#okay like Akron

[pebblezone]

Feeling like a Yuma morii Pokémon card

[semperamans]

clo i need to know your thoughts on cal, johnny and benny all falling for the same, sweet local girl! <3 love ya xoxo

suse how could you do this to me :( currently trying not to scream cry and throw up in the coffee shop :( this somehow turned into jealous!danny? dunno how! kinda long, so ya gotta read more xo

benny says your name like it's this sacred thing and danny knows he's in for a treat. the sun grows weary as she dips beneath the tree line, but danny is unyielding; bony forearms braced on the tops of his thighs, microphone edging just a bit closer to his pondering interviewee. benny blows a stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth, watching as it mingles with the cotton candy clouds and it's hard, danny thinks, to be around benny because everything he does is so damn picturesque. he's filled more than three rolls of film with just benny and yeah, he's gotta be mindful because film isn't cheap and he's broke but there's something about the way benny looks; leather cut laying just so over his shirtless form, white levis baggy from age, speckled with either dirt or blood, he doesn't know, and he's just so cool that it's impossible to resist. danny snaps a quick picture, scolds himself as the ticker tells him he's got four shots left, then turns his chin to watch as benny plucks the near-extinguished cigarette from between his teeth, flicking it into the grass. "what'dya wanna know about her?" "well," danny shifts in the creaky lawnchair, "y'know, i've talked to the guys and they, uh, they say she's the best thing that's happened to the club. girls are sayin' it too, n'not just cus she made you nasty bastards start washing your hands." benny is chuckling, pillowy lips damp from the swipe of his tongue. "so what is it about her?" danny asks then waits and waits and waits as benny sits, per usual, in silence. and, okay, maybe this isn't going as well as danny hoped and now he's scrambling, throwing haphazard sentences around his brain, but then benny is speaking and holy shit he's speaking. danny has never heard him say more than fifteen words but now he's a leaky faucet "she's good - everythin' about her - doesn't have a mean bone in her body, y'know? gave all've us a chance, gave me a chance." benny shakes his head as though he still can't believe it then stops, turning his head at the faint sound of the screendoor closing and there you are in a pair of cutoff overalls, hair pulled back with a crocheted bandana and danny can see it, the whole angelic thing. you pay neither of them any mind, tending instead to the flowers 'round the porch. your little yellow watering can is cute and danny can see the fondness constricting the base of benny's throat. "think m'biased." benny says, turning back to face danny. "but 've said it once and i'll say it till they throw me in the ground: she's heaven sent. an' i hope imma good enough man to see her again when i get where i'm goin'." danny leaves with a rekindled belief in love and hopes that maybe one day he’ll be lucky enough to be loved the way benny is.

it's been three weeks since benny's interview and danny can't help but notice things. he carries this leather notebook around - jotting down names and places and tape numbers - but the page he keeps coming back to is one he scribbled across a few days ago. the thing about benny's girl is that she isn't just benny's girl. he's circled it three times for good measure because benny's girl doesn't just belong to benny - sure, maybe in the ways it matters - but every single soul adores her; lights up when she walks in and it sure is a sight to see fifty or so bikers grinning and stumbling over their own feet for this girl who looks like she couldn't harm a fuckin' fly. if she had a male equivalent danny reckons it would be cal. cal with a personality as warm as fire, who talks to everyone, and cracks jokes, and is unabashedly himself. but cal has a temper and it shows during a run to akron. danny is interviewing zipco when he hears the commotion then suddenly everyone is stampeding toward two swinging figures and he knows this is where he steps back. it's a full-on brawl now and zipco sure as shit wasn't going to stay and yap while there was chaos amuck, so danny plops down, lights a cigarette and waits. "s'guy called her a bitch," cal says and danny almost jumps out of his fuckin' skin. where did the sun go? he scrambles to a sitting position, wiping drool from the corner of his mouth and smacking the record button on his cassette recorder. "what?" "some fuckin' prick called her a bitch." cal's got a handful of ice cubes pressed to his busted jaw and because the man knows no personal space a bloody mix has dripped onto danny's pant leg. "her?" danny's not following but the beat up boy tips his head and danny should've known. it's you. of course it's you. "not gonna let nobody talk to her like that. i don't take too kindly for no one talkin' ill to a lady, but 'specially her. s'the most fucked up shit you can do." that's when danny realizes that cal has it too. it's the same look benny had when you came out of the house - that dumb, lovesick gaze - but cal's is laced with longing and danny actually feels bad for him. "she sure is something." he says, testing the waters. he's out of cigarettes so his nimble fingers pluck a handful of grass from beside his boot. "sure is." cal takes a seat, reaching behind danny to grab the jug of strong-smelling alcohol. "never met anyone like 'er. been everywhere; hell to fuckin' Houston, never met a girl like her before." he takes a deep swig, grimaces, then swallows. "benny sure is lucky, ain't he?" danny says, peering under his lashes at the golden-haired boy and he laughs. "we're all lucky. she's the sweetest of the sunflowers, man. she's like the fuckin' sun. least she is to me - to us." poor bastard, danny thinks. poor infatuated bastard.

"where ya gonna be sittin', baby?" "with johnny." "good girl, c'mere gimmie a kiss." danny's at the bar nursing a beer and a hangover and probably a concussion and you know what? this kinda talk doesn't phase him anymore. he's used to it by now; sure he doesn't know the rules, but it's none of his business anyway and in his four months with the club he's learned, above all else, that bikers are fuckin' weird. still danny finds you, watches as benny grabs your chin bringing you up up up onto your tiptoes before planting delicate kisses onto your giggling mouth. "you go see 'em." it's a whisper and danny's not trying to eavesdrop but he finds himself leaning closer. "looks like he needs some cheerin' up." and maybe danny is still invested because he turns, following you as you float over to johnny's table where he's hunched over an intimidating stack of papers. you say something, but your sweet voice is too quiet over the racket and danny cares so he stands, goes over to the pinball machine, but doesn't turn it on. "hi, pretty." johnny reaches over, takes your hand, tugs you closer and you giggle, bracing your hands on his broad shoulders and this is different. none of the other guys put their hands on you - just benny, just benny because he's yours and you're his but johnny does it so naturally danny knows he's done it before. "what's goin' on, old man?" your voice drips nothing but affection and johnny smiles around his cigarette and launches into club dues and the upcoming springfield run and the dwindling bail fund and danny starts losing interest; his feet are going numb and there's only so much longer he can stand there pretending to fucking play pinball before someone catches on but then you're on johnny's lap and yeah this never happens. danny has seen benny beat the dog shit out of a guy for even suggesting that you sit next to him but now here you are, balanced on one of johnny's broad thighs, spinning his wedding band around and around his finger and benny sees, fucking smiles at the sight, and drops his head, lining up his next shot at the pool table. danny realizes you're talking and running your hand up and down johnny's arm as you validate his feelings and strategize fundraising plans and promise to bake some of your infamous strawberry shortcake bites. johnny's promised hand lays so delicately upon your cheek danny thinks he may kiss you but thank fuck he doesn't because danny'd surely blow his cover and a load in his pants because, okay, yeah, he gets it. knows now why everyone loves you, has started to catch feelings of his own but he's not johnny or benny and he'll never be able to touch you the way he wants so he guesses he'll join the ranks with cal as just another distant admirer. just another love struck bastard.

[torque-witch]

Okay once again it is crunch time! Taxes are due on the 18th and I desperately need some help.

I only had 14k worth of taxable income from last year, so you can imagine why I don’t have any savings - but self employment tax is still very high regardless of your income threshold.

I currently will owe about $1050 in total for taxes + fees.

My husband pays for the bulk of our bills right now and even tho his income was triple mine, it didn’t make that big of a dent into reducing our tax payment overall. Neither of us have savings. I do also have a part time job now, but it only barely if at all covers the bills. Etsy and art sales in general have been very down because we are all struggling with inflation, but I would still appreciate any orders in the meantime.

The sale is 30% off finished statues (this may reduce some by $100), and 15% everything else above $20 excluding custom crochet work. The shop may be closed on the 15th bc that is when the Akron Punk Rock Flea Market is. Klarna is available for $50+. I don’t really want to process orders through Venmo unless it’s a pre-made item as those are harder to keep track of.

Because of this and other reasons, I cannot do custom requests except for what is listed in the shop. I cannot process orders this week so that I can market prep either, so please expect delays. I already have a few custom orders on backlogs, so I can’t accept more.

I do also have a handful of Squishmallows in storage that I’d like to sell, so dm me for info.

Other than that if you don’t want to purchase anything but do want to contribute in some way -

Venmo - @ torquewitch (last four of my phone is 3759)

CashApp - $TorqueWitch

PayPal ONLY if you choose friends and family because they WILL hold sales money for 1-3 months. dukesofnapa@gmail.com

Please share if you can! I know that everyone has been struggling, but anything helps. Hopefully since I do have a part time job this year, things will stay relatively even after this last hurdle.

And thank you so much for your continued support, however you are able to! This is such an awkward year trying to rebuild and stay afloat and juggle new situations and opportunities. I appreciate just being heard.

If you have any questions please feel free to dm me or message me on Etsy!

Death’s Head Divination

[julysn]

assigning the last five songs i was listening to to unwind characters

no cutesy aesthetic pink stuff for this bc im lazy 😵

^ my last five songs before the one im listening to atm (currently: lie school)

holding out for a hero - probably every unwind ever

from what i can assume in the books (i haven’t read them in like three months idk) like no one really stood up to unwinding before the akron awol stuff. people probably did but not on a national scale (i fhink.) so connor’s the hero here i guess

outside - hayden

this is based off of vibes LMFAO no fun backstory or true meaning behind my decision but out of all of the characters in the book i pick him.

blue gangsta - starkey. maybe.

ignoring the fact that the song is about a breakup, let’s interpret it a diff way for this to make sense

the chorus reminds me a lot of him bc we can think of him telling the juvey cops (and connor, probably) ‘what you gonna do, you ain’t a friend of mine’ bc yk. unwind stuff. i forgot sorry guys

anyways i’d write more but im short circuiting so do u see the vision

ulterior motives - nelson

if u saw that one post about my hc of him being a fucknif degenerate this adds onto it. he probably owns like hundreds of vhs tapes just consisting of adult films 😵 i imagine that he spiraled after the divorce w his wife and now he watches ykw to GET OFF!!!!!1!

do not touch - risa

the song’s cunty. who serves cunt 24/7? risa.

okay milf risa fic when

thats all.

[heliads]

everything is blue • conrisa space au • Chapter Fourteen: Dancing in the Moonlight

Risa Ward escaped a shuttle destined for her certain, painful death. Connor Lassiter ran away from home before it was too late. Lev Calder was kidnapped. All of them were supposed to be dissected for parts, used to advance a declining galaxy, but as of right now, all of them are whole. Life will not stay the same way forever.

series spotify playlist

previous / series masterlist / next

Risa isn’t sure how long this is going to last, but stars, she hopes this sort of feeling sticks around forever. She hasn’t been happy like this– effortlessly, unchangingly happy– in a very long time. Risa was happy in the Graveyard, of course, they all were; they were groundsless who weren’t dead yet, who wouldn’t be? There was always a slim undercurrent of fear running through every one of their conversations, though, the knowledge that even the brightest moments could be swiftly brought down by their eventual discovery.

Now that trap has been sprung, yet Risa still managed to make it out alive. She’s still with Connor despite no longer being in that safe haven. They might be flying straight towards their deaths, but for right now, they are together, together and happy. The little victories are worth twice the big ones, Risa has learned that since she ran away. This one feels like it might be worth her whole life.

That, perhaps, is why she’s okay with the fate that awaits her on the distribution colony. Risa doesn’t want to die, obviously, and she will be fighting tooth and nail to keep herself intact even while she’s breaking her friends out of the colony, but she can take this risk because she trusts Connor with her life. Before this, Risa would have stayed on the ship and never meddled with a danger like this. If she’s got Connor, though, Risa can do anything. Even beat the odds by dragging a small army of Deadmen out of their looming distributions.

Risa never thought of herself as a hero. No one is, not here, not in these worlds. When she was escaping the StaHo shuttle that should have taken her to a similar harvest colony, Risa didn’t stop to usher any of the other kids out. When she and Connor were running through the collapsing corridors of the conquered Graveyard, they didn’t help any distributes they saw. In a survival setting, you have to put yourself first.

Now, though, they finally have the chance to do something good, something that won’t just directly benefit them. There is, of course, the looming threat that the runaways Connor ran into could cancel his fake grounds license, but both of them know that’s not the real reason they’re doing this. Over the course of that year spent in the Graveyard, they made friends, true friends. They can’t simply abandon those friends to their fates just because she and Connor have already gotten themselves out of trouble.

Thus, they’re shipping out to a distribution colony to spare as many kids as they can from dissection. It took a little while to find out the right place to go– the amount of distribution colonies in the galaxy is sickeningly high, even higher than Risa was expecting– but eventually they stumbled across a few mentions of a sudden mass influx of distributes into a particular colony not far from the Graveyard and they knew they had their target.

