#wandering arthritis is so fucking annoying

[existennialmemes]

Me: Time to greet the day!

Migratory Arthritis: Fuck you, fuck today, and FUCK your left wrist in particular

Me: Ok champ, good talk

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Looking for a Place to Happen 2

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity, some violence and threats

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: Here’s chapter two. Think I’ll probably slow down writing. Appreciate y’all.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 2: I follow every little whiff

💀💀💀

You gave yourself a day off that week. Rather, the desolation of Birch allowed you an excuse to get away from your desk. An internet outage across the town had you up and wandering the main road just after noon. Your grandmother refused to join you so she was left to her true crime novel and the weekday droning of talk show hosts.

After a peek in the book shop where you picked out some used thrillers for your nan and a guilty splurge on one of Babs' pies to add to the surprise, you stopped by the diner and had some soup to warm up from the unrelenting cold. You played around on your phone as you blindly slurped from your spoon. With no available connection, you swapped candies to achieve a score high enough to get to the next round.

After another loss, you put your screen down and added some pepper to the tomato soup. You leaned your chin in your hand and peered across the road. The Asp was just diagonal from The Chipped Saucer and from your seat by the window you could see the comings and goings of the dingy bar.

You chuckled to yourself as you remembered the hundreds of comments on your video. You weren't entirely surprised that the internet cheered at the sight of a woman beating up a man in broad daylight, you'd seen much worse on the web. But many were curious and asked about how it started and about the small town alluded to in the caption.

You picked up your phone and flipped open the camera. You pointed it through the glass as one of the many bikers strutted out of the bar and down the street. You knew him, like most in town, he was the leader's right hand man. Steve Rogers. He had an odd gait, rigid with long strides, and you remember Kelly used to make fun of him when you walked home from school. That felt like forever ago.

You ended the video and dropped your phone again. You'd send it to Kelly when the outage was over. It would be a good laugh. Plus, you hadn't heard from her much since she moved to the city.

You finished your soup and paid. You went out into the street and cut around to the backstreets. You made your way back to your nans and found Pippin scratching at the front door. You stopped and scooped him up before you let yourself in.

"Don't like the snow, do ya?" You set him down and he whipped his tail before skittering off, "hey nan, I got you some stuff."

"You spend too much," she grumbled as you hung your coat and grabbed her treats.

"Only on you," you sang as you entered the front room, "sugarless blueberry pie, your fave, and some books about murder and all that freaky stuff you love."

"Hmm," she watched you put the pie and books down on the coffee table, "suppose the pie will go good with tea."

"Ah, and I suppose I'll be making that tea?" You returned.

"My arthritis…" she pouted but her grin came through.

"Yeah, yeah," you snickered as you went to the kitchen to put on the kettle, "we going black today or something lighter?"

"Put on some of the pekoe," she called back, "make a whole pot."

"Will do, ma'am," you trilled and basked in her annoyed mutter.

💀

When the internet came back, you sent of an email to inform the agency of the interruption and promised to meet your deadlines. Then you puttered around and added a caption to the video before you sent it off to Kelly; 'why he walk like that tho'. She sent a series of crying emojis back and told you to post it.

'Nah, it's a dumb joke.' You typed back.

'Saw ur last vid, ppl will eat it up,' she insisted.

'Well, got nothing else to put up. The account’s dying since no one cares about my writing.'

'DO IT.' Her words sealed your resolve and you uploaded the video with some dramatic music in the background.

The response was almost instantaneous. Several comments saying they were happy to see more and others being for another video. 'We all wanna see inside this fucked up town' one added and several latched on. Ignoring the questions of where this was, you gave a thin promise of future small town thug content. 

You turned back to your work email and opened up your draft for your next gig. You couldn't help but smile as you went over your work. You might have just found your niche.

💀

You knew your nan would lose it if she knew you were snooping around the club, so you didn’t tell her. You went down, made her breakfast, went back upstairs to do your work, then tiptoed out in the late afternoon to poke around town for something to upload. Birch was so dull when you lived there but to those outside, it was a novelty you were all too eager to provide.

You got more videos of the bikers; some revving their bikes, others arguing, but there was nothing overly usable. You were getting bored of it until the man himself walked out of the bar. You record the man’s glower expression as he marched down the sidewalk and turned off just down the way.

‘His name is Bucket… wtf?!’ you keyed in and snorted as you waited for it to load to your account.

Still, there was nothing special going on, like always in Birch, and your grandmother was bound to get suspicious if you kept sneaking around. You went back and hid your phone before she could bitch about it. You cooked her dinner and sat with her as your thoughts swung between work and your TikTok.

You went to bed but couldn’t sleep. You ended up watching YouTube on your phone as the windows shook with the night winds. It wasn’t until the darkness began to glow that you were roused from the cocoon of your comforter. You looked out and saw smoke coming from the main road.

You didn’t think before you pulled on your jeans and shoved your feet into your slipper, unconcerned about them soaking through as you barreled down the stairs, the sleeves of your hoodie only half on. The back door bounced behind you and you crunched down into the snow and clamored past the row of lifeless houses. 

You were out of breath as you got to the end of the path and rounded the diner to gape over at the burning garage. You got closer as the line of bikers stood in their leather with breath puffing before them in the frigid night. You stepped back into the shadow of the brick façade of the realty office and swiped your camera open.

Your hands shook and you struggled to steady the image on the screen as the mechanic woman raged in only her tee shirt. You didn’t quite understand what was going on; only that her garage was up in smoke and then men were doing nothing to smother it. She swung at the dark haired man and spat at several others; “cowards”... “fuck all of you!”

You gulped and held your breath as she was dragged away by the large redheaded henchman of the slender outsider. She fought for a moment before she was flung over his shoulder and the biker followed their leader back to The Asp. You sidled in between the building and hid until the voices faded into the wind.

Well, that would be a hell of a video. It might even go viral.

💀

Your phone did not stop. You almost felt bad as you saw the screen limn the edges of your cell as you left it face down on the little table beside the couch. Your nan sat in her rocking chair talking away on her corded phone to Linette from down the road. You suspected that every other person in town was gossiping about the same thing; the fire.

You finished your coffee and rubbed your eyes as you checked the time and ignored the pulsing notifications. It was too much to keep up with.

Your grandmother hung up and sighed, “can’t believe it. You hear?”

“Hear what?” you pretended ignorance.

“That old garage burned down. The one with the lady,” she said, “pity. When I was a girl, that place was a salon. Ma used to take us there to get our hair cut. The barber would give us wrapped candies and pretend to cut himself with his scissors.”

“Oh? It burned down?” you weren’t sure you were very convincing but you also could just say you saw it happen.

“Yep, no one really can say. You know, maybe she was welding or some rag caught, but I bet my money on those bikers,” she sneered.

“Good thing you’re poor,” you kidded, “and why the bikers?”

“Oh, well, you know Kimmy, Linette’s girl, works down at the diner and she saw that mechanic arguing with one of those strangers, the ones dealing with the club men. Well, it’s no coincidence that trouble follows those leather jackets around,” she rocked as she nodded knowingly, “oh, one of the boys I knew back in the day, he was found burnt up with his bike. They said the tank blew… well, I saw it and that tank was pristine.”

“Nan,” you gasped, “you… Jesus.”

“Well, things don’t change in Birch, we just get older,” she continued, “when you’re young, everything seems new but then you age and it’s all just the same.”

“Wow, how… inspiring,” you said dryly.

“Girlie, you gotta be careful,” she intoned, “that fire, that’s a lesson to all the women in this town. To everyone. You don’t cross the Commandos.”

“I don’t think anyone--”

“That’s another thing, there has never been a shortage of stupid people, not now not then,” she girded, “those women who get tied up in that club, their lives are already done.”

You frowned and hid your phone in your pocket as you stood. You rubbed your neck and picked up your empty mug, “I should get started.”

“Mmm,” she said as she dialed the phone again, “I wonder if Fran knows yet.” 

💀

You were being really fucking stupid but peer pressure was not a logical thing. Even through a screen, you found it hard to resist the goads. So there you were, your phone in your hand as you live-streamed your walk down to The Asp. The data costs alone would make you regret it but you were caught up in the hype of you fifteen second of internet fame.

“Alright,” you stopped across the street and gave a view of the moniker with Cleopatra sultrily looking down at you, “this is it… I just gotta play it cool…” you turned the lens towards you and smiled nervously, “hopefully that dude at the front doesn’t stop me.”

Comments flicked up the bottom of the screen so fast and smilies and hearts floated up the side around your face. You crossed the screen as you turned your phone against your coat and approached the bar door. The large biker butted out his smoke and you bared your teeth nervously. He didn’t stop you as he rolled his shoulders and coughed.

You entered to the noise of classic rock and low voices, the clink of glasses and tap of chalk on marble. You glanced around and quickly swept your phone around to give a view of the patrons. You hurried over to the bar and climbed up on a stool.

“You need a drink?” the woman behind the bar scowled. She looked worn out even with her lips painted bright pink and her eyes clouded with blue shadow.

“Uh, sure, can I… can I get one pint of everything you have on tap?” you asked as you set your phone down and shrugged out of your coat. You draped it over the next stool and reposition your phone as you flipped the cam and used the built in stand on the case to angle yourself onto the screen.

“Sure,” she narrowed her eyes and glanced past you.

You swung your feet as you waited for her to pour the five pints; some with too much foam and the others with no head at all. You took the first and held it up for the camera.

“A classic, BudLight,” you held it up to the light, “no head and…” you sipped, “flat.” You plunked it down and coughed as you grabbed the next, “this is a raddler?” you looked at the tap for confirmation, “grapefruit… smells like piss…” you had a sip, “tastes like it too.”

You chuckled to yourself and asked for a water. You made a show of swishing it around in your mouth before you moved onto the third beer.

“Had to cleanse the palate,” you joked, “now… lots of foam on this one, dark. You know, I’m pretty surprised they have Guinness here but let’s see…” you tasted it and crinkled your nose, “that’s it. Exactly like toilet water!”

You read some of the comments telling you to check the bottles for bugs and laughed. Suddenly you were yanked off the stool by the back of your shirt and your phone was swiped up by another man as the first restrained you. You struggled against his thick arm as it hooked around your neck and the leader of their crew stared at the screen of your cell.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snarled as he hit the screen with his thumb but the stream kept going. He dropped the phone to the floor and stomped it instead.

“This is the bitch posting about us online,” the man at your back growled. It was Steve, the one with the weird walk.

“I doubt either of you know how to use a computer,” you scoffed, “hey, let me go.”

“And why would we do that when you’re snitching to the whole world, sweetheart?” Bucky kicked your phone away as he crossed his arms.

“Actually, I’m--” you grasped Steve’s arm as it threatened to get tighter, “--promoting your trash business. I was just having a tasting, if you had just asked--”

“Shut up!” Bucky stepped closer and brought your legs up and stopped him as you planted your feet against his stomach.

“Hey,” a woman’s voice came from behind the bar as the waitress shoved aside her empty tray, “hey, she’s just a kid.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky huffed, “she looks full-grown to me.”

“So what are you gonna do?” she said, “she’s young. You can’t--”

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do,” he snapped.

“She’s right,” another voice intoned and that man, Sam, came up beside them with a pool cue in hand, “she’s just goofing around.”

“She’s a rat,” Steve insisted.

“You’re being dramatic. It’s called a meme and you do walk a little strange,” he chuckled, “no one’s gonna follow her breadcrumbs back to this shithole anyway.”

Bucky considered Sam and then looked at Steve. He poked his cheek with his tongue and sucked his teeth.

“So… you vouching for her?” Bucky asked.

“She won’t cause any more trouble, promise,” Sam said, “I’ll make sure of it.”

“You better,” Bucky snapped his fingers and you were released, “get her out of here.” 

[diddlesanddoodles]

DEAD WALLS RISE - FARRIS

Special thanks to the forever amazing @thundering-susurrus​ for editing. 

“You should smile more.”

Farris turned his head to eye the thin figure sitting under the window. Without use of his eyes, Kent could no longer see the sunlight spilling down onto him, but the human still enjoyed the warmth of the sun’s rays nevertheless.

“What are ye on about?” Farris asked. “I smile plenty.”

Kent didn’t turn to face his Vhasshalan guardian. “I can hear it in your voice when you frown.”

“The fuck ye can.”

“See?” said the man with a knowing grin. “You did it just now.”

Farris stepped away from the pan of toasting spices to glare at his ward. “Aye, because I have a smarmy lil’ wanker tellin’ me I frown too much.”

“I believe what I said was – ”

“BAH! I know what ye said. When I have a reason to smile more, I will.”

“Seems like you have good reasons to smile now,” Kent said, turning his face to Farris at last. There was no real point in facing the giant when they spoke other than an old inclination from when he still had use of his eyes. “No one’s caught fire in a while. That should be a good enough reason to me.”

Though he clearly saw that Kent was trying to goad him into a lighter mood, Farris did not possess enough spirit at that moment to feel anything other than the same weighted guilt that always followed him day in and day out. “Gonna take a lot more than that, lad.”

Kent’s mild smile faded away. “Isn’t just… being alive enough?”

“Not everyone’s as chipper about that as ye.”

A silence fell between them. To Farris, it felt heavy and dreadful, and he had half a mind to demand the human to simply drop the topic and allow him to go on with his day. Work was numbing and was the only thing he had found that came close to alleviating the pain. The pain brought on from the memories and the knowledge of what he had done. He had his reasons, of course. He had made his choice: the lives of his boys over the scores of captured humans. He was responsible for the workers under him and the humans had been enemy combatants. But that justification only held water for so long. 

“You’ll forgive yourself one day, Farris.”

Kent’s words felt like ice in his chest. He brushed a hand across his nose as he bent to grab the pan from the fire. Tipping the now-toasted spices into a bowl, he set it aside before grabbing the next batch and tossing the raw spices into the still hot pan. Giving it a firm shake, his eyes drifted to the flames and he watched them dance for several long moments. He sat the pan down. 

“No,” he finally replied in a soft voice. “Ain’t no forgivin’ what I’ve done.”

“You’re too good a man to let his legacy ruin you.”

“Good men don’t murder in…” He stopped himself and sighed. “Ye wouldn’t understand, Kent. And I don’t expect ye to.”

“I think I do a little. Was on the other end of that mess, don’t you forget.”

“How could I?” Farris asked as he glanced over his shoulder. “Ye remind me all the time. Even though I was there.”

“And your bedside manner is as terrible as ever.”

He had to laugh at that. Walking around the table, he went to the counter where Kent was sitting and poked the man’s side. “Was there a point to this or do ye just like hearing yerself blabber on and on?”

“Hm… maybe a little of both?” Kent replied grinning. “No, I did have a point.”

“Then make it so I can get on with my work.”

“You’re a good man, Farris,” Kent said seriously. He reached out and patted Farris’s hand. “Even if you don’t think so. And there aren’t a whole lot of those left in the world. I do hope you find a reason some day to forgive yourself. Even just a little. And maybe you’ll start smiling again.”

Farris eyed him, suppressing the urge to be angry or brush away the man’s touch. Kent always confounded him. He had every right and opportunity to be a bitter wreck of a man after everything he had been through and yet, despite it all, Kent was endlessly cheery and kind. Sometimes frustratingly so. For several moments, Farris stared at the small scarred hand resting on his own. He grunted and pulled his hand away. “What’s got ye all sentimental this mornin’?”

“Hm? Oh, I dunno. Been thinkin’ about my place in the universe. Meaning of life. The usual,” Kent paused as a devious smirk crossed his face. “And of course see how long I can distract you until you catch on that your spices are burning.”

“Wha…? Ah! Ye lil’ fucker!”

Kent’s laughter filled his ears as he rushed back to the hearth to try and salvage his work. In the following years, Farris would regret not appreciating that sound more. It would be the last time he would hear Kent laugh.

The next night, he came down with a hellish fever.

And by morning, Kent was dead.

………………………………………………………………………..

The wedding feast preparations had been a symphony of chaos: carefully planned, but executed more with stubborn will than any finesse or strategy. He had assumed the weeks of prep they had done would carry them further than they ultimately had, and by the second to last course on the last day they were scrambling to keep up. Luckily for Farris, most of the guests were happy enough to indulge in the free flowing wine and liquor between the courses. They would be too inebriated to be able to find their own feet, let alone be able to tell that the next course was late.

And then, of course, that was when Yale brought him the thief.

A human child. She was a small and pitiful creature. Dirty, skinny, and terrified, but a thief nonetheless. He was far too busy to spare her any consideration of leniency. It was her poor luck that she chose to steal from him on the single busiest day in more than a decade. She would just have to wait, he decided. Secured in one of the wooden cages left over from the delivered livestock, he placed her on the counter inside the pantry, gave her a firm warning to be quiet, and left her there. She didn’t scream at him or try to escape. In fact, the little thief barely even made a sound other than muffled weeping. If it had been any other day, he may have felt pity for her. Instead, he was annoyed to have something else dumped onto his already overloaded plate.

Several hours later, when he had a moment to even consider her again, he found that she had wedged herself in the corner and fallen asleep. He opened the cage and slipped a ramekin of water inside before closing it back up again. The human child did not stir.

Even balled up as she was, he could tell she was very young. Too young to be wandering around on her own. A suspicion began to form in his mind that she was not just some young hooligan from the Hill Tribes making trouble. He’d had plenty of those come through over the years and after threatening to toss them into a pie, each of the little troublemakers would be quick with their excuses and defenses. So, after a good scare and a lecture, they’d be sent back to Gregis for another lecture and whatever punishment the Hill Tribe leader saw fit. The war might be over, but danger still remained, even within the castle.

However, Farris could not recall ever having come across a thief so young. Her clothes were made of a rough homespun hemp and, best he could tell, seemed too small for her. She wasn’t even wearing shoes. Autumn had been mild but still chilly enough to warrant shoes. Where in the Seven Hells did this girl come from? And where were her parents?

