching Studio Ghibli movies, binge watching the Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar YouTube channels, giving each other makeovers and giving each other recommendations about skin care products

Long conversations with Renee about college

Renee thinks Bella should try a school in New York

Charlie wants her to go an HBCU

She never told Charlie that she filled out applications for NYU and a school in Louisiana that she liked, and that she was expecting to hear back from them soon

Bella and Edward would spend hours at their favorite bookstore chain in Port Angeles looking through the summer releases

They went there so much they were offered membership cards where they’d get 15% off every purchase

Sleepovers with Alice where Bella would constantly ask her what she saw in that C*nfederate

Bella’s first few weeks of school fall around the same time as her birthday

She doesn’t have that many classes with Edward or Alice which she finds odd since Forks High is a small school

Bella’s birthday is pretty much canon

Renee gave her a gift box of her favorite Godiva chocolate, makeup and skincare products while Charlie got her a Nintendo Switch with a few games so they could play against each other on Mario Kart.

The birthday party is still the same and ends in disaster

Edward starts distancing himself from her, and so does Alice

Alice doesn’t wait for her outside her art class so they could walk to physics

Something is wrong, Bella can feel it in her bones even though Angela and Jessica tell her that it’s probably nothing

Bella is bracing for whatever is coming. Could it be Victoria seeking revenge and Edward doesn’t know how to tell her?

Something worse, much worse

Bella listens to him tell her that they have to leave Forks and it takes her a minute to realize that the Cullens have to leave town without her

“In the hospital, you said you’d stay!”

“As long as it was safe for you, and after what happened at the party, it’s clearly not safe for me to be around you, Bella.”

Edward kisses her on the forehead one last time before he leaves, probably forever

Charlie isn’t home from work so she just works on dinner in a daze with the television volume up as loud as she can stand it, NCIS blaring from the living room

Charlie confronts her when he finds out that the Cullens left town and that’s when she just cries, acknowledging it for the first time in hours

The following weeks after his departure are touch and go.

She goes weeks without getting her hair braided, and just keeps it in a bun/poof

Bella doesn’t wear makeup no matter how many times Charlie tries to entice her with the Vogue YouTube channel

“C’mon Bella, you love Saweetie,” Charlie said as if she were a toddler again, trying to get her to eat Cauliflower

It isn’t until Charlie calls her mom that she snaps out of it and Renee tells her what she needs to know

“Bella, I know you’re going through a hard time, but you have other things you need to be worrying about. It hurts, I know, but moping around ain’t gonna bring him back, and you’re not the first person to be dumped. You’re getting ready to graduate high school in less than a year, and you need to start thinking about your future.”

Renee had never spoken to her like that before but she realized her mom was right, she did need to start thinking about her plans for the future

After giving herself two more days to cry it out, Bella gets right back to business

She’s blasting Flo Milli while she gets ready for school, gets a new wardrobe and is now tutoring kids in school and La Push for some extra cash

Which is how she runs into Jacob again

She helps him with biology which turns into Charlie coming home and finding the two of them watching Guy's Grocery Games and arguing about which contestant they think is getting the boot next

Not that he’s complaining. He’s secretly hoping they’d get together

One Friday night in February, Bella invites him to the movies with a few friends from school

And it starts to go downhill when Jacob threatens Mike, who got sick halfway through the movie

Jacob reveals his feelings for Bella but she has to reject his advances

She loves Jacob, he’s been so sweet to her, but she cannot handle another relationship when she’s barely over the first one

When Bella calls him on Saturday morning to apologize, he doesn’t pick up the phone or answer any of her texts but she thinks nothing of it, chalking it up to him being sick

The next time she calls, she calls the house and Billy tells her Jacob is feeling better but that he’s not up for visitors, so she takes matters into her own hands

She spends the entire morning parked outside his house waiting for him

Bella doesn’t recognize him, he’s a lot bigger, his hair is shorter and his usually warm brown eyes look cold

Jacob tells her to go home and not to come back and Bella knows that Sam finally got him like he did Embry and he proceeds to tell her how he’s not good enough for her like the Cullens and alludes to the fact that he knows the Cullens’ secret

“You’ve been lying to everyone. Charlie… but you can’t lie to me, Bella. Go home. Or you’re gonna get hurt.”

She just stands there in the cold rain, getting soaked from head to toe, and she can’t tell if she’s crying or if it’s just the rain hitting her face

She has a strange dream involving a brown wolf the size of a horse, Jacob, and surprisingly, Edward

Bella confronts Jacob again, this time almost getting into it with Paul who turns into a wolf right in front her

Embry and Jared take her back to Sam’s house where she meets Emily

Bella and Emily get along well, and she finds out Emily is from the Makah tribe in Neah Bay, but she’s an elementary school math teacher’s assistant at the tribal school

She’s relieved when Jacob comes back to the house, safe and free of scratches and they walk along the beach and catch up

Bella is just happy that her friend is back and she vents about what’s really been bothering her: the encounter with Laurent, saying that Victoria is still looking for him

“You don’t have to worry about them. We took down the one with the locs easy enough.”

It doesn’t register for a minute so she just stands there, trying to make sense of it. “Y-you… killed Laurent?”

At this point, Bella is crying with tears of joy, her mascara smearing with tears and Jacob just holding her

Their friendship is back to normal in no time and pick up right where they left off

Bella has to remind Charlie, Angela and Jessica several times that she’s not dating Jacob

Not that she hasn’t thought about it

It would be so easy, and both of their dads would be happy, and she wouldn’t have to lie like she does with Charlie and any of her friends

One day they’re just driving around, goofing off when she sees a group of kids jumping from the cliff

She’s getting her phone out to dial 911 before Jake stops her and tells her that they’re just cliff diving

Jacob offers to take her sometime, maybe when it’s warmer out, promising they’ll start at the lower level

It’s dark when they pull up to her house and Bella starts to invite him in for dinner when she notices a familiar car parked down the street

Bella remembers everything about that car, the quiet engine as she sat in the back seat while his C*nfederate brother drove them to Phoenix, the feel of the leather seats as she slept.

They go in anyway, and Bella is surprised to see Alice sitting on the couch reading a magazine, but she needs Bella’s help because Edward is in trouble

The audacity. The sheer fucking audacity

“I haven’t heard from you in almost a year. You avoided me in the halls, you blocked my number and my email, but now when you reappear from thin air I’m supposed to help you? What do I get out of this?”

Alice insists that Edward needs Bella’s help, that she can’t do this without her

At this point Bella knows that Charlie put a tracking device on her phone, and she’s not going to risk it

Jacob begging her not to go, and she really doesn’t want to go either

Instead she writes a quick letter telling Edward not to do what he’s thinking of doing just because they’re not together, saying that she’s happy with how her life is and she gives it to Alice to pass along

Despite EVERYTHING that happened, she wants him to be safe, so Bella gives Alice the letter

“What does this mean? Would they come back?” Jacob asked after Alice had left.

Bella knows what would happen if all of the Cullens came back: more young Quileute kids turning into wolves, and she doesn’t want that to happen, but she can’t stop it from happening either

“I really have no clue, but that’s their decision, and I have no hand in that game.”

It takes three days before the Cullens return to Forks, and she’s facing Edward again one day in the woods behind her house

Bella just tells him everything she’s been feeling since he left and more

“There isn’t any hope for us, there probably never was, and we can’t pretend any of this never happened, Edward. You know that. We can’t go back to normal, because it wasn’t normal in the first place. You were right the first time, and I should’ve listened.”

It goes without saying that Bella is going to keep the secret, but she’s also going to move on with her life, and wants Edward to do the same

Alexa, play “Clean” by Taylor Swift

#bella swan #twilight fans of color #god i hope this doesn't suck

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wefoundloveunderthelight · 3 years ago

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Skyline Manor by GleefullyCaptainSwan Chapter 10/13

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx @deckerstarblanche

Chapter 10: Attention Please

The Captain watched the woman in the red cloak sniffing the air as she moved through the forest. He knew of her kind, had heard of their abilities, but had avoided interaction with her species. His First Mate warily followed behind him, refusing to allow him to continue his quest unless she accompanied him after finding out about the inclusion of the aid of the Huntress.

“Are we sure she isn’t leading us into a trap, waiting until we are all separated before turning and hunting us all?”

Killian turned toward her, “Such positive affirmations, French.”

“Besides the ability to track, I also have excellent hearing.” The woman in the cloak remarked loudly from the front of the group.

“Great job, now you’ve offended her.” He chuckled, continuing his path.

Suddenly the woman stopped, holding her hand in the air. She whispered to the Princess, “I caught the scent of Master Henry. That way.”

Killian rushed to the Princess, grabbing her by the arm. “Stay here. I’ll go ahead.”

“I’m going with you.” She said defiantly.

“I believe the King, and might I say the Duke, were told that you would not venture into danger on this quest. So, I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that you stay here with the woman.”

“If you think I give a damn about what you told my brother, much less the Duke, you are very mistaken.” She held her chin high, yanking her arm away from the Captain and marching in the direction that Ruby had pointed.

Killian grumbled and followed the woman down the path. “One of these days, I’m going to stop chasing this woman.”

~*~

“So, she’s just dating Will now?” Ruby asked after Emma explained what had happened with Killian, Belle, and William.

“I guess. Apparently they’ve been chatting for two weeks.” Emma held her hand in air quotes because she wasn’t exactly sure what chatting meant. “But Will just asked her out the other day. Apparently that was their first real date when I caught them sucking face outside his door.”

“How’s Killian holding up?”

“How should I know?” Emma deflected.

“The two of you seem pretty close lately, I saw you both at the diner the other day eating lunch together. Just saying, you seemed pretty cozy.” Ruby teased.

“There’s nothing going on, if that is what you are implying Rubes.”

“So, then you wouldn’t mind if I asked him out? You know now that he’s single and all.”

“I uh…” Emma frowned, trying to calm her sudden anxiety. “I don’t know if he’s going to want to date right after getting dumped by Belle and all.” Emma took a drink of her water. “But sure, I mean if you want to ask him out.”

“What better way to get over a broken heart than by getting back up on the horse.” Ruby grinned. “I’d ride that stallion bareback.”

Emma choked on her water. “Um, yeah I guess.”

“Oh relax, I’m not going to ask him out. I don’t date men who aren’t emotionally available anyway.”

“Well, you do whatever you want. I’m not his keeper.” Emma said dryly.

“Are you sure about that?” She smirked, but Emma only nodded quietly, her mind swirling around thoughts of her neighbor.

Later that evening, she sat on the roof, surrounded by her family and friends at an impromptu get together, she couldn’t keep her eyes off the man sitting with her son, drinking his beer, telling stories that made her son laugh until he was doubled over, a smile across his entire face.

Besides David and Will, Henry had never taken an interest in a man the way he had with Killian. Emma had to admit there was something about him that had captivated her as well. He looked up and her eyes locked with his. She smiled softly, the corner of his lips turning upward in return.

A noise knocked her from her trance as she looked up to see her brother clanging his glass with a fork. “Excuse me, if I could have your attention please.” He jumped up on one of the tables and pointed toward her as Graham stood up next to her. “My best friend, Graham has a few words he would like to say.”

Emma looked up, watching with apprehension as Graham turned toward her. For some reason it made her stomach wretch with anxious energy. “Emma…” He started to speak, and Emma felt her entire body tense. “I know we haven’t dated a full year yet, but these have been the best nine months of my life.”

No, no, no, no, no, this can’t be happening.

Emma could barely see Graham’s face with the way her vision was starting to blur, not from tears of joy but from panic.

“And there is nothing I want more than for you and Henry to be a part of my life permanently.” He bent down on his knee and Emma felt like vomiting. She looked around the room at the happy faces staring at her, and she turned desperately trying to find her son. Henry was standing alone at the table he was previously enjoying time with Killian at.

His face was solemn, ghastly almost as he watched the scene in front of him in solitude. Killian was nowhere to be seen.

“Will you do me the honor of being my wife?” Her attention turned back to Graham, kneeling in front of her, holding out a shimmering ring toward her.

She didn’t know how to speak. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, but Emma knew that the sick feeling in the bottom of her stomach should not be there in the middle of something that was supposed to be a happy moment.

“Emma?” Her eyes jerked up to meet Grahams.

She wanted to say yes and embrace him with joy. She wanted to let him know that she would be happy and taken care of for the rest of her life with Graham by her side. She wished more than anything that his question made her the happiest woman on the planet. Graham was good to her. He would be a good husband; he would love Henry as his own. He was a good man.

Emma knew the words she needed to say, she rehearsed them in her head. She was lucky, she was blessed to have someone like Graham want to marry her and take care of her son, yet when she opened her mouth, the words would not come out.

“Graham…” She said softly. “I…” She reached out and cupped her hands around his outstretched palm, closing his fingers around the ring. “I can’t.”

~*~

Killian stopped in the stairwell, leaning against the wall to calm his breathing. He knew he shouldn’t be so affected by the proposal taking place on the rooftop. Emma had been with Graham since he met her, it was the natural order of things for normal people. People unlike himself. People who deserved to find everlasting love.

Emma deserved to be happy. Yet he couldn’t stop the aching pain in his chest the moment he watched the man drop down to one knee in front of her.

It was bad enough that the evening began with Will and Belle attending the festivities together. He was happy for Belle, and Will honestly, but it stung a bit to see her laughing and enjoying her time with the man. Had it not been for Henry, Killian would have felt completely alone tonight. Instead, Henry stayed by his side, asking him questions about his day, telling him stories about the latest movie he had watched.

But as soon as Graham dropped to his knee, Killian slipped into the shadows, retreating to the stairwell to make his exit. He didn’t belong up there, with her friends and family, celebrating the good news. He would allow her the moment in private.

As soon as he reached his apartment, he crossed the kitchen, opening his cupboard to pull the bottle of rum from its place. Instead of pouring the liquid into the glass, he titled the bottle into his mouth, the warm liquid burning its way to his stomach.

He dropped down onto his couch, the bottle tucked into his side, another night alone. He drank until sleep took him, golden blonde hair blowing on the bow of his ship, shimmering flecks of green dancing in the sunlight. She turned toward him, his name falling off her lips like a secret blowing in the wind.

Killian.

He sat up, a knock on his door pulling him from his dream. The empty bottle fell from his side, hitting the ground and rolling under the couch. He groaned, pulling himself up from his prone position and stumbling toward the door. Turning the handle, he cracked the door open, peering into the hall. His vision dropped down to see Henry staring up at him.

“Hey Killian, can we take Smee to the park?”

“Morning, lad, you’re up early!” He moaned, grabbing his head.

“It’s after one.” He laughed. “Did you just wake up?”

“A bit too much partying last night.” He opened the door, letting the boy in as he fished the dog’s leash from its spot on the counter. “A bit of sunshine might do me good.”

“Did you hear that Smee, we’re going to the park.” The dog jumped excitedly around the boy and Killian felt another ache in his chest. Surely the boy would still want to spend time with him after his mother married. He didn’t realize how much he enjoyed the boy’s presence until the thought of losing it presented itself.

“Are you ready?” Killian smiled and opened the door, letting the boy take the leash and following him out the door.

They walked to the park, Henry talking rapidly about a game he wanted to play later, as Killian realized he had just placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder as they walked. It was a gesture so simple and pure, yet he had never had such a kinship with a young kid before.

“So maybe we could play on Wednesday night now. You know because mom won’t be doing that anymore.”

Killian realized he hadn’t heard a word the boy had said. “Sorry lad, what is it your mom won’t be doing on Wednesday?”

“Date night with Graham.”

“Henry, just because your mom is getting married, doesn’t mean that date night stops, it just means they happen more frequently, at home.” He chuckled.

“But my mom isn’t getting married.” He stopped walking and looked up at him.

“What are you talking about, Henry. I was there for the news last night.”

“You mean when she broke it off with Graham?”

“She did what?”

Henry shrugged, “Yeah after she turned down his proposal, they had a long talk and mom came to my room and told me that she and Graham had decided to stop seeing each other. She was afraid I was going to be upset about it, but honestly, she made the right choice. Graham isn’t her true love anyway.”

Killian just stared at the boy; Emma turned down Graham’s proposal. He shouldn’t care, it shouldn’t make him as happy as he’s feeling right now, yet it was the only thing he could say for certain. Nothing made him happier than knowing that Emma had rejected Graham’s proposal.

It was ridiculous, it meant that Emma was alone, just as he was. Technically he was free to pursue her, free to finish what had been started twice before with their kiss. There was nothing standing in the way of him having her, tasting her, taking her the way he had dreamed so many nights before.

But Emma was different than other women he had bedded. She wasn’t a one-time thing. And just as with Belle, Emma deserved better than one night in bed with him. She deserved love, a home, a relationship. Things he couldn’t offer her.

“Do you like my mom?”

Killian’s eyes grew wide. “Of course, I like your mom, she’s my friend.”

He laughed. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, do you like her, like her. You know, as a girl.”

“I think your mom is a lovely woman, lad.”

The boy smiled up at him, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “So, you like her.”

Killian chuckled, “Alright lad, let’s get you home before your mom starts wondering where you are.”

“I’m going to take your answer as a yes, because you didn’t actually say no.”

“Let’s go.” Killian turned the boy back toward the apartment, unable to keep the smile off his face.

~*~

The path led to a small cottage, smoke billowing from the fireplace. Killian grabbed the Princess by the hand, pulling her back and pointing to the back of the home. “Shh, let’s go to the back.” He whispered into her ear.

They snuck around the back, peering into the small window. The Princess put her hand to her mouth as she saw her son sitting on a small bed in the middle of the room. She felt the Captain put an arm around her shoulder. “Stay here.” He whispered, his breath hot against her ear. She silently protested, grabbing his arm as he turned to leave, breathless groaning as he turned back to her. “What?” He almost pouted.