Now all that’s left to do is to pass the time until they get there at last. Stars, she can’t imagine what it’s going to be like when they touch down. The guards will see some nice ship on their scanners and assume it’s, like, a Centerworld official or something come to see the progress of that particular harvest colony’s child dismemberment systems. They’ll all file up to receive their guests and then two teenagers will file out, an escaped StaHo ward and the Akron AWOL. 

Talk about a surprise. Nothing about this arrival will be good by Centerworld standards. Imagine for a moment that you work for a harvest colony, that you’ve already thrown away enough of your morals to work for a harvest colony, and one day you get visitors. Two visitors exactly, two visitors that are, in fact, Deadmen, and their ship– their ship, it’s called the Unwind. 

Suns, Risa had to practically force that little bit of information out of Connor. He’d been hesitating to tell her the name of the ship like he’s been hesitating to tell her literally everything else, probably out of fear of her judgment. And why shouldn’t she judge? Unwinding is the derogatory term for distribution. Only Unwinds ever use it, because why waste breath on the proper way to call a process designed to end your life in the most horrific way possible? Connor naming his ship, the guardian angel of those fleeing distribution everywhere, after a revolting slang term only used by the damned– Risa can admit it’s something. Stupid or brave, she’s not sure yet. But it’s something.

Risa is wandering around the ship as she is prone to do, taking in every corner and crevice lest she forget what it was like to briefly rule every square inch around her. She’ll miss this later, maybe, having all the open area to herself, knowing that the only other souls aboard were her and Connor, or maybe what she’ll long for most of all was still being alive and knowing the heart beating in her chest was her own.

Regardless, Risa is happy for it. The closer she meanders towards the nav center, the more aware she becomes of a distant sound. It starts off quiet, gradually growing louder as she creeps closer. It’s a gentle rhythm, an occasional melody. The pianist in her simply has to investigate. Eventually, she pokes her head through the door of the nav room to discover Connor messing around with one of the many instrument panels. Each time he presses a button or directs one of the many holodecks in front of him, speakers embedded somewhere in the floors and ceiling change their tune from happy to sad to anything that Connor’s heart desires.

He looks up when he sees her, grinning with excitement. “Did you know they’ve got music in this thing? Tons of songs, old and new. Crazy.”

Risa lets out a slow, disbelieving laugh. Although it sounds insane, she genuinely cannot remember the last time she listened to something like music. Every now and then, Hayden was able to intercept a signal or two with radio frequencies bearing songs, but they were always a little too glitchy or staticky to fully enjoy. They pretended otherwise, of course, anything can pass for greatness in the Graveyard, but they all knew it wasn’t quite the best. What Connor’s playing is perfectly crisp, though, every beat on time, every note in tune. As a musician, albeit a former one, it makes Risa’s heart soar.

“What songs do they have?” She asks, drawing closer so she can check it out.

“Anything,” Connor says, “Come on, let’s pick one.”

They scroll through aimlessly, playing a few seconds of this track or that so they can giggle at the absurd melodies. Rich people have terrible taste. At last, Connor gasps in delight and points at one song title in particular.

“What’s that one? No, it can’t be– Dancing in the Moonlight?”

Risa cocks her head curiously at him. “Do you know it? It looks old.”

“It’s super old,” he says, smiling fondly at some memory or inner thought, “It reminds me of one of my old teachers in school, though. She used to play it on the days I didn’t skip class. Or maybe she played it all of the days, I just didn’t know it because I skipped.”

Risa laughs at that. “Come on, then. Play it. We’ll see if it’s good enough to stay in school.”

Connor rolls his eyes, but he does as told and queues the song. A few seconds later, it starts to play, billowing around them in clear, rolling measures. She taps her foot a little, trying to sense the beat. Connor grins at her, stepping side to side in exaggerated motions. 

Risa grins. “Just as good as you remember?”

“Even better,” Connor tells her. “Come on, dance with me.”

They start to move side by side together. Risa spins a little, just because she can. When she turns back around, Connor is beaming ear to ear. On a whim, she grabs Connor’s left hand with her right, placing his other hand on the small of her back. Two teenagers, swaying together to an upbeat song. It’s been done a million times before all across the galaxy but it still feels like such a startling and sweet surprise for each new couple. Every pair of young souls feels as if they’ve come up with something extraordinary. And, for them, it is.

“Are we waltzing?” Connor asks, wiggling his eyebrows a little to be annoying.

“We are,” Risa decides. “Come on, it’s easy. Box step. Step forward, then to the side, then back again. Simple.”

“Simple,” Connor agrees. She expects to have to lead him a little more, but his steps are easy and assured, and Risa realizes a little too late–

“You know how to do this, don’t you?” She asks.

“A little,” he admits, but he keeps dancing with her anyway. “My parents used to dance like that. I learned along by watching them. Figured it might come in handy sometime. You know, for picking up girls like I do all the time,” he says, flashing Risa an obvious, terrible wink. She laughs anyway and lets him spin her.

This time, when she comes back from the twirl, he’s a little too strong and she ends up closer to him than expected. To catch herself, Risa presses a hand against his chest, but she forgets to pull it away again. She can feel his heartbeat through his shirt and skin. They stop moving, just breathing together there, in and out. Risa is certain that he must sense the way her pulse is pounding.

“Risa,” he whispers. 

She doesn’t pull away. His hand slackens from the small of her back, moving slowly to her waist. He isn’t pushing her away, but he’s giving her an opportunity to leave, if she wants it. Risa doesn’t want it. She only wants him.

She looks up at him. Connor’s eyes are half-lidded, and meet hers as if on the other side of an unfathomable distance. Risa doesn’t think she could say half what she wants to right now, doesn’t even know if she could fully think it, so all she can do is look back at him and hope he understands.

Connor has always understood.

Even now. Even when it’s the one boundary they have yet to cross.

He crosses it. She meets him halfway.

The kiss is a long time coming, Risa thinks. It’s the product of more than a year of endless pining and secrets kept for the benefit of a friendship both of them were scared to lose. However, it turns out there’s something far more valuable than a perpetual friendship, and that is the love that both of them have been hiding behind half-closed doors for almost as long as they’ve known each other. Risa doesn’t know how long Connor has been holding back, but it must have been almost as long as her.

Connor pulls back slightly, tilting his head down so the crown of his head touches her forehead. “Y’know,” he says absentmindedly, “You could have told me you liked me any time back in the Graveyard. You didn’t have to wait until we were about to storm a harvest colony to let me know.”

Risa laughs quietly. “You could have told me, too. Besides, I thought you liked it when I had a flair for drama.”

“I do,” Connor smiles, and kisses her again to prove it. It is just as exhilarating and earth-shattering as the first time. Risa wonders if each and every kiss will sweep her off her feet like this, and immediately wants to test that theory again and again, just to make sure.

Just as Risa begins to think that she might want this forever, an alarm goes off, the piercing klaxon rattling off of the fine walls of the spacecraft. She flinches against Connor’s lips, and he draws back at once.

“That’s the alarm I set to warn me when we were within an hour’s distance of the colony,” he whispers in a daze. His lips are swollen from the kiss, his pupils shot, but the look on his face is nothing short of horror, no sweetness of new love there. “We’re close. It’s coming up on us now.”

Risa draws in a sharp breath. “I thought we had more time.”

Connor looks at her, and the expression on his face is nothing short of heartbreaking. “So did I.”

Is that not what they have always wanted, time? Just when they finally find each other again, when they finally manage to confess the truth that’s been weighing on both of them all of this time, they are interrupted. Risa has no idea if they will survive this. She can hope, of course, but hope is a feeble thing to rest one’s strength on. Hope will always disappear when you need it the most. Hope is no excuse for reality.

Slowly, they make their way to the cockpit. Along the way, they make final preparations to hold a host of newly free distributes. Risa doesn’t ask him if he thinks they’ll survive this, and Connor pretends as if they will. When the colony comes into view, Risa almost doesn’t want to look. She realizes belatedly that this might be one of her last sights, though, so she forces her eyes open again, and what she sees is empty, unearthly stillness.

She tilts her head to the side, considering it. “I don’t see a whole lot of movement on the surface.”

Connor frowns. “Well, maybe they’re keeping all of the kids inside? I mean, they’re probably not letting them run around all the time. Wouldn’t want one of their prisoners to accidentally break a leg or something and ruin their profits.”

His tone is bitter. Risa can’t help but match it. “I don’t even see lights. Surely they want them to be healthy, right? They wouldn’t keep them in total darkness.”

Connor leans forward to get a better look, then points out one particular part of the harvest colony. “No, look over there. That’s light, right?”

Risa peers at it, then nods. “Faint, but yeah, it is. Maybe we angle towards that?”

Connor nods in agreement, manipulating the controls to accordingly change their trajectory. They stand in silent union, hands interlocked, watching the distribution colony loom ever closer. Risa waits for some alarm to be triggered, some sentry ship to be sent after them, but nothing happens.

“I don’t like this,” she says uneasily. “They should have seen us by now.”

“We’ve got good cloaking technology,” Connor mentions hesitantly. “Could be that their scanners just haven’t picked us up yet. To be honest, the fewer confrontations, the better. The element of surprise is best when it’s on our side.”

Risa shrugs, accepting this. Sure, she’s glad not to be fired on immediately, but something about this whole affair still seems off somehow. She can’t help this uncanny sense that something is terribly wrong, and more so than just the fact that they’re taking a crazy risk.

“Five minutes to landing,” Connor announces. “Strap in. I’ll try for a clean landing, but I’m still not an ace pilot yet.”

“You’re excellent at bedside manner, though,” Risa quips.

Connor glances up just long enough to shoot her a wry grin before returning to his controls. Risa takes a seat, buckling herself in just in case. To Connor’s credit, his landing is quite smooth. The second the ships start moving, they’re instantly hurrying to the escape hatch. They won’t have long to make this work, they’ve got to make every second count. Connor tosses Risa a tranq gun then takes one for himself. She flashes him a smile right before they open the hatch.

“We can do this,” she tells him. “We’re getting out.”

“We’re getting out,” Connor agrees, and opens up the hatch. Risa has no idea if they’re lying or not. She supposes she’ll find out soon enough.

They run out as quickly as they can. Risa can see the tower of a security station not far off, which isn’t great. As they hurry towards the doors leading towards the heart of the harvest colony center, Risa waits for Juvey-cops to run out and start shooting at them. Maybe a colony like this, with this many distributes all waiting for their end, would even have hired private soldiers, just in case.

Still, nobody comes. No klaxons blare even despite the obvious intrusion. Risa exchanges a nervous glance with Connor. “Someone should have noticed by now,” she whispers.

Connor nods his agreement. They arrive at the tall gate leading to the center. Connor reaches towards the control panel, but, as it turns out, he doesn’t have to. It’s already been shot to pieces, a small ribbon of smoke rising from the destroyed controls. The doors are cracked open; Connor kicks one open and it falls to the ground completely, the resulting clang echoing off of empty walls. They freeze, but no one comes.

Connor moves to go inside, but Risa holds out an arm to stop him. “Do you smell that?” She asks.

He pauses, then frowns. “Smells like smoke. A lot of it.”

A terrible idea is occurring to Risa. “You know the light you saw when we were nearing the colony? What if it wasn’t the light of a building?”

Connor turns back to her, ignoring the empty doorway behind him. It won’t matter, actually. No one will come to kill him, because no one is here at all. “What if it wasn’t a light?” She repeats, “What if it was a fire? A fire that consumed everything here?”

Connor’s eyes widen. He turns back to the doorway and carefully steps through. Risa joins him a heartbeat later, and together they stare at the empty grounds. Bullet holes riddle the walls, the windows, the ground beneath their feet. Risa hears no sounds save for the wind whistling through holes in the complex and her own harsh breathing.

“Connor,” she says unsteadily, “I think everyone here is gone.”

unwind tag list: @reinekes-fox, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[andromedaexists]

WUPDATE: Desecrate

𝚃𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝟸𝟾𝚝𝚑 || 𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰𝙰

Hi hello we're ignoring that I'm a day late, okay? I've had a lot of shit on my plate this week lol, the worst of which being the fact that I have gotten inexplicably sick in the past few days. Honest to God I think it's just that my disabled body is catching up from my trip to Seattle, but I could def do without the extreme nausea (really bad if I'm making a note of it, as I have chronic nausea and don't know what it's like to not be nauseous) and the debilitating shoulder pain!

But that's all fine and dandy, I still got shit to do!

I got some more written on Desecrate, bringing me up to 8.5k words on this re-draft! I was hoping to be further along, but shit happens with chronic illness.