He decided to leave the questions for later and went to help with the last big push to get the dessert course out the door and cleanup underway. There was a large tankard of dark ale waiting for him at the end of the day and he did not intend to be late. He felt as though he had earned a drink.

…………………

“So what’re ye gonna do with the Dumplin’?”

Farris had sat down to supper that night, more aware of his age than he ever had been. The arthritis in his left wrist was acting up, his joints creaked, and his back hurt. But still, he felt a deep sense of accomplishment for the work they had done. He opened his eyes, glancing towards the source of the question, and shrugged. “Notified Donal. He’ll inform the King tomorrow and then it’ll be his discretion as to what’s to be done with her.”

That seemed to surprise Saen and the rest of his staff. Yale sat up a little straighter. “Why’d ye do that? Ain’t ye just gonna send her back to Gregis? Like the others?”

Farris chuckled. “That lil’ mite ain’t from the Hill Tribes, lad. She’s feral.”

“How can ye tell? She say somethin’?” Yale asked.

“Nah. Just a hunch,” He took a long swig of ale and, as he sat it back down, sent a vague gesture towards the pantry door. “Fer one thing, Gregis wouldn’t let a child run around in that state.”

“She was pretty mangy lookin’,” Yale conceded with a chortle. “Looked like the thin’ needed a good scrubbin’.”

“Thinkin’ a keepin’ her are ye?” Saen asked, elbowing Yale in the ribs.

Yale grinned. “Crossed my mind.”

“Well,” Farris said. “first she’s gotta face the King’s justice.”

“Still. If she ain’t from Gregis’s lot,” Yale said, “where the hell she come from?”

“Who knows,” he replied. “Where do any of ‘em come from anymore?”

Beside him, Bart laughed. “Half the time it seems like they just pop out of the ground like cabbages.”

Grinning, Farris took another long pull from his ale before getting to his feet and reaching for one of the communal bread loaves. He tore off a small but still sizable piece and turned from the table.

“Well, suppose I should go feed her somethin’,” Farris said. “That one’s the skinniest dumplin’ I’ve ever seen.”

Light laughter followed him as he opened the door to the spice pantry. The hearth light fell in an illuminating column into the room and onto the cage where he could see a swathe of red. Farris froze.

The girl was awake and on her belly, clutching the rim of the water cup he had left her. Her skin was red with a distinctive rash and she was pulling in short gasping breaths all the while, laying in a small pool of her own sick.

Farris felt his stomach drop. The red reap.

He recalled the night Kent fell with the fever and how the rash soon followed. His breathing had become raspy and labored and it was not very long at all before he breathed his last breath. But Kent had been an adult, a grown man. The Dumplin’ was just a small child.

“Seven fuckin’ Hells,” he cursed. It was Kent all over again and, though he would never admit it aloud or even to himself, Farris was scared. He turned to call back over his shoulder. “Yale, get me warm water, not hot, and a few towels.”

His assistant looked up at him from his place at the table with round cheeks, unable to answer him with his mouth so full. Beside him Saen was grinning at him cheekily. “Oh aye? Be needin’ some relaxation after all that exhaustin’ spice grindin’, eh, Farris?”

He glared at the cook. “Shut yer gob Saen before I bash it in. It ain’t fer me,” he said and turned his gaze back to the sick little girl. “The human’s got the red reap.”

All of the merriment and cheer died in an instant as all eyes of his staff turned to him. Yale especially looked upset as he mechanically chewed and swallowed. “She didn’t look ill earlier.”

“They call it the reap fer a reason, boy. There’s no warnin’. It just comes. Now get off yer arse and get me what I asked fer.”

Yale was on his feet in an instant, rushing to the shelf to grab a bowl. “...right away, boss.”

He stood beside her cage, feeling the weight of his shame and harshly cursing himself for his cruelty. It was very probable that these would be her last moments and he had her put into a cage. As a joke. But no one was laughing. He opened the cage and removed the cup of water. There was sick all over it and down the side, but he did not pay it any mind. When he reached back inside for the girl, she shied away with a pained mewl. She was shaking and weeping.

He had done this to her.

“Hush now,” he murmured softly to her, resting the tips of his fingers lightly across her back. She tried to squirm away from him. “I know it hurts, lil’un. I know yer scared. Just keep breathin’...”

Yale was there with the water and towels. “Where do you want this, Farris?”

“Upstairs,” he said, considering the girl and how best to pick her up without doing her more harm. “And I’ll need the salve from the drawer there. And a Cayne leaf. Small one.”

In the end, he simply scooped her into his cupped hands. She was so small and light, but shockingly warm. The fever had well set in and he knew she may not have much longer.

Yale followed him up to his private quarters and once inside, Farris directed him to set the bowl of water on the table. His first attempts to remove her vomit-covered clothes resulted in her struggling against him and he snarled at her in frustration. “Stop that, girl. Yer covered in sick.”

He decided it best to get it all over with as quick as possible and simply yanked them off her. She showed signs of malnutrition and was so thin that he knew she wouldn’t have the strength to fight off the fever. The realization seemed to hit Yale at the same time. Once she was clean, he wrapped her in one of the towels and tucked her into the crook of his arm. He applied the salve to her eyelids, where it would help cool the raging heat of the rash. Then he slipped the Cayne leaf into her mouth, which she immediately spat out.

He didn’t blame her. Cayne leaves were rancid and vile tasting things. But it was also one of the best pain remedies known.

“Ye can go Yale,” he said. “I’ve got ‘er.”

His assistant looked at him with wide and fearful eyes. “Ye sure?”

Farris nodded. “If she makes it through the fever, she’ll live,” he said and sighed deeply. “We’ll know by morning.”

He reached out and grabbed Yale by the shoulder with his free hand. “Regardless, I need you awake and alert tomorrow. There’s too much that still needs to be done. If she lives, she’ll be seeing the King. If not, well, the reap will have made the judgment fer ‘im.”

“All right,” he said with a lingering concern in his eyes. Yale touched a finger to the girl’s head, petting her softly. “Good luck, lil’un.”

After Yale had left, Farris went to his bed and sat down. He was not sure how long he sat there, watching the human sleep. The red rash had spread along her neck and face, but she did not stir from her sleep. Her breathing remained raged and labored.

In the quiet of the night, when he knew no one was around to hear him, Farris spoke to the girl.

“Yer just a lil’ thing,” he said quietly as he ran a finger across the top of her head. “Probably all alone in the world, eh? Either that or yer folks are right shit. Don’t look like the world’s been very kind to ye, lass. Even now, it’s still tryin’ its best t’beat ye down. But yer a strong one, ain’t ye? Not gonna let a fever take ye. Nah. Too green fer it all to end so soon. Yer gonna be alright there, Dumplin’. I’ll make sure of it. One way or another. Yer gonna be just fine. Yer gonna wake up…”

His hands were shaking.

“Please. Please, wake up.”

…………………..

He woke at the same time he had for the last twenty-some-odd years. It was still plenty dark, but the lamp on the wall was still lit, a minuscule amount of oil still feeding the small flame. He knew it would last until the first rays of the sun reached the castle roof and then would need to be refilled. At first, his mind automatically went to sorting out the day’s tasks, but everything stopped with a sickening jolt when he remembered the child. His arm remained curled around the bundle and he wondered, if he were to look down, would there be another face to add to the collection of the dead within his mind and nightmares? With a fortifying breath, his heart pounding, Farris dipped his head down to look at the little girl. The harsh red rash that had covered her face was gone. She had not gone stiff, and he realized with a start that she was still warm. 

She was still breathing.

She was alive.

“...ye… yer alive,” he breathed in shock, resting his free hand on the bundle. “Seven fuckin’ Hells… ye… I can’t...”

For a long moment, he sat there and watched her sleep, all the while riding the waves of varying emotions. In the end, he thought of Kent. Farris easily recalled what a pitiful and broken creature he had been when he had first laid eyes upon him. He remembered how he had made a place in his kitchen, his home, for him. He could do the same for the girl.

“...I could do that fer ye,” he said to no one in particular as he rose from the bed, careful not to wake his charge. With a warm smile on his face, he rocked her gently. “My lil’ Dumplin’.”

…………………..

It took Rheil less than an hour to return to the kitchens after delivering the girl to the King. Clutched in his gloved hand, he held Farris’s note. He stepped down into the kitchen and everyone eyed him eagerly as they slowed in their work to watch and listen. 

“So?” Farris asked Rheil as he wiped his hands on a tea towel and leaned against the counter. “She give his Majesty her story then?”

“Aye,” replied the captain as he crossed the room and held out the note to Farris. He took it, but did not open it. Rheil crossed his arms and leaned up against the long table and regarded the kitchen master with neutral expression. “Orphaned.”

He nodded. “Figured that much.”

“And ye were right,” Rheil replied. “She ain’t one of Gregis’s. She ain’t even a refugee.”

Farris squinted in bemusement. “No?”

“No. She’s from the Southlands. The port,” Rheil replied. “Guess there was some big ol’ fire than killed her last living relative. She was trying to steal some food from the caravan when it was being loaded and she got stuck.”

“That’s a three day trek nonstop,” Saen butted in, eye wide in horror. “Ye mean she was stuck in that basket for three days?”

Rheil nodded. “She was. Probably too scared to ask for help. Who knows what the Beastmen would ‘a done if they caught her and once she passed the Gate… well. In fer a penny.”

Farris huffed. “No wonder half my persimmon order was gone. She probably ate three golds worth all on her own.”

Rheil made a face. “Seems awfully steep just for some fruit.”

Farris waved the comment away. “That ain’t nothin’. Them red mud boars were twelve gold a piece and one arrived dead. Weddings on the whole are expensive affairs. A royal wedding is extravagant and extravagantly expensive. But I ain’t one to tell the King how to spend his money. That’s Thame’s job.”

“Also, the lass thought Nethrin was still King,” Rheil added and Farris frowned.

“She what?”

The captain nodded, a smirk creeping along the edges of his mouth. “Aye. Thought she was gonna faint on me fer a second. Told her he was long dead, but I ain’t sure how much she believed me.”

Farris ran a hand down his face. “Where she now?”

“Lolly’s got her.”

“Well, we won’t be seein’ her fer a few hours then,” Bart laughed as he came down the steps from the courtyard. “Them ladies will be fawning over the Dumplin’ till suppertime. Mark my words.”

“True enough and just as well,” Farris conceded. “That’ll give her time enough to acclimate a bit and we can get on with our work.”

Bart gave him a questioning look. Silently, Farris handed the note to him. Bart’s eyes scanned the words before glancing back to Farris with the same questioning eye. In reply, Farris just nodded and Bart shrugged noncommittally.

“Well alright then,” he said and went back to work.

Farris opened the note again to scan the words, feeling an rising sensation in his chest, and Kent’s words came abruptly to the forefront of his mind.

“You’re a good man, Farris. Even if you don’t think so. And there aren’t a whole lot of those left in the world. I do hope you find a reason some day to forgive yourself. Even just a little. And maybe you’ll start smiling again.”

The note read:

If it comes to pass that the girl does not have any place to go, I ask his Majesty to consider that I might be granted guardianship over her. - F

And written just under his note in a much finer hand and with higher quality ink than his own, was the short answer:

Your request is granted. Take care of her, Farris. - W

Farris smiled. 

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BONUS ART:

[5lazarus]

Anders in Autumn, Ch.7

inspired by @cozy-autumn-prompts! Chapter Seven, First Frost: After Varric’s party at the Hanged Man, Anders wakes up hungover and freezing in Fenris’ home. They talk around what’s actually bothering. He sobers up. Read the rest of it here.

Anders woke up shivering and feeling hungover. Someone had thrown his shawl over him and taken off his boots, and tucked a pillow under his head. Alas, the fireplace was unlit, and dusty besides. He winced and pulled himself into a sitting position. Hopefully he hadn’t embarrassed himself too badly the night before. Alcohol and embrium hit him harder since Justice had found a space. He thought, there was to be a spell to magic hangovers away. He felt the echo of smugness from Justice that meant that there was, and that Justice had no intention of teaching him. Mealy-mouthed and parched, Anders left the room and began to wander Danarius’s mansion. At least Fenris had finally disposed of the corpses. He found the elf stirring a pot of oats over the fireplace of the main hall. Fenris growled, “Mage.” Anders winced. He hadn’t thought the wisp was going to indulge all three of them, he had not intentionally invoked it, and he had gotten perhaps too comfortable with spirits since Justice tended to scare the demons away. Anders decided to play it safe. “Thanks for not killing me in my sleep, Mage-Killer,” he said. Fenris grunted. “I’m sure you considered it.” Fenris grunted again. Anders shivered again, and rubbed his hands. If Fenris were less unreasonable--that is not fair, Justice twinged at him, look at the lyrium-brands--if Fenris were less uncomfortable with casual magic, he’d spit a little fire into his hands to warm them up. He said, “Mind if I take a seat?” Before Fenris could tell him no, Anders grabbed a stool and sat next to him at the fireplace. He huddled in his shawl and inhaled deeply: nothing quite like gruel in the morning, after a good party. Was it a good party? He had a moment of grace, so that was good. Fenris stirred the pot, then added a dollop of honey, and then kept pouring. Anders watched with growing amusement as he emptied an entire jar into the pot, and then cinnamon. “Get that for me,” Fenris said, indicating with his chin. Anders turned around and found another jar sitting on the floor: sliced walnuts. He handed it to him. “If you want to be useful, you could slice a few apples. There’s a sack downstairs.” “Oh no, I much prefer being ornamental,” Anders responded. Fenris snorted, but kept stirring. Anders wandered down the grand staircase. He really was living like shit, squatting in his own home. He may have finally removed the corpses, but the mansion still stunk of death, and there were scorch marks everywhere from the party he had thrown in the beginning of the month. The Veil was particularly thin in the cellar. A thin scream stretched across the stone floor. Justice thought, I came too late. Anders blinked and he was holding a knife in one hand, an apple in the other. It was a good apple, solid, smooth, red. He hoped it would be good enough for the gruel. He headed upstairs and announced, “Your cellar’s haunted, you know.” Fenris said, “I live in a mansion formerly owned by a blood mage. Yes. I know.” Anders sliced the apples and added them to the pot. He was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. He’d had tenser breakfasts in the Circle, after one of the apprentices disappeared or an enchanter attacked. This felt a little too similar. He drew closer to the fire. The first frost was settling in, and Fenris’ mansion was freezing. When the apples softened, Fenris ladelled the gruel into two bowls, offering him one. They ate in silence, sitting on stools before a magnificent fireplace in a magnificent hall, that Fenris had turned into a kitchen. Anders kept trying to catch Fenris’ eye, but he wouldn’t look at him. “So,” he said into the chill. “You cleaned up the corpses.” Fenris grunted. He tried again, “The gruel’s good. Thanks for taking me home last night, embrium oil’s hit me harder since Justice moved in.” Fenris paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. He put it back in the bowl and set it aside. “‘Moved in.’ Like a bad roommate, who occasionally urges you to murder people.” “Well, it’s not like he pays rent, but he does give good advice sometimes,” Anders said. “It’s not all doom and gloom. Justice is very healing, you know. Transformative. Catharsis is not an inherently violent process.” He smirked. He was particularly proud of that line. The other Liberati in the Circle  would parrot it back at the aequitarians, when they would accuse them all of being fear-mongering extremists. It is not violence if it’s self-defense: but tell your oppressor that. Anders sniffed. Fenris said, “You’re possessed by a demon who pays rent by giving you occasionally good advice. You’re worse than Merrill.” “Hey!” Anders was indignant. “Spirit, not demon. I’m not a blood mage. Merrill deals with demons. Justice is as unbroken as he can be, living in the waking world for so long. It’s hard but we’re trying.” Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose, irritated. “Both of you say there’s a difference in the work you do but I see no evidence to the contrary. That demon Merrill’s been dealing with has her running manic around Kirkwall. You, you’ve been getting more reckless too. Letting the trade unionists host meetings in your clinic--what are you going to do when Varric finds out? Because he will find out. I told him I’d keep an eye on you, but how could you be so reckless?” “Wow, I didn’t know you cared so much,” Anders snapped back. “I’m not turning patients away. I can take care of Varric. I know how to be discreet.” Fenris lifted a single eyebrow. “You look like a molting bird in that shawl. You occasionally have long conversations with yourself. Your eyes glow.” “Your body glows!” Anders cast the bowl aside. “You’re squatting in a mansion in Hightown and regularly let Isabela start bonfires! You are the last person to call me--unsubtle.” Fenris let a short gust of wind out through his nostrils, like an annoyed horse. “I don’t mean--I do not want Varric to catch wind of the dockworkers’ strike. He has people watching you, for your own protection, but he will not risk losing face with the Carta by allowing the Merchants’ Guild to negotiate with them. And the Lavellan are known troublemakers. They don’t have her wanted poster up in Kirkwall, not yet at least, but I know the Carta--” “They’re planning a strike,” Anders said blankly. “You don’t mean they’ve already organized a union. They’ve already organized? I thought yesterday was the first meeting!” Fenris looked abashed. “I should not have said that,” he said stiffly. “It is better you know as little as possible. This isn’t your fight, mage.” “It isn’t yours either, elf,” Anders said. “Half the men working the docks are shem. And Ferelden, too. So don’t give me that excuse. Mages don’t make shit but still have to work and sell for the Templars and the Chantry. The Tranquil do most of the enchanting topside and they’re just kept as mindless--” “Slaves,” Fenris said. “Yes. I’ve thought of the comparison.” Anders flushed. He never felt comfortable talking about Fenris’ past. Not only was it not his business, but the elf was so prickly, and he always felt he was blundering into saying exactly the wrong thing. The Circle was a kind of slavery: mages were not paid for their labor, but at least they were not chattel. They were not possessions, though of course they could always be possessed. “Fine. But I strongly advise you do not let them have any conversation about anything pertaining to the strike in your clinic. You need to steer clear of this. Varric’s sympathy only runs so far. I’ve told him I’d keep an eye on you, that I suspected Justice was gaining a stronger hold on you. So he no longer needs to send guards. But the less you know, the better.” Anders looked at him, hard. Who did he think he was? He ran the fucking Mage Underground--but of course he was not going to tell him that. Aveline was good at looking the other way on her rounds. Donnic was good about vacuously gossipping about templar drama, overheard in the Viscount’s Keep. But Fenris had no sympathy for any mage accused of blood magic, and little interest in hearing what may have driven them there. “Fine. But why do you know? How are you involved?” Fenris shrugged. “Elves talk. I don’t spend my entire time skulking up here, you know.” A smile played at the edges of Fenris’ lips. Anders had the sudden, irrational desire to trace the edges of his mouth: down, boy, he told himself. He kills mages. He’ll kill you if he thinks you’ll lose control. And these days, with so much injustice, how easy it would be, to let it wreck, to let the spirit take the streets and give them a show Kirkwall would never forget. In the cold Anders left and shivered in the first frost of the year, drawing the feathered shawl Mahariel had given him around his shoulders, and wished for the warmth of the hearth. He kept his head down as he walked through Hightown, eyes darting at shadows as the wind rustled the few manicured trees the aristocracy let grow in the public square. Lowtown was bustling as always, and as he passed by the entrance of the Alienage on his way down to Darktown, he noticed that Dalish woman at the gate, speaking to Merrill. When they noticed him they turned away, and he kept walking into the wind, into the gray autumn morning, wishing he had said something better, said something right, because the joy of last night seemed an entire age away. When he got to the clinic there was already a line: three sick babies, a retired miner with a chronic cough, a weaver with arthritis, and too many people who just needed to eat. He did not have enough hot food to last them through the day. He had so little left to give, to get through the first frost, and Justice said: there is more that you can do. Find a better way.