She grabbed him by the arm, yanking him down under the window as Baelfire walked toward the glass pane. His body pressed into her, her face in his chest as she cowered to the ground. She could feel the heat radiating from his body as he looked down into her eyes. A slight nod to address her quick action that had saved them from being spotted.

“Go around front, I’ll stay back here in case they try and leave through the back.” She whispered.

“Take this.” He handed her a small dagger, pressing it into her hand. “Be careful, love. I do not wish to see you harmed.”

He crawled to the side of the wall, standing, and making his way to the front of the cottage. She peered through the window just in time to see the wooden boards burst to pieces and Captain Jones appear in the wake of their destruction.

“I have come to take you in, by order of the King.” She heard him announce, she stood, making her way to the back door.

“You will not take my son from me; his mother will pay for keeping him from me.”

She pushed through the door, startling everyone in the cottage. Baelfire turned quickly, grabbing Henry, and pressing his dagger to his throat. “Was expecting you, Princess.”

“Let him go, he’s innocent.”

“Did he know about me?”

“No, I told him you were dead. It was the same as being abandoned, thrown away.”

“You had no right. He’s mine, together he and I can make twice as much as I do now.”

“Unhand the lad.” The Captain’s voice boomed over the Princess and the Swan Thief’s argument.

“Moved on, did you?” Baelfire taunted. “You can’t replace me, Princess.”

The Princess watched as Captain Jones crept closer to her son. The dagger was piercing his skin and Emma felt desperate to get to him. Just as Emma was about to press her blade to Baelfire’s back, Captain Jones nodded to her boy, lunging forward as Henry ducked and knocking the man onto his back.

“I had it under control.” Emma complained.

“I told you to wait outside.” The Captain argued.

Henry watched in amusement as his mother stood arguing with the man who had just saved his life. His father knocked out cold at their feet.

Henry bounded into his apartment to find his mother sitting on the couch, staring at the television which was currently turned off.

“Hey mom.”

She jumped from her spot and turned toward him. “Henry, did you enjoy your walk?”

“Yup, we took Smee to the park.”

“That’s great.” She said turning back toward the television with a frown on her face.

“Are you ok mom?” He sat down next to her on the couch.

“I’m fine, it’s just been a long week.”

“Are you sad about Graham?”

“I’m sad that I don’t feel sad about Graham. Does that make sense?” She said with a laugh.

“Yeah. I mean, I liked Graham, but he wasn’t right for you. He’s not your true love.” He said wistfully.

“Oh Henry, real life isn’t like your fairytales.” She ran a hand through his hair.

“Not if you don’t believe.” He replied.

Henry paced in his room that evening, everything seemed to be working out perfectly. Belle was with Will now; Graham and his mother were finished. Killian and Emma were free to be together. He knew they liked each other, it wasn’t hard to see the way they looked at each other or how calm and free his mother was when he was around.

But now they were both free to admit their feelings, and yet neither of them seemed prepared to do so. If only he could get them to be honest with each other. If they just had a moment alone where neither one of them could deny how they felt.

Henry paused in his pacing, a smile coming to his face. Slipping from his room he snuck into the hallway, he could hear the shower water in the bathroom, his mother singing quietly in the shower. Pushing his mother’s door open, he crept into her room, her cellphone charging on her nightstand. He picked it up and quickly searched her contacts until he found what he needed.

E: I need to talk to you. Please meet me on the roof at 7pm tomorrow night.

After the message sent, he clicked the delete button, removing it from her phone and setting it back on her table.

Moving quickly, he slipped out of the apartment and knocked on Killian’s door. It opened and Killian stood in front of him in his bathrobe. “Lad, is everything alright?”

“Yeah I think I left my phone over here earlier. Can you help me look for it?”

“Aye, do you remember where you might have left it?”

“Maybe the bathroom, or the kitchen.” Henry looked around the room, scanning it for the phone when he saw it on the kitchen counter. “Yeah maybe you can check the bathroom and I’ll look around here.”

“Alright lad, be right back.”

Henry ran to the counter, picking up the phone and seeing the message from his mom. Typing quickly, he sent a reply.

K: I need to talk to you. 7pm, rooftop tomorrow. Please come.

He deleted the message and marked the one from his mother as unread. Putting the phone back on the counter, he yelled to the back of the apartment. “Found it.” He yelled down the hallway, holding up the phone he pulled from his pocket. “Sorry to bother you, it was on the counter.”

“Alright, well, glad you found it.”

“Thanks again.” He ran out the door and quickly snuck back into his apartment. Pausing in front of the bathroom to listen to the shower still running. He smiled as his mother sang.

Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars?

I could really use a wish right now, wish right now, wish right now.

A smile formed on his face. “Don’t worry mom, I’m going to make sure all your wishes come true.”

#skyline manor #stacy's fics #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #captain swan modern au #captain swan fics #captain swan au

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jurijurijurious · 4 years ago

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Writerly ephemera meme

I was tagged by @thisbluespirit in this rather intriguing meme!

Find five bits of yourself that you gave to your fiction (memories and places and phrases and things into our stories), post and tag five or more writers to share as well.

Now I know I do write bits of myself and my experiences into my stories, one way or another, I think everyone does, but it doesn’t half put you on the spot when you have to try to remember where you’ve done it!

1) I know that recently I wrote Walsingham passing out at the end of a scene in “Mea Culpa”. The entire description is based on personal experience. I went through a scary few years as a young teen where I would pass out for little to no reason, usually at school where there were lots of people watching to cause me huge embarrassment, which then almost gave me a form of PTSD. I was constantly anxious about fainting, it was not good, and we never found out why it happened. But that’s another story... I still occasionally pass out but it’s usually for a reason, after having a vaccine or blood taken or something, but the whole process of fainting, though horrible, is like an old nemesis to me, uncomfortably familiar. I generally feel intense sickness in my stomach, my vision is puckered increasingly with white dots, my entire body comes out in a sweat, and I hear a high pitched whistle-type noise as I lose consciousness. And so since that is my experience, it became Wals’s too:

His palms sweated, his pulse raced... He shuddered and emitted another strangled breath, fingers white where he clutched the window sill, body trembling. He needed rest. Ursula's voice was becoming distant, the room was swaying like the deck of a ship caught in a storm. He felt a sudden nausea in his stomach, could hear a high pitched sound in his ears, a siren's wail beckoning him into the abyss.

“I am sorry. So very sorry,” he whispered, though he knew not exactly who he was addressing. His own voice now sounded as if it was coming from underwater, far away; he was drowning and could resist no more, slipped where he stood and descended into the open arms of oblivion.

2) This is another Walsibeth example I’m afraid because I haven’t written anything else for about a decade! So... Though the pandemic and my lack of funds has put a temporary hold to my hobby of horse riding, I am a half-capable rider and love tearing across country if opportunity allows on horseback. I can thus write people riding horses (English style, anyway) with a degree of accuracy. So in my smutty one-shot fic “In perpetuum et unum diem” (the one which is mostly a pastiche of the raunchy finale of “The Tudors” season 1, and also an excuse for me to write shameless sex), I began the ficlet with a bit of a horse-race between Bess and Wals to get the blood up (a scene that in itself mirrors Elizabeth’s racing with Raleigh in TGA, I later realised). Though I personally haven’t raced a person on horseback per se, I have done beach rides and also ridden on a horseback safari in Africa where you gallop as a group, and “giving your horse its head” is the order of the day! So a lot of this passage is me:

She turned her head back over her shoulder and caught Francis’ eyes. His lip quirked slightly at the corner but otherwise there was no change to his countenance. But that was enough. Her smile deepend as if to invite him to race her and she turned her head back around, gave her dappled grey mare its head and pressed her calves to its flanks. And the beast responded, driving its legs harder, faster, into a gallop and flew like a falcon through the trees.

...

As the wind flew in Elizabeth’s face, making her eyes water, a great whoop of exhilaration escaped her. There was nothing but her and the horse, and the knowledge that her blackguard of a lover galloped behind her. This was what it should feel like to live, even in tragically brief snippets; to feel the blood in your veins, the air in your chest, and the sun on your face, wild and free.

They then jump a tree trunk which I’d love to say I’d do, and I might, but most of my falls have been from jumping so I’d probably wimp out and go the long way around... ;)

3) Annnd another one from my Walsibeth fic “Mea Culpa”, just because it’s fresh in my mind. When I was driving to work last winter, there was one Sunday morning which had a jaw-droppingly beautiful sunrise. I tried to take a photo of it but could not do it justice. I did find a photo of Lincoln Cathedral on instagram from the same morning though which captured the sky perfectly. It literally looked like the sky was on fire, or something, and I immediately worked this memory into my story! I felt that a sky like that would make the perfect backdrop for a single, forlorn, broken bastard riding his horse in a clear, freezing morning:

There was a strange light in the sky as the sun began to make its ascent. It turned a deep crimson then lifted to shades of rich amber and gold; this combined with the few grey clouds passing overhead gave it the illusion of a huge fire, as if a great furnace now filled the heavens. Some might have called it beautiful, others would see a grim omen.

4) I had a look in my dreaded old fic archive, so full of cringe, and I found this from the end of my Doctor Who fic “Choices”, which I reckon I wrote between 2005-2006, possibly finishing it later than that. This scene right at the end (told from the perspective of Rose and the ninth Doctor’s daughter, Hope) is literally my old senior school - the class length, the finish time, the uniform was what I wore, and my history teacher was Mrs. Gaskin, and my mum would be waiting in her car to pick me and my sisters up:

By a quarter-to-three in the afternoon, she was in another History lesson with Mrs. Gaskin, and was spending another forty-five minutes hearing about the Black Death, the plague doctors, and the red crosses that were painted on people’s doors. It was fascinating, but Hope’s concentration wasn’t there. She kept looking out of the window at the school yard, noticing the little details that other days she would take for granted - like the way the trees swayed in the wind, the way a crisp-packet rolled across the concrete, and the pure azure-blue colour of the cloudless sky. Something was afoot but she had no idea what it was, or why she was feeling this way.

The bell rang finally at the end of the lesson, as the clock read three-thirty, and the class disappeared swiftly out of the door. It was home time! The voices of myriads of children echoed and shrilled down the corridors, and desperate feet, eager to get home, pounded down the stairs, making for the exits. White shirts were un-tucked from trouser and skirt hems, blue-and-red ties were loosened from about shirt collars, and black blazers were thrown off and carried over shoulders as the mass of pupils took flight.

Hope, however, took things slowly, almost as if she might never see them again, picking up on every smile, every individual laugh, and every joke pulled on every unsuspecting victim. She waved goodbye to friends, hitched her backpack over her shoulder, and made her way out of the school gates toward the spot where her mum or Uncle Jack would usually be waiting to pick her up. As she turned the corner onto Petunia Grove, though, she stopped and sighed. The car - either her mum’s or Jack’s - was not there.

Hope pursed her lips and shrugged, taking another good look around just to make sure that she hadn’t missed it, but there wasn’t a familiar car in sight. She thus let her bag slip off her shoulder, and she perched her backside on the street sign, swinging one of her feet back and forth as she waited for the arrival of her escort.

In the meantime, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander again, as it had been doing often throughout the day, and looked around the street. There was a blue tit on the hedge over the road, stood near a couple of sparrows and a robin. The front door of house number five was a brilliant shade of red, something which she had never really noticed before, and there was some graffiti on the road sign on the opposite side of the street. It read ‘Bad’ something or other, but she couldn’t read the other word since it was blocked off by the blue box.

Hope blinked and slowly rose to her feet. It couldn’t be…

5) And for number five, this is a short extract from the an unpublished Star Wars fic I wrote around 2010, where I tried for what must have been the third time to re-write the Star Wars nonsense I wrote as a teenager, all starring my very Mary Sue OC, Nadia, who became Vader’s apprentice and was mentored by Veers. I have here again worked my experiences of passing out into the story - a psychologist would have a field day with me. Nadia’s thoughts about showing weakness were also real fears of mine - I never liked to be weak, to be ill, to be a burden, and my character was the mouthpiece for my own self-disgust. It’s written in the first person with Nadia narrating in this scene where she accompanies General (Maximilian) Veers to the Kaminoan’s cloning facility to review further batches of troops and is taken ill by the experience of seeing the thousands of farmed foetuses:

Max nodded whilst I remained breathless and shaky in his shadow. I could not get those tiny, wriggling foetuses out of many head - they floated upon my consciousness, their inhuman eyes glaring into my face and their tiny hands reaching out toward me. I tried to rid myself of these infantile phantoms, but I could not, and I suddenly felt quite ill.

“We shall need many more in our next delivery,” Max told the creature, who began to babble on about the problems of this request, but was halted mid-sentence when Maximilian wheeled about and grabbed me, saying my name over and over. He disappeared amidst the snowstorm of white dots that littered my vision, however, and I collapsed upon the floor.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a bright, white room. The walls dazzled me for a moment and it took my eyes and my mind time to adjust and to recognise reality. I looked slowly at the plain walls, finding myself alone upon a bed with my hands by my sides and a drip feeding liquid into my arm. This seemed quite surreal - I knew I was not ill enough to warrant this - but I resolved to stay put until someone came to me. I felt extremely tired and I thought that I may as well take advantage of the rest.

I fell back to sleep again and, when I next woke, I saw Max sat in a chair beside me. I glanced about the room - we were alone. I looked at him uncertainly, my visage undoubtedly betraying the signs of my mortification, for he first said: “Do not worry, Nadia, I am not angry with you. It cannot always be helped.”

...

I wanted to defy him, to be strong, but no, I just showed him weakness and insecurity. What indignity was this?

Thanks for the tag, that was fun! I can’t think of 5 writers to tag but off the top of my head: @feuillesmortes, @robins-treasure and @captainofthegreenpeas? Have a go if you fancy.

#memes #writerly ephemera meme

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fragileizywriting · 4 years ago

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secrets

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

I want to see you. I want your talkative companionship for just a little while longer, if that’s alright with you.

He is helpless to her wishes. After all, the demonic seal that is tattooed onto his chest and onto her ear lobes are exactly for that— whatever his Lady and Princess wants, so long as it is in reason, he’ll try to provide it to her. Her words aren’t chains or shackles— they are quiet and reasonable guides. She speaks the words out loud, wanting, wishing to be heard and understood, and Chat listens— listens to Marinette, his mother’s Ladybug, and he answers. It’s not an even exchange— not yet, anyway. He will do her bidding so long as she is willing to give in return.

At first, it had meant nothing to him— he’s been privy to working for humans before, and had never felt an inkling of affection or sympathy. Making a deal with a demon just means that their soul will be taken and corrupted whenever their wishes are done and completed, and he’s never felt bad about making deals with adults who crave power and indulgence. Their souls are filled with tar whenever he consumes and eats them, but it settles the hunger in his stomach. He’s never thought of anything less.

Until now, of course.

Marinette. Marinette. How could he ever take her soul away? How can he sit here, knowing that the hummingbird beating of her soul one day is going to end up inside of him instead of where it belongs? How could he live with himself, knowing that he’d ruined her this way? Even though Marinette made the deal with him willingly, there— there must be a way to get rid of the tattoos on their skin.

He can’t do this to her.

He has to keep looking.

He’ll search everywhere for an answer. Every textbook, every witch. Every spare piece of gossip from Alya. There must be a way to break and erase the tattoos that burn on their skin. He’ll do her bidding regardless— he’ll help her with her wishes to cast the miraculous cure— but he can’t do it knowing that her soul is on the line.

The world is so big, and yet, it always surprises him to think that he’s ended up in Ladybug’s life. The girl who worships and works for his mother from first breath to last, trying to make a world a better place— he can’t take away Ladybug’s soul, can he? He’s in a predicament in that sense, too. If his mom were to find out that he’d been planning on eating a Ladybug’s soul, he’s certain to get a scolding of a lifetime for it. But he doesn’t know what to do— it’s almost as if they were put together for a reason.

And the reason, he suspects, might be because of his father— with that shit-eating grin he’d had on his face the moment that portal had opened up in the throne room just as Chat Noir had walked in, claiming that it was time for Chat Noir to experience the new.

He’s yet to get an answer from that god if this is what he meant.

Maybe Tikki already knows. It’s possible she does— after all, Marinette does her bidding quite a lot. Surely his mom has already felt the whispers of his magic tainting everything that Marinette does as well, right? And knowing her, she’s probably adamant about the two of them staying together.

“I used to get a lot of migraines when I was younger,” He breaks the silence in the living room.

Marinette’s eyes are distant again, even as she watches him eat her piece of honey she’d given him. It’s a silence he doesn’t know how to navigate very well— he doesn’t know what to say or do. The honeycomb tastes too brittle without her company, so he doesn’t know whether to stop eating and just wait for her, or try prodding at the silence.

It’s been a little while that he’s transformed back into his normal form, with them sitting in the living room seating area in front of the fireplace he’s poked back into life. It helps— sometimes, not always— that he’s capable of using fire magic. There’s no need for any matches of any kind when all he has to do is create flames in the palm of his hand. His magic isn’t as generalized as Marinette’s is— most of his spells he’s learned are, after all, to cause as much chaos as possible. Fire, floods, earthquakes, cataclysms— all of it is in the realm of his hands.

He doesn’t know how to mend things. It’s never been his strong suit.

She startles, realizing that he’s trying to have a conversation with her. Trying to complete her wish in the best way he knows how. “You did?”

He blinks slowly, trying to figure out how to approach the topic, so he tries for a smile. “Don’t tell anyone that the great Chat Noir is susceptible to headaches, the last thing we need is another myth circulating around the world that Plagg’s prodigy is nothing more than a demon that is sensitive to light. Let’s keep it a secret between us.”