I've also managed to scrounge together a street team, with my first big announcement for Desecrate happening this Sunday, March 31st! Easter Sunday! This announcement will include more information about the date of the cover reveal, information about the cover artist, etc etc

I also have some fun events coming up! I already talked about the fact that I'm attending Lavender Con as a featured author, but I also applied to some pride events here in Ohio! I was accepted into Akron Pride already, we're just waiting to hear back on CLE Pride <3

Now for what you're really here for:

Each step he takes towards the voices makes them sound further away, but when Kit doubles back to see if he was going the wrong way they don’t get any louder. Shit. Kit comes to a stop, his hand trailing down the bumpy wall as he crouches where he’s at. If he can’t get closer to the voices, then he will just stay where he’s at and try to figure out what they’re saying. A breath ghosts across the back of his neck as he listens, sending the small hairs to stand on end. Kit whirls around to see what’s behind him, only to be met with the same pitch black he’s been walking in. The voices fade to a low murmur, much too quiet for him to make anything out. Instead they are replaced by another voice, one that sounds like a chorus of stringed instruments, their strings rusted with age and disuse. “Find me.”

TAGLIST

@lockejhaven @mr-writes @eleanordaze @flowerprose @starlitpage @dogmomwrites @annetilney @ceph-the-ghost-writer @inkspellangel @outpost51

Please fill out this form to be added or ask to be removed!

[robotstrategy]

Recalled • Part 5 • 33 - Roland

Previous • Series Masterlist • Part 5 Masterlist • Next

Graduation day is nothing to write home about, all Roland got was a diploma in the mail and a few baked goods from Martha. Today would be pretty bleak if he hadn’t invited a few people over. Kate sits in the chair at his desk with Hayden on a video call. Sam sits crisscrossed on the floor and Nero is somewhere, probably raiding the pantry considering the noise coming from outside his door.

“I see there’s a giant gap in your education, care to explain.” Kate teases, holding onto Roland’s diploma. 

“Would you believe he went on a wild adventure with the Akron Awol before getting unwound for two years?” Hayden asks. 

Kate and Sam look at Roland. “You did?” They ask in unison. 

“That’s one way to put it.” 

“But like you hung out with him right?” Sam questions.

“No, he was the guy I wanted dead,” Roland confesses.

“The guy with the shark tattoo?”

“Yeah.”

Kate spins herself around in the chair. “Why did you want him dead?”

Roland sighs and groans. “I don’t know, I’d say it was because he was annoying, but Hayden was even worse.” 

“Oh? Is this permission to talk your ear off more?” Hayden laughs.

“No thanks, I’ve had enough of you for a whole lifetime.” Roland laughs back. 

There’s a brief moment of silence in the room, it’s muddled by the radio set to whatever station wouldn’t immediately trigger static. Eventually, the music stops for an ad break, between ads for water companies and auto part sales all three people present in the room pick up on an ad for Hayden’s radio show. 

Kate bursts out into laughter, Sam shakes his head, smiling as he sets up a game of solitaire. 

“What’s so funny?” Hayden interrogates.

“They mentioned you on the radio,” Roland answers.

“Oh, yeah I’ve heard that ad.”

Nero swings open the door, back from her pantry raid, she’s got a bag of gummy worms in her hand.

“Where did you find those?” Roland asks.

“At the back,” She aggressively chews one. “They’re stale.”

Roland snatches the bag from her. Looking at the production and freshness date he determines that these gummies are two years old. 

“I’m surprised you can even chew through those.”

Nero shrugs, grabbing another handful. She sits down across from Sam, pointing to where he could put certain cards. Sam scowls, annoyed that she’s ruining the game for him. 

Kate looks up at Roland. “I haven’t seen you in a while, how have you been?”

“Okay let’s see, I got tattoos, I got a haircut, that was before you saw me back in school. I now work part-time as a lifeguard at the pool a few blocks over, and… that’s about it. Oh, and then there’s the whole yin yang thing, but that’s not important.” Roland waves it off, yet everyone seems to stare at him.

“What’s wrong?” He panics.

Nero snaps out of it, rolling her eyes. “Shame on me honestly, I should have expected this.”

“You’re yin yang?” Hayden smiles.

“Yeah, I mean, girls are hot, guys are hot.” Roland scratches the back of his head.

“I’ll agree with the guys, but girls, not really,” Kate exclaims.

“More girls for me then!” Nero cheers, she then groups up all the cards and reshuffles them for Sam. Sam looks around, confused. “Am I supposed to say something?”

“Aren’t you only fourteen?” Hayden questions, “Anyway, I’d agree with you, they’re both very hot.”

There’s another sound at the door, Lilian opens the door, shutting it behind her. “What are you guys talking about?”

“None ya beeswax,” Roland lifts the gummy worm bag towards her. “Stale gummy worm?”

Lilian squints her eyes at the bag. “I think that’s the bag stepdad got for me when you ran away.”

“Oh.” Roland frowns, “Glad to know I’m only worth a bag of gummy worms to him.” 

“He should’ve at least gotten you a bag of sharks instead.” Hayden jeered, it made Roland cough on his spit. He wasn’t expecting Hayden to make such a jab. 

“Hmm, by the way,” Nero shoves another worm in her mouth, “You Spanish?”

“Huh, me? No, I don’t think so…” Roland mutters.

“Never mind, when I was out there I heard your mom talking in broken Spanish on the deck, I think she was talking about you two… Rolando y Liliana…”

“That does sound familiar. What was she saying?”

“I don’t know, I don’t speak Spanish, I just recognized the language.” 

“Then how do you know it was Spanish if you can’t speak it? For all you know, it could have been Portuguese or Mexican.” Sam commented. Nero looks at Sam like he’s an idiot. “Sam, Mexicans speak Spanish.”

She stands up and walks over to the window. “Nice day huh?”

Roland and Kate shrug. “Not really, the sun will be warm, but the outside air is really cold,” Kate responds.

Nero howls, “You call that cold? At this time of year, the ground would be covered in snow, there would be an active snowstorm going on, and school wouldn’t even be cancelled. Then-” Nero stops, she looks up as if almost looking at one of her brain parts. “Where the hell did you come from? ‘Cause, I would not like to go there.”

Hayden cackled. “Maybe they ran AWOL all the way from the lower parts of Canada or something. I hear it’s really cold up there right now.”

“Makes sense, one time I spoke French and someone told me it sounded Canadian.”

“How many languages can you even speak?” Kate questions.

“French, German, and English obviously.” Nero counts on her fingers. “I’ll probably pick up more if I go travelling, which reminds me,” She smiles at Roland. “Are you excited for next week?”

“I’m a little nervous actually.”

“What's happening next week?” Hayden asks.

“I’m going to a flight academy, I’m going to be getting a piloting license there.”

“Oh that’s amazing, well you’ve already got practice from the graveyard,” Hayden remarks.

“Yeah, but I was terrible at landing, plus it’s been two years and different arms and legs.”

Nero waves Roland off. “Bud, don’t worry, they’re going to teach you everything all over again. They probably don’t even know you could fly a chopper.” Nero then remembers she saw the instructors talking to the Admiral. “Or maybe they do, but they’re gonna have to reteach it all anyway, I doubt Cleaver taught you properly anyway.”

Hayden lets off a little noise as he chivers, he looks traumatized. 

Roland looks at the screen. “What’s wrong?” 

“Sorry,” He pauses, “I just saw it happen, the kids swarming and mauling him to death.”

“Those do not sound like fun adventures,” Kate remarked.

“Yeah, speaking of fun, we haven’t done anything fun yet. What’s up with that?” Hayden shouts.

“Oh I’m sorry,” Roland says sarcastically. “But I thought you said you didn’t really want to come over, so it’s pretty hard to have fun with someone on the other side of a screen.”

“My bad, my bad, next time you do something like this I’ll come over.”

“Thank you.”

Cindy opens the door slightly, making Roland jump in that direction. “Roland, is there anything in particular you’d like for dinner?” 

“Can we have Chinese?” Lilian excitedly asks.

“I was asking Roland.”

“I’m fine with Chinese, sounds good,” Roland answers. 

“So egg rolls, chicken, pork, noodles, and rice?”

“Yes please.”

“Alright, I’ll start ordering.” Cindy closes the door a little as she walks out. 

“I’m actually excited for Chinese,” Sam says. “I’ve always heard about it in TV shows, but I’ve never actually had it.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat!” Kate exclaims.

Roland stands over the sink, scrubbing down dishes once all his friends have gone.

“You really don’t have to do that Roland.” His mom says while collecting up all the plastic food containers.

“No, it’s fine.”

In reality, doing the dishes is almost therapeutic to him, sure, it was one of the punishments he used to get, but once he starts no one bothers him. Besides, a little splash of food never killed anyone, well, maybe a pilgrim.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” Roland starts.

“Oh? Is it about school? I’m actually really excited for you.”

“Oh no, thank you, but it was about something Nero heard earlier when she was out here looking in the pantry.”

“Right,” Cindy opens the pantry door. “How much did this woman take anyway?”

“Nothing but a bag of stale gummy worms Mr. Taggart got for Lilian when I went AWOL.”

“Huh.”

“Nero said you were speaking broken Spanish, it was something about Lilian and I.”

“Oh, I‘ve been talking to your grandmother again, Florencia, I don’t think you remember her. She’s only come here to visit us once when you were only two.”

Roland puts a pause on cleaning. “Wait, I am half Spanish?”

Cindy furrows her eyebrows. “Yes, Spaniard really, did you forget?”

“I-… Wait, if I’m half Spaniard, why were you so against me taking a Spanish class in high school?”

“... I wasn’t the one against it.”

Roland comes to the realization of what she said, he goes back to washing dishes, glaring into the basin. If looks could destroy, all these plates would be shattered.

“I think he was jealous that your father had offered you something that he couldn’t, so he had taken away that gift.”

Roland is visibly mad, his mouth grits as he starts giggling, it sounds like insanity personified before it flows into tears. His mother comes up behind him, putting her hands on his shoulders. He yelps, turning towards her.

“Every single time! Every single damn time I think something is going good for me it turns out that somebody already pulled the rug some time ago. When will it stop? When will this fucking loop end?” Roland buries his face in his hands, and his mother holds him tightly, comforting him to the best of her ability.

[itsatigersharkidiot]

(This is Oc x Canon btw)

Blossoms of the deep

Quick notes before reading:

-Roland probably wouldn’t act like this in the book but whatever

-Layton’s appearance/backstory isn’t described fully because it spoils and upcoming project

-Roland’s appearance is what I think he looks like

-Kashton (Laytons bf) still exists, but it’d spoil an upcoming project

-This will be updated!

Thank you <3

1. Layton

The graveyard, the safe, not so safe place for unwinds to stay hidden. A batch of unwinds had arrived that day, The Akron AWOL and his girlfriend were 2 of them. But there was another kid, who had also arrived there that day. His name was Roland Taggart and he was a troubled teen. But there was another person, a girl. He had caught her attention and she’d been admiring him for a while now. When she saw him in one of the warehouses, she saw how his dark brown hair blew whenever there was a slight gust of wind, how his tanned skin, tattered with scars in different places glowed in the hot Arizona sun. Whenever he looks at you with his green eyes, it’s almost like he’s piercing you and it complemented his hair. His tall and muscular physique was intimidating and you could tell that he had to be on steroids or he worked out plenty. Then to top it all off, his tattoo of a tiger shark on his forearm really completed his intimidating look he was trying to achieve. Everything about him almost had Layton in a chokehold and she wanted to date him, if not at least befriend him.

“Damn…it’s hot as balls today.” Layton walked around the graveyard, she was somewhat used to the heat due to her being from Sacramento, but it was still quite hot. Wandering around the graveyard was a hobby of hers and she enjoyed looking at all the old planes used in war. While walking, she noticed a helicopter, and leaning against that helicopter was Roland. Layton saw him and froze in place, but quickly realized she was staring and Roland would probably assume she was a weirdo, which she didn’t want. Once she snapped out of her trance, Layton realized she could finally make a move and interact with him, sure he’d probably hate her, but it’s worth a shot. So she slowly proceeded to walk in his direction.

Roland looked up and saw Layton walking over to him, he sighed and crossed his arms, showing off his tattoo. “What do you want?” He said almost aggressively. “Oh hi, uh…nice tattoo. Is it a shark?” Layton didn’t know how to start a conversation but this would work. “Well obviously! What else would it be.” Roland seemed irritated, but then again that’s just how he acts. “Do you have a name or something?” “Layton, Layton Wach.” She smiled at him, hoping he’d at least be friendly to her. “Roland Taggart. Do you need something? Or was it just about the tattoo?” “Oh, I just kinda noticed you leaning against this helicopter, looking out in the distance.” Layton felt as if that sounded weird like she was stalking him or something. “Okay then?” Roland was looking her up and down, noticing her arm but he didn’t question it. Finally after a while of silence, he spoke up.