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary -Chapter 4

Warnings: none. Just some cute Ovi and little kids ;)

Tagging: @valkyrie-of-the-light, @alievans007, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y

It is a fifteen-minute drive into town; a picturesque central area with a healthy mixture of both low and high end shops and numerous eateries and cafes. In the winter it is reminiscent of a Dickens novel; snow covered trees and streets, the Victorian area store fronts boasting immaculate decorations and displays in their front windows,  white lights strung from almost every available surface, and a skating rink in the centre of it all.  In the summer, when tourists flowed into the area and brought in the most money for the economy, the sidewalks were full of patios and lined with immaculate floral gardens. Telluride is a small town, and regular residents all seemed to know one another; conversing in front of the bank and post office, catching up on gossip and talking about high school sports. Tyler’s already exchanged pleasantries and small talk with five people, and that was when just stepping out of the car.

 When they’d first arrived, talk had spread fast about the new family in town.  They’d spent four months living with her parents and getting on their feet before buying able to buy a home with their joint savings and money that Mahajan had managed to scrap together and give as thanks for taking care of his son. Nik had taken it upon herself to act as the ‘small town gossip’, quickly using some of her contacts to spread small little rumours about who they were: an ex Australian Army soldier who’d been injured in Afghanistan and forced to retire at a young age, his young pregnant wife and their baby girl, and a kid that they’d adopted after losing both of his parents. It had managed to keep people from asking too many questions when they’d show up unannounced at the house with various casseroles and baked goods and welcoming gifts. Every so often someone would ask about his service record and just what happened that forced him to leave at such a young age and Tyler would just repeat the same old bullshit about arthritis and nagging injuries and show off some of the more prominent scars that marred his body. Just like five years ago in Dhaka, people had taken to them.  They were young, friendly, always willing to lend a hand if someone needed it.  Never too accessible, but just accessible enough.  Never free and easy with their personal information, but giving out just enough that kept people curious. And when he started his own business, word travelled fast and within a week he had a client list of over two dozen. On his first day of school, Ovi already had people waiting to meet him. Interested in who the kid with the ex Army Aussie dad was.

Even five years later it is a novelty of sorts: an Australian living in their small town. They’re intrigued by his accent and his slang and always want to hear stories about ‘the land down under’. Even now he couldn’t go into the hardware store or into the pharmacy to buy diapers without someone wanting to hear all about kangaroos and koalas and was it really true they had spiders the size of dinner plates? He humoured them for the most part; slightly annoyed when they attempted to copy the way he talked. What was the saying? Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery? He’d just laugh it off and they’d think it was hilarious whenever he called them mate.

The twins and Millie had decided to tag along; the boys wanting mohawks done at the barber and their sister wanting ice cream. The little mom and pop candy store was always one of their stops when they happened to make it into town, and she wasn’t about to let her father forget about it.

“I can take her,” Ovi offers, still trying to make up for his huge fuck up the night before. “I could use some ice cream too.”

“Oh please, daddy?! Please?!” Millie gushes, as she waits for him to unload her brothers from their car seats before tending to her. “Can Ovi take me for ice cream? Let Ovi take me for ice cream!”

“Sometimes I think you love him more than me,” he teases, as he leans across the back seat to unbuckle her, and in response she curls both arms around his neck and gives him a sloppy, noisy kiss on the forehead.

“I don’t love anyone more than you daddy.”

“Not even mommy?”

“Mommy is a close second. Don’t tell her that though. It might make her sad.”

“What about your brothers? Where are they on your list?”

“Oh they are wayyyy down there. Like between broccoli and Brussel sprouts.”

“You hate broccoli and Brussel sprouts.”

Her eyes narrow. “Exactly.”

He can’t help but laugh at the seriousness in her voice, at the frown that takes over her face, the way her normally brilliant blue eyes grow dark.  So much like him in so many ways. He sees it all the time; in all of his kids. Certain facial expressions and mannerisms that he long ago recognized in himself.

“Okay, I know they piss you off, but they’re still your brothers,” he reminds her, as she clambers out of the SUV.

“Maybe they’re adopted,” she sounds hopeful at the idea, and then rolls her eyes at them when they start harassing her about her dress and her pig tails.

“I hate to break it to you, but they’re not. They definitely came out of mommy’s tummy. I was there. I saw it happen.”

“But how’d they get in there? Maybe other babies got put in her tummy by accident.”

“Naw, I was there for that too. So sorry. You’re stuck with the brothers you have.”

She’s side eyeing them now, with absolute disdain despite the fact they’re actually behaving and just waiting patiently for their dad to lock the car and set the alarm.  He recognizes that look, too. He’s used it many times himself when someone’s mere presence has annoyed the shit out him.

“They’re just so…ughhh…” she huffs dramatically.

That’s definitely more her mother coming out.

“But at least I have you, right Ovi?” she curls a hand around two of his fingers and gazes up at him adoringly. “At least you won’t pick on me and pull my hair and do stupid boy stuff. You’re like an older brother, right? That’s what mommy always says. That you’re practically my big brother. Is that true?”

The kid looks as if he may burst into tears at the mere thought of it. “If that’s what you want. Do you want me to be your big brother? I’ve always wanted a little sister.” He’s always seen her that way. She’d been his first hands on experience with babies and he’d relished every moment. Never once complaining when he was asked to change a dirty diaper or she threw up on his clothes. He was a natural, calm, patient, compassionate. A surprise, considering he’d never been brought up experiencing any of those traits.

“I can be your little sister,” she offers, and picks his arm up and slings it around her shoulders.

It takes him a moment to compose himself. And he blinks his eyes several times and clears his throat and then smiles down at her.

“I’d like that.”

 ****

When he was a kid, this place would have been paradise. An entire wall devoted to clear plastic cylinders filled with a rainbow of various candy, display cases showing of chocolates in all kinds of shapes and even cartoon characters and over two dozen different flavours of fudge. There’s even an old fashion milkshake and ice cream bar on the far wall, serving everything from basic cones to sundaes with dozens of available toppings, and enormous banana splits.

Oh, to be a child again! He longed for those days. Not his childhood and his previous life in India; spent as a prisoner in his own home because of his father’s evil misdoings. But a childhood that would be much simpler. Worry free. Where he could actually be a kid and enjoy all the innocence that came with it. If he could choose, he would pick this moment, this place, this family, to experience as a child. In a home where he felt safe. Valued. Respected. Loved. Where his opinions and his feelings are validated, and he can speak without being spoken to. Where there is more laughter than there were tears. More smiles than harsh raised voices.

And love. Lots and lots of love.

That is what he witnessed in his new home, with his new family.  He’d been made to feel as if he was loved just as much as the biological children. He was valued. Seen as a person and not a thing. Tyler and Esme never said those three little yet powerful words, but he felt them. In the way they expressed pride in his school accomplishments, in the way they helped him battled his issues since the incident in Dhaka five years ago, how they encouraged him to always try his best and learn from his mistakes. Even when he was younger and being disciplined, there was love in it.  They only wanted what was best for him and hated to see him wandering down difficult paths.

No. They never said it. Neither did he. But it was all around him. And inside of him.

Half a dozen customers linger in the store; a small family picking out candy, a couple sitting on the stools at the counter, and a solo man sitting in one booth at the very back.  A trucker style hat pulled low over his eyes, sleeves of brightly coloured tattoos visible under his t-shirt, a mug of black coffee and that day’s newspaper in front of him.  He glances up as they enter; his eyes locking on Ovi’s for a split second, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Ovi finds it a tad unsettling. He’s spent a lot of time wandering the town and in and out of the various shops and he’s never seen that face before. And in Telluride, newcomers stick out like sore thumbs.

Millie tightly holds his hand and happily skips alongside of him, pausing every couple of feet to spin in a circle; commenting on the way her dress looked when she twirled. Because that’s how the princesses’ dresses moved in all the movies she’s seen, and she would very much like to be a princess when she’s old.

And a firefighter.

“That’s quite the combination,” he remarks. “A princess and a firefighter? Are you going to wear your tiara and your princess dress when you go to fires?”

“Maybe the dress, but not the tiara,” she says. “Because I wouldn’t be able to get my helmet on.”

Pretty sound logic.

He notices the way people watch them, mostly out of curiosity. That sweet little girl in her blue and white gingham dress and her light up Frozen sandals.  With her unruly hair and her huge blue eyes, her hand tightly clutching his. They probably think he’s a babysitter. Or a family friend. But truth be told, he is closer to her than he’s ever been to any of his blood family.

“Let’s see what we want,” he says, and scoops her up into his arms, settling her on his hip in the same fashion he’s seen Tyler use so many times.  And she curls an arm around his neck and pushes her unruly hair out of her eyes and leans forward as far she can go in order to get a closer look at the tubs of ice cream laid out in the freezer before them. He doesn’t know why he bothers. She orders the same thing every time they’re there.

“Aren’t you a lucky little girl,” the cashier says, as she rings up their order. “Having a friend take you out for ice cream.”

“Oh, he’s not my friend,” Millie informs her. “He’s my brother.”

The woman arches an eyebrow.

“What she means is…” Ovi attempts an explanation of his own, but Millie jumps right in.

“Just ‘cause we look different doesn’t mean he’s not my brother. ‘Cause he is. My mommy and daddy adopted him when his mommy and daddy died. He didn’t have anywhere else to live so mommy and daddy let him live with us. I also have three other brothers.”

“Are they adopted to or…”

“Nope. They’re my real brothers. They have the same mommy and daddy as I do. Two little brothers were enough and when mommy was having another baby, I really wanted a little sister. Or a puppy. Puppies don’t cry all the time and wake me up in the middle of the night and steal my toys. But nope, another brother,” she’s clearly disgusted by that fact. “How come so many boys? Daddy says that some people just have lots of boys and others have lots of girls and some just have a little of both. But mommy says daddy is a boy making machine. Whatever that means.”

“I am so sorry,” Ovi apologizes. “She likes to talk.”

“My brothers that came right after me are twins,” she continues, taking the cashier’s wide-eyed interest and awe at her precociousness as her cue to keep going. “Tanner. And Tyler. Tyler’s my daddy’s name too. My baby brother is Declan. He’s the cutest one. The other two are just way too annoying.  And Declan doesn’t pick on me and pull my hair. And I’ll make sure he doesn’t…” she makes a fist, as if to signify she’s going to punch him in the face if he doesn’t tow the line.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ovi notices the tattooed man in the trucker hat slipping out of his booth; mug of coffee and newspaper in his hands as he moved closer to them. Dropping into one of the stools closest to the entrance.  He shifts nervously from foot to foot; keeping one arm tight around Millie as he pocked his change and then carries her and their treats to the nearest table. He makes sure that he’s facing the door. Tyler has always told him that is was the smart thing to do; you didn’t want to be surprised by trouble sneaking up on you.

He hates that he’s still so paranoid. That the nightmare he’d gone through in Dhaka still bothers him to this day. It’s his cross to bear; painful and heavy. And some days he just wishes he could ease the burden on his tired shoulders.

Instead of taking the seat across from him, Millie slips in right beside him, kneeling on the vinyl bench in order to reach her ice cream.  She happily digs in; spooning the bubble gum flavoured concoction into her mouth as she rattles on about gymnastics and martial arts and how she really wishes that daddy didn’t hate hockey so much, because she’d really like to learn how to play it. And how to hit people really hard and fight them. And as he listens intently and offers up nods and appropriate responses, he casually keeps an eye on the stranger seated at the counter.  Ovi knows he’s watching them. He can feel it every time he looks away to pay attention to Millie.

“Ovi?” she suddenly asks, as she licks ice cream off her fingers.

“Yeah?”

“What does daddy do? What’s his job?”

“He fixes up houses and makes them nice again. And helps people do things they’re not able to do in their own homes. You know that.”

“I don’t mean that job. I mean his other job. The one that Auntie Nik always calls him on the phone about.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I…”

“He always leaves in the middle of the night and then he’s gone in the morning and I’m mad that he didn’t even say goodbye,” she continues. “And then he’s gone a long time and mommy is really sad and cries about it. She tries to say that she doesn’t cry, but I hear her when she thinks I’m asleep. I know she’s worried about daddy. Is he doing bad things?”

“No,” he assures her. “He’s not.”

“I don’t like that he’s gone all the time. It makes me sad. And then I can’t sleep because I’m sad and daddy isn’t there to tuck me in and read me a story.  Where is he? Where does he go? Mommy says he’s far away, but he still calls us every night. It makes me feel better when he calls. ‘Cause I can hear his voice.”

“He’s a lot of different places,” Ovi explains. “He travels a lot.”

“But what does he do? What kind of job is it?”

“He helps people. People that are in trouble.”

“Are bad guys after the people?”

He nods. “The bad guys are after them and your dad goes and helps them get away. He rescues good people from bad people.”

Her eyes widen and her voice is above a whisper, speaking in astonished awe. “You mean like a superhero?!”

He grins. “Just like a superhero.”

“Like the Avengers?!”

“Just like them. Just like Thor.”

“Oh, he’s my favourite!” she gushes.  “Mommy’s too because she says he’s a total snack.”

“I wouldn’t tell your dad that. About mom thinking Thor’s a snack. Or about how you know he’s a superhero. He doesn’t see himself that way and he doesn’t like to talk about it. You know how some superhero’s keep it a secret and no one knows who they are? That’s how it is with your dad. So we’ll just keep it between us, okay? You don’t want to embarrass him, right?”

“I’m not brave, mate.”

“Of course you are. You rescue people.”

“Yeah, sometimes. Sometimes I do other things.”

“You mean like killing people?”

Ovi can hear that conversation as if it were just yesterday. At Gaspar’s house, when he’d asked Tyler if he’d always been brave.  How could you not be? When you willingly put your own life on the line to save the lives of others? Even if there was money involved, it still took a lot of courage to go into a situation where you didn’t know if you’d survive or not.  Tyler and his father were nothing alike. His father had killed people with horrible intentions. Tyler kills because he has to. To save others and himself.  He would never tell the little girl beside him that. Those details are difficult to digest and painful to hear about, and she doesn’t need to know them until she is older.

And maybe not even then.

“Ovi?” she asks once again, and he uses the tip of his thumb to clear ice cream from the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah?”

“That man is giving me the creeps.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, tries to play it cool. “What man?”

“That one,” her eyes narrow once more as she glares at the stranger in question.  “He keeps looking at us. Why does he keep looking at us?”

“Maybe he just thinks you’re cute. Or he’s jealous because you have ice cream and he doesn’t.”

“We could always ask him,” she suggests. “About why he’s staring at us.”

“Or we could just mind our own business and eat our ice cream. We don’t want it to melt, do we?” he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her a little closer and a little tighter to his side. 

***

The chime above the door sounds as it swings open and Ovi watches as Tyler and the boys enter; the twins being maneuvered over the threshold with a large, strong hand gripping the back of their shirts, effectively steering them in the right direction. Both have mohawks now; one with frosted green tips, the other blue, and Ovi grins at the sight of Tyler’s own new look. Or was it in an old look? Newish oldish perhaps? The same cut he’d sported when they first five years ago. He remembers how he’d been intrigued by it; no one at school would dare have their hair cut like that and there was no way his own father or any of those paid to watch him would have ever allowed him to get it done.

He also notices it’s a bad knee day. That limp a little more prominent than usual.

“Over here boys,” he says to his sons, and with a gentle push with his thighs sends them the right way.

Ovi clears his throat noisily, making it a point to catch Tyler’s attention. And when their eyes lock, he makes a small nod in the direction of the man sitting at the counter.  Pretending to be immersed in his paper as the cashier refills his coffee mug.  Through the lenses of his sunglasses, Tyler’s able to check him out without even being noticed, and Ovi sees the way his head barely moves as he gives the stranger a once over; his brow slightly furrowed, lips set in a thin line.