“Of course,” She nods, not exactly understanding that he’s being sarcastic. Her hair is ink against her skin as she sits properly on the couch with him, tucking her shoulder into one of the back pillows. “How bad were the migraines? How long they did they last?”

Is Marinette trying to get more information so she can read about it? That seems most likely— he could mention that he sneezes at a certain smell and she’d disappear with the scent entirely within hours. It’s a miracle he’d convinced her to not toss out all of the scented soap the moment she’d learned that his nose is capable of picking up practically anything— Marinette cares about him too much.

Still though. He can’t force himself to lie to her— not when he’s trying to make sure that she knows that he’s always available to listen to what bothers her. “I wish I could say they weren’t too detrimental, but… the migraines got so bad that most of my memories from childhood are gone.”

It’s warmer than it was before, and even with the lack of fur he can feel that the cottage is at a reasonable temperature. She’s not shivering anymore, which is good— Marinette shivers from simply a threat of a cold draft, he’d hate to have her actually be freezing. Her brows crinkle at whatever she’s thinking, trying to place her thoughts together. “What? Y-you don’t remember your childhood? Any of it? At all?”

“No.” He taps on the plate in his lap. “I don’t remember much of those days. Practically nothing— my memories are entirely blank and dark. Huge portions of my life are missing.”

“Chat,” She gasps. “How— you—”

“It’s not that bad. Twelve-ish years of life disappeared, sure, but that’s okay. I’ve been told that I’ll live for hundreds of years, so I can’t be too upset that a couple of years disappeared.”

“Oh. Yes, of course,” The sides of her mouth tick down. “I forgot that demons live for long periods of time.”

“My parents never thought of me as less for it, and it doesn’t sound like those years are fun to remember, either. From the parts I can still remember, it was a lot of seeing my parents in the throne room looking scared and confused while I cried for my mom, begging her to hold me and comfort me.”

“Chat,” Her face pinches.

He continues with a smile, trying not to feel elated that Marinette is so easy to sympathize with him. “My mom used to say that the migraines got so bad that she would have to sit with me for days for it to go away. Trust me, Princess, I’m fine now. I haven’t had any migraines in years. Mom always called our moments together as bonding-time, although I think it was just to make me feel better.”

“Tikki said that?” There’s a bit of humor on her face, a fleeting little bit of amusement in her eyes even as she thinks about his blanked memory, the same humor from bringing up the silly argument they always have with each other.

Marinette is still convinced, even after all this time, that the Goddess really isn’t his mother— that he makes it up for humor. After all, according to Marinette, Plagg and Tikki aren’t really together, they’re gods— they don’t have children. They’re from completely different realms— why would his deity Plagg and her deity Tikki be together? Why would Tikki and Plagg have a child? And why him?

No offense, of course. But he understands what she means— he doesn’t really look like either of them. His mom talks about him as if he’s a miracle. But still— and this is integral— why would Plagg and Tikki be together? Marinette doesn’t ever understand.

But then again…

She has no idea about the loving glances his parents give to each other.

She has no idea about how every time his mother would leave hell to go take care of her own domain, his father would spend every day waiting for her to come home by carving little wooden statues by hand. Large, calloused, working hands of a god as old as time, whittling away at pieces of wood so smooth and soft that it looked like he was cutting through butter with a knife.

She has no idea how many yearning nights he’d spend at his dad’s feet, listening to Plagg talk about how much he loves his mother, and how they both miss her dearly, with his father creating little wooden dolls to keep his hands busy while he wishes for Tikki to come back to them. Each wooden doll more elaborate than the last. Each wooden doll more delicate than the last. A horse— a princess— a dragon— a demon— a rose. Sometimes his father would even carve a little doll of Tikki for himself, and smooth his thumb over the little figure whenever his missing got too much for him.

Chat Noir still has a couple of the gifted wooden dolls still in his room lining his shelves, each doll a scene from a story that Plagg would tell to keep him entertained as little Chat Noir gripped his leg in sadness. Knights and dragons and princesses and Ladybug’s that healed the sick with just her hands, and Chat Noir’s that ate the sun to give fire to the humans just to watch explosions and war dot across the Earth.

He always wished he had the skill to create like his dad. He always chalked it up to not having enough patience to shave away at bark. Besides, his hands are more suited to tearing and grabbing. He’d keep himself busy, waiting for his mother to return, by hunting the wanted whose faces were always plastered outside the castle walls, bringing the hunted into the throne room by carrying them over his shoulder or dragging them in by the leg.

He’d take a few Earth jobs, too, whenever a summoning portal was open and he was in the area and didn’t have any immediate plans. As long as he sent a letter back down through the portal notifying he was on Earth, his father didn’t mind him leaving hell.

Marinette also has no idea about the plentiful gifts that Tikki would bring back from her domain, with flowers large and plentiful in her arms to decorate their rooms. They have always been his favorite gift from hers whenever she returns. No amount of trinkets, or prizes— gold, jewelry, fruits from above ever caught his eye like the way they catch whenever she brings these to him.

Fire lilies.

For a man such as himself who’s entire myth and legend is simply just fire, and destruction— hell’s favorite golden and green child— seeing fire being associated with a flower always amazed him. Even as a young boy, when his blackened claws were much too sharp to take care and cultivate flowers like his mother, he always tried to keep himself from ruining the petals. Sometimes it got so bad that he’d beg his mother to keep the flowers with her so that they wouldn’t tear in his hands. Watch from afar. Admire them in a glass vase. Keep away from his hands.

The petals of these flowers are always so dark and red. Petals as red as his mother’s fiery hair, lively and beautiful. He always attempted to keep the fire lilies as alive as possible, knowing that the flower would break at the slightest indication of accidental injury. Every time a petal would fall off, he’d break from it.

Oh, he realizes. Marinette is his fire lily.

It makes sense. Of course it does. One of Tikki’s gifts happens to coincide with her most valued worker on Earth— the thought almost makes it difficult to breathe. Marinette is the one person in this entire world that he cares about at such a deep level.

He likes bantering with Luka— their fishing competitions are fun, even if the naga cheats.

He likes the rivalry between him and Alix, who is convinced that she can win against a legendary demon like him.

He likes talking with Alya, who has so much knowledge in her glittering brown eyes that it would take him entire lifetimes to parse through all of her silver and golden words.

He likes being with Nino, too— the one completely magic-less human who never treats him like a creature of the night and instead just his friend. He’s never had one before this.

But Marinette is the one person that he’d want to preserve, if he had to make that choice. His very own fire lily, the most beautiful and wonderful flower of all, safely kept. He wishes to keep her safe from harm. He wishes to keep her from hurting any more than what she already has.

The more and more he thinks about it, the less he realizes that he’s not paying attention to Marinette, who watches him in silence. By the time he’s out of his thoughts, Marinette’s looking at him with a knowing glint in her eye, one filled with soft humor, and it’s enough to give him hope that maybe he’s guiding the conversation into the right place, even if he doesn’t know where he’d left off. “So, Tikki would really comfort you?”

He thinks back to those earlier days. The days where he’d beg for his mother to stay— the days where he’d scream for no apparent reason at the sight of summoning portals being open, the days where he’d cry endlessly at the prospect of having to go through them. His mother never knew what to do. She’d sit there, bewildered, struggling to calm him down— he realizes, then, that he’s much in the same predicament. How would he calm down? What would get him to smile that day? Would the same tactic even work on Marinette?

“She’d sit with me. Sit with me a lot and just let me cry.” His voice is soft, nodding along to his own words. “To be fair, my mom had no idea what to do. She’d never had a child before. Every other Chat Noir that Plagg and hell had created before wasn’t exactly their own child. This was different.”

“She did well, if you turned out to be like this.” She pulls her knees up so she can hug them. She’s interested in his story. She always is. “I know I haven’t met every single demon, but you’re the nicest one I’ve met. And sweetest.”

“She’s nothing short of a perfectionist,” He winks, not letting his face stain red at the compliment no matter how hard his face wants to. “Nothing less for her. It took her a bit of time to understand my migraines. I don’t know. Sometimes I wish I remember parts of my childhood, but my parents told me that I was frequently inside a lot because of the migraines. The headaches would get so bad that I could hear light.”

“The great Chat Noir,” She murmurs, the smile small on her face, but there. “Who knew that this version of Chat Noir was prone to headaches?”

“Not all Chat Noirs are built the same, you know,” He grins. “Some of us can pull the sun out of the sky, it’s true. Hold the flame in our hands. Light the Earth on fire with it. And some Chat Noirs stay inside their dark bedroom for long periods of time, hopeful that the headache would pass.”

“Gets into fights with the local fishers, too.” She muses softly. “Technically wins because the fisher doesn’t have fire powers.”

“You got to take wins where you can get them,” He’s so happy when she finally laughs. He misses her laughter every time it’s away. “And the great Chat Noir never falters to do the impossible.”

Her laughter is light, and airy, but as sweet as the honey on his plate. “What would you do to keep yourself entertained, then, oh great Chat Noir?”

“Listen to my mom talk about my dad,” He tries not to scrunch his nose. He takes a bite from the honeycomb, trying not to think too hard about how he wouldn’t mind being that way with Marinette. Would she tell her children about him, if she were to ever have any? Why does the thought of being out of her life taste so sour on his tongue? “I’ve never heard two people more in love in my life.”

Marinette’s face brightens at his words. “They must be very lucky to have each other.”

He looks around the cottage, to all their little things they’ve collected while being together. He thinks about their hens, their meals together, the days where he’ll laze in the sun patch as she works on long and complicated spells that she doesn’t want help with. He thinks about her attempts at perfecting her fortune charms by loading his arms with so many beads that it’s almost impossible for him to move his arms. He thinks about the way she hides her face in his chest when she’s feeling afraid.

He’s lucky to have her. He hopes that she’s lucky to have him, too.

“They aren’t the only ones.”

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

#marichatmay2021 #marichat may 2021 #marichatmay #marichat may #marichat #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #day seven: secrets #fire lily au #witch marinette #demon chat noir #fragileizyadrienette

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pricklerick · 4 years ago

Text

Thanksgiving used to be Summer’s favorite holiday.

It meant spending two whole nights with Jerry’s parents and waking up early and going for a long walk in the snow, then peeling off wet clothes just in time to watch the dog show on TV while grandma baked pumpkin pie.

Things are different now, with Grandpa Rick and Morty gone. Dad, of course, had instantly accused Grandpa Rick of kidnapping Morty. Mom had screamed that her father would never do something like that to his family, to her (even know Summer knows that deep down, her mother was very afraid that Grandpa Rick had done exactly that).

The divorce was so ugly that Summer transferred to a school in Texas, losing a bunch of her class credits just to get away from them.

Texas is good. Well, it’s hot, and Summer’s skin hates that, but the people are nice and her classes are easy, and if she stays within a certain neighborhood, she can find whatever she wants without having to edge over to the east side of town.

She even has a finance. David plays football and his parents own a ranch in the Texas hill country. They have a little money and they like to flaunt it.

Years ago, before Grandpa Rick burst into Summer’s life and started taking her little brother on adventures, before portal guns and real guns and near death experiences became Summer’s adrenaline fix, she would have been thrilled to nail down a guy like David. David is kind, and sweet, and very attractive. He’s got a good future and he’s looking at being scouted as quarterback next year.

Summer’s ring is a gaudy thing, at least two carats, and it sits heavy on her finger. She only wears it when she knows she’ll be with David or the in-laws. It’s an heirloom ring, passed down through generations, and Summer hates it. She’s forever fiddling with it, or pulling her sleeve down to cover it, or hiding it in her back pocket when she’s out with girl friends.

She doesn’t go out as often anymore - they’re seniors now, and Summer has been told that the partying needs to slow down now that David’s future is getting serious. Summer is fine with this. There’s nothing on this earth that matches a party in space, anyway.

Sometimes, Summer looks up at the night sky and wonders how she could get her hands on some of Grandpa Rick’s K-Lax. That was good stuff.

It’s easy to justify spending Thanksgiving away from home because of travel expenses and final exams. Summer’s done it three years in a row now. She doesn't often think of Beth, or of Jerry, either. She’s deeply entrenched in a new family now, invested in a future mother-in -law who insists on being called “Mama June” or even just “Mama,” and an emotionally detached father-in-law who feels that talking to a woman who is not his wife is beneath him.

Summer is spending more and more time outside, looking at the stars, wishing, remembering.

But this week, the week before break, at 2:43 am, Summer’s phone screen lights up with a call from “Beth Smith.” And when Summer, groggy and maybe already a little hungover, answers with a hoarse, “Hello?” Beth is slobbering drunk.

“Honey, please,” Beth cries, slurring her words and hitching her breaths. “I need to see my baby, Summer. It’s Thanksgiving, next week. Summer, remember? Remember Thanksgiving? You... You’re all I have left.”

Yeesh.

Summer does not want to spend her break dealing with Beth and all of her sloppy-alcoholic coping mechanisms.That’s why she’d run away to Texas to begin with.

Summer hasn’t been home since the night they lost Morty.

She doesn’t want to go back. So she shushes Beth over the phone, lets her cry it out and then they start it all again, the crying and the shushing, over and over until Beth is nearly asleep, slurring half-formed words into her pillow.

Summer disconnects the call and drops her face into her hands. “Fuck.”

“What, babe?”

Ugh, she’d forgotten that David had stayed over.

David wraps his greedy arms around Summer’s waist and pulls her in, his naked boner brushing hot against her thigh. It makes her sick. She pulls away from him, leaning against the headboard and fumbling for the lamp. Beside her, David blinks owlishly in the light.

“I’m going home for Thanksgiving,” she tells him. No sense dragging it out.

“Oh,” says David, reaching up to stroke Summer’s cheeks and twine his fingers in her hair. Summer tenses at this, but David is oblivious, still carding his big stupid paws though Summer’s shower-damp braids and looking at her with an intensity that is frankly... terrifying. “What about coming back to Pilot Point, babe?,” he reminds her and he leans forward in an effort to pepper Summer’s face with kisses. Summer dodges them, making a show of reaching for her phone, so David grabs her hand instead. “Remember talking about seeing my folks?”

Summer is suddenly disgusted with herself. She ran away from home straight into the arms of this Mama’s boy who can hardly keep it up for the four and a half minutes it takes him to blow his load in missionary position.

Summer is a Sanchez.

She’s wondered for a while, especially after that stunt Dad pulled during the divorce, if she should have her name legally changed. She shares a quarter of Grandpa Rick’s genes, and by her rights as a Sanchez, the universe owes her good sex.

At least.

“Sorry, David,” she says and she deftly rolls away from him to stand at the edge of their shared bed. “Plans have changed. Mom needs me.”

Now David is sitting up, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy, but there’s a hardness in his eyes that Summer doesn’t like. Oh well. In for a penny, she guesses.

“Listen, dude, this isn’t working anyway. I’m not the hot little wifey on your arm that your parents are hoping you’ll find here.” She snorts, pacing around the bedroom, ticking off points on her fingers. “I don’t even want kids. I’m Summer Sanchez. I’ve been to space. I’ve seen the stars and constellations and comets and asteroids. I’ve met people you wouldn’t believe. I’ve met planets you wouldn’t believe - sentient planets, David! I’ve hit alien drugs that would blow your tiny mind.” She’s trembling now, all keyed up, but it feels good. There’s something cathartic about acknowledging the truth after so long.

She decides that Summer Sanchez has a nice ring to it.

She lifts her hands and twirls, landing in a heap at the foot of the bed. “The best sex I ever had was with a flying lamb on Oourivian Prime, for Chrissakes.” Summer turns, flushed and grinning, and pokes David in the chest. “You better believe I’m not settling down on a silly horse farm in Pilot Point!”

David is looking at her wide-eyed and slack-jawed, like he’s seeing her for the first time. The thought makes Summer smile a real smile. In a fit of giddiness, she pecks him playfully on the lips, sliding his ridiculous ring from her finger and curling it into his palm. “Good luck with that, babe!”

Feeling freer than she has in years, she flutters around the room, grabbing a few outfits that she likes and stuffing them haphazardly into an old gym bag. The whole thing takes less than a minute.

“Oh, and don’t take it too hard,” she calls over her shoulder, “I don’t think we’re really all that sexually compatible, anyway.” She waves a hand toward the flagging erection that is peaking from David’s boxers. “I’m more of a tentacle kind of girl, if you know what I mean.”

And so, during the fall semester of her senior year, Summer Sanchez dropped out of Texas A&M’s pre-law program and flew home to see her mother for the first time in three years.

xxx

Morty enters through the front door because he’s not a stranger. He’s not exactly sure how long it’s been on Earth - time moves differently on Morty’s waste planet - but somehow, he hadn’t expected it to be night. It makes him feel like a burglar, walking up the concrete steps to the front door with his big black cowl pulled low over his face, a deeply ingrained habit.

“You’ve only got one face, Mo-AAAUURRGG-rty. Don’t get caught with it.”

The key code to unlock the door is the same. Morty sighs, surprised at the stress that leaves his body with this revelation. He hadn’t wanted to break into his parents’ home. Now, he doesn’t have to.

He whirls around, taking one last look at the ship he’d parked on the garage pad. He’d avoided the streetlamps best he could, managed to land very quietly (thanks for that rad auto-landing feature, Rick)partially concealed behind some overgrown azaleas.

Morty sighs, tense again. Modifications aside, that is obviously Rick’s ship to anybody who knows it. Morty hopes he can get what he needs and get out. It would be wrong to disturb whatever peace his family had managed to regain in the years he’s been gone.