“So why’d your parents sign the order?” Layton’s ears perked up when he asked the question. “So I grew up in California and in a rich family as well. My parents were obviously douchebags and didn’t really treat me the best. I did play on a volleyball team, and also I received an arm and a lung from an unwind.” She points to her arm and part of her chest and stomach, which was a different skin colour and there you could still see the graft lines. “So anyways, my parents signed the Unwind order and I ended up finding out, because well they honestly sucked at keeping secrets. So one night I ran away. Then there was the warehouses and the crates and stuff and now I’m here.” Roland seemed kinda intrigued by her past. “Holy shit, you went through a lot, must’ve been hell, eh?” Layton sighed “Honestly it sucked but at least I’m still whole.”

Roland sighed “Yeah, this whole unwinding thing is bullshit.” Layton nodded in agreement and looked off into the distance, what else could she say to him? “Soooo���where ya from?” Layton had asked to spark up some kind of conversation. “Indianapolis.” He said in reply. “Cool, well I’m act—“

“I know you’re from Sacramento, you’ve said it already.” Roland cut her off trying to seem smart. “No, I’m originally from Canada.” she quickly said before she could be cut off again.

“You’re Canadian?!” Roland seemed surprised.

Layton crossed her arms “Yep. I’m from Canada.” Roland still seemed surprised “What? You’ve never seen a Canadian or something?” Roland shrugged “Just found it interesting.” Layton uncrossed her arms and found her gaze on his chest and abs. Roland raised a brow and cleared his throat to get her attention. Layton fell out of that trance and looked away, hiding her flushed face. “Just pretend that never happened, K Roland?” He chuckled and rolled his eyes “What? You like my muscles?” Layton frowned at him “Shut up.” “Whatever.” Roland once again decided to take in her appearance, she didn’t look that bad to him. Her hair was dark brown and was styled to look like a butterfly cut, her eyes were brown almost black that seem cold at first glance but were also soft and gentle. She was slightly shorter than Roland but not by much and she seems to have a little muscle on her body. Roland’s gaze fell onto her chest for a moment and he took in a few glances before looking back at her face. Layton was still looking off into the distance. “Well, I should probably get back to doing what I was doing before.” Layton had said “It was nice talking to you, Roland.” Roland crossed his arms “Yeah. You too.” Before she could leave he stopped her to say one last thing. “You aren’t as annoying as you seemed at first, Layton. We should talk again later.” Layton smiled “Thanks, that’d be nice.” Roland wrapped an arm around her and gave her a kiss, she immediately kissed back. Once they pulled away, Layton was speechless and quickly turned away hiding her blush once more.

“I’ll see you back at this helicopter later, Layton.”

“Mhm, see ya in a bit Roland.” Finally Layton had achieved a goal she’d been dreaming of for a while.

[vecnuthy]

🔀 Steddie ♡

Thank you!! The way I adore this song and its lovely melancholic vibes:

And the way that it fits it suuuuper well with the one I did before this is, quite frankly, insane, so you get a bogo free, because here's another one:

Steve knew that something had shifted for him in the boat on Lover's Lake. Because Eddie was....Eddie was a lot. A lot of good and odd and talent wrapped in a wet rat package, and if the glass against his neck had been the first alarm beckoning him to wake up, then him half-nakedly taking the plastic-wrapped light from Eddie before being dragged through yet another portal only to be rescued by Eddie in the Upside Down were the times when the snooze button fucking broke.

Look, Steve's love language was acts of service; he was gone from those first few hellacious days.

Thankfully, Eddie was the most active participant in the sending off, and off they went to Chicago where Eddie somehow managed to fall in with a band that, after a few years, blew up thanks to a right place right time kind of situation. They played locally, hitting up dives in and around the city as they built their discography and finally released their first album. A song off of it garnered radio play, and soon enough, there were calls for a tour.

Then the tour became a reality.

And Steve, eager and absolutely supportive of Eddie and his dreams, encouraged him.

"You're absolutely sure this is okay?"

Steve nodded, ignoring the way his stomach perpetually lived in basement of his body now. "You're my own Bilbo Baggins," he clung to a shed of humor to keep from breaking down about it, even with Eddie's face lit up from the reference. Steve cradled Eddie's face in his hands, pressed his forehead to Eddie's, whispering, "Just don't take over a year to come back to me."

"I can't do this, Steve. I can't be away from you like this." Eddie's arms squeezed his waist tight, trying to hold both of them together.

It was three months, touring as an opener from a band based out of Akron, and they'd be all over the country.

"You've always been there, and I don't-"

Steve shook his head, effectively cutting off Eddie's teary-eyed babbling. "You can, though. It's not forever, and who can say that they actually get to live out their dreams?"

Eddie sniffed, his big brown eyes absolutely massive with the yearning to come.

"See what it's like, baby. You know, while you can," he teased.

Eddie pinched his side with a watery, "You ass" that sounded a lot like, "I love you."

They wore the words out, left them as bruised and battered as their hearts, and they cried themselves to sleep more than just that first night apart.

But they, blessedly, had a long way to go with lots more I love yous and touches and tears, both good and bad. This is just a short paragraph in that chapter of their lives. And Eddie got to live out his dream.

[anthrobrat]

First Line Analysis

Rules: post the first lines of up to 10 of your last fics/chapters posted on AO3 or your WIPs and try to draw some conclusions.

Oh fun!! Thank you so much @nanuk-dain for for the tag <3

A New Christmas Tradition: Dick woke up like he often did on that first Saturday morning of December - early, with a start, expecting a shelling - and reacted to his racing heart in the same way he had for the last three months.

Well that one certainly sets a tone. 

2. The Light Will Find You: Eugene Roe was from the very warm, very sunny Bayou Chene region of Louisiana. He had spent his youth shoeless, dressed mostly in just his cut off shorts. He had chased rabbits and had run-ins with alligators. It had all suited him quite nicely. 

I Wear My Heart on My T-Shirt: Babe knows himself. He gets that people are attracted to him in the same vague way that he knows how to, like, ride a bicycle. 

This is one of the first lines of fiction I ever actually wrote. This story got published second, but this line was in my head for a while. And I stand by it, even though the more I read it the more awkward it feels.

This Life to Fix: It caught up to him at the strangest moments. 

Again, this line stuck in my head so long before I actually wrote the fic. This idea of time, and how it stretches and contracts. 

You can float on the wind for so long: It didn’t hit him, really, until he was halfway to Indiana on the train. Something about Akron Ohio, the abject lack of real scenery as the train rumbled past the rust belt and into the rolling wheat fields of the midwest, made every wrong thing within him leak out.

Fucking Akron. I wrote this with Gary Indiana in mind, but for some reason Akron, Ohio sounds so much bleaker? Couldn’t even tell you if it’s on a train route. 

A Parting Gift of Sorts: “Another boring Saturday night, huh?” Ray asks from his position sprawled out with one foot on Brad’s lap and the other thrown over the back of the couch by his shoulder. 

Ok but… stories about Ray should always start with a quip, you know? Like, is it a story about him if it doesn’t start with him talking?

Tacit Matchmaking: “Holy shit, is that Doc?” Ray asks, shifting his surfboard over to his left arm.

See??

A Little Distraction: “Harry! Harry, where you going, the billets are this way!” Nix jogged haphazardly down the wet sidewalk toward the lieutenant, who was currently weaving around the cobblestones and keeping his eyes firmly on the ground as he maneuvered the wrong direction home.

Ah, to set a scene. 

I’m Fine, I’m Okay: McClung found him crouched in the basement of a bombed out house across the street from where they were billeted, if one could call it that in a house that was un-lived-in and unlivable. 

There is something about the cinematography and the set in The Last Patrol that just got me. So many of my stories feature Haguenau because i love the way the carved out buildings were a reflection of the men after Bastogne. 

For a minute or two: He’s been staring out the window of the train for the entire hour ride from San Diego Airport.

Aw Christeson <3 

What have I learned from all this? From pointing out to myself that I almost always start stories with the person's name? Well, that character analysis is great and that I really love to start a story with something that feels tangible - a scene you can picture, or a thought/feeling that seems really human. Except for Ray. His stories are so dialogue heavy.

[existentialdreadinc]

Open All Night

When David woke, he saw that the sky outside his window was dark.

The small analog clock on the nightstand beside him read 9:47, but he hoped it was wrong.  It took him a moment to locate his phone at which point he confirmed that he really had been asleep for nearly ten hours.

He was pretty sure the last time he’d slept this long was during the month after Jenny dumped him.  That was shortly before he’d stopped working at the bookstore and landed the “grownup job” that had just shitcanned him.

His head was muzzy and his stomach ached from not having eaten since that morning.  It seemed unlikely that anything other than bars would still be open at this hour and he figured his best bet was to hit up the vending machines.

David retrieved his jacket from beside the television and made sure it still had the key in the front pocket before stepping outside.

The glowing insect traps snapped and sizzled above him and David made a beeline for the lobby before he had a chance to be feasted upon by any surviving stragglers.  There was an electronic chime as he opened the door that sounded like a staticky version of the sort you’d hear entering a convenience store.

“I was wondering if I could get change for the vending machines?”  David said to the elderly woman who’d checked him in.  She was wearing a white bowling shirt overlaid with black shapes bearing the same elongated diamond design as his keychain and Angie stitched in red above the left pocket.

“Don’t have much in the way of coins right now.  You’ll have to wait until I get restocked tomorrow morning.”  Angie said.

“Oh okay, sorry to bother you.”  David said and started to head back toward the entrance.

“If you’re looking for something to eat, there’s a twenty-four-hour diner a couple miles from here.”

“That’d be great.”

Angie motioned David back over to the front desk.  She pulled out a yellow legal pad with some notes scribbled on it and flipped to a fresh page.  “You’ll go left onto the main road for about a mile and a half then turn right onto Brandt.” Angie said and drew two intersecting lines in pencil on the pad.  “Then go another half mile, turn left onto Willow, and in a few blocks you’ll see a sign for Around The Clock.”  She made a few more marks on the page and then tore it out and handed it to him.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. Besides, you don’t want to eat that machine crap for dinner.”

“Yeah.”  David chuckled.  “I suppose not.”

“Guy who runs the place is named Roy.  You tell him Angie sent you.”

“Will do. Thanks again.”  David said and gave a little wave as he exited.

He looked over at the yellow paper and smiled, waiting until he was in his car with the door closed before typing the diner’s name into the maps app on his phone. There was a place with the same name in Akron Ohio and another in Lansing Michigan, but nothing came up under Marterborough.  David switched on his dome light and studied the map for a moment then keyed the ignition and pulled out onto the road.

Driving through the town at night was like living in a charcoal sketch.  The landscape was a continuous gradient of blacks and grays with the occasional porch light or lamppost glowing against the gloom like giant fireflies.  As soon as he turned onto Willow, he could see the luminous glimmer from the diner in the distance.  A few minutes later he was pulling into the parking lot, which was empty except for one other car.  The building was a squat rectangle with red brick running along the bottom half and large glass windows above.  At the opposite end of the lot, sitting atop a towering metal pole, was a sign so bright it could’ve doubled as an artificial sun.  David actually had to squint to make out the lettering and the smiling cartoon clockface beside it.

This door had a set of miniature metal bells above it that gave a charming little tinkle as you entered.

“Sit anywhere you like.”

The voice didn’t come from the hostess stand or the cash register beside the lunch counter, but from somewhere back in the bowels of the kitchen.

David nodded before realizing the futility of the gesture and sat down in a booth on the left side next to the windows.  The interior looked vintage rather than retro and it wouldn’t have surprised him if most of it was original.  Like Cozy Cabins, everything had been impeccably maintained and the diner felt clean and tidy without being antiseptic or sterile.

He plucked a plastic-laminated menu from a pair of chrome clips and started perusing the options.

“Sorry for the wait. Deep fryer has been giving me grief all day.”

David glanced up from the menu and saw a tall, lean man wearing a white t-shirt and a grease-stained apron around his waist.  He had close cropped salt and pepper hair with a face that belonged to a much younger man and David wondered if he’d gone prematurely gray or simply had the sort of genetics that would keep the rest of him looking youthful into his sixties.

“No worries, I’m not in any rush.  Just woke up in fact.”  David said.

“A fellow night owl. I joke that half the reason I bought this place was to have an excuse to be up at all hours.”

“Are you Roy by chance?”

“I am.”

“Angie asked me to send her regards.”

“Ah, so you’re staying at the Cabins then.”

David nodded.

“She’s a good one. Gave me a place to stay and helped me figure things out when I first got here.  This town takes some getting used to.”

David grinned.  “It is a bit odd.  I feel like I’ve barely seen anyone.”

“Most folks tend to keep to themselves.  It isn’t that they’re trying to be rude or anything, it’s just a quiet place filled with people who like it that way.”

“Makes for quite a change from the chaos of the big city.”

“What brought you here, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Just started a new job.”

“Where do you work?”

“Over at EDI, though I haven’t really done anything yet.”

Roy’s expression changed.  “I’ve gotta ask, what’s the inside of that place like?  Never been in there myself.”