“Hi daddy!” Millie cheerfully greets as he approaches the table, and Ovi notices how the stranger finally looks up; no expression on his face as he eyes Tyler from head to toe. “What’s up with your hair?”

“Most of it’s gone. Why? You don’t like it?”

She frowns. “It’s kinda weird.”

“Blame your mother. She likes it like this. Get in,” he instructs his sons, and helps each of them by grabbing the back of their shorts and lifting them onto the bench.

“Nice hair cuts boys,” Ovi enthuses, and he gets high fives from each of them. “Very cool. What’s up with the colour though?”

“My wife’s going to kill me,” Tyler laments, and then heads off to purchase ice cream for the twins. Ovi notices yet again that the man at the counter watches him intently; brows arching as he takes in the tall, powerful frame.

Impressed, maybe? A little intimidated? Even now Ovi himself found it hard not to be. When you’re that tall and you’re back and shoulders are that broad and your muscles are that big, you tend to draw attention to yourself. Mostly it was from women. Ovi noticed that a lot. The females like Tyler’s big muscles and his blue eyes.

Tyler slides into the seat across from him, removing his sunglasses, placing them on the tabletop and then getting the twins settled with their ice cream.  He’s a good dad.  Ovi has always thought so. He’s a gentler version of himself when he’s in ‘dad mode’; his features softening, his voice not as gruff.  Calm and patient.  

“What’s up with that guy?” he asks, jerking his head in the direction of the counter.

“He’s been staring at us,” Millie answers for Ovi, as she ducks under the table, crawls to the other side and then resurfaces and climbs onto her dad’s lap.  “It’s creepy.”

“Maybe he just thinks you’re cute,” her father reasons. “Or he wants your ice cream.”

“That’s what Ovi said. Hey!” she flashes a dramatic pout when he helps himself to some of her treat.

“He’s just been sitting there,” Ovi says. “He was here before we got here.”

“What’s he be doing?”

“Sitting. Reading the paper. Drinking coffee.”

“And watching us,” Millie pipes up. “Super creepy. I don’t like creepers.”

Tyler chuckles at the use of the word ‘creepers’, and running a palm over her hair, drops a kiss on the top of her head.  “You definitely are your mother’s daughter.”

“You ever seen him before?” Ovi asks. Tyler’s in town more than he is; always at the hardware store picking things up for his side business.

“Don’t think so. I think I’d remember a face like that. Definitely doesn’t fit in around here.” But then again, neither did he really. With the accent and the tattoos and the scars. And now the haircut.

“People are weird,” Tanner chimes in.  He’s the observant one out of the two boys; the kind that sits back and quietly takes in a situation or an environment, brain coming up with different scenarios and outcomes. Wise and intelligent beyond his years.

“You’re one to talk with that haircut,” his father teases, and nudges him playfully with his elbow. “You realize your mother is going to seriously hurt me, yeah? She’s not going to be happy at all. Think it’s worth it? Think it’s worth me having to sleep on the couch for the rest of my life?”

His son nods enthusiastically.

“That’s it. Throw me under the bus. Now I remember why your brother is my favourite,” he’s teasing of course, and reaches across the bench to gently and playfully pinch his name sake just below the ribs.

Ovi notices just how much they all actually do like alike.  The same facial features: blue eyes framed by impossibly long and dark lashes, almost the exact same colour and texture of hair, the same noses and ears. Even the same smiles and mannerisms.  The way they will each smirk and cock their heads to the side when they’re sensing someone else’s bullshit.  

There are definitely some extremely strong genes on Tyler’s side of the family.

“He’s coming this way,” Ovi whispers, as the stranger slides off his stool, and folds his newspaper and puts it under his arm before carrying his empty cup to the cash register.

He’s average height and has a stocky build. Nothing remarkable about him at all save for the arms full of tattoos.

Tyler casually watches him; legs stretched out under the table, an arm across the back of the booth.   If he senses something is up, Ovi can’t tell for sure.  There’s no darkness to his eyes or furrows across his brow.

The other man turns towards them now, briefly pausing at the side of their table as he looks down at Tyler, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Can I help you, mate?” Tyler asks. Calm. Cool. Collected.  It was a trait that Ovi admired; the ability to stare someone down yet remain completely relaxed and expressionless.

“Just admiring your family. I’ve got a few kids of my own back home. Just made me miss them seeing you all together.”

“Where’s back home?”

“Chicago.”

“You’re a long way from home.”

“I could say the same about you. Accent and all.”

Tyler nods slowly. “Here for business or…?”

Ovi enjoys watching the process. The way the questions come so easily and never seem prodding or invasive. Tyler’s expression and tone never wavering.

“You could say that. What brought you here?”

“The wife’s from Colorado. Decided to move here when we started having kids.”

“Definitely a nice place to be. Well you all take care. Enjoy your family.  Kids are a special gift. Don’t take it for granted.”

Tyler nods, then casts a casual glance over his shoulder, watching as the man heads through the shop and out the front door.

“Anything?” Ovi asks expectantly.  “Feels weird, right?”

“Felt like it’s just a guy away from home and missing his family. I’ve been there. I know what it’s like. He probably just wanted someone to talk to.”

“But the way he was watching us. The way he was watching Millie…”

“Maybe he has a little girl of his own and she reminds him of her.”

“So you felt nothing? You didn’t feel like there’s something weird? Something’s going on?”

Tyler smirks. “Not every strange person is out to get us, mate. Sometimes people are just weird. Or lonely.  Sometimes they just want someone to talk to and don’t know how to go about it. Remember how you felt when you first moved here? How different it was and you didn’t have any friends? It’s like that. But a hundred times worse. A guy’s thousands of miles from home, missing his wife, missing his kids, maybe having a shit day. So he wants to reach out to someone.”

“So you really felt nothing? Nothing at all?”

“Just a normal guy missing his family, kid. That’s all.  Thought you were getting a handle on this. The paranoia. It’s been five years. If someone from back home was after you, they’d have found you by now.”

“You don’t worry? About people from your past coming to find you?”

“If I just my entire time worrying about stuff like that, I’d never leave the house. And let’s not get too into it, yeah?” he nods down at Millie and then over at the twins. “Little ears and all.”

He likes to keep things on the downlow as far as the kids are concerned. They’re young and vulnerable. Impressionable. And telling them that their dad helps people is one thing, but telling them that he sometimes has to hurt and even kill people to do it, is a different beast all on its own.

“Does chocolate milk come from brown cows?” TJ suddenly asks, effectively breaking the mood.

“Excuse me?” his father laughs. “What?”

“Well if the white milk comes from the black and white cows, where does the chocolate milk come from?” his son continues. “Brown cows, right?”

“That’s not how it works,” Tyler chuckles. “That’s not how any of that works. It comes from putting chocolate in white milk.”

“What about the grass?” Tanner’s turn now. “How come the grass is green and the sky is blue?”

“That’s a simple one,” Tyler says.  “If the sky was green like the grass, you wouldn’t know where to stop mowing.”

Ovi can’t help but laugh at that. The way it is said with the utmost seriousness and how the kids are now both in awe that their dad knew that and thinking he’s apparently the smartest man on the planet.  He’s able to relax again. Calmed by the fact that he’s with his people.

His family.

[prettymuchdeadalready]

100 Important Character Questions

Here’s looking at you kid, @wexarethewalkingxdead​ !! XD They’ll be below the cut due to length. {{ I despise ‘read mores’ except that it’s so fucking long! XD }}

1OO IMPORTANT CHARACTER QUESTIONS

taken from beth kinderman and nikki walker’s the 100 most important things to know about your character. a good list to help develop a character’s background, personality, and general aspects. 

PART 1: THE BASICS

·         What is your full name? :: Bobby Autumn Monroe

·         Where and when were you born? :: Atlanta, Georgia at Grace Memorial at 4am on a Sunday.

·         Who are/were your parents? (Know their names, occupations, personalities, etc.) :: Maryann JoMarie Monroe (nee Tippins) and Franklin Roosevelt Monroe ;; mama was a stay at home mother who became an addict to opiates and papa was a worker at the mill in Powder Springs, which was a HUGE (in his mind because he always resented it) drive from where they lived on the outskirts of Atlanta in a little cabin home one a sparce patch of land just outside a trailer park beside the woods. Mama was a strong woman who grew weak after nears of being beaten and bloodied by her drunk mean husband; having 3 kids kept her strong to a degree, however, for as long as she could be, trying to keep his attention on her and away from her kids. When she died (Bobby who was the eldest of them by 15 minutes) that all changed; Michael trying to draw the majority of the brutality because he was the boy and his father always was trying to beat on the girls when given little to no reason at all, even.

·         Do you have any siblings? What are/were they like? :: Michael Henry Monroe and Katherine Emberlynn Monroe, in chronological order of birth after Bobby. Michael is an EMT on staff with New York Presbyterian Hospital, which is also Columbia University’s training hospital. Katherine is an aspiring actress in the LA area of California.

·         Where do you live now, and with whom? Describe the place and the person/people. :: Bobby has never left Georgia. The only time she does is when the group moves on after season 4. She doesn’t know why she’s never left before, not even to visit her siblings that left her behind, but she always feels like, as the big sister, it’s her job to maintain a home for them to come back to, should they ever need it.

·         What is your occupation? :: Bobby is an ER nurse with Grace Fulton Memorial Hospital and regularly assists with trauma cases.

·         Write a full physical description of yourself. You might want to consider factors such as: height, weight, race, hair and eye color, style of dress, and any tattoos, scars, or distinguishing marks. :: Height is 5’4. (Smol but mighty!) Weight fluctuates from 115 to 120 pounds depending on the time of year and stressors in her life; okay, maybe 124, but not an ounce more! She swears. Bobby is Caucasian American. Hair is an auburn brunet. Eyes are chocolate brown; when she is angry they appear almost amber in tone, and when sexually aroused they usually darken to an almost black. Her fashion sense is usually tomboy, wearing jeans and tee shirts; sometimes a little sporty with tight running pants, spandex or loose shorts, and tank tops. Bobby only has one tattoo that transcends any and all verses she might have: a black rose with three drips of blood on the petals, one at the end nearly ready to drop off, at the small of her back which reminds her of the fragility of life and death and the ever presence of the latter, the pain and struggle symbolized by the blood droplets on the petals. She has a long scar that runs the length of the space between where the band on her bra would rest down to her love handle, on the edge where her side meets her back – given to her by an abusive ex that was just like her father when drunk, only worse because he was legitimately a highly functioning and violently brutal psychopath and burn marks on her upper back/right shoulder blade and left outer thigh from where her father and her ex had their fun using her as an ashtray.

·         To which social class do you belong? :: Middle class. Working class.

·         Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses? :: Maryanne had carpal tunnel and severe arthritis in her left arm from it being broken a couple times by her lovely husband. After her mother died Bobby was cooking dinner one night and her father, who had been drinking all evening from end of work until right that moment, picked up his hammer and hit Bobby in the upper left arm twice, hard. She had to wear a cast for two months (part of that time an extension after being thrown against the wall another separate night that shattered the first incarnation of the cast) to heal the broken bone. Thus, sometimes when its too cold she has bouts where her left arm is weak, not able to carry heavy things, and there was minimal nerve damage in the hand as a result which means she can’t always feel too hot, or too cold. This does not impair her job as she isn’t responsible for surgery where the steadiest of hands are needed; thankfully Bobby’s aid in the field is at most a needle and thread for mending/stitches, of which she can do with her dominant hand.

·         Are you right- or left-handed? :: Right handed.

·         What does your voice sound like? :: Natalie Portman.

·         What words and/or phrases do you use very frequently? :: Y’all. Jesus Harold Christ on crooked crutches. Jiminy Christmas. Calm down there Satan.

·         What do you have in your pockets? :: A pocket knife with combination of other fold out tools. Mini canister of mace. Car and house keys in some verses. Apocalypse verses she sometimes carries car keys.

·         Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics? :: Bobby doesn’t consider anything she does as strange or annoying but just ask one of the people she considers family and he would say she talks too damn much. At least the other man in her life appreciates that she knows how to turn out the lights…

PART 2: GROWING UP

·         How would you describe your childhood in general? :: Stressful. Her days were constantly spent fearing what would happen when daddy got home, what mood would he be in, what would he do, would he just hurt mama or would he come after her and her siblings too…? Bobby grew up worrying about things no child should ever have to worry about or fear.

·         What is your earliest memory? :: Bobby doesn’t know for sure if this is a memory or some part of her subconscious trying to bring her peace, but in the quiet moments when she closes her eyes she can hear her mother’s voice softly singing to her as she’s being held, cradled in safe arms with worn delicate hands gently rubbing her back. “Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night and wouldn’t you love to love her…? Takes to the sky like a bird in flight and…who will be her lover? All your life you’ve never seen a woman…taken by the wind…”

·         How much schooling have you had? :: Bobby went through two years of high school before she was forced to drop out to care for her other siblings and make sure they got the best lives possible. It wasn’t perfect anyway, but she tried. She went back and got her GED when she turned 21. Immediately upon her father dying ( when she turned 19 ) she began putting some money away toward furthering her own education, enrolling in community college once her GED came through. She got a bachelor’s degree in science and biology, and earned certification and licensure as an EMT and trauma nurse.

·         Did you enjoy school? :: Bobby loved school. It was the only thing she could do outside the house that was usually constant and unbreakable, a schedule that the state decided for children and one her father couldn’t stop. This was she could be free of the worries and fears that usually plagued her days and simultaneously learn things about the world at large, all around her and beyond. It was refreshing and awe inspiring.

·         Where did you learn most of your skills and other abilities? :: Anything she didn’t learn from her mother and her father ( positive or not ) she learned from school and the teachers and children in that environment.

·         While growing up, did you have any role models? If so, describe them. :: The only role model Bobby had growing up was her mother, Maryanne. Mama taught her the strength and the tenacity she needed to make it in the world, both in her father’s house, and later.

·         While growing up, how did you get along with the other members of your family? :: Bobby and her mother started as adult to child relationship and then at the end when her mother was dying Bobby became an almost equal to her mother, taking care of her and herself and the siblings she had. Likewise, with her siblings, it was mostly a jovial peer to peer relationship ( and what sibling relationship was complete without the occasional fight and attempted murder ), which eventually merged into a motherly feeling over them, protective of them when their mother passed. Her relationship with her father was always strained, always wary and tumultuous and it only worsened when Maryanne died. He became more possessive of the kids and Bobby feared being raped or sexually abused by him after a time ( she looked more like her mother than Kath did ) as he would get drunk and beat her, yelling things like ‘how dare you leave me’ and ‘I’ll show you something to cry about you weak whore.’ That relationship was strained and haunted until the day he died.

·         As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up? :: She wanted to be an astronaut or a pirate. Anything that could take her far far away from where she was and keep her safe, eventually far enough to make her happy in life.

·         As a child, what were your favorite activities? :: Anything Bobby could do outside the house. She spent AGES outside in the woods, roaming with nowhere in her mind to go in particular; she could sit on a stump deep in the sea of green and just space out, let her mind wander for hours. She would try to fish. She made friends with small woodland creatures like something out of a Disney film. She sometimes sat alone out there all night, looking up into the moon under a blanket of stars and a bed made of fallen leaves and long grass.

·         As a child, what kinds of personality traits did you display? :: As a child, Bobby was pretty devoid of personality; at least when she was at home. At home and when she was alone she was quiet, too quiet. A mousy brown haired brown eyed little girl with nothing to say and who would lay low on purpose, anything not to catch her father’s attention. Outside of the house she often put on a brave face, smiling and laughing and acting like nothing was wrong. Sometimes she could even forget that she was a victim of domestic violence and forget her usual invisible act, coming out of herself and being herself, talkative ( almost too much talking for some ) and bright. Her light shines bright from within her and her strength and perseverance really show in her eyes.

·         As a child, were you popular? Who were your friends, and what were they like? :: Bobby was not a popular kid at school. She often sat alone or with her siblings. Even the losers didn’t want to sit with them because everyone knew what the Monroe home life was like and who their father was, what he did to them and their mother. No one would claim them as friends, at least not outwardly or in public.

·         When and with whom was your first kiss? :: Daniel Dunn was her first kiss in most all her verses. He was a messed up kid, a psychopath that was highly functioning and much too sadistic, even as far as most psychopaths are concerned. He used her and abused her for most of her young adult years, as her father had her mother. ( What was it they said about emulating what you saw as a child and being doomed to repeat it…? ) In one of her verses she has known Daryl Dixon all of her life and he is her first kiss…her first everything.

·         Are you a virgin? If not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity? :: Same as the question above to be honest. Most of her verses features Daniel Dunn in that role, as fucked up and cruel as that is, and in the one it’s Daryl Dixon.

·         If you are a supernatural being (i.e. mage, werewolf, vampire), tell the story of how you became what you are or first learned of your own abilities. If you are just a normal human, describe any influences in your past that led you to do the things you do today. :: Bobby was definitely informed by her childhood and her mother’s and father’s relationship as far as what kind of person she wanted to become. She would consciously always pick a path that led her to be her mother, kind and sweet and a pure heart with passion despite being regularly beaten down and broken by outside influences because of her goodness. She was also inspired to become a trauma nurse thanks to all the times she had to help fix up her mom, her siblings and herself over the years, some of the things she’d come into schooling being self-taught after a bad couple of nights.

PART 3: PAST INFLUENCES

·         What do you consider the most important event of your life so far? :: The night Dan almost killed her and she survived, barely, to be present and the star witness at the trial that would send him to prison for at least 20 years for attempted premeditated murder. And every so many years when probation is brought before the review board, release for good behavior, she makes sure she’s available to speak. She even takes the day off work to make sure she can go down and make herself and her story with him heard.

·         Who has had the most influence on you? :: Mama.

·         What do you consider your greatest achievement? :: Bouncing back from being a high school dropout ( even though her reasoning was perfectly acceptable and understandable ), getting her GED and her degrees. Putting herself first. Finally.