The front door is squeakier than Morty remembers. He slips into the kitchen as quickly, quiet as a ghost, and pulls the door slowly to behind him.

His first thought is that he’d forgotten that home has a smell. Carpet and lemon pledge and laundry detergent, and the lingering scent of last night’s dinner all converge on his senses like a physical blow to the gut.

How could Morty have forgotten that smell?

He glances around, eyes adjusting to the dim light of the street lamps. A few scattered dishes lie in the sink, an empty wine bottle sits abandoned on the counter. He’s standing on the same ugly linoleum floor with its worn green leaf patten, so subtle you’d miss it if you didn’t know where to look.

Time hasn’t touched the kitchen.

Morty stands in his childhood home and takes three deep breaths. He thought he’d been prepared for anything and everything - all the changes. He’d been ready.

But the house is exactly the same.

It’s Morty who has changed.

Morty’s breathing speeds, and he shakes off the shudder that tempts to run down his spine. If the kitchen affected him this deeply…. He swings his gaze to the garage door that beckons ominously to his left.

Don’t think about it, he reminds himself sharply. The plan is simple - break into the garage, grab the stuff, and get out. There will be time for memories later.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about… him.

Morty shakes himself, setting his shoulders and pulling the heavy door handle toward him as he turns it to minimize noise. Unlike the kitchen, the swing of the garage door is silent.

The darkness deepens as Morty steps down the single step - there are no windows to let in the glow of the street lights here. The air is hotter and heavy, almost stale, and as Morty turns his back to the room to slowly pull the door to, he gets the strangest feeling. It’s almost the uneasiness he feels when he walks to the grave of the other Morty who is buried in the backyard. It raises the hairs on his neck, and Morty wonders if anybody in the family have used this garage since...

Don’t think about it.

Door secured and locked, Morty lets his fingers drift along the walls, his opposite hand outstretched in search of obstacles. But it seems that the garage is exactly as Morty remembers, and he navigates the dark with increasing confidence. He snags the dangling string - right where it should be - and tugs. The bare bulb that hangs over Rick’s work table pops and hums as it slowly blinks on, and Morty bites back a smile at the irony of the inter-galactic space genius Rick Sanchez discovering his greatest scientific breakthroughs beneath this dirty fluorescent bulb.

A thousand memories assault him at once.

“A hair, Morty, I need one of your hairs!”

“Bring me the thing. The thing. The thing. The -- the -- it's got, like, buttons on it and lights on it. It -- it -- it beeps.”

“You little son of a bitch! Y-y- are you a simulation?! Huh?! Are you a simulation??”

“I’m the Rickest Rick there is. And you know, it would - UUUURRGGHH- go without saying that the Rickest Rick… would have the Mortyest Morty.”

“Be better than I am.”

“Don’t… Don’t think about it.”

Morty sucks in a deep breath and grits his teeth hard. Time to get busy.

xxx

Three hours later, and Morty is almost done with the garage.

He glances at the digital clock that reads 3:33. By the time he gets this stuff loaded, it’ll be nearly daylight.

Damn, he’d really hoped to get everything in one trip. Fuel for a trip to Earth from his encampment is not cheap, and this was a long trip.

He picks up the first item, a strangely lightweight box labeled “Time Travel Stuff” and heads toward the kitchen. He dares not raise the garage door - that would make too much noise.

He opens the door and comes nose to nose with Summer.

“What. The fuck. Are you doing in my grandpa’s garage?” she says slowly, advancing on him with each word.

Morty’s first thought as he stumbles backward is, “Where did my sister get a pistol?”

He trips over the step in an effort to give her some space, sending the box flying. He finds himself sprawled on the floor, space bits everywhere, and his ass is killing him. “Ah, geez,” he breathes, repositioning slowly to take the pressure off of his coccyx. It’s probably broken.

Summer’s hands are trembling, and she lowers the gun. “Morty?”

Oh. His hood had fallen when he did. Morty looks up at her, a little sheepishly, suddenly very aware of the beard he’d decided to grow a while back. “Umm, yeah,” he says lamely, still wincing at the pain. “Hi!”

There’s a funny expression on Summer’s face, like she’s thinking a billion things at once, and her eyes are wider than Morty’s ever seen them. But then her gaze hardens. “And which one are you?” she demands, looking as if she’d like to bring the gun back to his head.

Morty raises his eyebrows. He wouldn’t have expected Summer to immediately question his dimension. Clever of her. He quirks a little smile. “C-137,” he answers her, trying and mostly failing to get back on his feet. “I’m your Morty. Well, your second Morty.”

Quick as a blink, Summer slings the gun away. It lands with a clatter and she launches herself at Morty, wrapping him in a rib-creaking hug. Morty’s body tenses - hugs are definitely not his typical physical interaction. But Summer is burying her face into the crook of his neck, and Morty is surprised to find how easily it fits there. When he’d left, they’d barely stood eye to eye.

Morty is stunned. Summer has never hugged him like this. Feebly, he reaches up and lays his hand across her back. She’s shuddering. So Morty pulls her closer, shifting his weight so that his knees are beneath him, and gathers her in. She allows this, never looking up at him, and slowly, Morty relaxes into it.

“Summer?” he asks softly after what feels like a long time. He’s never been good with his sister’s emotions.

Summer cranes her neck sideways to look at him, and she’s a mess of mascara and tears, red-faced and absolutely shaking with laughter. Morty huffs with her, still utterly bewildered by girls. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing’s funny, Morty,” she tells him, but she’s still laughing, so Morty laughs with her. “You’ve been gone for three years. You’ve been legally declared dead, you asshole!” She swats him on the shoulder, but he manages to doge the blow, which only makes her face fall. She comes closer, looking more tearful now than before, and settles beside him. “We had a fucking funeral for you, you complete sack of dicks!”

Morty doesn’t know what to say, so he grabs Summer’s hand and squeezes. “Sorry.”

And he is.

Summer rolls her eyes and snorts, but there’s something softer at the edge of her lips, and she lays her head on Morty’s shoulder and sighs. Morty assumes means he’s forgiven, at least on some level.

They only sit like that for a minute or so before Morty starts to fidget. His ass is absolutely killing him, and time’s a-ticking. He needs to get out of here soon. Summer seems to read the tension in his body, because she stands abruptly and offers her hand, pulling him to his feet with an exaggerated groan.

“Thanks,” he quirks her a little half-smile, the only thing he has to offer her.

But Summer isn’t looking at him. Her eyes are tracking around the garage, noting the boxes that have been drug out and packed up. Something tightens in her face, and when she speaks, it’s in that no-nonsense tone that always drove him up the wall when they were kids.

“What happened, Morty?” Summer finishes her sweep of the garage and pins her gaze on him.

Morty nearly stumbles back at the intensity of it.

“What happened to you? Where is Grandpa Rick?”

Authors Notes:

Based on Vapor Morty, who was originally developed in this hot mess of a text post. Rick’s been kidnapped and Morty has been scouring the universe trying to find him and doing a lot of learning and growing along the way.

Kidnapped Rick saw Morty “die” just before he was kidnapped and went crazy over it. Morty obviously wasn’t dead, was trying to get to Rick to say hey, I’m all good and these guys are after you so let’s get out of here.

Morty literally lives in an intergalactic dumpster and makes a living renovating and selling weapons and machinery. He found his way home to earth because he wants to find any of Rick’s stuff that he could possibly use to track him down, or maybe even build his own portal gun.

Basically, Morty is a little badass now.

I might write more of these little drabbles if people are interested in them. Also, just really hoping I got Summer’s voice right here. Feedback is always, always appreciated, friends! My messages and ask box are open!

#pricklerick original #rick and morty #vapor morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #rickorty #summer smith #i could pretty easily be convinced to dabble deeper into this au #so many vapor morty feelings #summer is my precious sunshine child

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bluezey · 4 years ago

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Little Sister - Conception

I decided to work on the birth of Judy fanfic as my first fanfic in google docs, even though it’s gonna be a multi chapter one. I posted the first chapter in case I lose it cause I don’t know how saving works on this yet. So, hate to be a jerk, but the next two chapters are going to be released together. You’re just going to have to sit on the first chapter. At least it’s got plenty of feels to hold you over.

“Mom, I’m home,” Ian announced as he entered the home. He placed his staff by the front door and stopped just short of the stairs. He looked ahead into the kitchen across the way through the living room, spying a small pile of cards and presents building up for his graduation party next week. It made him smile and feel more relieved that he just survived his last day of high school. He walked upstairs and into his bedroom, he took two steps and flopped his backpack down by his desk. He sighed and relaxed, feeling like a big load was mentally lifted from his shoulders, as well as physically.

Ian slumped down into his desk chair, with enough force that it rolled back a few inches. He looked up after a moment or two to spy a note written on a sealed envelope mailed to him. Ian could make out the sloppy, bold writing from here, Barley’s writing declaring that something awesome arrived in the mail for him. Ian picked it up to see the letter was already opened… and it was addressed from the enrollment offices at Willowdale College. Ian immediately tore the letter out of the envelope and read it, reading it over and over as his chocolate brown eyes grew wider and wider.

The old boom box immediately slammed atop his desk, and Ian had to try once or twice to get the old cassette tape inserted into the tape deck. Just as he pressed play, the voice of Ian’s dad began to echo from the old speakers.

“Hello? Hello?”

“Dad!” Ian basically shouted, then tried to control his volume. “It’s me, Ian.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah!” Ian replied to the recording as he looked up at the pictures of his dad Wilden pinned to the wall above his desk. “How ya been?”

“Well, I’m trying to.”

Ian chuckled to himself. “Well, today was the last day of high school, and I’m gonna graduate next week. I wish you were there to see it… I know, I can keep a picture of you in my pocket under my graduation robe.”

The voice on the tape laughed to himself.

“Yeah, well… remember that college you went to? Willowdale College?”

“I know.”

Ian grew so excited he was trembling. “Yeah, well, I got a letter of enrollment today.” Ian showed the acceptance letter to the photos. “I’m in! I start this fall! I plan to spend a few years there, and transfer to a college to take my classes in astrophysics!” After finally revealing the information to his dad, Ian’s face and energy fell when all he heard was the white noise of the tape recording. “Wow… I hope I get the same college experience as you did.”

“Well, let’s find out.”

Ian couldn’t think of anything else to say, but there was something he wished he could do. Making do, he unpinned a picture of his dad off the wall and hugged it tight against his chest. Tears of bittersweetness rolled down his glowing blue cheeks.

“Okay, bye.” The tape ended.

Ian’s face folded into a melancholy frown. “Yeah… bye.” He sat down, still clutching the picture to his chest in his makeshift hug.

The long string of silence was broken by Ian’s bedroom door flying open. “Hey Ian, I- oh.” Barley stopped mid sentence when he saw the boom box on the desk and the dried tears on Ian’s face. “I, uh…”

“It’s okay,” Ian replied, sitting up and wiping the tear from his face while placing the picture of dad on his desk. “Come in.”

Barley stepped into the room. “I got off the phone with mom and- hey, you got the letter!” he interrupted himself again, seeing the acceptance letter under the picture of dad.

“Yeah.” Ian looked curious as he remembered the writing Barley added to the open envelope. “Did you… open it?”

“How else could I have read it?” Barley asked back.

“Barley,” Ian softly scolded with a big smile.

Barley laughed proudly as he hugged his brother tight, lifting him up out of the chair. “I’m sorry, I had to. I was bringing in the mail after work and I saw the letter.” Barley finally let Ian go, Ian tried to keep his balance as they stood together, eye to eye. “Well, congratulations, college man.”

Ian tried to hold back more tears of joy. “Yeah, thanks.” Trying to break the tension, Ian suggested, “Maybe you’ll be next. Perhaps a nice community college?”

Barley scoffed in a playful laugh. “Nay. I’m making waves at my part time jobs. Weekdays stocking at Valiant Taels, weekends at Manticore’s Tavern, renaissance faire in the fall, the occasional engine work out of the garage…”

“Jobs at a comic and RPG shop and a tavern isn’t gonna pay a lot, Barley,” Ian commented.

“No,” Barley shrugged, “but they’ll pay enough, for now.”

Ian chuckled before thinking aloud to himself, “Wow, Willowdale. I can’t wait to tell mom. Have you told her?”

“Nah, you can do that tonight.” Just as Barley said that, the boys could hear the front door open downstairs.

“Boys, we’re home,” Laurel called from downstairs. “Boys?”

“Up here, mom!” Barley shouted back, loud enough that Ian had to cover his long ears.

“Come down boys,” Laurel replied. “We need to tell you something.”

“Us too!” Ian replied excitedly. He grabbed his letter and stuffed it in the back pocket of his jeans as he raced after Barley down the stairs.

“Woah, hold your horses,” Colt laughed as Barley nearly tripped on the last step.

Ian made his way down the stairs, slowing as he saw Barley take his seat on the couch, and Laurel in a chair, with Colt standing beside Laurel. Curiouser, Ian sat down next to Barley on the couch. “What’s going on?” Ian asked, realizing that Colt and Laurel are smiling with excitement, but he hasn’t told them yet.

“Boys,” Laurel said, holding Colt’s hand in hers. “I have big news.”

“Oh, so do I,” Ian said, getting ready to grab the letter from his pocket, but pausing when he heard mom’s words.

“We’re pregnant.”

Barley and Ian, almost in unison, looked at each other then to Laurel and Colt. “What?”

“Remember how I’ve been sick for the past few days?” Laurel continued, her smiled growing brighter. “It’s morning sickness.”

“We just came back from the doctor,” Colt continued, happily holding Laurel’s hand. “It’s positive.”

“Positive?” Ian asked.

“Positive,” Laurel replied.

“You’re positive?” Barley asked.

“Positive!” Laurel almost shouted, hugging Colt and giving him a big kiss.

When it finally sank in, Barley was up on his feet and hugging them as well. “A little brother? This is amazing! Yeah-ha!”

It sank in for Ian, but felt more like it was weighing him down. He silently let go of the letter in his pocket and just sat there, looking down at the ground.

Laurel finally noticed and asked, “Ian? Did you say you had news too?”

“... yeah, nevermind.” Ian stood from his seat and walked back upstairs.

“Ian?” Laurel called out.

“Ian?” Barley called out as well, Colt also concerned.

Ian knew to be excited, he knew not to be selfish. But the timing… he was going to graduate, he’s going to college, Willowdale College. And now, there’s a baby. For the first time since dad, mom is pregnant with Colt, uhm, Ian’s step dad. Ian’s still getting used to calling Colt dad since he and Laurel got married, guess a part of him is still holding onto his dad, his first dad. Things were getting complicated, Ian thought graduating and getting the college he wanted would fix things. But it’s only getting worse.

“I got this, Barley. Ian?” Laurel opened the bedroom door to see Ian lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He looked downtrodden, maybe even empty, like he wanted to get the thoughts racing in his head to cease just once. Laurel sat down on the foot of the bed. “Ian? You had some news?”

“No, it’s okay,” Ian replied, trying not to look at her.

“Honey,” Laurel brushed a curl out of Ian’s face. “I still want to know. Please, tell me.”

That sweet, comforting tone helped Ian break out of his funk. He sat up and pulled the letter from his pocket. Instead of reading it to his mom like he planned, he just handed it to her.

Laurel silently read for a moment, but then she was bursting with excitement. “Accepted? You’re accepted! My little college man!” Laurel squealed, practically throwing herself onto Ian as she gave him a big hug.

Ian finally smiled as he hugged right back. He let those saddened tears fall, but he was happy once more.

“This is so great,” Laurel told Ian. “We’re going to go through so much.”

Ian looked confused again. “We?”

“Yes.” Laurel looked at Ian and explained, “You’re going to college, we’re going to have a kid.”

“We?”

“Yes,” Laurel smiled. “It’s my child, but it’s your sibling.”

Ian looked like a deer in headlights. “I’m… going to have a little brother?”

“Laurel! Ian! Dinner!” Colt called from downstairs.

“Oh! We’ll talk later. Race you downstairs,” Laurel announced as she ran out the door.

Ian didn’t move an inch, still staring at where Laurel’s eyesight once was.

He’s graduating. He’s going to college.

And he’s getting a sibling

#pixar onward #sir iandore of lightfoot #ian lightfoot #barley lightfoot #laurel lightfoot #colt bronco #judith judy lightfoot #judy lightfoot

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ghostly-cabbage · 4 years ago

Text

Frigid (Chapter 3)

Genre: Horror, Angst, Enemies to Friends

Chapter Rating: M (Language, Underage Drug Use)

Word Count: 5,326

AO3 FFN

<<Previous | Next>>

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear old Dad got home late that night while Wes and Kyle were tucking into a plate of pizza rolls. Wes heard the door open and his Dad's voice from down the hall.

"Tell Roger that it doesn't matter, whatever it takes, Mr. Masters expects it to get done." He walked past the living room without so much as a glance at the two of them. His voice faded down the hall punctuated by the sound of his door closing.

Wes snorted and stuffed another pizza roll in his mouth. Stupid Dad with his stupid government job. Why the hell bring them to Illinois just to ignore them? He curled his fingers into the upholstery of their new couch, gripping it until his fingertips ached and the smell from the Ikea warehouse threatened to make him sick. He forced himself to swallow the bite and shoved his plate onto the coffee table.

He got up and went to the kitchen for a capri-sun. If it hadn't been Kyle that bought them, he'd be pissed about that too. His Dad seemed to treat him like he was still in elementary school no matter how old he got.

Wes slammed the fridge door hard enough he heard the dressing and condiment bottles rattle inside. He went back to the living room, the TV illuminating the space in it's flickering light.