“It’s a pretty basic office building except for being a bit outdated and the fact that it was completely empty when I got there.”

“What do you do there?”

“Honestly, I’m not exactly sure.  My background is in I.T., mostly tech support stuff, but I don’t know if that’s what they’ll have me doing.”

“I asked Angie about it back when I first arrived and she told me it was the ‘town beanstalk’ and that I ought to stay away.”

“Why?”

“On account of what’s at the top of beanstalks.”

“Oh.”

“I wouldn’t put too much stock in that.  She was probably just trying to keep my young punk ass out of trouble.  Anyway, I don’t mean to keep jawing on.  What can I get you?”

“Cheeseburger and a coke would be great.”

“Fries with that?”

“Onion rings if you’ve got them.”

“Sure do.  I’ll be back in a few with that.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

David watched as Roy disappeared back into the kitchen.

He thought about Angie’s warning and wondered what giants might be waiting for him tomorrow morning at the office.

[mt-musings]

Bluebell

Chapter 37

After being abruptly transferred to the BAU at what she suspects was Gideon's request, Cassie Boann struggles to find her footing. Shy and solitary by nature, the transition is made all the more difficult when Dr. Spencer Reid seems to take an almost immediate dislike to her. Unfortunately for them both, their respective areas of expertise leave them paired off more often than not. But when Cassie's past literally starts hunting her, Spencer is forced to consider that he might, in fact, not hate her at all.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Spencer Reid x OC

Warnings: Canon typical violence, kidnapping, stalking, drug use, blood, injury, death, PTSD, eventual smut, more tags to be added

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

37. Disarm

Gideon stared at the girl across from him in the narrow diner booth, staring out the window. She was thin, her black curls wild, freckles more prominent for how pale she’d become. She wore a black sweater that was at least four sizes too big for her and a pair of ripped jeans, both clearly worse for wear. Her sneakers were dirty and too small, judging by her stride walking in and the left hinge of her glasses had been repaired with scotch tape. There was a fading bruise on her chin, right below the healing split to her lip. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened to your lip?” He asked, trying to catch her eye, to get her to look at him. She’d refused to do so since he’d picked her up.

“Nope,” she replied, popping the P. He sighed. 

“If you’re being mistreated—“

“What does it matter? It’s not like the next placement will be any different.”

“We can find you a better placement. I can call Robert right now and work it all out.”

She didn’t answer, just continued staring blankly out of the window.

“Bebe—“

“Uncle J, just leave it, okay? It doesn’t matter.”

“It absolutely does matter.”

“Just—can we talk about something else? You’re here because of those murders down by Akron, right? The dude with the machete?”

“It’s not an appropriate conversation to be having.”

“Why not? It’s in all the papers.”

“Because you’re ten.”

“So? It’s not like I haven’t seen people hacked up before.”

Gideon sighed. 

“How’s school?”

“Boring. Every time I transfer they’re always reading Catcher in the Rye. If I have to read it one more time I might finish Reagan off myself. I’m starting to think Hickley was on to something.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

They both looked up as the food arrived. Gideon thanked the waitress as Bebe dug in, not bothering to wait for it to cool. She ate too fast, like she was scared it would all disappear. 

He’d have to call Robert. 

“Do you have any new leads? ‘Cause I was thinking maybe you should get the lab to test for bisphenol in the first hundred microns of the bone. I mean, the amount of osteoporosis present in the last one doesn’t fit the profile of the others, unless there was a contributing environmental factor that accelerated bone density loss.”

“We’re still working on it. I’ll see what I can do, I have a contact down at the lab that owes me a favor.”

“Tell them to check for phalates and pesticides too, they can also lead to bone loss.”

“How’d you learn all that?”

“They got computers at the library here, you can find pretty much anything on them. Only decent thing about this place.”

She turned back to her food.

“Got anything planned this weekend?” Gideon asked. 

“Like what?”

“Don’t you have games on the weekend? I thought you played soccer.”

“In Virginia, when I was six. Besides, I’m at the high school. Everyone in my class is almost four years older than me. They’d wipe the floor with me.”

“What about at the Parks and Rec department? It’d be good for you to do something with kids your own age.”

“Why? They’re boring, and I’d rather go to the library. I have to think about college.”

“That’s still a ways off.”

“Not really. Unless WitSec screws up my transcripts again I’ll be applying in three years. Two, if they let me skip Sophomore year like I want to.”

“Three years is still a long time.”

“Not that long. Then, once I finish my I can join the Bureau,” she said, avoiding his gaze. 

“You have to be twenty-three to join the Bureau.”

“Not if they make an exception, which they do for special candidates. And I have an IQ of 174 and have been studying forensic analysis since I was nine, so they’d be stupid not to.”

“And what if we find him before then?”

“Then I’m going to be an archeologist and study genomic trends in the evolution of early hominids, or go excavate old tombs or something. I don’t know."

"I thought you wanted to be a concert pianist, like your dad? You were always so talented."

"Can’t really consider it as long as Shit Head keeps sending me vertebrae, can I? Plus, it's not like I can practice anymore.”

“We’re going to find him.”

She stared at her plate for a long moment, a white knuckled grip on her fork.

“You know, I got in trouble last week? For ‘ignoring’ my history teacher? ‘Cause she kept calling ‘Adrienne’ and I just got used to Madeline. And by the time I get used to Hanna it’ll be Sydney, or Julie, or Claire. This is my fifth placement in less than three years.”

“I know, kiddo. I’m sorry.”

“Why can’t I just come back to Virginia with you?”

Gideon felt his heart break a little at the words, at how small she sounded, at the tears welling up behind her eyes. 

“You know I’m on the road all the time with cases.”

“I can take care of myself. I promise, you won’t even know I’m there—“

“You know that’s not the problem. No judge would sign off on it. You’re still a kid, you need someone looking after you.”

Bebe just stared at him a moment, defeated, before turning back to the remainder of her meal. It was the same argument they’d had a dozen times, the same heart-rending conclusion. But she always asked, even though he knew she knew what the answer would be.

He took her to the bookstore next door while he called Robert from Witsec to see how quickly he could get her moved. She disappeared into the poetry section, shoulders slumped. 

“How fast can you move B39567’s placement?”

“The kid? He sent another one?”

“No. But she’s showing signs of abuse. Won’t say anything but it’s pretty clear.”

“Shit, alright, I’ll see what I can do. It’ll probably take me at least until the morning though. You good with keeping her until then?”

“Of course. Just let me know what you come up with.”

“Will do. I’ll call you when I have something.” 

He hung up. Gideon sighed and turned around, looking for wherever Bebe had wandered off to. He found her at the back of the shop, engrossed in a thick volume. He watched her for a moment, noting the way her brow had softened for the first time since he’d picked her up, how she looked nearly her age, just eleven, despite the fact that she was tearing through Witold Gombrowicz’s Cosmos. That she resembled her father so much in that moment, book in hand, that he could almost hear the old, crackling vinyl copy of Debussy playing in the background, the scent of Panamanian cigars thick in the air. 

Gideon still remembered how Rasmus had doted on that little girl, remembered the look of unadulterated joy on his face when he and Liliya had first introduced her, how happy he’d been to be a father. He’d watched his friend shift, as if his world had a new gravitational pull centered in his daughter, how his life revolved around what was best for her. 

He wondered, if he had lived, what Bebe would have been like. She’d always been clever and curious, but she’d grown morbid and withdrawn since her parents’ deaths, sharp and secretive. 

He turned away, towards the anthropology section that was little more than a shelf and a half. They didn’t have anything on the genomics of early hominids, but they did have a book on the mummies of the New Kingdom. He grabbed it without flipping through it, crossing back to where Bebe still read, cross-legged on the floor. 

“Come on kid, we’ll take it to go. We’re going to go pick up your stuff and get you set up at the hotel while Robert finds you a new placement.”

She stared at him a moment, no relief in her expression, only resignation, before double-checking her page number and getting to her feet. He handed her the other book as he lead her to the counter, digging his wallet out of his back pocket. 

“Thought maybe this way you could get a head start on that archeology career,” he said, raising a brow. 

She huffed a laugh, the corner of her mouth barely twisting up in the hint of a smile. 

---

It should have been a textbook takedown.

Spencer didn’t know when it had all gone so wrong.

Cassie had rounded the corner first, gun drawn and the unsub had leapt out and pistol whipped her. She dropped to the ground, gun clattering out of her hand. He’d kicked it out of reach. 

Spencer had never been a good shot. He’d failed his recertification more than once in his time with the BAU, something he was thoroughly ashamed of. 

He fired twice, trying to focus keeping his gun steady, on aiming and following through. The first shot missed, the second grazed his bicep. He whipped around to face Spencer, gun aiming straight for his chest and he braced himself, hoping the vest under his FBI jacket would catch the worst of it, his mind instinctually calculating the amount of force he was about to be hit with considering the make of the gun and distance between him and the barrel. 

He couldn’t help but remember the last time he’d stared down the barrel of a gun, after being beaten and forced to dig his own grave, panic seizing him. Even if the unsub shot him in the vest—at this distance it still could be enough to kill him. And that was if he aimed for his torso at all. A head or neck shot would leave almost no room for survival, and even a shot to the thigh could sever the femoral artery and leave him with minutes before he bled out. 

A shot rang out, but there was no pain, no force to throw him back. Instead he watched a spray of viscera explode out of the top of his head before he dropped like a stone. Cassie still lay where she’d fallen, gun still pointed at the place the unsub had been only a second before. She lowered her arm, eyes searching his face.

“Are you okay?” She asked, pushing herself into a seated position. There was blood streaking down her face, one eye already purpling and swelling, and she was asking him if he was okay. 

He was still frozen to the spot, eyes wide as he took in the damage. He was still stuck halfway between his panicked memories and the scene in front of him.

Morgan burst into the room from the door at the other end, followed closely by Hotch who took one look between the unsub dead on the ground and Cassie dazed and bloodied and dropped his grip on his gun in favor of his walkie talkie.

“I need medical in here stat, I have an agent injured and a dead suspect,” Hotch said, cataloguing the unsub’s wound. “Who took the shot?”

“I hit him in the arm, Cassie hit him in the head.” He just nodded. 

Morgan crossed to Cassie’s side and crouched in front of her, examining her face. It was bleeding profusely from the laceration under her eye, but that was to be expected of a head wound. Still what concerned him was how unfocused her gaze was.

“Alright sweetness, how many fingers am I holding up,” he asked, holding three up. She looked at them a second before answering dryly.

“Too many.”

Morgan snorted. “Sounds like you might have a concussion.”

“Feels like one,” she groaned, words coming out slightly slurred as she clumsily holstered the gun still in her hand, “What happened to my other gun?”

Spencer crossed wordlessly to where it had ended up on the other side of the room and handed it to her. She hummed something indistinct by way of thanks. She tried to examine it but gave up after only a few seconds and holstered it underneath her other arm, dropping her head back against the wall and letting her eyes slip shut. 

She murmured something indistinct. 

“What was that?”

Spencer slid down the wall to sit next to her, examining her face for himself. The laceration wasn’t as long as he’d first thought, though it was fairly deep. She’d definitely need stitches—he’d have to make sure they had a plastic surgeon do them to make sure there was minimal scarring. He knew how much the bothered her. 

He shrugged off his jacket, flipping it inside out so he could press the soft cotton lining to her cheek to attempt to stop, or at least slow the bleeding. He knew it wasn’t sterile, that he was introducing all sorts of bacteria to the area, but he also knew that injuries to blood-rich areas like the head were more likely to lead to death by exsanguination. He’d judge by the amount of blood running down her neck and pooling in the hollow of her collarbone that she’d lost about 300ml. 

She melted into his side and groaned, making a face as she looked up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Said I fucking hate Ohio.”

Morgan laughed, shaking his head, and even Spencer cracked a smile. 

---

Spencer had insisted on being the one to accompany Cassie to the hospital, not that anyone had particularly fought him on it. He’d insisted on staying by her side throughout everything—the consult, the CT scan, the stitches. 

Cassie had insisted on an MRI as well, though she’d struggled to articulate why. The concussion diagnosis had been fairly glaring and the doctor seemed inclined not to argue with either of them. Spencer knew enough to insist on physical and digital copies of both the tests for Cassie’s perusal later. 

The doctor had found zygomatic bruising on the MRI—no doubt why Cassie had insisted on it—but said it should heal naturally in the next month and a half as long as the inflammation was kept in check. She’d prescribed a strong anti-inflammatory drug as well as a narcotic pain killer for the bone bruising and for the flight home, which she said would make the concussion more painful. 

She’d taken both before they boarded the jet and curled up on the couch, pulling the neck of the oversized Harvard sweatshirt he’d found in her bag up and over her head to block out any light. Spencer wanted nothing more than to hold her, to be close enough to assure himself that she was, in fact, okay. But he couldn’t, because they’d both decided it was better to not tell the team. So he sat at the table with JJ and Morgan and Prentiss playing cards, sneaking glances at Cassie whenever he got the chance. 