·         What is your greatest regret? :: Bobby blames herself for her mother’s death. Obviously her mother became addicted to opioids and died of an aortic rupture, which were things no little girl could have realistically been able to help or prevent. Nonetheless she thinks, and has believed all her life that maybe she wasn’t strong enough to help her mother through the worst of their lives, to survive past it and watch her babies grow up and succeed in the way their mama had always wanted and hoped.

·         What is the most evil thing you have ever done? :: Bobby pulled the wings off a fly once. Another time she pulled the back legs off of a grasshopper. It was, in her mind ( at least as a pretense ) all for science, but some psychologists and therapists might think otherwise.

·         Do you have a criminal record of any kind? :: Bobby has gotten arrested a couple times, all for misdemeanor things like stealing a candy bar from a convenience store and for indecent exposure in her small town when she was caught with her pants down around the bend, side of the road, peeing in the brush while drunk.

·         When was the time you were the most frightened? :: Bobby was frightened to the same extent twice in her life. The first when her mother was being beaten for the last time ( which was also the night she died ) and when Bobby herself was being beaten and broken and nearly killed by Dan.

·         What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you? :: When she was 15 ( which is not a legal age of consent and no, I do not condone anything happening to minors, this is just FICTION ) she was being diddled by Dan in the back seat of his car ( he was older than she was by 2 years as well ) when she opened her eyes to find the window down and a couple of Dan’s older friends jerking themselves off to what Dan was doing to her, turning her on and playing with her. She immediately wanted to stop and thankfully there were other people walking by when she started screaming or she most likely would have been forced to continue against her will. It was both embarrassing for her and equally as dangerous and twisted a situation.

·         If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be, and why? :: Bobby often wishes she was older and stronger than she was when her mother died. She wants to be able to go back and take her siblings out of that environment altogether. She wants to have been able to maybe even save her mother.

·         What is your best memory? :: The ones alone in the woods. Anything where the woodlands creatures accepted her as a part of their world, knowing inherently she wouldn’t hurt them.

·         What is your worst memory? :: The way her mother died, in her arms, at home. There were no police and no ambulance until it was too late to save her, much too late.

PART 4: BELIEFS & OPINIONS

·         Are you basically optimistic or pessimistic? :: Optimistic.

·         What is your greatest fear? :: Being powerless and out of control of her own life.

·         What are your religious views? :: She’s spiritual but does not ascribe to any one particular religious sect or view. She tends to take a little of this and a little of that from various religions, whatever she feels she can identify with in the moment and incorporate into her lifestyle.

·         What are your political views? :: Progressive Liberal Independent.

·         What are your views on sex? :: The more the better. Well, provided it’s the right person and it’s consensual. Also, sometimes a little kinky if she trusts the person she’s with implicitly.

·         Are you able to kill? Under what circumstances do you find killing to be acceptable or unacceptable? :: In any verses where the apocalypse doesn’t exist ( or not yet ) she could only kill if it was someone threatening her life or the lives of her family/spouse/kids. In the apocalypse, she begins just as they all did, saying they would never kill the living, then only if she had to, and progressing until doing it regularly because she had to and there were rarely other options. Not to say there are moments when she should kill and doesn’t, for one reason or another, but she makes sure to weigh the call. Taking a life, being a healer as she is and continues to be, isn’t an easy call to make.

·         In your opinion, what is the most evil thing any human being could do? :: To abuse physically, emotionally, mentally, and/or sexually a child. To Bobby that is the most reprehensible crime.

·         Do you believe in the existence of soul mates and/or true love? :: Yes.

·         What do you believe makes a successful life? :: The impact one has on the world around them, whoever or whatever they touch/influence. What a person leaves behind, their legacy.

·         How honest are you about your thoughts and feelings (i.e. do you hide your true self from others, and in what way)? :: Bobby is pretty honest about her feelings now, almost to a detriment. She’s brutally honest about thoughts and feelings and has been pretty intense in all aspects of her life since her father died and set her free from the binds of her past.

·         Do you have any biases or prejudices? :: Bobby has biases against rapists and child molesters, child abusers and domestic violence offenders. Really, she feels as though anyone who breaks the law for more than stealing some food ( if a person is desperate to eat or feed their family ) they should do the time applicable to the crime.

·         Is there anything you absolutely refuse to do under any circumstances? Why do you refuse to do it? :: Bobby doesn’t like to lie. She won’t do it. If asked to lie she will retreat from the conflict altogether, saying nothing to either party. If asked for the truth, therefore, she would have to tell the truth. Her replies at being asked to lie always include some formulation of ‘if you want to propagate lies and slander then do it in your name.’ Her refusal stems from years of her mother and her family lying to the authorities, to medical professionals, to the world about what they went through at her father’s hands. ( Whether they knew or not otherwise wasn’t the point. )

·         Who or what, if anything, would you die for (or otherwise go to extremes for)? :: Family and friends that have become family. Her spouse, her partner, the person she’s chosen to spend the rest of her life with. Her children, adopted or natural, blood or not.

PART 5: RELATIONSHIPS W/OTHERS

·         In general, how do you treat others (politely, rudely, by keeping them at a distance, etc.)? Does your treatment of them change depending on how well you know them, and if so, how? :: Bobby is always guided by the other person. She will usually begin friendly and polite, if a bit wary and gruff depending on the circumstances. It always depends on the first impression and expression of the other person how she reacts and treats them from there, forward. Sometimes a rude or dislike situation can be changed over time if both parties work toward making it positive or a catalyst turns the dynamic around. Likewise, if someone starts off friendly with her it can turn to dislike and even hatred if given the right cataclysm. She read this quote once that she lives by : ‘if you feel it necessary to judge me by my past, don’t be surprised when I put you in it.’ Most often, however, if a person is able to get past all the walls she’s built over time against being hurt viscerally by someone intimately, they’re in her heart and they’re usually there for good.

·         Who is the most important person in your life, and why? :: It depends on the verse. Sometimes all she has left are her brother and sister. Other verses are dependent on her family/attachments/spouses/significant others. Rick, Shane, Daryl, Charley, etc. Family is important to Bobby, especially at the end of the world. Her children are first and foremost the most important people in her life in the verses in which she has them.

·         Who is the person you respect the most, and why? :: Carol. No matter what verse is concerned, this holds true. She sees a lot of her mother in Carol. A lot of the same strengths and hopes and dreams that have been tramped down by a man with a heavy hand and an awfully small constitution. Of all the people Bobby has the pleasure to meet in all her travels and all her realities, Carol is the one person she loves and supports and looks up to the most.

·         Who are your friends? Do you have a best friend? Describe these people. :: Bobby has very few friends in the real world. As stated before she was never a popular kid growing up and only got any recognition for her beauty by boys or girls with one thing on the mind. The only people she considers as true friends she made after the world as she knew it already ended. Carol. Daryl. Rick. Shane. Maggie. Glenn. Enid. King Ezekiel. Jerry. Jesus. Aaron. Etc. The only exception to this is the verse where she’s known Daryl all her life; in that case she’s always had him. He is her best friend. And her cat, Patches, a gray and white tabby cat with darker gray almost black ears, definitely constitutes as a best friend.

·         Do you have a spouse or significant other? If so, describe this person. :: Daryl – nickname Tracker; annoyed and frustrated with how much she talks but loves her for it anyway and finds it kind of endearing despite himself; afraid of intimacy in the same way that she is and was and what makes them a good fit is their willingness now to grow together solely with one another; can’t live with her and can’t live without her; hillbilly grump with the most honest, pure, innocent heart of anyone she knows. Shane – nickname Deputy; knows who the real boss of the house is; is probably afraid of Bobby…maybe…like a lot; strong willed, passionate, and has an easy anger reflex; they fight a lot about the silliest things but it always come back to love; the thing he probably loves the most about her is that she knows how to turn the damn lights off. Rick – no nickname as yet; he really stepped into the leader role over the time they’ve known each other; Bobby never expected to follow him as closely as she does now; they don’t always agree but they rarely actually fight; he’s the epitome of calm and problem solving in dire situations; he’d walk through Hell and all its fire for her and his kids and probably everyone else he cares for and that’s the one thing she loves the most above all else about him. Mac – nickname Cupcake; strictly a fanfiction/headcanon ship at this point; used to ship this pairing exclusively with macxtheanimal way back when; a meth head, rapist, murderer, criminal, muscle and enforcer for his father’s crystal meth operation; he’s a villain that makes no apologies for his actions but she can see the broken little boy in him, abandoned by his mother so long ago to his father’s lifestyle; kept her hostage as a sex slave for a long time until they had an intimate exchange one night and she whispered to him that she just wanted to be free to make the choice; he let her go, saying she was free and he knew she’d always leave because they all did if given a chance; she stayed. {{ All are subject to change based on verse or partner writing this with us. Mostly these listings as spouses or SO’s are exclusive right now to wexarethewalkingxdead and macxtheanimal. }}

·         Have you ever been in love? If so, describe what happened. :: She’s only been in love a couple times in her life. ( Verse dependent. ) It almost always ends in pain and suffering for her, be it physically or emotionally, but there are a few over the verses/years that she’s found true happiness with.

·         What do you look for in a potential lover? :: Connection. Chemistry. Sexy/pretty eyes. Rough pads of their hands and they have to be steady and firm. Stable.

·         How close are you to your family? :: Bobby and her siblings are VERY close, even though they don’t live in the same place anymore. Sometimes herself and her sister Kath haven’t always been as close as they should have been. Those moments are almost always based on imagined slights of some kind because Bobby is and always has been an outspoken person; she never sugar coats things that should be communicated. It follows in the same vein as her always being truthful. Hence, sometimes hurt feelings. Bobby and the people she’s come to think of as family are likewise, VERY close with these same issues of hurt feelings now and again, resulting mostly in a short time of silence or avoidance between the parties.

·         Have you started your own family? If so, describe them. If not, do you want to? Why or why not? :: This is dependent on her verses. In some she does make a family with someone special. In others she hasn’t, whether because she hasn’t found that someone yet or because she’s afraid of finding a man like her father and subjecting herself to the same life her mother lived prior to her death – not to mention subjecting any children they might have to that lifestyle.

·         Who would you turn to if you were in desperate need of help? :: Bobby would turn to her siblings first, provided it was something they could solve realistically. If they aren’t available or they can’t fix it because they live out of state, etc, the next stop would be her chosen family, friends she’s made along the way that would go the extra mile for her, and she for them.

·         Do you trust anyone to protect you? Who, and why? :: Very few people and they have to prove themselves to her with their deeds, not just words and promises coming off lips and tongues that have lied so many times they probably don’t even know they’re doing it anymore.

·         If you died or went missing, who would miss you? :: Her family ( her brother and sister ) have been living in different states from her for quite a few years now but that doesn’t mean they’ve become distant. They would definitely miss her. Also any of the family she’s made in the apocalypse. Obviously this is verse dependent.

·         Who is the person you despise the most, and why? :: Actually, I think Bobby despises her mother the most of anyone she’s ever known in her life. It’s a very complicated relationship. Bobby still loves her mother; while she was alive she was the only kindness Bobby and her siblings knew. She was strong and endured a lot but that same strength could also be considered weakness. Why couldn’t she have left their father? Why couldn’t she have taken them away and made a go of it on their own? Maybe she’d be alive today. Maybe a lot of things. So Bobby is constantly fighting with love and hate for the woman that bore her.

·         Do you tend to argue with people, or avoid conflict? :: Bobby has a good sense for whatever a situation calls for, usually. In most circumstances she will listen and hear someone out before saying her piece. But she is southern and strong willed, a stiff backbone, and sometimes the outrage comes dripping off her teeth like venom before she can stave them off. In moments when she can’t be smart and hold her tongue, and even when she does, Bobby is a woman who is definitely not afraid of conflict if she feels the situation calls for it.

·         Do you tend to take on leadership roles in social situations? :: Bobby is strong enough to take the weight of the world on her shoulders. It certainly depends on what the situation is, but in the case of her primary verse – in the Walker apocalypse – she doesn’t hold back. As a healer, a nurse, she will absolutely take on a leadership role if one is needed. If another leader is present, and she respects that person, they will only gain support from her; likewise, if they do not have her respect, all they will get it push-back until they either utilize her and her ideas to their potential or she potentially replaces them as the leader. She’s very strong but she is versatile. She knows when to step back and let things shake loose.

·         Do you like interacting with large groups of people? Why or why not? :: Bobby has always been a little bit of a loner. She’d personable but she also likes her alone time. As previously discussed, there wasn’t a lot of silent time in her home and she much rather would have been somewhere alone with her thoughts instead of lined up ready to catch a beating. Large crowds do tend to make her a little anxious. She’d much rather only deal with a few people at a time.

·         Do you care what others think of you? :: Bobby does care what other people thing of her, to an extent. She doesn’t dwell on it, however, and if there are ever opinions that are misconstrued or wrong she will make sure not to ever think on those things again. The only thing that usually can get to Bobby is when people she loves and is devoted to make comments to her that can be considered derogatory or hurtful, judging.

PART 6: LIKES & DISLIKES

·         What is/are your favorite hobbies and pastimes? :: Hiking and taking walks in the lush green forests. Photography. Reading. Her grandma taught her mother how to sew and thus, taught Bobby enough to get by; those nursing lessons on stitching wounds up didn’t hurt either.

·         What is your most treasured possession? :: Patches. He is a grey and white tabby cat with dubious bloodline origin with black ears. She’s had him with her for a long time and she’d walk through fire for him if she had to.

·         What is your favorite color? :: Blue.

·         What is your favorite food? :: Seafood boil.

·         What, if anything, do you like to read? :: Bobby is an always will be a fan of anything she can get her hands on. She does go through moods, however, devoted to certain genres over the others. Predominantly she reads works of fiction about murder and crime, who done its and thrillers. Horror novels are a must as well. A favorite series of hers is the By The Numbers novels about Stephanie Plum and her life fumble bumbling through the Bounty Hunter business by Janet Evanovich. Romance novels, unless well written with a predominant plot encompassing one of the aforementioned genres, can go suck lemons!

·         What is your idea of good entertainment (consider music, movies, art, etc.)? :: Bobby is mostly a music person. Movies are fine and television can captivate her attention if its done well but there’s nothing better than putting in a CD, or plugging her headphones into her phone’s jack and playing some tunes on the digital frequency. It sets the mood, no matter what that mood is, 100% of the time.

·         Do you smoke, drink, or use drugs? If so, why? Do you want to quit? :: Bobby used to smoke. It was something to do with her hands and a nervous tick that she adopted mostly in crowded groups of people to help calm her nerves in those situations. Social smoking. Whether or not she still does it verse dependent. Bobby also drinks alcoholic beverages but within reason and rarely ever to excess.

·         How do you spend a typical Saturday night? :: In the apocalypse there is a lot to do, all of the time. There’s never a dull moment. Saturdays are usually reserved for whatever needs doing that wasn’t done the day before, as well as making time for family and friends trying to reclaim what was stolen from them by the world as it exists now. In the other verses where the world is normal, Saturdays are usually reserved for family time, the park, the zoo, barbecues with family and friends, etc. On the rare occasion work comes calling – she is an emergency room nurse – she will sometimes go in. And sometimes not.

·         What makes you laugh? :: Stupid jokes, dad jokes, horrible puns. Her husband. Her kids. New airings and reruns of America’s Funniest Home Videos.

·         What, if anything, shocks or offends you? :: Racism, sexism, ableism, homophobia, slurs and swear words used in conjunction with said slurs and behavior, etc. Anything that could be considered along the same vein by small minded people who are afraid of anything they don’t know and haven’t bothered to become educated about/in.

·         What would you do if you had insomnia and had to find something to do to amuse yourself? :: Insomnia does sometimes strike. It happens in those moments when something exceptionally traumatic happens at work or there happens to be a scare with her husband, kids, or siblings/family, those moments when she’s in the dark of the night, sometimes alone, with her own thoughts and fears. Sometimes there is no amusing herself. Sometimes she has to talk herself down off a very high ledge. Sometimes she has to wake up her significant other ( if present ) just to know they’re there, they’re alive. Sometimes the heartbeat and the steady breathing isn’t enough.

·         How do you deal with stress? :: Bobby reads. She keeps her hands busy cooking, cleaning, and caring for her family. Killing Walkers in the apocalypse, keeping a tight perimeter. Yoga and pilates in the verses where the world hasn’t changed.

·         Are you spontaneous, or do you always need to have a plan? :: Bobby is usually a very plan oriented person. She’s learned over the years that the only way to be is concerned, vigilant, if a bit controlling. That isn’t to say that she’s a control freak, but she does have strong opinions and will be heard on them. She wishes she was more spontaneous and sometimes makes attempts to purposely exit her comfort zone in certain situations she deems it appropriate, such as her sex life, dates, etc.

·         What are your pet peeves? :: People who can’t follow directions or laws of an ordered society. People who lie or steal unless circumstances are such that would overwrite the negative or somehow make an allowance for it. People who judge others or presume to tell other people their business when they don’t even have their lives together.

PART 7: SELF IMAGES & OTHER

·         Describe the routine of a normal day for you. How do you feel when this routine is disrupted? :: Regardless of what her work schedule works like ( days or evenings ) Bobby gets up around 5 a.m. daily. She makes coffee through the slits of her eyelids. She then returns to the bathroom where she showers and brushes her teeth. By that time she usually is ready to start breakfast for herself and whoever else is present. Morning shifts she works until 3 p.m. She will usually run any errands she has to do at that time before coming home and making dinner. Night shifts she works until 11 p.m. doing the errands and prepping dinner before leaving for the night for her shift. If her routine happens to be interrupted or subverted in any way, she usually gets a little perturbed, might make a dramatic comment about everything being a mess, and carrying on with things as best as she can.