He flopped backwards onto the couch, pushing his back into the corner of the sectional, wishing it'd swallow him up. Kyle was watching some alien history documentary. How ghosts could be pure fiction but aliens were "science-fact" was beyond Wes. He rolled his eyes and got out his phone, pulling up his knees.

Instagram was a short reprieve, or it should have been. He scrolled past post after post of his old friends back in California, smiling wide in front of the beach, or the boys at the park playing basketball. Over there they hadn't even started school yet, and wouldn't until the end of the month. To say he envied them was a gross understatement.

"Are you gonna eat those?" Wes glanced up over his knees to see his brother pointing at his abandoned pizza rolls.

"Go for it," he said. Kyle scooped up his plate and went to town. Wes really should be doing his chapter reading for History, but the thought made him want to set something on fire. A part of him felt like he should be grateful for a fresh start after the divorce, but another part of him wanted nothing more than to dig his heels in. Just because his Mom was a liar and his Dad was an asshole didn't mean they had to move across the country, why didn't they get that? Maybe they did, and just didn't care.

He scrolled on his phone long enough for Kyle to watch another episode. By the end Wes had been sitting and refreshing his feed over and over again. He watched the buffer wheel spin, screen go white and the same post as last time take its most recent position at the top. He pulled down again, and watched the wheel spin for the millionth time.

"Dude, this is just depressing to watch."

He glanced over at Kyle, narrowing his eyes. "Got nothing better to do." It was a lie and they both knew it. Kyle flicked the TV off and stood up from the couch.

"C'mon." Kyle came to stand in front of him expectantly.

"What?"

"Let's go have roof time."

Wes made a face. "You're so weird, don't call it that. Cringy as fuck, man."

Kyle grabbed a pillow and swung it lazily towards Wes' head. "C'moooon lil bro! It's roof time!" He said it in a big brother voice that always pissed Wes off.

"No. Fuck off." Wes held up an arm to shield his head.

"C'mon!" Kyle insisted. "Don't you wanna spend time with your brother?" he pouted. He swung the pillow at him again.

"I'm gonna kick you in the balls."

"Weeeeesslleeeyyyy! C'mooooon."

"Oh my god, you're so fucking annoying." Wes kicked half-heartedly towards his brother. He held up both arms to try and fend off the onslaught of his brother's pillow attack.

"I'll stop if you agree to go sit outside with me, Wes! Surrender, you're out matched, kid!" Kyle picked up another pillow in his left hand, and continued batting at him. Wes tried to bury the beginnings of a smile behind a sour expression.

"You just—Ow, stop— You just wanna go get high, don't you?"

"Oh, absolutely. But you think I'm going to sit out there alone like some kind of loser?"

Wes anticipated his brother's next swing, and snatched the pillow from him. Now it was his turn. True to his word, he kicked a foot out directly into his brother's crotch. Kyle grunted and stumbled back a step, hands going down to grab his groin. Wes capitalized on his opportunity and lunged forward, springing off the couch to tackle his brother to the ground.

They hit the carpet with a loud thud, and became a tangle of limbs.

"Oh it's on, kiddo!" Wes couldn't hold back a laugh as he wrestled his brother. He attempted to push the pillow onto Kyle's face at the same time as his brother was trying to twist his arm around in a joint lock.

"Shut up, you're only a year older than me," Wes said, wriggling out of his brother's grip, and yanking his hat down over his eyes.

"A destined rematch to determine the stronger brother! A tale as old as time!" Kyle fought blindly to get a hold back on Wes. Wes whacked him on the side of the head with the pillow.

"You're a moron," he said without any real venom. Kyle flung his hat away.

"Don't make me purple nurple you like last time."

Wes hit him again with the pillow as Kyle tried to steal it from him. "Try it, bitch, I'll kick your ass."

"I did wrestling for two years!"

"Yeah, in middle school, now you're just lame and out of shape."

Kyle gasped. "Bro, take it back." He twisted the pillow hard to the right and broke Wes' hold on it.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. You're not out of shape, just the lame part." Wes tried to get out of Kyle's reach to escape retribution, but he wasn't fast enough. Kyle got a hold of his shirt, and yanked him into a headlock. It had no real pressure behind it.

"Hah ha! What have we here? Could it possibly be that I win again?"

Wes rolled his eyes and pushed up on his brother's arm to break the loop. "Shut up, stupid-ass," he muttered. They broke apart, and Kyle stood up, offering him a hand. Wes accepted it with a puff. Kyle yanked him to his feet and punched him in the center of his chest.

"Ow."

"Kyle : 1 Wes : 0!"

Wes stopped. "Hey, wait, our score was up in the hundreds! What gives? I was winning you asshole." He'd challenged Kyle to a game of Horse last month and it had been a slaughter to say the least. Kyle was walking towards the stairs.

"Nu-uh, new-state-clean-slate, bro, we're starting over!"

"That's stupid, and I didn't agree to that. You're just a sore loser." Wes trudged up the stairs after his brother.

"Guess you'll just have to wait till our next rematch." Kyle shrugged, pushing into his room with a shoulder. Their rooms shared a wall, Kyle's being the furthest down the hall. They both had north facing windows that had access to the brow of the roof which overlooked the pool in the backyard. Moving from a place with obscene living expenses to the armpit of Illinois had its perks he guessed.

"Pick the challenge then. How about MarioKart?" he offered.

"After last time? No way dude." Kyle went to his bedside table to retrieve a small baggie of weed and his pipe and lighter. Not that their Dad ever checked, but a pipe was easier to hide, and less hassle than a bong. Or so Kyle said. Wes didn't really mess around with the stuff if he could help it. The times he tried made him so paranoid it felt like the end was nigh.

"Ugh, fine, princess. What about Smash?" Wes slid the window open and popped out the screen.

"Best outta five?"

"Sure, tomorrow after school? You can't play worth shit while high."

"Bruh, I'm great at playing while high, makes all the distractions just—" he wiggled his fingers— "fall away."

Wes snorted. "Sure, keep telling yourself that. The AI Pikachu wiped the floor with you." Wes climbed out onto the roof, scooting to the side so Kyle had room to clamber out. Kyle handed him his pipe to hold and followed after.

"No, that's not what happened, okay?" Kyle pointed an accusing finger. "I let that adorable little rat fuck win, because what kind of monster would I be if I destroyed Pikachu?"

Wes rolled his eyes. Kyle settled next to him, hanging his legs over the side and reached for his stuff back. Wes looked up at the sky, leaning his weight back on his hands. It was another clear night, the stars bright and unblemished. He heard the flick of his brother's lighter, but paid it no mind. The lack of light pollution was nice, if there was one positive from this whole situation, it was that.

The wind stirred, a chill laced in that made Wes wish he'd brought his jacket. He was looking forward to the snow. He'd only seen snow once when was ten and his parents took all of them on a skiing trip to Lake Tahoe. He remembered biting it on the bunny hill, and how Kyle laughed so much while picking him up that he'd dropped him more than once. The memory felt brittle, like if he touched on it too much it might break into a million pieces. It always felt like that, remembering what it was like to be happy, to be a family. His parents had broken enough, he wanted this thing, this one little thing to stay whole.

Was it childish to want that?

He glanced at Kyle, who exhaled a plume of smoke, the slope of his shoulders loose and relaxed. For all his flaws and his seriously maddening, downright annoying personality, Wes was glad to have Kyle. After the divorce they'd gotten closer, and he wasn't really sure where he'd be right now without his brother.

Not that he'd ever admit something so fucking embarrassing out loud. Jesus, what was he? He sounded like a Hallmark card.

He rubbed an eye, and laid back, the shingles of the roof cold against his back. The two were in a comfortable silence, Kyle too preoccupied with making short work of the bowl he'd packed to make conversation yet. That was alright with Wes. He was tired and still a little freaked out after today. He knew better than to bring up his run in with the ghost at school to Kyle.

This place was weird, and he had so many questions he felt like he was going insane. First thing tomorrow he was going to ask someone what the hell was going on in this town. He could try and ask the Danny Fenton kid, since his parents were apparently the ghost experts. He rolled the idea around for a few seconds in his head. Maybe it'd be best to ask more than one person. Leave Danny as a last resort.

He was staring at the first stars of Orion as they peaked over the dark horizon. That's when he saw it. His brows furrowed and he sat up.

"Dude, do you see that?" He smacked the back of his hand against Kyle's arm.

"What?" Kyle looked up.

"That!" He pointed. In the sky and getting closer was a glowing streak.

It wasn't a star, or a comet, that was for damn sure. It was flying in a wide circling pattern. It was fast, whatever it was.

Kyle gasped next to him. "Holy shit, a UFO." Kyle fumbled around to try and get his phone, in his haste he sent his lighter tumbling down the roof and off the edge. Wes trained his eyes on the shape as it got closer, squinting. Kyle had gotten his phone and had started recording, feverishly commentating about the time, place, and the appearance of an "alien craft".

Wes leaned forward, straining his eyes. As the shape wound closer it looked… almost humanoid? It seemed to move in a thoughtful systematic way. Like it was covering specific ground.

"I'm so putting this on my Snapchat story," Kyle said. He turned his phone towards Wes. "Say hi! In case it goes viral."

"Dude, stop." Wes pushed his brother's phone away from his face and back towards the… well. UFO.

As suddenly as it had appeared, it sharply changed direction and flew away, before blipping out of existence entirely. It hadn't gotten close enough to identify, but Kyle seemed to only care about his video and nothing else. Wes sat there thoroughly confused, staring at the point in the sky the shape had vanished into thin air.

"Clearly this is evidence of alien superior technology. The fact it sped up and disappeared so fast means they've cracked flight speeds faster than light, dude!" Kyle buzzed. He was tapping on his phone, already sending the video to everyone he knew.

Aliens, really? Could this day get any weirder?

"Look, look, Hannah, snapped me back." Kyle leaned over so they could both see his screen. He opened the Snap, and Wes saw a girl with blonde hair and dark eye shadow. He vaguely recognized her from school, part of Kyle's new stoner group of friends. The video showed just the top of her face as she looked down at her phone. Her eyes were crinkled at the corners.

"Kyle, what the fuck," she laughed. "That's not an alien, doofus. It's clearly a ghost. Probably Phantom. He flies around almost every night." She leaned back and sprayed canned whipped cream directly into her mouth. " 'Aliens'! Oh my god I'm totally telling Jennie." She snorted as she laughed and the snap ended.

Phantom? That was Phantom? The image of the ghost boy from earlier lingered in his mind. Kyle was already recording a video to send back.

"Hannah, obviously you have very little experience with UFO's. I know an alien when I see one and that was an A L I E N. Okay? Don't buy into this ghost conspiracy, it's what people want you to think, but it's probably all aliens! Or beings from like the 4th dimension, I don't know."

His brother's voice sounded too loud. His eyes traced the place where the shape… the ghost had been. He rubbed at his temples with his fingers. Kyle continued arguing with his new local friends, protesting the idea of ghosts. Wes sighed, a headache building behind his eyes.

He nudged his brother with an elbow. "I'm gonna get to bed." Kyle gave him a distracted goodbye and Wes headed back inside, mind swirling with the image of white hair and glowing green eyes.

***

Joy.

His sleep that night had been fitful and interrupted. He didn't have any nightmares, or at least none he could remember, thank God. But there were a few times he could have sworn there was someone standing in his doorway, watching. He shook it from his thoughts by busying himself with his camera.

The final bell for first period rang and with it commenced the beginning of the school day.

Students with no cameras of their own were having some checked out to them for photography class. The teacher told them to check over everything and make sure all previous files were deleted from the memory card, and there were no cracked lenses. He ignored the majority of what was being said.

When he was young he would use his Mom's camera. Just to mess around really, it wasn't like he had the lofty goals of being a professional photographer. But his Mom didn't see it like that. She bought him lenses and his own high-end camera for his 16th birthday. That was before everything fell apart. Before he found out about Emily.

Once the class started going he hoped he'd enjoy it and actually learn something. He was ready to start taking pictures already. Unfortunately, the day's class was all about the different buttons and functions on the cameras, explaining exposure, aperture and manually managing the iso. Uck. Yawn.

Towards the end of class Ms. Fletcher let them have "free time" to explore the options on their cameras on their own. Learn by doing and all that.

"This is way too much all at once," complained the girl next to him. Mia, was her name, if he remembered correctly. She had brown hair, and light eyes, her tan skin suggesting a mixed heritage. She was turning her camera around in her hands like a kid trying to find the on switch on a new toy. He smiled, turning toward her.

"First time using a fancy camera?"

She let out an agitated sigh. "Yeah. I took this class because I thought it'd be easy and I could just, I don't know, take cute pictures of my dog or something." She put the camera down on the table, gently, like she was afraid of breaking it despite her frustration.

"Yeah, it can be complicated at first." He lifted his own to inspect it.

"You brought your own, right? That's not a shitty school one."

"Yeah, it's mine. Birthday gift."

Mia whistled. "Pricy, your parents must be loaded."

Wes shrugged a shoulder, "I wouldn't say that exactly."

"Don't be modest, it's okay!" She patted him on the shoulder. "Plus I'm sure however rich your family is, it's nowhere near the Mansons."

"The Mansons?"

"Uh...yeah." She looked confused for a second before understanding flickered in her eyes. "Oh, that's right you're new. Sam Manson, the spooky goth chick that hangs around Fenton and Foley. She's in our homeroom class." She held her pointer fingers up by her ears to mime bat ears.

"Oh, yeah, her."

"She says she doesn't like people knowing even though it's super obvious. Her parents are always in the news for making donations and stuff."

They fell into an awkward silence, and Mia shuffled her feet.

"Well, uh. Tell you what. If you help me with this camera crap, I'll…" She stopped to think. "I'll give you the inside scoop about the school. Help you get caught up and fit in, ya'know?" She held her hand towards him. "Sound good?"

Wes would have helped her out even if she hadn't offered to keep him in the social loop. It could be useful, especially for a few things in particular.

"Deal." He shook her hand, a little surprised by her grip strength.

"I'm not as popular as Paulina and Star but I still have an ear to the ground. So if you want to know who's single or who can write your english essay on the cheap: I'm your girl." She pulled her hand back to jab a thumb at her chest for emphasis.

Wes chuckled. "Thanks. I actually do have some questions."

"Shoot."

"This Phantom ghost, what do you know about him?"

She looked surprised, before she smiled. There was something in her expression that Wes couldn't place.

"Phantom? Really?" She shrugged. "Alright, I see you." She scooted her chair closer to his. "Phantom showed up freshman year, no one knows why, but since he popped up he's been saving Amity from all sorts of ghosts." She said it like it was the most normal, perfectly sane thing. "Not only is he hella cute but he's also basically a hero."

Wes frowned in confusion. That wasn't at all what Mr. and Mrs. Fenton had said. "Why would a ghost help people? What's he get out of it? Also, isn't he… you know. Dead? Isn't it kinda creepy to have a crush on him?"

"How should I know? And dead or alive, he's still a total heart throb around here, get used to it." She sighed, looking fed up with his lack of understanding. "Listen, all I do know is that if an evil ghost is breathing down your neck your only real hope in this place is Phantom. Really, ask anyone." Wes' thoughts drifted back to his brush with death yesterday..

"You shouldn't be telling people the fantasy version of things, Mia," came a cold voice. Wes jumped, turning to look at the girl looming over them. Her arms were crossed over her chest, curly hair back lit by the fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling. Fantasy version? What was Valerie talking about?

Mia's face went from warm and open to closed and stand-offish. She crossed her legs and sat back in her chair.

"Oh come on Valerie, we all know you're not a fan of him, but you could at least try and be reasonable."

"Reasonable? Don't listen to her new kid," Valerie jabbed a finger towards him, "if there's one thing Phantom is good at, it's manipulating the public perception. Don't be fooled like the rest of this school, Phantom will ruin your life without an ounce of remorse."

Wes blinked, caught off guard by her ferocity. In chemistry she seemed like a perfectly normal, kind girl. He made a mental note not to get on her bad side.

Mia made a dismissive sound in the back of her throat. "He wasn't asking you Valerie, he was asking me. Butt out."

Mia and Valerie glared hard at each other, neither backing down. It went on for what felt like ever. Wes was afraid he was about to end up right in the middle of a cat fight. But eventually, Valerie let out a sound of disgust then turned and stalked off back to her table. Mia watched her go, gaze steady. Once Valerie sat down, Mia relaxed and let out a breath.

"God, she really needs to get that stick out of her ass."

"What the hell was that about?"

"Apparently freshman year her Dad lost his job and she's convinced it was Phantom's fault." Mia uncrossed her legs, sitting more casually again.

"Was it?"

Mia looked annoyed. "I don't know, I wasn't there." She ran her fingers through her hair, taking a small swatch and braiding it absentmindedly. "Listen, people have different opinions... but Phantom saved my life." It was small and serious the way she said it, like it was a confession. "And not just once but on several occasions. It's fine to ask questions, I don't blame you. But just wait and watch, then decide for yourself." Before Wes could say or ask anymore, the bell rang. Mia started collecting her stuff.

"See you tomorrow, Wes," she said brightly, as if the seriousness from before was just a figment of his imagination.

Sixth period rolled around and Wes was ready for the day to be over with already.

In his previous classes he'd asked other students here and there about the ghosts, and even if he didn't directly ask about Phantom, the conversation eventually led there anyway.

"Uh, yeah. Tomorrow." He watched her go, getting up and gathering his own belongings.

***

He did regret asking Star during lunch, which seemed to have summoned Paulina from the aether. She went on almost the entire lunch period about how her and the ghost boy were "meant to be" and how cute he was, with his snow white hair and tanned skin. Wes was debating faking a family emergency to get away from her. Talk about obsessed.

He shook his head at the memory and closed his locker.