Hotch gave them a few days off when they landed—it had been a few cases since they’d had a proper break, not just a handful of paperwork days. Spencer had assured both Hotch and Gideon that he’d make sure Cassie got home safe, something that elicited raised eyebrows but no further prying. 

Morgan had been far less subtle, yelling “See ya, Lover Boy!” from across half the parking lot. Spencer had just ignored him, focusing on making sure they got to the train station in one piece. He didn’t know if it was the concussion or the strength of the painkillers, but she wasn’t exactly steady on her feet, or present. She curled into his side on the train, dropping her head onto his shoulder. 

By the time they made it back to his apartment it was dark. He left their bags by the door to deal with later and led Cassie to his room. He made sure she was perched on the bed before crossing to the bathroom. He returned with a damp washcloth and gently scrubbed the remaining blood from her face and neck, from where it had pooled along her collar. He apologized each time she flinched, doing his best not to aggravate anything further. He pulled out a clean pair of his own pajamas for her to change into, closing the door behind him as he crossed to the kitchen and retrieved an icepack and a pair of water bottles. 

He knocked on the door to his room, waiting a few moments before cracking open the door. Cassie had managed to change, though she’d put his old CalTech shirt on backwards, her bloodied clothes left in a heap. She was curled into a ball at the end of the bed.

Spencer turned down the sheets, setting the water bottles on his bedside table next to the ice pack. He coaxed her up and under the sheets, making sure she was propped up enough to help with the swelling.

He pressed the icepack into her hand, guiding it to her cheek. “Keep this on, it’ll bring the swelling down. Would you mind if I hopped in the shower before joining you?”

She shook her head. He grabbed her clothes and dumped them in his hamper, trying not to be struck with the simple domesticity of the action. It took him precisely seven minutes and forty-eight seconds to wash the remains of her dried blood from his skin and change into pajamas. He tiptoed back to the bed, expecting Cassie to be asleep. He climbed into bed, pressing a featherlight kiss to her forehead. 

She hummed, slowly blinking her eyes open. He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“How’s your pain level? The doctor said we should be concerned if it went up more than 2 points on the pain scale.”

“It’s okay. About the same.”

“That’s good. Tomorrow I’ll go out and pick up some omega three and antioxidant supplements, they’re supposed to help accelerate at least the first stages of healing. You should also increase your daily protein intake. I can swing by your place, too, if you give me your keys, and grab you some comfy clothes and anything else you might want for the next week or so—“

“You don’t—I’ll get out of your hair tomorrow.”

“What—no, Cassie. You’re hurt, you need someone to look after you.”

“I’m okay, Spence. I’ll just sleep. You should enjoy your days off.”

“Hypersomnia could be an indication of more severe or worsening symptoms. Besides, I’d enjoy them more with you, knowing you’re okay. Just let me take care of you, alright?”

Cassie just stared back, her lower lip trembling. A tear streaked down her cheek, then another. 

“Oh no, Cass, is it your head?” He asked, panic flooding him. Sudden worsening symptoms could indicate a brain bleed and she’d been hit right by her temple, which gave the highest chance of hemorrhaging. The doctor had said the CT and MRI had been clear, but she could have missed something that got exacerbated by the flight and the pressure inside the cabin. 

She shook her head slightly, wincing at the motion.

“It’s stupid.”

“It’s not. Please?”

“I—You’re taking such good care of me and it’s just—I know how to take care of myself and get by because I’ve been doing it since I was a kid, but I don’t know how to let someone take care of me.”

She dropped her gaze, fingers tightening on the icepack as she pulled it from her face. Spencer felt her words like a punch in the gut—He’d practically raised himself, after his dad left. He’d been the only person he could truly count on. He loved his mother fiercely, but her condition had made it impossible for her to ever play a consistent caretaker, and more often than not meant that he took care of her. 

He was sure growing up in foster care wasn’t much more consistent. 

“Hyper-independence is a really common reaction to trauma, especially when experienced in childhood. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I also don’t ever want you to feel like you have to suffer alone. I’m here for you—I want to be here for you, to take care of you. Please, let me.”

“I’m—I’m trying.”

She swiped the tears from her face harshly, forgetting about her bruised cheekbone and fresh stitches. She swore, the curses a jumble of English and Ukrainian, pressing the icepack back to her cheek. 

“This is worse than being stabbed. I need my brain and it’s so stupid right now,” she whined. 

Spencer couldn’t help but huff a quiet laugh at her scrunched up, angry face. She glowered at him for a moment before her face softened.

“I mean, it, I’d rather be stabbed than have garbage brain.”

“Then you better listen to the doctor and rest, so you recover faster.”

“I always listen to you. Mostly.”

“Alright. Rest and let me take care of you.”

She snorted, closing her eyes. “Are you tired?”

“Not yet.”

“Would—would you read to me?”

“Not Child of God,” he said, smile evident in his voice. 

“No—no. You pick, just—just want to listen to you.”

“Alright. Just hang on a second,” he said as he got up. Cassie gripped the blankets tight for a moment, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. Spencer shook his head and laughed as he crossed to the living room. He scanned the shelves, finally settling on an anthology of Pushkin he’d purchased after devouring the one she’d gifted him. Not in Russian, but he supposed it would do, for tonight. 

He walked to the entryway where he’d left their bags and dug out both of their phones and chargers—even with a promised three days off it was best to be prepared. He paused over Cassie’s open bag, looking at the transparent yellow bottles nestled on top of her hastily folded clothes. Diclofenac for reducing the inflammation and hydromorphone for the pain. He knew it was the generic for Dilauded, knew that the doctor had over-prescribed, knew what a bottle like that would run for. 

He picked up the bottles and just weighed them in his hand. Then he shook his head, plugging in both of their phones before returning to the bedroom. He set the pill bottles on the nightstand nearest Cassie and climbed back into bed. She curled up next to him, head on his chest, arm around his waist, eyes still closed. 

He wrapped an arm around her as he started to read, tracing loose patterns across her skin. She was fast asleep barely a half hour later, her hand gently gripping his shoulder, her breath warm against his chest. 

He marked his page before closing the book and setting it aside. He could, of course, finish it in another half hour if he read at his usual pace. Instead he just stared at Cassie asleep on his chest, absently playing with her hair. 

The bruising was worse now than it had been in the hospital. Her right eye was nearly swollen shut and blackened, as was her cheek and temple. Stitched shut the laceration was only two inches long, running from under her eye up to her temple. 

The single blow had been hard enough to bruise bone, to leave her dazed and unsteady and nearly incapacitated, but she’d still made the shot. 

If she hadn’t—

His stomach lurched at the memories of the graveyard, of the sting of ropes against his wrists, of woodsmoke and burning liver. 

He leaned over before he could sink any further into his thoughts, grabbing the bottle of Dilaudid. He shook one into his hand before shoving the bottle back on the far nightstand and dry swallowed it before chasing it with one of the water bottles. 

He knew he shouldn’t, knew he’d been working so hard to stay sober,cbut in that moment all he could think of was the both of them dead on the ground, their brains splattered all over the concrete. 

He’d jump back on the bandwagon tomorrow. It was only one pill, after all and it was less potent than the stuff he’d been using before. It was just a brief stopover to get him through the night.

He kept telling himself that until he drifted off into fuzzy, dulled sleep, arms still holding Cassie close. 

Previous Next

[stepfordgoth]

Okay fair enough, but now I'm curious about which dialects would say that? And also how I was ever exposed to it, having lived within the same 40 mile area my whole life. The only thing I can think is that my grandma has a bit of an accent that's kind of a light Pittsburghese accent with a little bit of a faux southern accent mixed in here and there (for no reason at all, she was also born and raised in Akron Ohio like me). She pronounces things funny and sometimes uses words and phrases Ive never heard before. So maybe she's the one who calls them granny apple smiths and I picked it up from her? Otherwise I have no idea where I picked that up from.

Is it just me or did granny smith apples become much sweeter in the last 20 years? I swear they used to be sour. I was looking forward to the sour! They're definitely not bad but not as good as I remember them being.

And also I swear they used to be called "granny apple smiths" not "granny smith apples". Does anybody else remember this?

[bi-bard]

Carry On - Winchester Brothers Imagine (Supernatural)

Title: Carry On

Characters: Sam and Dean (father figures), Castiel (father figure of sorts), Jack (romantic)

Requested: Nope

Word Count: 3,331 words

Warning(s): SPOILERS FOR THE END OF SUPERNATURAL, character death, cussing, sobbing, a lot of pain

Summary: (Season 15, Episode 20) After losing Jack and Castiel, (Y/n) thought it was over. However, even when he doesn't have power, Chuck seems to have a twist written in his story.

Author's Note: Here it is. The promised finale rewrite. I am using the plot that I used in the script rewrite that I did. WHICH IS NOW UP AND YOU SHOULD READ IT BECAUSE IT'S NEARLY 30 PAGES AND TOOK ME A WHILE TO WRITE IT!

CLICK HERE!

Due to how long this was, this only addresses 15x20. 15x18 and 15x19 will be written about separately because there's a lot to unpack there. Check my original character post here to check to see if they're up yet!

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

It was supposed to be a good day.

The last few months had been hard.

Castiel died. Jack became God. It was just Sam, Dean, and me.

Dean was overjoyed when he found out about the Akron annual pie festival. It was a chance for all of us to relax.

On the way there, I sat in the backseat quietly. Dean had glanced back at me. It was scary to think about how all three of us seemed to go through the same thing all at once. Each seeming to lose the love of our lives.

"Kid," I looked over at Dean. "How are you feeling?"

"Just tired," I mumbled.

That wasn't even a lie.

I was tired. I was absolutely exhausted. It had been a few months since Jack and Cas had left us. I tried to keep myself from bringing the boys down too far.

We were all trying to be there for each other. Some days were better than others but I hadn't gotten past the tired feeling that weighed me down every morning.

"Are you sure," Dean asked. I nodded, giving him a small grin. "Okay."

We pulled up to the pie fest and Dean looked like a kid on Christmas. He ran off to get pie. Sam and I found a bench and took a moment to sit in silence.

"Why haven't you reached out to Eileen," I asked. Sam looked at me but didn't respond. "We know she's alive. Jack brought everyone back."

"I just... I don't want to drag her back into this," he replied. "She doesn't deserve this."

I leaned on his shoulder and wrapped my arms around his torso. He hugged me back. I moved back when Dean walked over with a big box with several pieces of pie inside.

"Alright, no more sad faces," Dean said. He was the king of denying his feelings. He passed us each a fork. "Pie can make almost anyone feel better."

I took a bite of the piece that in front of me. Sam had different ideas. He moved me slightly as he picked up a piece of pie and smushed it against Dean's face.

I put my hand over my mouth as I started to laugh at him.

"You're right," Sam nodded. "I feel much better."

"So do I," I replied.

Dean glared at us.

Then... there was an earthquake.

Except it only lasted a few seconds. Sam and I stood up instantly. An earthquake lasting seconds was an instant call for us to get involved.

Dean looked at his pie and pouted at us. He sighed, standing up to place the pie on the bench. He wiped his face as he followed us to the car.

Sam found that the epicenter of the incident was about an hour outside of town.

Dean pulled the car to a stop as we spotted a tear in the Earth. It looked like the one Chuck had made when he released all the souls from hell.

Jack was standing on the edge of the tear.

"Jack," I called, scared to walk too close to the hole.

"Hello," they waved at us.

I chuckled at him before jogging over and hugging him.

"I've missed you," I mumbled.

"I missed you too," they replied. Jack stepped back, grabbing my hand and walking toward Sam and Dean. "I'm happy you're all here."

"So you know what's happening," Sam asked. Jack nodded. "What is it?"

"Amara," Jack explained. "When Chuck... absorbed her, she didn't actually become his equal. He was draining her. The less darkness there is-"

"The less balance," I finished their thought. They nodded.

"Someone needs to be a vessel for the darkness... for the mark," Jack continued.

"So, we've gotta find you a sister," Dean asked.

"It's not that easy," they replied. "It needs to be someone who's had the mark."

"So it has to be...," Dean trailed off. We all looked at him. There was silence as he walked away for a moment. I flinched when he hit the impala. "Son of a bitch!"

We all kept quiet.

"We worked our asses off to get that damn mark off of my arm," he seethed. "I went through hell and back!"

I walked over and touched his arm. He flinched, causing me to move back. When he saw me, his face softened. It was like acceptance. He sighed, pulling me into a hug. We stood there for a moment in silence.

"Don't go," I mumbled. I felt like that small child they saved. All over again, I was scared and confused and just wanted to hold onto everything I cared about. "Please."

"(Y/n)," he muttered, stepping back. Sam walked over to us. "I worked my ass off to get rid of that mark... but I also worked my ass off to keep everyone safe. I'm not going to let the world end if I can stop it."