·         What is your greatest strength as a person? :: Her heart and her generosity. It helped her overcome a lot of odds that were stacked against her from the beginning.

·         What is your greatest weakness? :: Her heart. Sometimes she’s loyal to a fault even though the people she let inside of it use her and abuse her. Also her stubborn as a mule attitude and her stiff backbone. When she’s made up her mind there’s very precious little that can change it.

·         If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? :: How her past shaped her to be numb and emotionless in certain situations that require feeling. She doesn’t always respond in the right ways to tragedy or loss. Sometimes not responding at all. It’s a more calloused wounded part of herself she wished she didn’t have.

·         Are you generally introverted or extroverted? :: Generally extroverted but in small doses. Large gatherings or venues kept to a minimum.

·         Are you generally organized or messy? :: Organized.

·         Name three things you consider yourself to be very good at, and three things you consider yourself to be very bad at. :: Good – 1) Problem solving, 2) Nursing/healing, 3) Being a wife and mother. Bad – 1) Spontaneity, 2) Letting go, 3) Cleaning vomit.

·         Do you like yourself? :: Yes. For the most part.

·         What are your reasons for being an adventurer (or doing the strange and heroic things that RPG characters do)? Are your real reasons for doing this different than the ones you tell people in public? (If so, detail both sets of reasons…) :: It’s a choice you make. When things get difficult, what kind of person would you want to be? If a child cries in the dark, scared, alone; would you help them? Or would you turn away? Tell yourself it’s not your concern. If a mother and father are fighting for their child’s life as the child is being physically removed from their arms, wounded, killed before them. Would you intervene if you could? Or turn your back? Would you do everything you could because you have the ability, because you have the choice or do you do nothing, make the choice not to, and perhaps blood be on your hands…? It’s a choice she makes every day to do better, to be someone she could be proud of, that her family would remember and be proud of long after she was gone. Her sacrifice, if needed, would not be in vane.

·         What goal do you most want to accomplish in your lifetime? :: Leave the world a little better than she found it.

·         Where do you see yourself in 5 years? :: She can’t say. She hopes to be alive and well, actually living a life and happy within its confines. But she knows that may never come. Not even tomorrow is guaranteed…

·         If you could choose, how would you want to die? :: Old and grey in her sleep. In the apocalypse, if she could choose and she was bitten/injured beyond the ability to be healed, she would want to shoot herself in the head before changing. She wouldn’t want to leave it for any of her loved ones to do; she doesn’t want that burden to be on their soul.

·         If you knew you were going to die in 24 hours, name three things you would do in the time you had left. :: 1) Write little notes or letters to those she loved who would miss her and feel her loss the most. 2) Love on and spend a lot of time with the children, 3) Clean, load, cock and ready her gun and wait.

·         What is the one thing for which you would most like to be remembered after your death? :: Her kindness. How many people she helped. How far out of her way she sometimes went to make that happen.

·         What three words best describe your personality? :: Brave, Generous, and Loyal

·         What three words would others probably use to describe you? :: Bold, Daring, and Realistic

·         If you could, what advice would you, the player, give to your character? (You might even want to speak as if he or she were sitting right here in front of you, and use proper tone so he or she might heed your advice…) :: Bobby. You are without a doubt the biggest pain in my ass, second only to Shane and Daryl. You are the most generous, kind, loyal person I’ve ever had the pleasure to know. You’re also one of the most stubborn. A word of advice might be you think too much. You plan and you organize and you get shit done. I get it. But sometimes, you’re a little too extra. Learn what it’s like to be a girl. Let your hair down more. Unscrew the dick sometimes. It’s fun being a girl. And I know that you know that but you’re too afraid to lose control because you think if you do you’ll lose everything good you ever had. And I know it’s because you don’t think you deserve all the good you have received over the years. You’re beauty. You’re grace. You’re the kind of person I wish I could be sometimes; but you need to be a little less afraid of what you could lose and more willing to risk it all. A man in my life asked me once if a moment of happiness was worth a lifetime of anything else. And the answer is yes.

[thebibliomancer]

Dark Crystal Age of Resistance ep 4 liveblog

“The First Thing I Remember is Fire”

Just a stream of thoughts.

Dammit the logo caught on fire. This is why they didn’t want open flames on the sets!

Gelfling are just super racist against Podlings.

A Guard: “Shut up, you’ll give everyone nightmares with that wailing!”

Hup: -sings louder, out of spite-

Sooooooooo Deet has decided to be a cryptid.

For Gelfling are a superstitious and cowardly lot. 

Flew around wailing and screeching until A Guard and B Guard took off in a frighten and then rescued Hup.

“Thra’s true balance will be found when natural order is sound.”

Dark Crystal loves its weird, random prophecies. But they’ve got nothing on Redwall.

-Brea, breaks the secret door- 

Why is there a secret room at the end of the secret passage under a secret door in the throne secretly that has the symbols of the seven clans?

Brea: “Oh, its a puzzle!”

Hey, yeah, this is coming off a little Legend of Zelda…

“I have to put the clans in their natural order, from highest to lowest, and then Thra will be in balance” =| ffs brea

You done learned a classism, growing up.

Dammit puzzle room, don’t reward her for classism! Orrr racism?

Brea is having a hard time ranking the clans once she gets past the ‘well obviously the Vapra are the best’

Wow, good job, modern puppeteers. You’ve made the Skeksis eating even grosser. And in the original movie it was a sort of cathartic trash the set sort of scene.

Wow, very gross.

Oh, this specific gross banquet is in honor of the Ornamentalist. So of course everyone spends the entire time whining about how food is like ash in their mouths compared to drinking soul goo.

Soul goo is crackier than crack. One sip and the Skeksis are all super hooked on it and already jonesing for another hit.

And the Ornamentalist is just annoyed.

Ornamentalist: “Essence, essence, essence! That’s all any of you talk about since I returned. It’s my party. Talk about me!”

Of course, the Ornamentalist would gladly try a hit but there’s none left.

Awww, they didn't invite Scientist to the party. They locked him in his lab until he finishes his mad science chores.

All the Skeksis are talking about wiping out the entire Gelfling population and Chamberlain is the only one thats not stupid about the horrific act of eating souls to maintain youth.

Chamberlain: “A wise shepherd does not cull entire herd, yes? We should take only what Gelfling we need to survive!”

Gourmand: “Moderation is for the meek!”

I again wonder how these dinguses managed to rule the planet for a thousand years without using it all up.

Chamberlain just called the General a coward. And the other Skeksis are just going FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

General: “I welcome war!”

Chamberlain: “Because you are too thick-headed to use brain!”

General: -affronted gasp-

And the Emperor is too busy PULLING HIS FINGER OFF to pay much attention

Gross. You’re getting pus… everything was already disgusting and you’ve found the way to make it worse, Emperor

So he wants instant results and starts yelling at the Chamberlain who can just shrink down and go ‘he started it’

Aww Emperor just dumped Chamberlain as his favorite counselor and his new bff is the general

Woow the general wasn’t kidding. The instant Chamberlain doesn’t have the Emperor’s favor, the General smacks Chamberlain to the floor and stomps on his hand.

I almost feel bad for him.

And now several minutes of Aughra complaining about how old she is and yelling at the ground to shut up until someone shoots plot arrows around her.

And the Emperor rolls into the lab to mock the Scientist for having no friends. Wow.

So the Scientist finished repairing the soul suck machine, with the bondage chair upgrade like in the movie.

Emperor: “How many Gelfling must we drain to cheat death for all eternity?”

Scientist: ‘thats fucked up, dude’

Or more seriously, the Scientist is actually worried about the Darkening and worries that draining Gelfling will cause it to spread faster.

But the Emperor is a global decaying denier and tells Scientist to tell him what he wants to hear.

Or he’ll kill his pet lab animals. Which the Scientist actually seems to like. I mean the animals, not the choking of them.

Scientist: “Fifty Gelfling, every trine!” I’m split between thinking ‘wow thats awful’ and ‘wow thats sustainable’

Chamberlain is feeling sad because Emperor doesn’t love him most anymore so he’s blowing an ominous horn.

Oh, another new Skeksis! SkekMal, the Hunter!

And all the other Skeksis are like ‘aw fuck not that guy’

Its interesting to think that from how much all the Skeksis seem to despise each other, thats actually them getting along and liking each other, and there are other Skeksis that they just don’t like at all.

WOW SKEKMAL LOOKS SPOOKY

THE GROUND IS ANGRY

THE SKY IS ANGRY!

WHY IS EVERYTHING ANGRY

Oh theres Aughra, of course she’s angry. She’s angry or peeved or irritated or disgruntled.

Aughra: “I will go no further!” -many plot arrows- “... I will go a bit further.”

I hadn’t gotten a good view yet but Aughra has a cool cape.

Oh hey, a new UrRu! This day brings a bounty. He’s the Archer who has been shooting arrows adjacent to Aughra.

Archer: “Thra still sings”

Aughra: “Then why don’t I hear it?”

Archer: “Because you turned your eye away from Thra and towards the stars.”

Hearing that from the Skeksis is just audacious but hearing it from an UrRu makes it hurt.

Aughra: “I trusted the Skeksis to look after Thra! I took their word!”

Archer: “And their gifts”

GET DUNKED ONNNNNN i guess.

Having four arms must help with archery. But apparently having arthritis in all of those arms doesn’t.

Archer shoots arrow straight up into the air and has it land right at her feet. And vanishes while she’s watching it go.

Aughra: “You could have just said this! Clearly, succinctly! Without all the walking!”

Archer is the troll UrRu

Ohhh, I bet Archer and Hunter are counterparts. BECAUSE THEY’RE BOTH BATMAN

Archer does the vanishing when he feels the conversation is ended part and Hunter appears out of nowhere to give Chamberlain a frighten.

Hunter: “What is the prey?”

Chamberlain: “A Gelfling”

Hunter: “Nope. Bye.”

But Chamberlain talks him into it anyway because talking people into things is what Chamberlain does.

Although first he tries to make the Hunter feel sorry for his, the Chamberlain’s, reverse in fortunes by whining that the General hurt his hand but the Hunter just. Doesn’t. Care. About castle politics. He wouldn’t be out in the night being batman if he did.

But Chamberlain does manage to somehow convince him that Rian is worthy prey.

Now the General is charge of Gurjin’s interrogation and he immediately cattle prods him several times and straps him into the soul suck machine. Welp.

Gurjin, you’re wonderfully defiant and snarky.

General: “I will ask you once again, WHERE IS THE FUGITIVE RIAN?”

Gurjin, having just been partially soul sucked: “Have you checked the Great Smerth? It’s particularly lovely in spring.”

The Emperor rolls in and its like dad came home and caught the boys misbehaving.

Scientist: “I told him not to do it!”

General: “I… I was just introducing myself to the Gelfling!”

Emperor: =__=

OH MY GOD BREA HAS JUST BEEN TRYING TO BRUTE FORCE THE PUZZLE THIS ENTIRE TIME

She’s just been trying different combinations and writing down what doesn’t work.

Brea: “‘Thra’s true balance will be found when the natural order is sound’… but there is no natural order because no clan is above any of the others! It isn’t a puzzle! It’s a lie!”

Good job overcoming your prejudices, Brea!

Also, apparently refusing to rank the clans was the correct answer. This puzzle room is smart.

Hey what. Hey um what. There’s this stone dinosaur now what.

Its kind of cute.

YODA????

IS THAT YODA???

So the rock creature is named Lore and it has like… rock grooved cylinders and a rock phonograph pick and like a recorded Yoda voice that drops exposition 

Yoda: “Lore has imprinted on you. He is now your guardian and will protect you on your journey to the Circle of the SUns. There you will find the key to free Gelfing from Skeksis power forever.”

Oh.

Wait, who put this here? If the All-Maudra is NOW deeply in the Skeksis’ pockets then who and when put a secret room under her throne? And who knew enough to put a rock puppy in a secret room with a prerecorded message that the Skeksis were up to nooooo good. If someone knew all along that the Skeksis were jerks, why bury a message about it instead of doing something?

And then Seladon shows up and is like “THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE”

I’m not sure what the Gelfling guards were going to do to a rock monster with little spears anyway.

And now Rian has wandered into the Podling village. Hopefully he manages to be less racist than everyone else (except Deet) that interacts with them.

Wait, is that Rian? Then who is the other hooded gelfling and why are there ominous scare strings?

Podlings just love to party. They’re the Michelangelo of Thra’s races.

-Podling picks up entire keg and sprays it into another Podling’s mouth-

Rian gets a free drink because an old lady Podling wants to flirt at him across the room.

But his heart is too tender after losing the love of his life and I’m sure he won’t have room for a new love anytime soon.

Gurjin’s sister is hardcore. Shows up and puts Rian at knifepoint to ransom him off to get Gurjin back.

Oh and Cool Sister Tavra also shows up to also try to capture Rian for murdering a member of the Vapra (which he didn’t).

Oh Cool Sister Tavra, why’d you have to be racist at the Drunchens?

Rian: “Will someone just please fucking dreamfast with me so we can resolve this damn plot?”

Entirely new character Kylan: “Yeah I’m game” “The Skeksis may rule the land, but they do not rule my heart.”

Damn, entirely new character Kylan, you’re dope.

Tavra also decides that if entirely new character Kylan is going to do it, then she’s going to do it too.

And Gurjin’s sister gets peer pressured into doing it too.

FINALLY dreamfasting does what it was designed to do and shortcut past doubt and suspicion so we can get on with it.

Oh hey, Rian’s dad wanders in (geez Rian is bad at hiding if everyone found him at the same time) and also gets in on this dreamfast.

It feels a little weirder though because he gets in when it was already ongoing and its like weird because everyone else consented to the dreamfast and he just invited himself in.

But hey it lets Rian make up with his dad so, sure.

Dreamfasting also apparently can create- oh dreametching. Yeah they did mention that could happen.

So now Rian, entirely new character Kylan, and Dadrian are going to the All-Maudra to get her to rally the Gelflings against the Skeksis.

And Gurjin’s sister Naia and Tavra are going to the castle to free Gurjin.

I caaaaan’t help but feeeeeel that if Tavra went with Rian’s group they’d be able to convince the All-Maudra more easily but surrrrrrrrrre do whateverrrrrr

Unless you get captured and killed, Tavra and Naia. I’d be disgruntled at that.

Its kind of weird you have this group of plucky youths and also Rian’s dad who is like the wizened old man compared to them.

Wait, where IS Kylan? Did he go with the castle group after all?

Wait, shouldn’t Rian dad go on the castle mission since he’s the boss guard? And would make it easier for them  to-

Oh, I see. He has to be killed by the Hunter to show how serious the situation is.

Sorry, RIan’s dad. You’re the sacrificial lamb.

I mean, it hasn’t happened yet, but I bet it will-

OH HI DEET!

Deet and Rian just barely cross each other’s paths again. Its a small world after all.

Rian: “Do you remember [father-son bonding activity]?”

Rian Dad: “Ahhh I see how that memory we both share would be useful here.”

HOLY SHIT the Hunter can book. All the other Skeksis are like lumbering around and feeling old and he’s jumping in trees. Maybe fresh air IS good for you.

And he’s a puppet or a costume or a costume puppet so holy shit.

Rian tries to sword fight the Hunter but like…. The weight advantage is very much the Hunter’s. He’s just easily pushing the Gelfling around

HOLY SHIT HIS TWO EXTRA ARMS AREN'T ATROPHIED HE���S SKEKSIS GENERAL GRIEVOUS

Hunter: “You have heart…. I’ll take that too.”

Oh no I was wrong! Rian Dad wasn’t the sacrificial lamb! He was the heroic sacrifice!

He tackled the Hunter into a pit of angry earth and the Hunter seems pretty okay with that as long as he takes someone with him. What an enigmatic guy.

Oh. never mind. Hunter is still alive. He’s too angry and spry for the ground to eat.

I was about to say what a shame it was to introduce the guy and immediately get him eaten by the ground.

And also Riandad’s sacrifice was pointless because the Hunter immediately captures Rian and absconds with him.

Deet and Hup must be very confused coming into this plot branch with no context.

[echoes-of-realities]

90 for brittana please?

Notes: Okay look I know it’s been Literally Forever since I got this prompt lmao but I finally did it. I’m spending the next little bit finishing up on prompts and requests I got from before I started working on be my fire in the cold (and I’ll be waiting by the mistletoe) before I work on anything new!

90. “You’ve been replaced.” // “Alright, we’ll see how you feel when you need me to kill a spider in the shower.”

Brittany stares at the board of flight times and pouts as she waits for Santana to answer her phone. She’s already been away for a week and she’s more than ready to see her wife again, but with mechanical delays and bad weather on its way and technical issues it looks like it’s still going to be another couple days until she gets home.

“Hello?” Santana finally answers, her voice raspy and slurred with sleep.

Brittany mentally counts the time between their timezones and smiles when she realizes that it’s not late enough for Santana to be in bed for the night, but it is right around the time Santana usually has an impromptu nap when she works a late shift. Usually Brittany is there to wake her when her wife hasn’t emerged from their bedroom after going to change out of her work clothes, knowing Santana never sleeps well after having a nap in the evening, but unfortunately she’s kind of on the other side of the country right now. “Sorry, honey,” Brittany says softly, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine, you didn’t,” Santana mumbles.

“Sure I didn’t,” Brittany teases gently.

“Okay, I might have dozed off,” Santana concedes, and Brittany can hear the wide smile in her voice. “What time is it? Have you landed already?”

Brittany sighs deeply and continues to stare at the flight times. “No, I haven’t even boarded yet.”

“What?” Santana says, sounding a little more awake, “Your flight was supposed to leave hours ago.”

Brittany sighs again, finally turning away from the flight board and adjusting her carryon so it sits better on her shoulder as she wanders the gate of her original flight. “We did board the plane hours ago but there was some sort of serious mechanical issues so we had to all get off, and then there were technical issues with the airport’s computers? I dunno I didn’t really follow what they were saying, but long story short there was a butt-ton of problems going on and it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting out of here for a couple days and this is the first time I actually had a chance to breathe let alone call you.”