He started walking down the hall, daydreaming about whatever gourmet frozen dinner him and Kyle would have later for dinner. He was about to turn the corner down the hall towards the chem room when he heard a raised voice.

Next up: Chemistry. At the thought he deflated further. He'd totally forgotten about the quiz today. Damnnit, Fenton.

“Hey Fentina, watch where you’re fucking going.” He turned towards the sound to look. The halls were clearing, there being only a minute or so till class, but that didn’t stop the few scattered people from stopping to idly watch Dash Baxter slam Danny Fenton against a locker. Wes couldn’t help but wince. From the sound alone he’d guess that was going to leave a bruise.

“You might be taller now but that doesn’t mean I won’t still flatten you, got that?” Dash announced. He was clearly making a show of it. Wes wondered why. Fenton was definitely the lowest on the social ladder, why would someone like Dash need to establish his power over someone who had none? Wes shifted his weight, remembering that trying to apply logic to bullies was a losing battle.

Danny though… He seemed completely... unfazed. He looked at Dash like an overworked retail employee looked at a raving customer. The dark bags under his eyes and the uncaring air he had coupled with his black hoodie and torn jeans made him look like an emo band's wet dream.

“Got it, now can we all get to class, please? I’m trying not to be tardy as much this year,” Danny said. Dash leaned further into Danny’s space.

“Dream on, Fenton,” Dash leered. He leaned back and let Danny go. He made to leave, or at least Wes thought he was. Danny seemed to think so too. Which meant he was caught off guard when Dash turned and punched him in the stomach. Even from a few paces away, Wes heard the air rush from Danny’s lungs. He staggered a bit, arm wrapping around his midsection.

Dash laughed and walked off, flexing an arm to his football team buddies who joined in as they made their way down the hall like a pack of hyenas.

As if that was the cue, everyone that had stopped to watch went back to their own business, as if nothing happened. Wes didn’t know what to think at that moment. He knew everyone called Danny a loser, and he hadn’t exactly gotten along with the guy himself but… That felt like a step too far. He couldn’t help but pity the poor dude a bit.

It had been a long time since Wes was the one pushed around the school yard. He remembered what it felt like though, and he had never been in a rush to expose himself to the kind of treatment again. In fact he’d done just about anything to keep himself from the bottom. He’d done his fair share of looking down on losers and saying cruel things to be accepted into the throng of popular kids in California. He wasn’t proud of it, as he got older he realized that. It made his stomach clench with guilt and shame.

He’d have never done what Dash just did though.

Wes watched Danny lean a shoulder against the wall of lockers and catch his breath. He glanced around, and when he was satisfied that no one was still watching, he straightened, took a breath and rolled a shoulder, nonchalant.

Wes felt his brain stutter and stop.

Uh. What?

Just a second ago Danny was writhing in pain the way someone just punched in the gut would, and the next he was acting like he was fine. Like he’d just got done with a leisurely jog.

At this point Wes was starting to wonder if he was being gaslit by this whole school, what the fuck?

He watched Danny put a book into his locker, and then lock it up. He started down the hallway, no evidence he was in any pain or struggling for breath what-so-ever. Wes turned and walked towards the classroom. He didn’t want Danny to know he’d been watching from around the corner.

Wes sat down, spreading out his stuff, trying to make it look like he'd been there for ages. A few seconds later the tardy bell rang. Another few seconds after that, Danny walked in.

“Mr. Fenton, you’re late—”

“Uh-huh.” He didn’t make eye contact with the teacher, just made a beeline for their desk and slumped into his seat. Mrs. Merriweather looked ticked.

“Pick up your tardy slip at the end of class young man.”

“Yep.”

Even Mrs. Merriweather seemed taken aback by Danny’s odd energy, but she said nothing else. Instead she jumped into the lesson plan for the day.

Wes wasn’t paying attention. He was looking at his lab partner, still trying to figure out what he’d just seen. Maybe Danny had just been acting like it was worse than it was to… what, get sympathy? Have Dash back off quicker? Both seemed likely, logical. It must have been, what else could it be?

Danny seemed to feel his eyes on him. He turned to Wes, his blue eyes sharp and angry.

“What?” he snapped.

“Nothing. Sorry.” Wes disengaged, looking down at his blank notebook page. He heard Danny sigh, but he didn’t know what sort of emotion drove it.

Class dragged on, and they didn’t say another word to each other the entire period. But that wasn’t too surprising, considering Danny left in the middle of class.

They’d just got done taking their lab safety quiz, and were handing them back when out of the corner of his eye Wes saw Danny shiver. He also saw a flash of… what looked like smoke? Vape? Was Danny seriously vaping in class?

“Fuck,” Danny muttered under his breath and his hand shot straight up into the air. “Mrs. Merriweather, can I use the bathroom before we start the lab?” Danny’s typically tired and slouched posture had gone ramrod straight, and the air around him felt desperate and panicked. Mrs. Merriwether studied him seriously for a second, before she relented.

“Alright, don’t take too long.”

Danny scrambled from his seat and out the door. It left a weird silence in the classroom.

O….kay? That was weird, super weird. He looked around the class. A student adjacent to him caught his confused look and shrugged.

“He just does that, always has. Some people think he has some sort of chronic illness or something.”

“Quiet please, everyone. I’m passing out the lab instructions and then we’ll be getting started.”

Wes couldn’t help but look towards the door where Danny had disappeared seconds earlier. He felt pretty safe in saying not only was the town weird, but everyone in it. But maybe Danny more so than the others.

#Danny Phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #Danny Phantom fic #phanfic #wesley weston #kyle weston #my writing

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msotherworldly · 3 years ago

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The Blue Door: Chapter One

While this was originally the second book in my Children of Pandora series, I’ve decided it will do better as book four. The adventures of Insula don’t yet have a direct affect on the main protagonist, Eradica, making the placement of her book in the early timeline fairly flexible.

Reading this book without reading the others would be like reading The Horse and His Boy without touching The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. While there’s a deeper appreciation if you’ve read Lion, Horse still makes sense if you haven’t.

Insula’s adventure remains a self contained story, connecting to Eradica’s stories but not yet in a direct capacity. It should be noted that The Blue Door hasn’t been as heavily edited as The Cracked Mirror (or book one). Therefore, this should be treated as a rough chapter. Pieces of it will likely be cut in the future. Below is the first chapter of Insula’s journey:

CHAPTER ONE: THE ISLAND

Alternate dimensions played a large role in our daily lives, though we had known little about them for the first eight years or so of staying on the archipelago. That was the fancy word Grandpa liked to use: it was meant to describe a collection of islands, and we lived on only one of them.

Life was simple and perfect and idyllic, and that made me crazy. I had explored every inch of our little island. I gazed across the sea. What were you supposed to do when everything was handed to you, and you weren’t allowed to do anything?

Perfect. I was growing sick of that one little word, and I was only eight. Still, I had to admit that perfect was...pretty perfect. The water, a tropical blue, washed up on a sandy pink shore. Palm trees, their leaves unusually bright and green, waved in the breeze. It was never too cold here. It was always hot, hot enough to make your clothes stick to you while you tried to sleep or your head spin if you stood out in the sun too long. Mom’s skin had actually cooked once; she had stopped sun tanning after that.

I walked along the beach. It was pleasant...but boring as heck to write about. I kept my little journal in my bag, which I wore slung across my soft body. Despite running around constantly, I was chubby.

I plucked a small package from my bag: it was a little chocolate bar...or a big one, according to Mom. Grandpa had brought a bunch...and donuts.

I went to the only interesting spot on the island: the ruins were large and shaded by maple trees. Palms weren’t the only native plants; they blended with northern firs and oaks and willows and other trees I didn’t know the names of. The island, despite it’s temperature, couldn’t make up it’s mind what it was.

The ruins were the part I loved best. I ran my hand over the stone. It was rough, and patchy with moss in places. I liked to imagine kings and queens.

“You shouldn’t be here,” a voice grumbled. Mutari approached me. Having a twin brother should have been fun, but there was nothing fun about Mutari.

“Don’t you ever wonder who built this? We’ve never met anybody else here before!”

“I’ll tell Mom.” Mutari crossed his arms. He looked identical to me, except that he was skinny. He had impish features, a pointed snub nose, thin lips, and a slim face. His ears had only the slightest point, and his hair was so blond as to appear almost white. We also shared weird eyes: they were like a Wolf’s, but a deep sea foam colour, and our eyelids were black.

“Don’t you like learning?”

“Risking death is not learning.” Mutari peered between a crack in the wall. “This structure could tumble down and crush us.”

“Oh, don’t be a sour blanket. Somebody must have built this.”

“Yes. Then the roof caved in and killed them.” Mutari glared around. The wind sighed through the trees, and the grass was lush underfoot.

“There would be skeletons.” A rush of excitement went through me. “Oh, but they might have been buried!”

“No, Insula-”

I rushed through the none existent doors to what would have been the courtyard. There was a long hall, shrouded in shade and dappled sun. There was a raised stone dais. In addition to sprinklings of grass, daisies grew from between the cracks.

I paused to gaze around, enthralled. Characters and stories raced through my head. I had killed Dragons here, and given Vampires Knighthood. In my mind, I had danced with princes and banners had fluttered on the walls in the glow of many golden candles.

I could imagine it as it had been, brilliant and bright. I had been a princess in this court...and a knight. I spent my life in dreams.

“Ugh. What’s so fun about just standing here?” Mutari plodded up to me. He looked out of place in his tight dress shirt and long slacks. Even his shoes were polished, his long hair gelled back.

“Aren’t you hot in all that?”

“At least I’m fit to be seen.”

“Don’t be dumb. There’s nobody here to see us...except our squires!” I giggled. “Lord Mark is over there, and all the ladies are goggling at him. He has beautiful golden hair, but he’s too stubborn to cut it.”

Mutari made a gagging noise. “Don’t draw another picture of him, please. The house is filled with them.”

My face burned. “It is not!”

“Are so. You’re in love with a made up guy!”

“I don’t want to fall in love! That gets in the way. King Mark is just...nice.” I ran to the end of the hall. “There must be a door somewhere.”

“What are you doing, Issy? Mom will kill us!”

“There’s got to be a mausoleum.”

“A what?”

“A tomb?” I rolled my eyes. “You haven’t read the word in any of those fat, boring books of yours?”

“I don’t spend all day reading about castles and fantastic nonsense.” Mutari spat in the grass. He looked washed out in this light. He looked…

“You’ve got Zombie sickness! Or maybe Vampirism. Your skin has such little colour. Lady Zania must have bitten you.”

Mutari groaned. “No more of your games. I’m going to tell Mom you were here again.”

“No, don’t do that! I have to find the graveyard.” I ran up a set of stairs.

There was a sharp intake of breath. “Issy, get down from there!”

“Why?” I put my hands on my hips, and stared down at my brother from above. I imagined that I looked tough. “Are you worried about me?”

“You’re...being stupid.” Mutari blushed. “Get down!”

“I’m not afraid of any-” The ground beneath me cracked, and I screamed. A piece of the parapet crumbled away, and I fell.

“Issy!”

I seized a clump of growing vines. I dangled in the breeze, pulled like a strand of hair. I whimpered.

“Issy, don’t move! I’ll get Mom!”

“No, I can’t—I can’t hold on!” My grasp slipped. My arms ached. My whole body was dead weight. The vines slid further between my fingers. I screamed.

“Oh, Genitrix, Genitrix above!” Mutari sank to his knees. He prayed, his lips moving quickly.

“That’s not going to do anything!” I slid further. The ends of the vines were skinnier. The one I held thinned and…

With a snap, I fell. There was nothing to grab. The ground rushed up to meet me, and then it didn’t.

It was falling away, but everything looked bigger. Wind whistled in my ears, but I couldn’t feel the air on them. I was going around and around in circles. I was dizzy.

“Insula!”

I could feel the breeze rippling through my hair, but I seemed to be covered entirely in it. I could feel the hair rippling along my arms and legs.

I tried to move my hands, but I didn’t seem to have hands anymore. I opened my mouth to shout, and a shrieking sound came out. It sounded like a hawk.

I angled down towards the ground. Air brushed my feet, but my toes were numb. I tilted to the left. A draft shoved me, and a wall rushed up to meet me.

I batted my arms, but it was too late: the wall smacked me, hard. I fell to the ground. I heard the plop, like a sound from far off. My head felt like mush. I stared up at the blue sky. Mutari towered above me, a giant. He was blurry. I tried to speak, to move, but I couldn’t. My vision darkened at the edges.

“Insula.” That was the last word I heard before the darkness swallowed me.

#work in progress #wip #book wip #tcop #the children of pandora #book oc #original fiction #original character #fantasy books #fantasy series #oc #bookish #readers life #writing #creative writing #novels #novelist #self published #am writing fantasy

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deans-baby-momma · 4 years ago

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Mommy’s (Not So) Good Girl-20

A/N: Only 5 more chapters after this one and GREAT NEWS!!!Only 5 more day of September so I will be posting a chapter a day until Sept. 30th. Then I am going on a small hiatus (again) to try and cope with this new “illness” and all it’s lovely side effects.

I look at Dean wide-eyed as my mom’s voice sounds through the door. He jumps off the bed and I quickly crawl back under my comforter, pulling it up to my chest.

“Yea Mom,” Abby says, her voice shaking. “Come on in.”

Mom opens the door and I can tell when she realizes that Dean is in my room. She looks at him shocked and stops halfway in.

“What are you doing in here?” she asks him.

“I wanted to make sure she was okay. I saw a dispute between her and that Coleman boy. I wanted to find out what that was about,” Dean explains and it looks as though my Mom buys it because she smiles sweetly at him and then continues on into my room.

“That’s sweet of him, isn’t it Abs?”

“Ye-yea,” I stutter out. “He’s a good stepdad.”

“Can I have a few minutes with her?” My mom asks as she looks at Dean. He nods and heads out the door, looking back over his shoulder at me once he is behind her.

“What’s up Mom?” I ask as soon as he is out of sight.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry that your friend couldn’t make it tonight.”

“Huh?” I ask, confused.

“Your friend who you call ‘Daddy’.” she says, with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “You did invite him, didn’t you?”

“Oh. Yea, I called him but he had to work,” I lie through my teeth. “It’s okay. It’s no big deal.”

“It was nice of Dean to give you a kiss at midnight though, wasn’t it?” she asks as she sits in the very same spot he had taken just ten minutes ago. “He really watches out for you and Ben. I think he’d make an excellent stepdad.” She pauses and then adds, “and a wonderful dad.”

I feel sick to my stomach! Is she insinuating what I think she is?!

“Mom, are you pregnant?”

“What?” she laughs as she answers. “No. I’m not pregnant. But the thought has crossed my mind. Dean lost so much when his brother died. He is the last living member of his immediate family. I just think it’d be nice to give him someone to carry on the Winchester name.”

‘Oh my god!’ I think to myself. ‘Mom is actually considering carrying Dean’s child! No, no no!’

“Yea, that would be nice. But-” I pause to be able to word my inquiry correctly. “Does Dean want kids? I mean sure he is awesome with me and with Ben but does he want his own?”

“I don’t know,” Mom says. “But if it were to happen, he’d have to be happy about it, right?”

“Mom, you cannot get pregnant without talking about it with him first.”

Mom sighs and then her shoulders slump. “Yea, you’re right. What was I thinking?!”

I breathe in relief that it seems that she has decided to forgo her plan of “accidentally” getting pregnant.

I couldn't go to sleep after Mom dropped that bombshell.

What was she thinking?! Did she actually believe Dean would be happy if she were to get pregnant? Would he? I know for a fact that they use protection, so he is trying not to knock her up right?

During Thanksgiving I had found an empty condom wrapper in her trashcan as I was gathering up the garbage in the house so I knew Dean, at least, had been thorough and had wrapped up.

I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying my best not to think of Dean impregnating my mother. That would just be so wrong!

Hopefully I talked some sense into her and she won't proceed with her nefarious and outrageous plan. I can only hope that if she were to get pregnant that it is after some honest discussion with the man and that he was on board with the idea as well.

Although, I don't think Dean is actually ready to settle down and have his own family.

Yes, he a excellent role model for Ben and the whole neighborhood thinks he and Mom are perfect for each other, they don't know he's also fucking me. Not so ideal now, is he?

VALENTINE'S DAY

Once again the campus is inundated with decorations. Big, red floating hearts seem to be posted everywhere, along with cutouts of that stupid baby with the bow and arrow and balloons seemingly come out of nowhere, getting right in the way.

Why college students insist on celebrating this holiday is beyond me. It's just another excuse to get drunk and try to bang someone. So many of my classmates throughout the last couple of years have had to pull back on their studies or completely drop out because a good Valentine romp ended up with a nice little surprise come Thanksgiving; a surprise in the form of a cute little baby.

I refuse to be one of those girls who get so blindly drunk she succumbs to the lame attempts by fellow college guys and 9 months later, alone and with a child to care for.

I swat away at the millionth red bag of air as my phone pings in my hand. I look at the screen and smile when I see 'Daddy' has sent me a message.

>Happy Valentine's Day sweetheart

>>Happy Valentine's Day Daddy. I miss you.

>God, I miss you too. My party was boring without you here.

Mom had thrown Dean a surprise birthday party at the end of January but I'd had a big exam to prep for so I couldn't make it home to attend.

>>I'm sorry. I had to study. I'll make it up to you, I promise.

>How about today? Right now?

>>Now?

>Look up.

My head jerks up and there he is! I look around and my eyes fall on that black muscle car I remember from my childhood. The one that's been parked in the garage at home for months; Dean's excuse to spend time with Ben fixing it up and keeping it running.