"But...," I trailed off. I felt selfish but I had already lost so much. I didn't want to say goodbye to anything else.

"Look at me," Dean said. "Both of you, look at me."

Sam and I looked at Dean.

"You two are my world," he explained. "If I can save you, then that's what matters. My job is to protect you. Both of you."

I sniffled as my eyes filled with tears.

"I love you both," he continued. He pulled Sam, mumbling into his ear. I couldn't quite make out what was being said. He pulled me into another hug after him. "You're my kid, got it? I don't want you to forget how amazing you are. You're a badass, kid. You've saved people, you've become an unstoppable force. I love you."

"I love you too, Dean," I said, clutching onto his jacket. "You're my hero."

"I'm no hero, kid," he stepped back.

"You're saving the world, you're a hero," I replied.

Dean smiled at me before walking forward. He stood in front of Jack.

"I'm sorry," Jack said quietly.

"No one's mad at you," Dean promised. Jack looked at Sam and me. I smiled at them as best I could. They were not the villain here.

We watched Dean reach his hand out to Jack. Jack grabbed Dean's hand. As bright light surrounded them, Sam and I looked away.

When we looked back, they were gone and the tear was closed. Balance had been restored.

I looked at Sam. He pulled me into a hug instantly.

I don't know how long we stood there. I just remember feeling so lost and scared. I didn't know what was next or how to find out. It was terrifying.

Our drive home was quiet. I curled up in the passenger seat of Baby and stared out the window. I let tears fall silently, not wanting to distract Sam from driving. I could feel him looking at me every couple of minutes but I didn't want to look back at him.

We pulled up to the bunker. It didn't feel right. Nothing about this felt right. The bunker felt off. It was like the universe had shifted off of its axis.

Sam was closing the door as I walked down the stairs. I could point everywhere that Dean was supposed to be. Where Cas was supposed to be. Where Jack was supposed to be.

I made it to the threshold between the library and the map room before I just couldn't go any farther. I let my legs give out and fell on the floor.

And I screamed.

Had it been any other day, I would’ve scared Sam. Hell, I would’ve scared myself. Now, I was too angry for all of that.

I sobbed and cursed and screamed.

At any force that had a hand to play in my life. At any force that tried to make my life their favorite game or story. At any force that would listen.

And in my darkest moment, I was something to be feared.

Sam knelt next to me, pulling me into a hug. I pushed and punched like I was trying to get away from him. He just held on. He closed his eyes and held on tighter. The only thing in the world that didn’t fear me in that moment was Sam.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry," he mumbled into my hair. He blamed himself for me being in this life. He always had. Dean had too.

"Everything," I sobbed. "They... took... everything!"

"I know," I felt him kiss the top of my head and start rubbing my back.

Dean’s dog walked over, nudging me with his nose so I would put my hand on his fur.

I sobbed until I couldn't anymore. My throat hurt and it felt like someone had punched me in the head.

“Can you stand,” Sam asked. I shrugged. Slowly, he guided me off the floor. “There you go. Come on. I know you’re probably not tired but you should probably lay down.”

“I’m sorry,” I said as we walked down the hall of the bunker. “You’ve lost so much too… I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head, “None of that is your fault.”

Sam pushed my door open and let me walk inside. All I did was pull off my combat boots and lay down. Sam threw my blankets over me.

“Will you stay here,” I asked. “Please?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

I nodded, thanking him quietly. He closed my door on his way out. I rolled over onto my back.

I stared at my ceiling. With a sigh, I sat up, clasping my hands together. I didn’t know if anyone was listening or if anyone could hear at all, but it made me feel a little bit better.

“Hi Jack,” I said quietly, my voice already shaking. “I know being God is important work and that you’re busy but… I wanted to say that I love you and I miss you. I know you’re doing great things. I just hope you can find the time to visit one day. Thank you for letting me feel loved… no matter how long it was for… you will never know how grateful I truly am for that. I love you.”

I took a deep breath as my tears started all over again.

“Hi Dean,” I continued. “I have so many things to say to you. But I want you to know that I’m not angry with you. I never was. I probably never could be. Thank you. Thank you for saving me, helping me, making me a better hunter… being like a father to me. You’ve helped raise me and I’ll never forget you. I miss you, Dean. And I love you. Also, I know what Cas said to you before the Empty got him. And I hope you two have found a way to be happy together.”

My door opened and Sam walked in with a blanket or two, a pillow, and the cot I packed for hunts. He furrowed his eyebrows at me. He put everything down quietly.

“And Cas,” I said. Sam just sat on the edge of my bed, listening. “You raised a great kid. If my instincts are correct, then Jack fixed what happened to you. You and I met the boys around the same time. The last thing any of us expected was for an angel to become such an important part of our lives. You have saved me more times than I can count. You’ve helped me through everything. I hope that you’re okay. You deserve happiness, Cas. You’ve done so much good for the world. I hope you and Dean are happy, wherever you are. Thank you for helping to raise me. Thank you for making my life so much better. Goodbye.”

I dropped my hands and closed my eyes. Sam scooted over and hugged me again.

“Do you think they could hear me,” I asked.

“Yeah, I really do,” Sam replied.

I didn’t know it then, but Sam had spent the whole drive home praying silently to them. Begging them for help and for comfort. He felt like he had failed me last time he was on his own… and he didn’t understand that I wasn’t angry. I would only learn that later when I found that he had written it somewhere.

I leaned back. I saw Sam was holding back tears. I carefully leaned up, kissing his forehead, mumbling that it was okay if he needed to cry.

That’s when he walks crumbled.

Sam started shaking and he hugged me again. I ran a hand through his hair. I pressed a gentle kiss to the side of his head.

For a moment, as Sam and I sit in our pain, comforting and hurting all at once, I could’ve sworn I heard something.

It was quiet. And it felt like I could’ve imagined it.

But I could’ve sworn I heard a small chorus of “Thank you” and “Love you too.”

The idea gave me a strange sense of comfort.

"Hey," Sam wiped his eyes as he leaned back. He grabbed something behind him. I chuckled as he handed me my old wolf plushie. "I spotted it on Jack's bed on the way back."

I smiled at it.

"I'm not going anywhere," Sam promised. "Not again. I won't do that again."

I nodded.

"Do you think Cas and Dean found each other," I asked, messing with the ears of the plushie.

"I don't think Jack would let Cas stay in the Empty," Sam mumbled. I nodded again.

"I just... I need a win, y'know?"

Sam nodded.

We sat in silence for a while. Sam moved to rest against the wall and I just leaned back on his shoulder. Somehow, we both managed to fall asleep.

--Next Day--

I woke up to the bunker door shutting. I looked over and Sam was still there. So... who the hell was at the door?

I carefully grabbed the gun I kept in my bedside drawer (a habit passed along by the brothers). I walked down the hall slowly, my gun raised. I heard footsteps in the library.

"Hey," I yelled, aiming my gun at the figure. Nothing. I walked close enough to press my gun into their back.

“It’s me,” Eileen said and held her hands up. I moved so she could turn around.

"Eileen," I asked. She nodded. "Sam!"

I placed the gun on the table and pulled her into a tight hug. She hugged me back. I almost sobbed into her shoulder.

There it was. The win I needed.

I stepped back when I heard Sam run in. He looked at Eileen and then at me and then back to Eileen. He did the same thing I did, running over and pulling her into a hug.

I stepped back, letting them have their moment together without any interference.

My heart still hurt, knowing I wasn't going to get a moment like that, but I was still happy to see them smile so much. If anyone deserved it, it was them.

--Time Skip--

Years passed.

Sam and Eileen went on to live the apple pie life. A son named Dean, a nice house, they had it all. I had begged them to find their perfect life. I would visit, call, and do anything to keep in touch and protect them.

I stayed in the bunker as long as possible, along with Miracle. I started hunting with Claire and Alex. Once I got too old to actually go out hunting, I became a hub for supplies, lore checks, and cover for the hunters trying to fake being F.B.I. To put it simply, I had become Bobby.

I was there when Sam died. Eileen and their son offered me a place to stay, but I refused. I wanted to go back to the bunker.

I was aware of when it was my time to go. I passed the bunker onto two hunters that had proven themselves time and time again.

They reminded me of Sam and Dean. Compassionate and brave. The strength of a hunter lived inside of them. They promised to take care of the bunker.

Sam's son and the two young hunters were there when I died. Many of the people I knew were gone before I passed on. They either had grown old or they were hunters and had a shorter life expectancy than most. Those three comforted me, promising that it was going to be okay when I left.

I was shocked when I found myself on a path surrounded by trees. I understood that it had to be heaven but it wasn't one of my memories. It was strange. I looked down at myself. I was back in the body of my 21-year-old self.

I walked up the pathway and found a bridge. In the middle was the impala. Dean and Cas stood there, holding hands and talking to Sam, who was leaning on the railing. Dean spotted me first, his eyes widening as he realized who I was.

"(Y/n)," he yelled.

"Dean," I took off running at the same time he did.

We met halfway, hugging each other tightly. Dean laughed in my ear as he picked me up. He put me back down, grabbing the sides of my face.

"Is this real," I asked. He nodded.

"Yeah, kid, it's real," he replied.

I stepped back. Sam looked like I had so distinctly remembered, obnoxiously nice hair, no grey yet. It was like he had never aged after Dean had left.

"Sammy," I mumbled, running over to hug him. He hugged me just as tight as Dean. "Your son is amazing. You would be so proud of him."

"I know I would," he replied. "You were there to keep an eye on him."

I stepped back and looked at Cas.

"Gosh," I said. He smiled at me. "You came back."

He nodded, looking down at himself. I ran into a hug, kind of jumping on him. I closed my eyes. He made Dean happy and I couldn't ask for anything more.

"I'm happy for you and Dean," I whispered.

Cas chuckled in my ear, "Thank you."

I opened my eyes and almost fell over. I pulled back and Cas grinned at me like he instantly knew who I was looking at.

Still in the same outfit as I last saw them in was Jack.

They stood at the other end of the bridge. They picked up their hand, waving at me like they had done so many times before.

"Jack," I finally yelled. I sprinted down the bridge, hugging him as tightly as I possibly could. I clutched onto their jacket. I started crying. "I didn't rush."

"I know," they mumbled.

I stepped back slightly, just wanting to actually look at them. I laughed at myself, wiping my tears away.

Jack smiled at me.

They leaned down, cupped the sides of my face, and kissed me softly. I kissed them back a little more aggressively. I had been waiting for this moment for decades.

"I love you," I said as I pulled back.

"I love you too," they replied, smiling widely.

"Are you two done making out," Dean called over, his eyes covered with his hand. I laughed, rolling my eyes at him. He uncovered his eyes. "You have some people to see."

I walked over, holding on tightly to Jack's hand as they walked with me.

"Who," I asked.

"Jack tore down all the walls," Dean explained. "Everyone is altogether. So... it's time for a big family dinner. With everyone."

All of us smiled at each other.

"Load up," Dean yelled, running to the impala. We all followed him.

As we drove through heaven, I felt an overwhelming sense of calm. I laid my head on Jack's shoulder and let out a soft sigh as I relaxed. This was how it was supposed to be.

Through every loss, every moment of pain or fear, every argument.

This was my family. My true family.

And- no matter what- it was perfect to me.

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

Masterlist

What I Write For

Request Guidelines

Musical Prompts

Small Moments With…

When Worlds Collide (Doctor Who Crossover Series) Masterlist

Some Original Characters

folklore/evermore Writing Challenge (and Masterlist)

[thanatos-drive]

Dusk of the final day.

Less than 24 hours remian.

Copied from facebook.

Okay, I don't think sleeping will be happening.

I'll be driving to Penn to get my first Prolotherapy injections, in order for this to work I'll be needing to have them done over and over for the next couple of months, and that's just for A body part, so all together it's going to be a lot of shots, and a lot of pain inflammation.

Since I decided to go through with this a couple of weeks back, I've been trying to hunt down people with EDS who have had it and it's been a mixed bag of results. Those on whom it did work advise towards keep doing it even if it takes a couple of tries and upgrade to PRP (the really expensive one) as that seems to be more effective.

I'll be driving myself back after taking the shots, I was told against it but from what other people with EDS claim, it is possible, it's just going to hurt a lot, but that hurt is pretty much what we live in everyday (everyone told me the covid shots/booster would hurt and when I actually got it's not even a fraction of the pain I'm on a daily basis) so its possibly negligible. I don't think there's that much of a risk involved. If they were injecting my neck it would probably be an issue.

I want to say thank you to all the people who helped me with my gofundme, regardless of what happens next, the first round was covered thanks to your help.

Overall the analogy I'm giving myself is this is like chemo, or this is like insulin. It's something that could or could not work and it's something that I may have to keep doing to myself for the rest of my life.