“Really?” Santana says quietly, and though Brittany knows she’s trying to mask her disappointment, Brittany’s known her for far too long for that to work.

“Unfortunately,” Brittany sighs. “There’s bad weather coming in tomorrow too so unless I manage to somehow catch a flight tonight I probably won’t be home until Wednesday.”

“Well that really fucking sucks,” Santana finally says.

Brittany chokes on a laugh and shakes her head because, yeah, it really fucking does. “I’ll hang out here for a couple hours and see. They said if there’s any cancellations they’ll try to get people from my flight out of here but they can’t promise anything so.”

“How’s your auntie?” Santana says after a moment.

“She’s good,” Brittany says, “My mom said they discharged her about an hour ago actually.”

“I wish I could have gone with you,” Santana murmurs.

“I know,” Brittany promises, “I know you’d be here in a heartbeat if your boss wasn’t such an asshole.”

Santana laughs, and there’s a rustling and a loud meow that can only be the sound of Lord Tubbington being disturbed by Santana being too loud. Brittany listens as Santana shifts around, presumably helping Tubbs up onto their bed since it’s too high for him to jump with his arthritis and general laziness. “C’mon you dumb cat,” Santana mumbles, “At least help me out if you wanna cuddle.”

Brittany giggles as she imagines her wife struggling to balance her phone against her ear and shoulder and lift Tubbs up into bed at the same time. “I can’t believe you would betray me like this and cuddle when I can’t take embarrassing pictures of the two of you,” Brittany teases.

There’s a shuffling and Santana’s voice is distant when she says, “You’ve been replaced,” in that haughty, teasing tone of hers. Brittany’s phone vibrates against her ear and when she quickly checks it she finds a message from Santana, a selfie of her wife and their cat curled up together against Brittany’s pillow, and an ache of fond homesickness flares up in her chest.

“Alright,” Brittany concedes, “we’ll see how you feel when you need me to kill a spider in the shower.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Santana gasps, “There was one in there on yesterday and Tubbs and I both just screamed at it. I have literally no clue where it is now.” There’s a beat of silence and they just listen to each other smile before Santana sighs a little. “I miss you,” she whispers.

Brittany’s chest clenches and she stares at her feet for a long moment, breathing deeply until the lump in her throat eases enough for her to manage an “I miss you too.” It’s been a long week and she hasn’t really slept, instead just dozing off in uncomfortable hospital chairs while her family crowded around her auntie’s bed and waited for her to wake up after her stroke, desperately missing her wife’s comforting embrace. “Listen, I’m going to go check and see if there’s any cancellations,” she says. “I’ll let you know if I can get a flight.”

“Okay,” Santana whispers, “I really hope you make it home soon. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Brittany murmurs, “And so do I.”

After hanging up she heads straight to the desk and finds apologetic airport staff telling her that there’s still nothing they can do. She nods and sighs, allowing herself to sulk and pout because it’s been a tiring and emotional week and all she wants is to get home and hug her wife; she finds an empty chair to collapse into, close to the desk so she’s nearby in case there’s any changes.

She somehow actually manages to catch a red-eye flight when another passenger cancels it last minute, and after a frantic rush with the airport staff to get organized she ends up flopping down into a middle seat only minutes before the plane taxis out onto the runway, and by the time she gets settled the flight attendants are telling everyone to shut their phones off and she can’t even let Santana know she’s finally on her way home; she spends the entire flight fitfully dozing, anxious to get back to her wife.

She gets in around six in the morning and instead of calling Santana she just finds the first taxi outside the airport and directs the driver back to her apartment, paying him quickly before she collects her stuff and stumbles up to her home.

Lord Tubbington greets her at the door, haughty and annoyed at being abandoned by Brittany for over a week until she scoops him into her arms and cuddles him close; only then does he start purring and decides he’ll forgive her. She releases him once he starts wiggling around, and he scampers off into the living room to curl up on his bed in there.

Brittany kicks off her sneakers and leaves all her stuff by the door, needing to find and cuddle her wife more than she needs to do anything else. She heads straight to their bedroom and finds Santana sprawled on her stomach with the sheets tangled around her bare legs, wearing one of Brittany’s old sweatshirts and underwear and nothing else, her head buried in Brittany’s pillow and a nest of blankets by her stomach where Tubbs probably spent most of the night.

Brittany leans against the doorframe and watches her wife sleep and takes a long moment to just marvel at the fact that she’s finally back home, until the urge to feel Santana’s body curled into her own gets to be too much. She’s exhausted and desperately needs a shower after spending a week in a hospital and most of the day in the airport and the night on an airplane between a man who smelled like ground beef and an old woman who wouldn’t stop coughing, but she needs the comfort of Santana’s embrace more than she needs to feel clean, so she quickly strips until she’s in her camisole and panties and tosses her clothes in the vague direction of the hamper before eagerly crawling into bed with her wife.

Santana stirs as she feels the bed dip beside her, her hand landing on Brittany’s hip and instinctively tugging her closer. Brittany rearranges them so she’s not squished against the edge of the bed and in danger of falling off, and Santana just sighs at her wife’s manhandling of her until they’re curled together in the middle of the bed. “Hi,” Brittany whispers, kissing the tip of Santana’s nose.

It scrunches adorably as Santana cracks an eye open. “You’re home,” she rasps, struggling to wake up, “You managed to get a flight? When’d you get in? What time is it?”

“Time for sleep,” Brittany says quietly, finding Santana’s lips with her own until Santana sighs and softens. “We can talk later, it’s cuddle time now.”

Santana hums and nuzzles into Brittany’s chest, wrapping an arm that’s heavy with sleep tightly around Brittany’s lower back and tugging them together and Brittany feels like she can breathe for the first time since Santana drove her to the airport last week. “Glad you’re home,” Santana mumbles, “Love you.”

“Me too,” Brittany whispers, kissing Santana’s head and burying her face into dark hair that smells of comfort and home. “Love you too,” she manages, and then they’re both lost to sleep.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #209

Doggo survey.

What is your dog’s name? Teddy. What breed of dog is it? Cocker spaniel/beagle mix. Male or female? He's an old man and you can tell if u get my drift. :^) Birthday? November 1st. Have you had it since it was a puppy? Yes. If not, how did you get this dog? N/A What is your dog’s favorite toy? He doesn't care for toys. Never did much. Do you take your dog to the pet stores? Not anymore; I wouldn't really take him out anywhere due to his arthritis. Do you take your dog to the dog park? No; last time I did was for a photography class a few years back, and he just wandered around and pooped everywhere like son you do that in our backyard, there's no real point in taking him. Then again, see the above reasoning, too. Does your dog like riding in the car? No, but he'll get in the car if he knows he has to. He used to get motion sickness; he's in the car so rarely now that I can't say with certainty if he still does, but he definitely improved. Gone on vacation with your dog? No. Any very cool tricks they know? He used to be able to say please (our equivalent to the beg command), but he no longer can because of his legs. Does your dog like cats? He's totally indifferent. Do you have other pets? If yes, what? Another dog, a cat, a rat, a snake, and an iguana. Does your dog like other dogs? Like cats, he's typically nonchalant. He's dominant towards other adult males he's lived with, though, but doesn't actually portray aggression. He is pretty easily annoyed by super-energetic dogs like our other one though, but he very rarely lashes out; he just whines or growls quietly if he's being pestered. What brand of food does your dog eat? It varies. Do you give your dog treats? Sometimes. Do you take your dog to the groomer? No, we clean him ourselves. How often is your dog brushed? Oh god, like never. He needs to be though, he sheds quite a bit. He loves being brushed too, sooo I should really start making a habit of regularly doing it. Do you brush your dog's teeth? No. Is your dog fixed? Sadly, no, because apparently my dog having an enlarged prostate and needing to be fixed more than the usual dog wasn't enough to convince my parents getting him fixed was very high on our list of priorities. I heard "we'll get him fixed" every few months with no action. I mean we've struggled with money most of my life, but getting Teddy fixed especially when that issue was discovered should've been a MUCH more pressing matter. A load of other things could've taken the back seat, especially with that situation being a cancer risk. Now he's too old to have surgery. End rant here. Other than being fixed, has your dog had any other surgery? No. Has your dog ever ran away? A couple times when he was younger and keen on being outside smelling and marking everything. He'd sometimes fly through the door if it was opened enough. There was one snowy night in particular he ran off, and I was soooobbing because of it being dark and cold. My dad had to go out and find him. Every time he eventually came back in maybe less than 30 minutes, and each time scared the shit out of me. If we followed him, he'd just dash off if we got close enough. Has your dog ever won a contest? Yes, actually! As a puppy, we took him to PetSmart on their anniversary date, where they were having a little puppy tricks and training thing. Teddy won best trick with "say please." :') He could do it so well when he was young. Do you take your dog to daycare? No. Do you ever board your dog? No. Does your dog sing? Thankfully, he's no beagle in that category. Does your dog like to watch tv or movies? No. Where does your dog sleep? He usually starts off in my bed and ends up settling down for the night on the couch. Is this your first dog you ever had? He was *my* first dog, but not first family dog. Are you more a dog or cat person? I tend to enjoy dogs as companions more, but cats are more suitable for me. Do you dress your dog? No; I am nooot a fan of dressing dogs unless it's for warmth or comfort. Do you like to photograph your dog? Yes, though I don't do so a lot now because of my phone camera being actual shit. Has your dog ever bit someone? According to Mom, he nipped at her once for idk what reason, and he even did at me on one occasion when Cali was in heat. I grabbed his collar to get him off the couch to come outside, and I think I surprised him (I was behind him). He was an asshole during all that... He's never full-on tried biting anyone, though. Does your dog like kids? He's totally unfazed by them. Does your dog come when called? Not anymore; Mom and I are pretty sure something's up with his hearing. He seems surprised sometimes when you come from behind him and into his periphery, even if you were talking to him before he saw you, and he doesn't tend to start barking when we get home unless Bentley starts, and even then, sometimes he doesn't join in. Yet he also sometimes barks at what seems to be nothing??? Idk dude. Mom's mostly convinced he's just lazy, which I believe with his old age, but I feel like there's something more to it. On walks, are you walking your dog or is it walking you? When we used to go on walks, he was good about not pulling and actually being walked. Man, you used to say "walk" in a sentence and that pup would go bonkers. Do you walk your dog often? Not anymore for aforementioned reasons, and there's also the fact I would not DARE walk him along this busy road that people fly around the curve too fast. Does your dog play any sports? What? No. Does your dog like water? Oh boy, no. If it's raining outside or it's wet from previous rain and he needs to go out? Good luck. Does your dog live outside all the time? He doesn't stay outside at all. What color eyes does your dog have? Brown. Does your dog like going to the vet? Like with most things, he doesn't care. Any idea what your dog weighs? Around 25 lbs.? I can't remember, other than it's normal for a dog his size. Do you celebrate your dog's birthday? Absolutely!!! A peanut butter sandwich is a guarantee, and starting last year, I decided we've always gotta make chicken nuggets for dinner so he can have a plate. His favorite food on the face of the planet is chicken nuggets. Lazy as that dog is, he perks the FUCK UP when he smells them. Buy your dog Christmas gifts? Yeah, Mom gets the dogs treats. Why did you choose their name? My sister named him, ask her. Ever go visit shelters and see the dogs there? No. Can your dog swim? He's actually never been swimming. I should try that for him at least once though, as it's good with arthritis. Remember the first trick they learned? I'm sure it was "sit." Do you read to your dog? No. Ever wrote a song for your dog? No, but I did write a poem about him for school. Ever taken your dog on a plane? No. Is your dog a good listener? See above explanation on hearing. Scariest moment involving your dog? I can't remember the first instance all too well, but Teddy used to occasionally have these trembling episodes where he seemed to be having a mild seizure. His face would distort and he couldn't stand up. We never figured out what was wrong, I think, but he hasn't done that in years. Do they give kisses? So many. :') <3 Can your dog shake? Yes. Ever biked with your dog? No. What color collar does your dog have? Red. Is it microchipped? No. Does it have an ID tag? Yes, but the engraving is so faded, and the information is entirely outdated. Every time we go to the pet store and I bring up getting him a new one, I get the "it's too expensive right now" response. I'm getting one myself once I have a job. Is your dog just the best ever? You may think you have the best dog, but no, I absolutely have The Best Dog.

[hartlessfics]

Title: Mementos&Memories Artist: @pantydean Author: NadiaHart @hartlessfiction Rating: Explicit Pairings: Dean/Cas, Destiel Wordcount: 17,182 Read on A03

Summary:There is a distance between memory and reality and it doesn’t always look as you’d expect it to. Sometimes it’s a tangible thing, a long stretch of deserted back roads. Pavement, patched and faded from years of weather and wear. Sometimes, it doesn’t have a look at all, but a sound. The whirr and buzz of an old Polaroid camera printing a photo.

There is a distance between then and now. Sometimes the distance is small, just the space of an exhale. Sometimes it’s fathomless, like the fall from heaven to earth.

Castiel is a man making his way across the chasm between divinity and humanity. A distance between who he was, and who he is now. Along the way he learns about himself, the family he finds, the memories he makes, and all of the moments he manages to capture in-between.

Link to art masterpost

“Nooooope,” Sam stiffens and turns on a dime, heading back to the Impala.  

“Sam, what the hell?” Dean sighs, tossing his duffel bag back into the trunk with more force than is probably necessary. “I just want a fucking shower, man!”

To be fair, Dean is covered in some sort of slowly dripping green goop, his shirt plastered to his chest and the flannel he’s wearing is more or less in ribbons down his back. He’s pulled off the highway into the first town they found, then into the first parking lot of the first motel he saw from the road. It’s a severely run down little dive called The BigTop. Castiel is halfway out of the back seat when his eyes snap to what has caused Sam’s sudden one-eighty and Dean’s outburst.

Behind the dingy reception desk, standing under a flickering yellowed bulb is a seven and a half foot tall statue of a clown. It’s in disrepair. Its already creepy face–the paint half chipped off like at some point someone had tried to move it and instead dropped it on its head, cracking the veneer–is mangled and sinister looking, to say the least. The flickering light casts slithering shadows across its hollow eyes and eerily parted half curled mouth, make it seem like it's snarling. Like it’s peering directly into your soul and just waiting to suck it right out of your mouth.

Castiel shivers at the sight of it, and the longer he stares at the statue, the more uneasy he feels. He can understand Sam’s hesitancy. The half balding man hunched behind the reception desk, on the other hand, is more interested in the battered paperback in his hands than realizing the imminent threat of that statue looming over his shoulder obviously poses, as Sam Winchester clearly does.

The passenger side door slams closed as Sam slides resolutely back into his spot. Sam’s made his decision; they won't be staying here tonight. Castiel glances around at the bleak motel with its faded circus theme and spots at least two more equally forlorn statues scattered around the property.  He’s more than pleased to slip back inside the Impala, grimacing as Dean catches his eye and silently implores him to take his side. When Castiel shrugs, Dean slams the trunk and stomps around the Impala, grumbling as he slips back behind the wheel.

“This shit fucking itches.” He complains as he throws the car into reverse. Sam’s shoulders visibly relax as they back out of the parking lot and onto the freeway. “If I get a rash…” Dean grumbles as Sam flicks on the radio. Castiel watches the interaction fondly, fatigue makes him weary, his head tipping to lean against the window.

The streetlights pass wetly over the Impala as Dean drives through the night, the sound of his voice singing along to the radio and the rumble of the car pulling at Castiel’s mind until he’s drifting. Now that Castiel’s fallen and the last remaining vestiges of his grace are fading to nothing, sleep is something he is learning to treasure.

There are lots of things, in fact, that he’s learning to treasure. Hot coffee in the morning, peanut butter and jelly on white bread before bed, buttered rye toast and runny eggs, cheeseburgers with bacon, pie––and cake, but he keeps that to himself. Sheets fresh out of the dryer, the smell of old books... orgasms. He hums a sigh rolling his forehead against the cold glass of the back window. He’s really learning to treasure orgasms. The heat, the rush, the sudden euphoric rise, and crash. He especially enjoys them in a nice hot shower or tucked between the sheets of his bed in the bunker, right before he falls asleep at night. There’s nothing like that loose-limbed feeling to pull him into a dreamless slumber. Dreamless nights are few and far in between, now that the nightmares of his past chase him whenever his mind starts to wander.

“Hey, sleeping beauty.” Dean rumbles, mirth in his tone. Castiel lurches as Dean yanks the door he’s leaning against open, his body sliding towards the ground before he can stop it. Dean's there, though, hand on Castiel's shoulder to keep him from tumbling to the cracked pavement.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asks, voice deep like thunder until he clears his throat. “Why would you do that?”

Dean smirks. “Found a place the princess deems acceptable.”

“Shove it, Dean” Sam’s voice calls from somewhere by the trunk.

Castiel nods and licks his lips, accepting Dean’s hand when he extends it to help Castiel out of the back seat. He takes a moment to stretch, flexing his fingers and arching his back until it pops and he sags back in on himself with a sigh. “Where are we?”

Dean tosses him his duffle. “‘Bout four hours outside of Tulsa.”

“You drove all night?” Castiel’s brows rise. “Why?”

They are standing in the parking lot of another motel. It’s always another motel, and if it’s not, its the backseat of the Impala. Now that there are three of them, that's not an option anymore, so they stick to motels. This motel appears, at least, to be without a theme, though it’s many decades out of date, which isn’t unusual for them.

Dean shrugs in response to Castiel’s question, the: ‘cause it’s what they do, they’re hunters', goes unsaid. They move around the country, drive all night, face one close call after another until the call is too close and they end up another John Doe in the paper mauled by a mountain lion or eaten by a bear. No one believes that werewolves or wendigos are real, anyway.