Leaning against the top of the shiny ebony vehicle is the man who plagues my dreams, at night and during the day. The way the sun shines creates a flawless glow around his head, almost like a halo. I smile as I cross the street toward him.

"What are you doing here?" I can’t help but to ask, but secretly giddy that he is here.

"Couldn't let today pass by without seeing you Abby. Thought you might allow me to take you to lunch, show me around your 'home away from home'," he says as I step toward him and he opens his arms. I gladly walk right into his embrace, moving my books to one arm.

I want to tiptoe and kiss him but I don't want anyone seeing anything that would raise questions, inquiries I didn't want to answer. Right now, a hug looks innocent. Just a guy hugging a girl in greeting.

“Sure,” I say as I smile up at him. “I was just gonna drop my books off in my room and then go to the food cart down the way. C’mon.”

As we walk toward my dorm, I can’t help but feel special, feel important. Dean took the day to come an hour away to see me, on the day of love no less. Wait, does that mean what I think it means? Is there a more significant reason he is here? Is he here to declare feelings for me?

I shake those thoughts from my head, determined not to question his visit but just enjoy it. So what if he drove almost 70 miles? He does it because he cares. Nothing more than that. I’m not going to scrutinize it; no, I’m going to enjoy the few hours I get to spend with the man. What’s that old saying, ‘don't look a gift horse in the mouth’? Yea I’m not going to do that.

When we get my dorm room, I unlock the door and walk in, holding it open so he can follow. Thank goodness Sheila isn’t here because I really don’t want to share any time I get to spend with Dean with anyone else. For a few hours today, he is mine.

Placing my books on my desk, I turn to see Dean looking around the room with his head nodding slightly.

“So, you want to go with me to the food cart or-” I say nervously. Wait, why the hell am I nervous? Oh yea, that’s right; there is a bed not even 5 feet away and the man I have dreamed of being in that bed right there. My dream could actually come through. Getting back on track, I clear my throat. “-we could go to the cafe across campus. It’s a bit of a walk but it’s decent outside today. You know, for the middle of February in the north.”

“Yea we can do that baby,” he says with a smirk. “As soon as you tell me what’s wrong. You’re acting all shifty. Should I have called first? Do you have a date for Valentine’s Day?” He quirks and eyebrow at me.

I giggle and respond. “Uh, no. No date. Just you’re in my room. And my bed is-” I explain as I point toward the furniture. “-is right here. I’ve dreamed of you and me in that bed, ya know.”

Dean steps closer and I can see the humor of the situation on his face. “And? What are we doing in the bed?”

I feel a flush come up my neck. Why am I embarrassed now? It’s not like we haven’t done it. “Fucking,” I answer honestly, which earns me a wide smile from the man in front of me.

“Well, how long will your roommate be gone?”

“Couple hours, I think.”

“Okay, so what do you say we go grab a bite to eat and then come back and make those dreams come true?”

Finally feeling bold again, I rip my sweater over my head and say, “Why wait?”

Dean hurriedly jerks his shirt off and I watch in awe. He unbuttons his jeans and pulls them down his legs before standing up again. This man is going to be the death of me.

“I need you Abby,” is all he says before I rush him, tackling him to the mattress.

@lostinaseaoffictionalbliss @spnbaby-67 @tftumblin @sea040561 @delightfullykrispypeach @larajadeschmidt13 @vicariouslythruspn @squirrelnotsam @death-unbecomes-you @sandlee44 @blacktithe7 @deanwanddamons @hoboal87 @marvelfanbrenda @vicmc624 @smoothdogsgirl @elliloumom @stoneyggirl @kricketc29

#series #Mommy's (Not So) Good Girl #dean winchester #lisa braeden #abby braeden #ben braeden #dean x lisa #dean x abby #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn fic #spn fanfic #between season 5 and 6 #Smut #angst #fluff

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purplesurveys · 3 years ago

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1245

Serious question, peanut butter or nutella? Oh you are just mean. Nutella is amazing as a filling or icing, but when it comes down to it I guess I look for peanut butter more often. I love both though.

Do you prefer baked potatoes or mashed potatoes? Mashed. But baked potatoes are pretty good too; the only reason I didn’t pick it is that I don’t get to have it as often as I do mashed.

What is your oldest sibling’s middle name? I’m the eldest sibling, but my sister, who comes after me, has Beatrice as her second name if that’s what you mean by middle name.

Do you like breadsticks? Yes. The more cheesy-garlicky, the better.

What are your favorite things to spend money on? Merch or food.

Which would you rather have a new puppy or kitten? Puppy. Not the biggest fan of cats.

How old will you be on your next birthday? 24.

Do you ever feel self-conscious when you eat around other people? If it’s the combination of having to be around people I’m not too close with, like workmates, and I’m eating something that tends to be messy, like jjajangmyeon, then yeah I can definitely feel conscious.

When you opened your eyes this morning, what were your first thoughts? I fell asleep from 11 PM to around 3 AM and when I woke up then I thought “ugh, I fell asleep early again?”

What is one thing in the room you’re in that reminds you of somebody? My vape pen constantly reminds me of Andi because they were the one who gave it to me.

Could you ever be friends with somebody who was homophobic? No.

Would you ever want to be a supermodel, or date one? I did want to be one, at one point. It was all a matter of being stuck with the wrong crowd at the time lol.

Honestly, have you ever made fun of somebody so bad they cried? Probably with my sister when we were very young.

Honestly, would you rather be complimented on your looks or intelligence? Intelligence.

Have you ever purchased a pregnancy test, for yourself or otherwise? I never have.

You can get one thing, anything, for free right now. What do you pick? Why? A 1 or 2 TB hard drive. My phone has reached the stage where I’m starting to have to constantly delete shit so I don’t reach the maximum storage, so I need someplace to dump all my photos and videos in to free up my phone.

Honestly, have you ever danced naked? Nope.

What was the first illegal thing that you did? Did you get caught? I dunno...buy pirated movies? I didn’t get ‘caught’ since pirated movie stalls are widespread here anyway, so for the most part I’ve always been more concerned for them than I am for myself.

What is the home page on the computer you’re on? Technically it’s supposed to be the Google home screen, but I have an extension that shows me my to-do list for the day.

Do you like to write poetry? Nah, that’s always been my Achilles’ heel when it comes to writing.

Are your ears pierced? Yup. Surprisingly enough they’ve never closed up despite never having worn earrings (clip-ons notwithstanding) in the last 13 years.

If so, were they pierced with a piercing gun, or with a sterile needle? I’m not sure, since my mom had them pierced when I was a baby. I would guess piercing gun, though.

Do you wear makeup regularly? I never wear makeup.

Did you eat cereal for breakfast today? I never have cereal unless I’m staying at hotels. It’s just never been something I look for.

When was the last time you tripped over something? A box that was lying around in my room.

Any obsessive-compulsive tendencies? I’ll sometimes get concerned with how many times I have to flick the switch of our hot water dispenser or open and close the refrigerator door before I feel completely satisfied...but I dunno if that counts.

Who was the last person you yelled at? Technically...Angela? I was filming an unboxing video for a gift she randomly got me and I loved the gift so much I was yelling my excitement through the screen.

Why did you yell at them? ^ That.

Favorite type of apple? I don’t like fruits.

Ever seen live horse racing? No, it’s not something that interests me.

How about live greyhound racing? I don’t even know what that looks like.

What’s one thing, besides the obvious, that you couldn’t live without? The arts, I guess. I need something to listen to, to watch, etc on a regular basis.

Have you ever touched a giraffe? I don’t think so.

What does your mom call you? Robyn, or the Filipino term parents use for their kids.

What stresses you out the most in life? A particular client at work. We have a million campaigns going on for them at any given point so my life virtually revolves around that brand these days.

Do you play any PC games? What is your favorite? Nope.

If you were pregnant, how would you tell the father? Well, that would depend on the circumstances. Did we want a baby? Was it a bad surprise, a happy surprise? I can't answer this with just one idea. < Yeah.

What’s the hardest level you can play on Guitar Hero? If I’m using a Playstation controller, I can go Hard or Expert. But my finger coordination with the actual guitar controller is terrible and I fail most songs even at Easy.

What ever happened with you and your first boyfriend? There was never any ‘boyfriend,’ but my first girlfriend and I have basically had a falling out and I haven’t talked to her in months, and I expect it to continue being that way.

What’s your favorite country song? I don’t have any.

What is the worst thing a former boyfriend/girlfriend has done to you? Putting her pride and anger first even when I’m obviously in a state of disstress or breakdown in front of her. That’s some emotional rollercoaster I’m glad I don’t have to deal with anymore.

What were you for Halloween last year? Just Dora the Explorer again, which was a repeat from the year before that.

Are you feeling guilty for something? I don’t think so; at least there isn’t anything I’m actively feeling guilty about at the moment.

Are you usually quiet or loud? I think I’m in between? I’m pretty loud but I can space out at the most random moments hahaha.

How many hours do you spend on the computer a day? This question always makes me wince at myself...I guess anywhere between 16-18 hours? The only time I put my laptop down is when I’m off to bed, but otherwise it’s constantly open.

What is the show that you watched when you were little, and you still do? I don’t think there is such a show.

Do your siblings text you? Nope. We live under the same roof 24/7 so there’s been little need to text.

Do you want a small or big wedding? Big.

Have you ever searched for your own house on Google Earth? Yes, but that was when Google Earth was still super bare so I wasn’t able to see the actual house anyway, but just the general area where we’re located. I haven’t used Google Earth in years.

Who is your ex dating/talking to? I don’t know and I hoooonestly could not care less.

Ever kissed someone who smokes? Yep.

Does it take a lot for someone to annoy you? Depends on my mood. I have my moments where it’s very easy for me to get irritated.

Do you own your own computer? I mean it was bought for me, but I didn’t get it with money I earned.

Did you ever have to share a room with one of your siblings? When my brother was starting to mature, my sister and I very very briefly experimented sharing a room, but it lasted like all of two weeks. My parents ultimately just transferred our balcony to a bedroom so that all three of us had our own rooms.

What noises in the room you’re in, do you hear at the moment? An airplane is flying above me at the moment so I can hear its engine. I can also hear some crickets chirping and the faint barking of dogs.

Have you ever dated someone with longer hair than yours? Yup.

What’s the biggest upcoming event for you? I guess my second vaccine dose is kinda big? It’s happening this Friday.

What do you typically order from Wendy’s? I rarely get Wendy’s tbh, but when I do I usually go for their Baconator.

Have you ever been given a lapdance by an actual stripper? No, it’s not something I would be into.

What do you love most about yourself? Continued the next day because I am terrible at taking a survey in one go. I like that I don’t hesitate to do or buy things for my loved ones, not even inwardly. I guess it’s because my family has always lived very practically, so I want to make up for that by spoiling my friends.

Have you ever received a hickey from the last person you kissed? Yes.

What are you doing right now? I am supposed to be at work but it’s a relatively quiet day, so I’m here. I do have my screen split between Tumblr and my emails though, so that I’d be able to see if new work will come in hahaha.

What’s bothering you right now? Quiet work days always make me anxious because it makes me think if I’m forgetting about something crucial.

What was the last thing you drank? I literally just took a sip of my coffee before moving on to this question.

Be honest, do you like people in general? Depends on the situation, I think. Like when I go to concerts, I know I’m around people I share the same interests with, so there’s a sense of solidarity that goes with that. But when I’m like...I dunno, lining up to get my license renewed at a government office, I know people there are in a rush and tend to get rude, and that makes me feel a little bit overwhelmed. I don’t think this is something I can generalize.

Do you want your tongue pierced? No. Lip I can consider, but I have to pass on tongue.

Do you change your phone background a lot? I do these days, yeah.

Have you ever made someone so mad that they broke something? Possibly.

Have you ever been strip searched? I’ve been searched, but was never asked to strip.

Do you have a funny last name? Does anyone make fun of it? No, it’s an ordinary surname.

Ever have a drug overdose? What did you OD on exactly? Never.

Do you get sick of people who call themselves bipolar all the time? I get sick of people who call themselves bipolar, and of people who use ‘bipolar’ to describe someone else who just has your typical mood swings.

Describe your day so far in three words: Business as usual.

What was the most stressful project you had so far/while in school? I was once designated as a leader for a science investigative project, which didn’t make sense because science was definitely not my strongest point. Needless to say it didn’t go well and I ended up being a terrible leader. Choose one- Butterfinger, Milky Way, Snickers: Butterfinger, even though they’re a bitch to eat and chew.

Have you ever stepped in dog poop? Maybe once or twice. It fortunately doesn’t happen a lot.

What was the last thing you spent money on? I got Angela and Reena cheese tarts. The reason behind it was Jin held a VLIve last Monday and he had been eating egg tarts during the stream; and because I was happy to have watched my first Jin live, I got my friends cheese tarts hahaha. I don’t know a lot of places that sells good egg tarts so I settled for cheese tarts instead, which I think are better anyway.

Have you ever slept in the same bed with the last person you kissed? Yeah.

Is there a guy that knows a lot about you? I guess Hans? We personally don’t get to have a lot of heart-to-heart exchanges, but considering how Angela’s my greatest confidante I’m sure she has shared bits of my life to him, which I don’t mind.

Is there someone you just can’t imagine your life without? I don’t really like answering this question anymore because the people that I’ve declared ‘for keeps’ have faded out of my life at some point. I’m a lot more guarded and self-preservation-y when it comes to this now.

Do you prefer Starbucks coffee or small cafe coffee? Ooooh, both. I love coffee.

Would you ever consider getting a piercing in your septum? No.

Do you enjoy being outdoors? If the weather is nice, yes.

Do people tell you that you have an accent? I mean I’ve been told my English is strong, but my accent in particular doesn’t really get noted.

Do you enjoy watching fireworks on the 4th of July? I don’t celebrate that.

What’re some unspeakable subjects for you? I don’t like talking about my brother. Otherwise I am pretty open about everything.

Is there anyone you would take a bullet for? Several people come to mind.

Do you enjoy tanning? If I’m at the beach, sure. It’s honestly not something I have to constantly keep up with, though, since I’m already naturally tan enough. Are you a virgin? No.

Who’s your celebrity crush? Taehyung :(

Did or do you get good grades in English class? I always got pretty good grades in English.

What part of your body are you self-conscious about? Teeth, and my legs sometimes.

Are you expected to help fix Thanksgiving dinner? I don’t celebrate that.

Have you ever lost anyone close to cancer? Yes.

Do you personally know anyone who is transgender? Yes.

When was the last time you got a shot? Last month, then I’m getting my second dose tomorrow.

#survey #surveys

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years ago

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Survey #425

“evolution repressed by our backwards contest / breeding our torrential demise as we come to this edge”