There are so many stories I know about people with EDS who can't take care of themselves, I've been pretty vain and proud about it but I'm there already, I've been there for a while. I think it's probably a lot to think I could live by myself. But as stated in previous posts, I just need to survive a year. I could either move or find someone that's willing to room with me, but in the mean time I have to stay in Akron and finish my last year of school.

I wish I'd done this earlier and not as summer is about to end, a couple of bad things happened that mad me face facts. I am deluding myself into thinking I can manage without help, and without some sort of intervention (surgery, assisted devices, assisted living, prolo) I wished I'd decided towards this when I could still raise my arms or before I'd fallen down the stairs.

I thank to anyone who has kept up with my posts. I pretty much disappeared these last 4 years as this disease kept taking more and more away from me. I've become very low energy, easily fatigued, I'm not exaggerating when I say the lack of mental challenge in my life is making me dumb (look at my grammar), I've recently become familiar with the concept of brainfog and while I feel that's partially happening, I also think I'm legit getting dumber. I really am trying to make up for it, I've been afraid my lifespan has been affected along with so many other things, I've been treating this summer like a bucket list of things I wanted to do. I hope that if something does happen that I can leave more good memories than bad ones. And that what I've done to reconnect and talk more with some of you was good for you.

I have not been religious in a while, but I often think that even if you change your mind, smalls aspects of how you were raised still prevail. In saying this what I'm asking if that if you could throw some good wishes my way and hope that luck if on my side and I'm one of the people this works on, that would be appreciated.

I will need all the luck in the world to survive this year.

Thanks for putting up with my meme shitposting or my super emo messages.

[aellynera]

Loose Change (Llewyn Davis x Reader)

LOOSE CHANGE

For this week’s Writer Wednesday hosted by the lovely @autumnleaves1991-blog! Llewyn was the first thing that popped into my head when I saw this, and I really don’t know where the rest of it came from, but I just had to write it. Thank you for reading, commenting, liking, and reblogging! 💜💜

This week’s inspiration:

Word Count: 2300 on the dot.

Summary: How bad can it be when your phone rings in the middle of the night? (An alternate take on what could have happened on the way back from Chicago.)

Warnings: Angsty. Hopeful. Hopeful angst? Angstful hope? Maybe a swear or two. Sketchy phone booths. Wrong numbers. Yearning. Secrets, poor decisions, better choices.

The bed was warm but you could hear the cold rain pounding on the window behind your head. Ignoring it and staying in your cozy, comfortable cocoon was definitely your best option, and you rolled over and pulled the blankets tighter over your head. This was the right place to be and you felt yourself start drifting back to sleep.

Until your phone started ringing.

Your phone, which was nowhere near your bed, or even in your bedroom. It wasn’t even within fifty feet of you; it was securely fastened to the wall in your kitchen, by the sink, next to the pantry door. And your kitchen was clear on the other side of the apartment. 

A quick check of the clock told you that it was also the ungodly hour of 3:28 am, the red digits blaring at you angrily in the near-dark. Who in the world was calling you at this hour? For a long few minutes you thought about ignoring it. It was probably a wrong number. That happened all the time. Or maybe it was some kids having a party and pranking. In the middle of the night. That was probably it.

But a little tickle at the back of your brain, small and sinewy, kept curling around your thoughts and rationalization and it wouldn’t let go. Maybe it’s important. Maybe it really was. Maybe something happened to one of your parents or your sister or-

The phone didn’t stop ringing. So it must be important.

With an exasperated groan, you launched yourself out of bed, one quilt still wrapped around you to ward off the damp chill. Your bare feet slapped along the tile floor and your balance wavered slightly, your muscles still used to being asleep, until you finally got to the kitchen and yanked the receiver off the ringing phone.

“Hello?” your sleep-ridden voice rasped out cautiously. 

“Hey,” the voice on the other end came back. “You got the stuff?”

“The...what?”

“You know, the…” 

“The st...No! Do you know what time it is? This is a wrong number! What the hell!” You slammed the phone back down on its cradle.

Figures. It was a wrong number. You wanted to go back to bed, you really did. But now you found yourself wide awake because someone wanted stuff that you wouldn’t have day or night.

So you wandered over to the couch and tried to get comfortable on the lumpy cushions, and watched the rain coming down outside your window bounce dramatically off the fire escape.

Until your phone rang again.

A curse flew from your lips as you hurled the quilt off and stomped back to the phone. You grabbed it, put it to your ear, and shouted, “What?”

“I...are you okay?” a voice came back. A familiar voice, this time.

“Llewyn? Is that you?” you closed your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” he replied. “Uh, sorry I’m calling you so late.”

You sighed. “I’m fine. It’s fine. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I guess. I just...some stuff happened, and I needed to hear a familiar voice.”

Your heart immediately softened in your chest, despite your very strong desire to still be angry. Llewyn certainly didn’t sound okay, but that was his norm. You wanted to reach through the phone and hold him, care for him.

You always had a soft spot for him, ever since Jean introduced you so long ago, that day in the park when all the musician friends gathered to play at the fountain. He spent a fair amount of time sleeping on this lumpy old couch. You cooked him a hot meal when you could (and when he would let you), gave him a place to stay even if you weren’t home (on the rare occasion that he would even agree to it, which was slowly becoming more frequent.) You went to as many of his shows as you could, and you really just liked to hang out with him when he was around. He’d slowly become one of your best friends. 

And yeah, he was kind of an asshole a lot of the time, but he was sweet and you probably liked him a little more than you were willing to admit.

“Llewyn, where are you? Do you need me to come get you or something?” you asked with a yawn. You really hoped that’s why he was calling you at...3:37 am..

His laugh was short. “Well, if you feel like driving to Ohio, sure.”

“Ohio?” you cried. “What are you doing in…”

The laugh from moments before fell into a sigh and you could hear a soft thunk follow. “I’m in Akron. In a payphone booth outside of a bar, banging my head on the glass. I’ll hitchhike home in the morning, it’s fine.”

“You’re in Akron,” you repeated slowly. “Why are you in Akron?”

“Because I was in Chicago-”

“Which is not Akron, the last time I checked. Or even the same state,” you pointed out. You picked the quilt up from the floor and wrapped yourself back in it, settling on the couch again. The receiver cord had just enough reach that you were able to sit with your back against one arm and stare back out the window and the slippery wet metal of the fire escape glinting in the moonlight.

Vaguely you remembered this was the quilt Llewyn had used the last time he stayed with you.

“Well it’s on the way back,” Llewyn snapped. “And I wouldn’t be in Akron if the car I was in hadn’t broken down and…”

“Does this have something to do with Diane?” you asked softly. That sinewy tentacle of intuition was back, curling around your brain again.

The rough exhale of air on the other end of the line was the only answer you needed.

“Llewyn.” You said again, still soft, but more stern. Something was going on, and you could tell he wasn’t going to tell you without some prodding.

After what felt like hours, he finally muttered, “Maybe.”

“Llewyn, what are you doing? You can’t possibly want to talk to her, after everything that happened. Did the car really break down in Akron, or did you request a stop? Because it seems kind of suspect that you would just, you know, end up there of all places on your way back from Chicago, and what were you even doing in Chicago? I just saw you a couple days ago and you didn’t say anything about--”

It wasn’t until Llewyn broke through your rant that you noticed you’d hadn’t stopped for a single breath.

“The car really did break down,” he insisted. “And I don’t actually want to see her. Not really. But...I feel like I kind of have to, and it’s...it’s just a coincidence that I got stranded here?”

You didn’t know what to say. So you didn’t, and after a beat, he continued.

“I have a kid.”

It suddenly felt like all the air was sucked out of the room. “I’m sorry, what?” You knew he couldn’t see you, but maybe he could feel the way your eyebrows shot up your forehead.

“Diane,” he sighed again, “she didn’t...I found out she had the kid. So I have a kid. Somewhere in Akron. Where I’m currently stranded, looking like a drunk bum loitering outside a sketchy bar.”

You blinked infinitely as you stared out the window. What do you say to that? How do you say anything to that? So you just said the first thing that came to mind.

“Are you drunk?”

“Really?” Now you were pretty sure you could hear his brows raise. “Do I sound like I’ve been drinking?”

“No, I’m sorry, I just...holy shit, Llewyn,” you breathed. “And she never told you?”

His chuckle sounded so morose. “No. Why would she? That was a pretty shit time, for everyone.”

“I’m listening,” you whispered.

You knew the story of what happened between them. Llewyn had told you himself, one night over coffee and an entire chocolate cake that one of your elderly neighbors had made for you for helping her fix her leaky faucet. Of course, Jean had (in her own mind) helpfully filled in all the blanks she swore Llewyn left out, but you preferred to go with his version. She only thought you knew the basics. But that night, fueled by caffeine and frosting, Llewyn admitted you were the only one apart from the actual players that knew everything.

But this part? This was something new.

“She never told me,” he explained. “I thought she went through with it and it turned out she didn’t and she’s not even the one who told me, it was...you know, never mind. That part isn't important.”

“So when did you find out? How long have you been in Akron?”

He sighed. “Just before I left for Chicago. And since this afternoon. I thought about looking them up, but…”

And he told you how he tried an old number he had for Diane’s parents, but it was disconnected. And he’d asked around at the diner he found (over something called chili which wasn’t like any chili he’d ever had and just further proved how weird Ohio was) but got no information. And how he didn’t really want to see her, and maybe he didn’t even really want to meet up with anyone, but if he could, he at least wanted to see what his own kid looked like, just to know.

The longing in his voice, the what if, the hurt. It was all laid bare from hundreds of miles away, yet you could feel it hovering next to you on that couch. Wrapped around you in that threadbare quilt.

It didn’t feel like the time to offer any advice, and platitudes, any words at all. Not now. So you simply curled up in that quilt - his quilt - and listened. It was rare for him to open up like this and you didn’t want to interrupt, didn’t want to staunch the flow of emotional honesty that he quite frankly needed.

Until the tinny, pleasantly fabricated, slightly mechanical voice broke in, if you’d like to continue this call, please add funds, otherwise this call will disconnect in three minutes.

“Shit, that was my last quarter,” Llewyn muttered. “I’ll get back to you when I get back in town, yeah?”

Oh no, you brain screamed. Well, yes, but no, no he was not just going to let the issue drop like this, quarters be damned.

“Llewyn, I need you to listen to me. Get home as soon as you can, and we can talk about this more. And get here in one piece, please be safe.”

“Okay,” he replied with a heavy exhale.

“And...and Llewyn, when you get back home, please...please come home.”

There was silence from his end, silence that lasted so long you thought the call had disconnected without you noticing. Your breath stuck in your lungs, for how long you couldn’t tell, but then suddenly his voice came through the receiver again, flustered and short.

“I...okay, yeah, I will, I gotta go, but...damn it, what is there to lose now, I lo--”

And the call cut off.

You stared at the receiver in your hand for so long the fast busy-beep of the receiver being off the hook is the only thing that snapped you out of it.

You didn’t sleep for the rest of what was left of the night.

For the next day, and the day after, you ran the entire phone call through your head more times that you cared to admit. Every word he’d said, every word you’d said, every pause and admission and what he might have been trying to say at the end. Your mind very (un)helpfully offered all kinds of ideas about what wasn’t said, what maybe couldn’t yet be said, and you just let it tumble around chaotically. 

As if you could control it anyway.

You didn’t get much sleep.

Later that night, and on the second day after, after a long day at work and a longer day of thinking, you found yourself curled up on the couch again, with a glass of wine and a record spinning quietly on the turntable. Wrapped in that same quilt. Your quilt- his quilt.

You stared out the window, this time not at the rain, but the setting sun and the soft, rich colors it was painting across the sky.

You hoped he had really listened. You hope he knew what you actually meant. You hoped he wouldn’t get sidetracked as he often tended to do and that he would really show up. You didn’t know how you were going to do it, but you would help him like you always had. Together you would figure out what to do, what he needed to do, what he wanted to do, how to do it. Together.

This wasn’t something he should have to figure out on his own. He probably didn’t want to admit it, but you hope he knew he couldn’t, and shouldn’t, and didn’t have to. You hoped Llewyn would let you.

That tickle, that tentacle in the back of your brain, took firm hold. You knew he would come back, but you prayed he would come home.

That he had listened. That he knew. That he--

Your head snapped up at the sound of a knock on the door. You carefully set the wine glass down and slowly walked yourself, quilt and all, over to answer it.

And once you opened it, saw the man standing before you, exhausted and disheveled but...grateful, maybe even hopeful, you wrapped it around both of you and pulled Llewyn in.

~end~

Taglist: @anetteaneta @autumnleaves1991-blog @be-the-spark-flyboy @deeandbobbymcgee @huxdameron @itspdameronthings @jitterbugs927 @littlebopper96 @nathan-bateman @poedjarin @rosemarysbaby13 @sergeantkane @spider-starry @woakiees @writefightandflightclub @veuliee2 @yourbucky084 @waatermelon-sugaar​

>>join my taglist here<<