Castiel falls into step with Sam as the trio approach the reception desk. His eyes stray to the bulletin board as Dean flirts with the middle-aged woman behind the counter.

“What is a... swap... meet… ?” Castiel asks, his eyes drawn to a little orange flyer.

Sam slides up next to him and reads over the advert. “Huh. It's kind of like a yard sale, or... um...”  he’s obviously struggling, his eyebrows furrowed, lips pinched. Castiel patiently waits for Sam to find a suitable analogy to make him understand.

“You know what? Why don’t we go check it out? I can take you down; it's a good place to pick up some cheap supplies. We could all use some new shirts…” He spares a glance at Dean, who obviously cleaned up a bit during the drive last night but still has dark green stains along the back of his jeans and behind his ears. “It will be a good experience.”

That is something Sam’s been saying a lot recently. It will be a good experience . Since Castiel fell, since he became the hollow shell of what he once was, Sam has been trying to fill the void with distraction. Dean, on the other hand, seems resolutely determined to ignore the fact that Castiel is different now. Though Dean always seems to be close by, hovering on the edges of Castiel's awareness. It would be endearing if it weren’t so annoying like he’s just waiting for Castiel to fuck up… again . Not that Castiel could blame him really, he’s been fucking up pretty badly for a long time now.

“Hey,” Sam says softly, his face morphing in concern. “We don’t have to go…”

Sometimes Castiel forgets that his face shows more emotion now that he's human. That whatever he’s thinking no longer has the buffer of his grace to soften it before it’s written into his expression. Now they are one and the same.

“I’m not going,” Dean says before Castiel can respond. He pushes the spare room key and the keys to the Impala into Sam’s chest. “You two lovebirds can do whatever you want. All I want is a nice hot shower and my four fucking hours.”

“Dean…” Sam hisses scolding his brother for what Castiel assumes is Dean’s apparent lack of concern for his feelings. He can’t help but roll his eyes. He might be (mostly) human now, but that doesn’t mean he needs Sam acting like he’s going to break from getting his feelings hurt. He’s not fucking fragile. Well, maybe his body is fragile now, but Dean’s ordinarily crass attitude is something he’s used to. It’s a constant, and sometimes it even makes him feel like he’s still his old useful self.

“Fine,” Castiel says, handing his bag off to Dean, who takes it without complaint.

“Bring back food.” Dean calls over his shoulder as he juggles the bags, “... and pie!”

It turns out that Cas loves the swap meet. He points at random everyday objects with a contained sort of speculative wonder. He spends over twenty minutes at a table full of snow globes and old tea sets. Once Sam’s able to drag Cas away from examining a blender made in the sixties he manages to get a few gently used Carharts from a hunter who’s arthritis is keeping him out of the cold. Sam encourages Cas to try on a pair of hiking boots, and they hit a gold mine at a table run by an elderly woman whose kids have long since moved away. Apparently, her sons went through a ‘hipster phase’ because they find a bunch of henleys, flannels, and a few pairs of jeans in both Dean and Cas size. Cas nabs a pair of running sneakers and Sam spends a few minutes looking through a stack of old musty books.

“Oh my, yes.” The elder woman says with a smile. “Jimmy loved that silly thing.”

Sam’s looks around in time to see Cas’s head snap up. “Jimmy?”

“Mmm, my son,” the woman hums softly, shuffling over to where Cas is standing. “It's an instant camera. A Polaroid.” Gently she takes the gray and black box from Cas’ hands and shows him how to use it, the rainbow neck strap hanging limply from its hinges. “Have you not seen one of these, deary?”

“No…” Cas replies, his voice a deep rumble that Sam recognizes by this point as him feeling emotional. Sam knows he’ll be getting Jimmy’s camera for Cas. Selecting one of the books from her table at random, Sam moves to stand next to Cas.

“Here, smile!” The woman says, lifting the camera to her eye and snapping a photo. The old device whirrs and whines as it prints. She deftly plucks the picture from the mouth of the camera and gives it a little shake. Cas takes the photo with both hands when she offers it over to him, his mouth parting in wonder as the image develops before his eyes. And like a child, his head snaps up to Sam’s, eyes shining with the silent question.

“How much?” Sam asks with a small indulgent smile as Cas’ head swings back to the old woman. Sam knows Cas is giving her the puppy dog look he’s been accidentally perfecting on Dean since he fell. The old woman smiles at Cas, the lines around her eyes deepening.

“You know what. Ten dollars and I’ll throw in the box of film I’ve got around here somewhere.” She shuffles off, shifting around a few boxes until she comes back with a small retro style suitcase, it’s got all sorts of stickers across the top and the name Jimmy in faded black print along the bottom right corner. “I hate to see it go, but I think…” she slides the case across the folding table “it’s going to a good home.”

“Indeed” Cas agrees, and he shares one of his rare gummy smiles with the elderly woman. Even Sam feels the warmth radiating from the fallen angel. It’s the little things, he thinks, the small experiences that make being human worth it .

On the way back to the motel, packages in hand, Cas sits in the front seat the camera carefully draped around his neck by the rainbow striped strap and clicks open the buttons on the little suitcase. Even Sam is surprised at how well this mysterious Jimmy ket his things organized. The instruction book is in there, along with what appears to be two dozen unopened boxes of film and a small red photo album explicitly designed to hold Polaroids. Inside is a photo of the elderly woman looking much younger smiling up at the camera, a son on either side of her. They seem happy. Sam watches Cas trace his fingers over the image before returning it to the front slot of the photo album. He flips the page and adds the photo of he and Sam smiling in the old church parking lot among the piles of stuff at the swap meet.

Cas picks up the instruction book humming as he reads it all the way up to the motel door. Sam unlocks it, juggling the bags from the swap meet and sees Dean passed out on one of the two queen beds. “Shh,” he hushes over his shoulder, stepping into the room with Cas on his heels.

He’s setting down all the packages, sorting out things to wash when the absence of movement draws his attention. Cas is standing just a few paces from the door, frozen like a statue, his lips parted slightly, eyes wide and focused on Dean.

His brother is sleeping belly down on the bed in just a t-shirt and a faded pair of boxer briefs. It’s a sight Sam’s seen a lot in their life of motel hopping. It must still be fairly new for Cas though, because he slowly lifts the camera to his face, hesitates for the breadth of a heartbeat, and snaps a photo. The sound of the camera working is loud in the quiet room, and Dean flinches, his whole body reacting. His hand snaps out from under his pillow; a gun pointed directly at Cas. Sam watches the former angel shift back slightly the camera dropping from in front of his face.

“Sonnova… Cas, what the hell man!” Dean snaps dropping his head back onto the pillow with a low groan. He takes stock of the situation half of his face still pressed into the pillow, and his one-eyed gaze falls with accusation on Sam. “Why did you buy him a fucking camera, Sam,” he says, arching a brow.

Sam shrugs, a smile spreading across his lips “I dunno, but I feel like it’s going to be a good investment.”

Dean chucks the pillow at Sam’s head.

READ THE REST ON A03

[lyraeon]

Hi! Sorry for intruding, and you definitely don't have to answer if this too personnal or invasive, but I've been wondering if my depression might be a bipolar one for a while now, only I don't always see myself in the way people talk about mania/hypomania, only sometimes I do? And the way you described mania being /straightforwardly frustrating/ sort of spoke to me, so I was wondering if you could explain what you meant by that? (or direct me to posts where you have?) Huge thanks!

Hello friend!

I’m sure I have other posts about it somewhere, but short of digging through my whole relevant tag, I wouldn’t know where to look for them. But I don’t mind explaining overall.

First of all, if your depression seems to come and go, but not necessarily be replaced by hypomania or mania, it may be something else. Seasonal Affective Disorder is the most common alternative, but Cyclothymia is also a thing, and should especially be looked up if your depression also never hits a bottomless pit level. Don’t fall into the trap of thinking “well, it’s not THAT bad, so I guess I’m ONLY cyclothymic and I shouldn’t worry about it” or whatever though!! That’s just the depression talking and trying to keep you down. Ignore it.

I don’t know if I get manic or hypomanic, doctors have consistently disagreed about it. But, I know I have two main modes of mania, though they can bleed into each other.

There winds up being talk about hallucinations, self-harm, and graphic nightmares in this, so if that’s gonna bug anyone reading this, J on past it

Hyperactive mania:

What is sleep? This is not me procrastinating sleep or being distracted by other things, this is me flat out not needing more than 3-4 hours of sleep a night and having trouble getting to sleep to begin with, not in an insomnia “I’m so tired but can’t settle down” way but in a “I don’t feel tired unless I drink or take sleeping pills or otherwise really wear myself out” way.

Zero focus - I have little to no attention span most of the time to begin with (I suspect I have ADHD but most doctors will be reluctant to diagnose that in addition to bipolar, since mania has a lot of overlap). This typically gets worse during mania; I will repeatedly get up out of my chair to walk laps around my house, often gesturing wildly and definitely talking out loud to myself if no one’s home. I’ll sometimes try to play music to get the energy out to that, but rarely get through a single verse before skipping to the next.

Hyperfocus - and when I do manage to focus on something, (which has to either be something I’m REALLY ENJOYING or something social) I will get dragged into it for 14 hours and only snap out of it if I need a bathroom break or something. The Sims is a common one, not just for me but for a lot of people from what I hear. I always know something was a hyperfocus and not a thing I really wanted to do in general because after 3 days - 2 weeks of the thing I won’t touch it again for months or years. My last manic fit involved playing a sim city phone game for 6-7 hours a day and binge watching multiple people’s entire hermitcraft 4 season. The one before that had me playing rollercoaster tycoon constantly.

sex drive - suddenly characters and celebrities I had not previously regarded as hot are hot. Suddenly I have 15 AO3 tabs open. I feel like people who know me well can notice my mania just by how often and what gets reblogged to my NSFW blog.

poor decision making - I’m far more likely to buy ice cream or alcohol or other things I don’t need to be spending my money on. I’m far more likely to give in to the whole not sleeping thing, or to take sleeping meds despite cutting it way too close to when I have to be up the next day. I lose my verbal filter. I still don’t know if the fact I don’t do anything life-ruiningly stupid is evidence I’m only hypomanic, not manic, or just my anxiety keeping me in check.

Intense emotions - I cried at a University of Phoenix ad yesterday y’all. I also in general am not one to cheer or yell at something happening on TV/in a video, but get more invested when manic and react on a level closer to when I’m actively playing a game or something.

But there’s also the frustrating side (not that the above isn’t often frustrating, just that the above are more associated with positive emotions or at least not a pervasive Stressed Out feeling)

Easily frustrated - I am not one to get mad, normally. I actually get criticized for just letting things slide that obviously upset me/”you keep saying it’s okay right after saying it’s not okay”. I don’t know how to handle getting mad due to gaslighting issues growing up that I won’t get into right now so when I do start getting mad, it tends to build up until I find myself tense and literally stomping mad and sitting in the car screaming in frustration (because if I scream in the house someone might hear me). I also snap at people far, far more often when manic, losing any patience I would typically have and sometimes going for passive aggressive gouges if what they’re annoying me with has built up over a couple days as opposed to instantly. For example, yelling at people who are in my raid group.

nightmares - dear god the nightmares. I will do things in them that I find barely or completely unquestionable in them, then wake up freaked the fuck out because I just - well, we’ll go with today’s example, which is that I fuckin shot my dog in my dream, and for no apparent reason! Death is a pervasive thing in these, including me getting jolted awake by my own death in them, but unstoppable torrents of water are also common as is things just not making any sense - an object I’m holding turning into something else the moment I try to give it to someone else is also something that happens a lot

tense - dear god do my shoulders and back hurt, and not my normal everyday chronic arthritis pain, because that’s in the joints. This is every muscle pulled as tight as it will go and locked, and often carries a sensation of “the only way to fix this is to literally claw them off the bones”. Upper back is the most common but my forearms come next (especially near my elbows) and every major muscle can feel that way if I’m far enough gone. This used to lead to self-harm in the form of me scraping at those areas trying to make the sensation stop (and has lead to weird masochism stuff), but it’s something I consciously avoid now. I’ll usually try to rub at them or stretch to relieve the tightness, but often sleeping it off is my only real recourse.

really, really, REALLY unable to focus - I can’t get through two minutes of a video without pausing it. I skip every song 4 seconds in and instead of just feeling like they don’t fit quite right, each song feels like it’s personally offending me by not being the right one and I eventually give up and take off my headphones in a huff. I’ll forget I was loading the dishwasher halfway through. I’ll keep doing one more little task and one more little task for hours to procrastinate simple things like eating or walking the dog. I always in general have trouble finishing my sentences sometimes, because I’ll lose words or I’ll wind up reading/hearing something mid-sentence, but it becomes every third sentence.

Itchy - everything feels wrong. My hair has to be pinned up as thoroughly as possible so it can’t touch my skin, my glasses have to be perfectly clean because the smudges will piss me off, my clothes have to be just right so they don’t touch my skin in ways that will make me jump/itch like if my hair touches me, any rough edge of my nails or cuticles has to immediately be chewed off, if there’s a weird hair or a zit or a scab anywhere on me I will be picking at it instantly, whatever I’m sitting or laying on is too lumpy, etc. My scalp itches regardless of when I last washed my hair, but washing my hair sounds dreadful because the sensation of wet hair weighing me down is even worse (vs it normally being a soothing sensation to me). My ears itch!! it’s maddening and distracting.

noise and light sensetivity - everything is too bright and too loud! I’ll have as many lights off as possible (sitting in the dark, showering in the dark, screens all as dim as they will go; I’ll often close my eyes or blindfold myself if I really need to concentrate on something I’m typing or listening to). I try to get white noise because background sounds like the dog walking around will drive me batty, but white noise will give the same “wrong one” sensation as music, and if I notice ANY repetition in the white noise (obvious bird loops for example) unless I have deliberately chosen a repetitive melody because it feels right, I will snap and have to turn it off and probably just cover my ears for a while. 

The sensation that shit would suck less if I was drunk right now, because that would either “at least give me something to do” or “make all of this funny instead of annoying” (but alcohol only intensifies what I’m feeling, so if I’m “good” manic it makes me super happy and if I’m frustrated manic I just get angrier)

just an overall sense that everything is wrong and there’s nothing I can do about it and unlike when I’m depressed, wherein I feel like it’s all my fault and I probably deserve to die because of it, it all just pisses me off more and makes me need to get up and wander around. in the less extreme of these moments, I end up trying to figure out lists of what needs to be done, but getting frustrated trying to think that hard. In the worse ones, things will be blown out of scale and I’ll be plagued not just by the problems in my own life but by how fucking frustrating it is not to be able to fix, oh, our broken government, or how frustrating it is that I don’t have the money to just buy us a house right this second, etc.

hallucinations - this is top floor mania for me. The only thing above it is the roof that I will sometimes lay on at 2 in the morning, limbs spread as wide as possible for minimal skin contact, laughing uncontrollably on the inside while feeling paralyzed. My hallucinations are “mild” ones - I’ve only had one or two visual flashes in my life, everything else has been sounds, and it’s rarely been even words, let alone more. it’s usually alarms and sometimes music. I’ll hear my boyfriend’s alarm going off, or the fire alarm going off, or my own alarm going off, or my family’s burglar alarm going off, etc. This is one that meds have been royally good at keeping under control and I’ve only had breakthroughs of it when I’m also sleep deprived.

-basically, mania is fUCKING FRUSTRATING AS ALL GET OUT because you have all this energy but nothing FEELS RIGHT so nothing gets DONE, 99.94% of the time.

The additional problem for me with breakthrough mania - that is, symptoms that happen despite my medication keeping me mostly “normal” -  is that it rarely brings any of the positive aspects that make being manic at least fun in the moment, if not sometimes genuinely worth it. I can get a LOT done when manic if I can take advantage of it before the bad symptoms set in, and I suspect a lot of my current writer’s block issues are because I’m not getting the same kind of hyperfocus days that I used to. But boy do I still itch sometimes, boy are my shoulders craving for me to go rub on a tree like a bear, boy is my stomach cranky because I’m so hungry but eating food sounds like a horrifying chore because what if it doesn’t taste right, etc.

I don’t really know how to explain exactly what I mean by the emotions feeling stunted, but it’s sort of like trying your hardest to find the can opener because you know it’s got to be somewhere, but it’s not anywhere you’re looking, except the can opener is your ability to be excited about this thing you wanted to do, or is your ability to be mad about something you know for a fact you’re pissed about, but you get stuck sitting there just dully frustrated instead because you can only read the label of the can, not actually experience the contents? Or maybe like opening it and finding store brand, “no sugar added” peaches instead of the really good del monte overly sweet stuff; your emotions themselves just feel lackluster compared to what you know they can be.

If a lot of this sounds familiar - if you’re like, yeah I get really annoyed easily and get sensory issues etc but I thought I didn’t get mania because I’ve never been pulled over in vegas going 110 in a 45 and all the media presents of mania is that and crazy chicks putting themselves $12,000 in debt overnight and waking up with no recollection of it - then you probably have hypomanic bipolar. If little bits sound familiar but they always are accompanied by existential dread and/or the pervasive sense you’ve gotta keep moving Or Else, it could be some sort of anxiety disorder. Parts of this list also overlap with autism, or with ADHD, or with BPD, just depending on which symptoms you have.

By my understanding, the one cornerstone of any form of mania is that you feel like you have more energy than normal; not more energy than depressed you, but an actual excess. That energy can fade fast/turn out to be just a sensation and not actual energy, but the sensation is still there, and usually fucks with your sleep.

Hopefully that helped. If it didn’t, or if it did but there’s something else you want to know, feel free to shoot me another anon or a message. I might be slow to respond because my sleep schedule is currently fucked to three more hells than normal, but I will definitely do what I can to help.