Serious question, peanut butter or nutella? I think Nutella is a godsend, but I use peanut butter waaaaay more often. We don't even really buy Nutella because I will destroy the jar. Do you prefer baked potatoes or mashed potatoes? Baked. What is your oldest sibling’s middle name? Kathryn. I think. Do you like breadsticks? I just like bread, man. What are your favorite things to spend money on? Tattoos, uuuuugggghhhhh <3 Which would you rather have a new puppy or kitten? Neither, really. Most puppies drive me insane (even though they're cute as everliving fuck), and I don't want another cat. Mom actually talked about getting another, but I really just want my one boy. Roman would get SO jealous, anyway. I enjoy just having my baby. How old will you be on your next birthday? 26. Yikes. Do you ever feel self-conscious when you eat around other people? As "the fat one," I can be sometimes. I would say though that more often than not, it's sort of whatever to me because I'm a human that has to eat. When you opened your eyes this morning, what were your first thoughts? I thought I slept way later than I actually did. What is one thing in the room you’re in that reminds you of somebody? My stuffed meerkat Rebel. Jason got it for me for my first birthday that we were together. Could you ever be friends with somebody who was homophobic? Never again. I was once able to think "agree to disagree," but sometimes by doing so, you're siding with evil by not enforcing what is more than just a belief. It should come with being a human. Also given my own sexuality, it would be a slap in the face to me. Would you ever want to be a supermodel, or date one? Hell no. I'd date one though, if they were modest about their position. Honestly, have you ever made fun of somebody so bad they cried? Wow, no. Honestly, would you rather be complimented on your looks or intelligence? Quite frankly, nowadays, my appearance. I need it. My self-confidence is so far below "shit." Have you ever purchased a pregnancy test, for yourself or otherwise? Nope. You can get one thing, anything, for free right now. What do you pick? Why? Hm. I know I talk about it a lot, but it would still probably be a 40 gallon terrarium for Venus. She needs - and deserves - it. Honestly, have you ever danced naked? NOOOOOOOO. What was the first illegal thing that you did? Did you get caught? Downloaded music. My mom eventually found out, but didn't care much. What is the home page on the computer you’re on? Google. Do you like to write poetry? I do, but I haven't done it in a while. :/ Are your ears pierced? Yes. If so, were they pierced with a piercing gun, or with a sterile needle? Piercing gun. Which, by the way, do not do. There are many more risks with a piercing gun versus a needle by a professional. Do you wear makeup regularly? I never do. Did you eat cereal for breakfast today? No. I've been on a bagel kick lately. When was the last time you tripped over something? Last night, actually. The rug in the living room was slightly turned up, and I tripped in the dark. I didn't actually fall, thankfully. Any obsessive-compulsive tendencies? I'm diagnosed with OCD. I experience more ruminations and intrusive thoughts more than obsessive behaviors, though. Who was the last person you yelled at? Probably Mom. Why did you yell at them? I don't remember. Favorite type of apple? I like pink lady apples. I really enjoy any, so long as they're crisp. Ever seen live horse racing? No. To be totally honest, I don't really like the concept of it. Motivating a horse to run by hurting it doesn't exactly seem moral... How about live greyhound racing? No. What’s one thing, besides the obvious, that you couldn’t live without? The Internet, haha. Have you ever touched a giraffe? No. What does your mom call you? Britt. What stresses you out the most in life? I really don't think I could pick a top one. There are so many. Do you play any PC games? What is your favorite? Yeah. Y'all probably know WoW is my favorite. If you were pregnant, how would you tell the father? Well, that would depend on the circumstances. Did we want a baby? Was it a bad surprise, a happy surprise? I can't answer this with just one idea. What’s the hardest level you can play on Guitar Hero? I used to be able to slam out Expert easily with only very few songs I had to play on Hard, but now it's been YEARS. I've played less than once in a blue moon, and my skill's definitely faded some. It really depends on the song. What ever happened with you and your first boyfriend? He couldn't handle my depression anymore. What’s your favorite country song? "When The Stars Go Blue" by Tim McGraw, probably. What is the worst thing a former boyfriend/girlfriend has done to you? Fail to communicate what he was feeling with me and then make a dashing break for it very, very abruptly after three and a half years. It put me past a state of shock, but trauma with how no less than obsessed I was with him. What were you for Halloween last year? I didn't dress up. :/ I wish I had the money and motivation alike to. Are you feeling guilty for something? I always will. Are you usually quiet or loud? Quiet. How many hours do you spend on the computer a day? Like... uh... all of them, oof. What is the show that you watched when you were little, and you still do? Meerkat Manor. Do your siblings text you? Not really. Do you want a small or big wedding? Small. Have you ever searched for your own house on Google Earth? Not the house I currently live in, but I have before. Who is your ex dating/talking to? I don't know. Ever kissed someone who smokes? No. Does it take a lot for someone to annoy you? Frankly, no. Do you own your own computer? This laptop, anyway. Did you ever have to share a room with one of your siblings? Yes, with my younger sister as a kid and pre-teen. What noises in the room you’re in, do you hear at the moment? I hear the video I'm watching, as well as my fan. Have you ever dated someone with longer hair than yours? Yes. What’s the biggest upcoming event for you? Nothing. Not like that's a surprise. What do you typically order from Wendy’s? Son of the Baconator. @_@ Have you ever been given a lapdance by an actual stripper? No. Those are so awkward to me. What do you love most about yourself? I don't know these days. Have you ever received a hickey from the last person you kissed? No. What are you doing right now? This survey and re-watching John Wolfe play Outlast 2. What’s bothering you right now? I'm immensely nervous about tomorrow. I have my first (and I pray the fuck to God not only) session with my new personal trainer then, and I'm terrified by how my body and my mental fortitude is going to react. Y'all have no fucking idea JUST how out of shape I am, and the muscles in my legs seem basically non-existent by now. I have to do something about my health, though, and I'm determined to make this shit work. More than determined. I know the first day is going to be hard, but I need to do this more than I can explain. What was the last thing you drank? ... What great fucking timing, I have a can of Mountain Dew, lol... That's another thing that needs to change. I've gotta stop the emotional and boredom-eating and chill the fuck out with soda. Be honest, do you like people in general? Quite frankly, no. There are plenty of people I love and think are amazing, of course, but I think I lean towards humanity being too shitty to like "in general." Do you want your tongue pierced? I miss my snake eyes. :/ That was suuuuch a cute piercing. I just had to take it out for the safety of my teeth. I kept accidentally clamping down on one of the balls when eating, and it would cause tiny fractures. Do you change your phone background a lot? No. Have you ever made someone so mad that they broke something? No. Have you ever been strip searched? No. Do you have a funny last name? Does anyone make fun of it? It's not funny-sounding, no, I just think it's too manly for me to enjoy as part of my name. Ever have a drug overdose? What did you OD on exactly? Yes. Oddly enough, I don't remember what I OD'd on now... You'd think I would, given how extreme the situation was. It was some cold medicine. Do you get sick of people who call themselves bipolar all the time? I absolutely do. It's extremely insensitive to people like myself who legitimately suffer - and I do mean "suffer" - from the disorder. Describe your day so far in three words: Dull. Lazy. Anxious. What was the most stressful project you had so far/while in school? Probably my senior project and the presentation I had to do for it. I taught about the fallacies and misconceptions of snakes, and I made a PowerPoint and some drawings to color and crosswords for the special ed children. I was so, so very nervous, but I got through it fine and the kids seemed to enjoy it. I actually still have the recording. Choose one- Butterfinger, Milky Way, Snickers: MILKY WAY. FUCK I love those. Have you ever stepped in dog poop? UGH yes. What was the last thing you spent money on? My niece's birthday present. Have you ever slept in the same bed with the last person you kissed? Yeah. Is there a guy that knows a lot about you? I almost said "yes," but then I realized he doesn't know me at all anymore. I've changed so much, hopefully mostly for the better. He hasn't "known" me in many years. Is there someone you just can’t imagine your life without? It's terrifying to imagine my life without Mom; Sara, too. Do you prefer Starbucks coffee or small cafe coffee? I prefer no coffee. Would you ever consider getting a piercing in your septum? Nah. Do you enjoy being outdoors? If it's cool outside and I have somewhere to sit that's not the ground, yes. Do people tell you that you have an accent? Sometimes. Do you enjoy watching fireworks on the 4th of July? They're pretty, but I don't support their usage by this point in my life. They're a fire hazard, triggering to some vets with PTSD, and beyond terrifying for animals. What’re some unspeakable subjects for you? I get most heated about child molestation. You do not fucking touch a child like that. I don't even write any of my bajillion evil guys committing it in RP because I just can't stomach it. Even when my little sister (a children's social worker) is telling Mom about some stuff she sees at work, I have to not be present, 'cuz that shit isn't rare. It's nauseating. Is there anyone you would take a bullet for? A good number of people, honestly. Do you enjoy tanning? Hell no, I avoid the sun and heat at like all costs. Are you a virgin? This is going to sound weird, but I actually don't know, but I lean towards no. Who’s your celebrity crush? mARK EDWARD FISCHFUCK Did or do you get good grades in English class? I was always excellent in English. What part of your body are you self-conscious about? My stomach. But I'm self-conscious about everything else, too. Are you expected to help fix Thanksgiving dinner? No. Everyone knows I can't cook worth a damn. Have you ever lost anyone close to cancer? Truly close, no. Unless you include pets, actually. Then a few. :/ Do you personally know anyone who is transgender? Yep. When was the last time you got a shot? Earlier this year for Covid. Get your fucking vaccine, btw. :^)

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''altaer" by 3teeth

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realyouearthing01 · 4 years ago

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The benefits and advantages of Earthing / Grounding for animals/pets – Grounding to the Earth

As you will discover in this post, pets also benefit from Earthing / Grounding. So here is the testimony of different people who tell their experience with their animals and Earthing / Grounding, the connection to the earth.

When indoors, pets sense something familiar and beneficial when they come in contact with an Earthing mat or other grounding product. They are definitely drawn to Earthing. Although they can’t articulate what they feel, their actions and responses speak louder than words, as these accounts clearly indicate:. Here is a sampling of feedback:

Extending Quality and Quantity of Life

The second edition of the Earthing book (2014) included a report from Sandra Wong, a musician in Boulder, Colorado, about how Earthing was helping her aged Grand Pyrenees dog, “Raffie.”

In 2013, she had first told us that “Raffie,” then 11, was suffering from severe, painful arthritis and multiple structural issues. She had exhausted conventional options, including medication that just made him sick to his stomach. She was reluctantly considering putting him down. Then a friend suggested Earthing and she obtained an Earthing throw for the dog. The results, she said, were striking. “Raffie” began resting and sleeping grounded. His energy amazingly returned, as did his mobility and zest for life.

In April 2014, the dog passed. “He made it to a miraculous 12 years of age, almost unheard of for his breed,” Sandra told us. “Grounding gave him an entire extra year of life and with quality that I didn’t think was possible.”

In early 2015, she told us she has helped other animals with Earthing. “The week before ‘Raffie’ passed, ‘Mosey,’ went into a steep downward spiral and was diagnosed with the lumbosacral disease, among other things. She’s another one of my Pyrenees. Her back legs were going out much of the time. She had full urinary and fecal incontinence. The vets didn’t have much to offer but after several months of using homeopathic remedies and encouraging her to spend more time on the Earthing throw, she has made a rather miraculous turnaround. She has been able to walk to and from the backyard without assistance. Her urinary incontinence and 99 percent of all accidents have stopped in the last three months. ‘Mosey’ is now 13 years old and a few months, and although fragile, she’s going stronger than I could have imagined possible with the only changes being nerve tonic (homeopathic), Traumeel (homeopathic), and her Earthing throw.”

Sandra continued: “A friend of mine has a rescue black Lab/chow mix with severe hip dysplasia. The old dog took a turn for the worse with the coming of colder weather. The pain meds he was prescribed left him lethargic, yelping, and disoriented. My friend put him on similar homeopathic as ‘Mosey’ and installed an Earthing throw, as I had done, in the dog’s bed. Now, two months later, it’s as if the dog was two years younger. He’s clear-eyed, connected, happy, and exhibited significantly less pain.

“Earthing also helped my mother’s dog, my grandmother’s dog, and my other Pyrenees, ‘Serafina.’”

In 2017, we heard from Sandra again. Both “Mosey” (14 ½) and “Serafina” (13 ½) had died the year before, 18 days apart. “However, both of them had a good quality of life up until the very end, despite their advanced age, with the help of the Earthing throw,” she said. “’ Serafina’ had a stroke shortly after ‘Mosey’ passed. I think she missed her sister.

“All this is to say, in my experience, Earthing is incredibly helpful to animals, including older ones with sensitive systems who reactive negatively to strong medications.”

Less Shedding

From Yavor Kresic in Ottawa: “My Siamese ‘Alexander’ loves going on the mat. I’ve noticed that he hardly sheds now. He’s an older cat and rarely goes out.”

More Comfort, Less Itching

From Ambien Hay of Vero Beach, Florida: “‘Jackson,’ my Jack Russell, loved his Earthing mat. It relieved his arthritis and pain due to Lyme disease during the last years of his life. He died at 16. After sleeping on it all night, he clearly felt more comfortable in the morning, as he pranced outside and had his breakfast.

“‘Sailor,’ my 12-year-old Westie, heads for his Earthing mat any chance he gets! He has been Earthing for more than eight years and is healthy and happy. The mat helped relieve his skin allergies and itchiness. He hogs my Earthing mat under the computer desk, his favorite place to snooze.

“All creatures large and small love to be connected to Mother Earth!”

In 2012, Karen Kolczak from Phoenix told us she obtained a mat for her cat after experiencing the benefits of Earthing herself. She said: “My old cat doesn’t get outside much anymore, but now she is going up and down the stairs much more frequently and curls up to me purring on the bed as if to say ‘thanks mom.’”

In early 2015, Karen reported that her cat had passed away and that she brought a new cat into the house who “loves the mat as well.”

Togetherness

New Hampshire researcher James Oschman sent this picture (below) from a doctor friend who commented: “Here are my daughter’s three cats. Ordinarily, they stake out separate rooms for their morning naps, but this is what they’ve been doing since I came to visit and installed an Earthing sheet on the guest bed.”

More Togetherness

From Linda Olk in Winston-Salem: “I have five dogs and a cat. And most of them, along with me, have been Earthing since 2013. The dogs get their indoor ‘dosing’ at night like I do, and sleep on the Earthing sheet I put over the sofa. Sometimes all of them pile on at one time. From time to time, some of them jump into my bed and onto the Earthing sheet. I have to shoo them off.

“The animals have all been in good health. After I added the Earthing sheet, they absolutely became calmer. Not that they had been rowdy or unruly, but they carried a certain agitation. That changed a lot.

“When the cat developed an infection from a bite, I noticed he spent more time than usual stretched full out on the Earthing mat I placed in the living room under my desk. The cat usually stays outside, right on the ground, under a tree, except when it’s very cold. Then I set the mat out and typically he gravitates to it.

“After I bought an Earthing yoga mat for myself, the dogs, and even the cat, want to lay on it. I sometimes have to shove them off when it comes time to do my exercise.”

It Works in Finland, too

Sisko Pynnonen from Kangasniemi says her dog usually sleeps on the floor during the winter and outside on the ground when the weather is warmer. “After I put an Earthing sheet on my bed, ‘Tahvo’ started to climb up into the bed in order to be able to sleep on the sheet. One night he even brought a bone into the bed. He seems to sigh with relief when he sleeps on the sheet…and sleeps there all night!”

Satu Laitinen, from Siilinjarvi, says her cats love the Earthing plush pad and compete to use it.

Maine Cats Know When They Need Mother Earth

From JJ, in Maine: “My two indoor cats don’t seem unusually drawn to Earthing sheets or their grounded pet beds when they’re healthy. However, when my cat Cleo had an inflamed paw pad, we noticed her resting on my daughter’s Earthing sheet in an unusual manner, with her arm stretched straight out in front of her, the sore paw pad placed gingerly on the grounded sheet.

“My other cat, ‘Pixie’ is an obsessive washer. Since she’s been sleeping grounded (two years), her fur has grown back on her sides and some on her tummy. Grounding seems to relax her and reduce the hyperexcitability of her condition.”

Don’t Get Crushed!

From Deborah Ebbers, Suttons Bay, Michigan: “I have a story concerning my earthing journey, started one and a half months ago. I bought the earthing mat for my bed and the results have been very positive; deep sleep, arthritic pain reduction, calm energy… and now my dog (who sleeps with me) has decided that since I’m earthed that it is perfectly natural for her to sleep on top of me……. there’s one little problem…she’s a Great Dane. Beatrix is 116 pounds!”

They Hog the Bed!

From Tina Morin, a German Shepherd breeder in North Bay, Ontario: “I have 7 dogs and they all try to get a piece of the mat on the floor lol I have a sheet on my bed and sometimes I catch them up on there too. They all sleep on it or on my bed lol as I have a grounding sheet there. They sure gravitate to grounding.”

Golden Retriever in Healing High Gear

Karen Poizin of Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin, reported that “Lance,” her Golden Retriever, had surgery to remove a large lipoma in his armpit in December of 2013. He slept on a pet mat during his recovery and, according to the veterinarian, “he healed quickly.”

“Juniper the Rat” − Life after a Stroke

Diane Higgins, of Toronto, is an ardent animal rescuer. “From fish to horses,” she says, and including rats. In 2015, she communicated to us about “Juniper,” her very senior and nearly three-year-old hooded female pet rat. The rodent had had a stroke, a fairly common affliction among elderly rats, and often fatal.

“I’ve become all too familiar with the symptoms but this time I had a new weapon and so I decided to use one of the Earthing bands,” Diane recounted. “Rats, no matter how well we feed and take care of them, don’t live very long, but if this could improve the quality of her life, I was all for it. Often there’s nothing you can do to help them in these situations, the time between a stroke and their unfortunate demise is swift.

“’ Juniper’ is one tough little gal. She had difficulty getting around so I decided to try the band on her and within twenty minutes she was able to raise her head. Within an hour she was able to use her legs again. After a few hours, she exhibited more mobility and was able to lift her head.

“I put her in a safe, warm, and comfortable location with the band attached (she had wiggled out of it once, but I got her back into it) and she settled in and let the band do its thing.

“I got the shock of my life the next morning. ‘Juniper’ had climbed onto the roof of her mouse house ALL BY HERSELF!! She climbed up and ate breakfast! She gave me a bit of trouble getting her into the band this morning but I got her in. She has MUCH better mobility and is much improved.

“She does the rat equivalent of purring (bruxing) when she is in the band. This can also occur when a rat is upset, but she seems to be a happy little rat when she does this.

“On the third day, she was having less problem holding her food, all the red stuff around her eyes is gone. That’s porphyrin, a secretion indicative of stress, sickness, or poor diet. Her eyes look clear and her coat feels silky.”

“On day five, she continued doing well. She has made daily progress. The old girl is now able to get all the way up to the third tier of the cage. She seems to recognize her limitations with ‘down.’ She actually signals me when she wants to come down and I either pick her up and place her on the bottom of the cage or I gently ‘escort’ her with my hand and assist her.

“She has never eaten commercial pet food. She gets filtered water, organic fruits, vegetables, nuts, and seeds, as well as avocadoes, bananas, mangoes, grapes, corn on the cob, carrot, spinach leaves, kale, and chaff from my juicing as well.

“Everything has worked in harmony. TLC without Earthing or Earthing without TLC would not have produced these results. When I first started this therapy with her, I was thinking she might not last another day. But she is doing so well and has been a great surprise.”

A week later Diane reported: “She is doing amazing!! She was able to fend off her younger companion ‘Thea,’ when I gave her one of her favorite treats, a piece of Pita bread. ‘Thea’ does NOT share. ‘Juniper’ is now able to drink out of the water bottle on the second cage level now. Her front paws are no longer tensed up and she is able to wash like she used to. She appears very calm and does that bruxing thing, which is so cute and endearing. OMG, she is so smart!”

“Juniper” lived actively for more than a month after her stroke, and then died peacefully. “I hadn’t expected her really to live another day after her stroke,” reported Diane. “She was a real trooper.”

Sweet Dreams

“I actually had to buy myself a second Earthing mat, because the minute I put my mat on the floor to put my feet on while watching TV, my Golden Retriever immediately would make a beeline for it. He then falls into a wonderfully deep sleep with lots of squirrel chasing dreams. For me, this disproves the Earthing doubters who explain Earthing benefits as a placebo effect. Both my dog and I know that earthing REALLY works!”

For more information, please visit https://realyouearthing.com/

#Earthing / Groundingn #animals #health #home & lifestyle #cat dog

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