#his music feels like a reset button for me. like returning to a dark room to sleep at night.

[orcelito]

Ok so I was wondering like

Top 0.005% of listeners. That's Pretty Damn Small. But I was wondering Just how small...

357.1k monthly listeners

0.005% of 357.1k is... just under 18...

Guys. I'm within the top 20 listeners for IAMX. Period. 🫣

[marvelmusing]

Making Time

Mobius M Mobius x Reader

Part 1

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist

A/N: Not sure if many people want this but I like the idea of working for the TVA & Mobius is kinda funny and charming. I really hope I don’t start to regret this once the rest of Loki comes out

Whilst all the desks at the TVA were practically identical in the impersonal corporate sense, Mobius’s desk was a lot nicer than yours. Having been at the TVA for longer than you, he’d gotten everything sorted into a comfortable space, whereas your desk was scattered with papers and mugs you’d always forgotten about. There’s a incessant knocking against wood nearby. Your head perks up from where you’ve been sorting through files on the floor beside Mobius’s chair. You spot Ravi, a fellow assistant, leaning over the top of the cubicle.

“Hey [Y/N].”

“Hi Ravi.” You reply, returning to your sorting.

“Where’s Mobius?”

“Erm, France, 1549.”

“There’s been a development in the Loki Variant case.” You nod,

“That’s why he’s in France.”

“This is a new development.” He hands a file to you, and you skim over it quickly. Laufeyson. Variant L1130, AKA Loki Laufeyson, is charged with sequence violation 7-20-89. You look up at him.

“Thanks, Ravi.” He smiles at you,

“No problem.” You stand up from the floor quickly. You pass through the TVA corridor’s before opening a Timedoor. You step into it, emerging in 16th Century France. Mobius is stood nearby, he looks up at you in surprise.

“Mobius. You might want to take a look at this.” You hand him the file. He looks over the front page, before nodding.

“Thank you, [Y/N].” He says, stepping forward, and placing a hand on your arm. “Let’s go, we need to hurry.” You both pass through the Timedoor.

You both rush through the corridors of the TVA. You skid to a stop at the reception desk, a smile brightening your face when you recognise the receptionist.

“Hey Casey!” He looks up at you in surprise.

“[Y/N], hi!”

“We’re in a bit of a rush. Has there been a variant brought in? Tall, dark hair, most likely carrying a sparkly, blue cube?” Casey picks up the Tesseract from a drawer beside him.

“This?”

“Yes! Where is he?”

“They just took him into the courtroom.” You both set off running, and you call out,

“Thank you, Casey!”

You open the door to the courtroom, and Mobius hurries inside, taking tentative steps so as to not draw attention to the the two of you. You follow closely behind him. He slides onto a bench, with you taking the seat beside him. You’re knees bump together slightly, but he pays it no mind as his focus remains on Renslayer.

“We're not here to talk about the Avengers.” She says, looking down at Loki.

“Oh, no?” He asks her.

“No.”

“What they did was supposed to happen. You escaping was not.” Loki laughs at this,

“Right. Not supposed to happen? According to whom?”

“The Time-Keepers?” She offers.

“Oh, the Time-Keepers. Right.” He scoffs. “Well, perhaps I should speak to these Time-Keepers, gods to gods.”

“I'm sorry, but they're quite busy.”

“Oh, they are? What are they doing?”

“Dictating the proper flow of time.”

“I see. Right. And then what do you do?”

“Dictate the proper flow of time according to their dictations. How do you plead?” You watch Loki as he smirks, holding his hands out.

“Guilty, of this.” He grasps his fists a few times, confusion clear in his actions.

“What’s going on?” Renslayer asks, looking for side to side.

“Hang on. Everyone quiet.” Loki reasons. Hunter B-15 laughs,

“He's trying to use his powers, ma'am.” He slams his hands down on the podium in front of him,

“Damn it! Why won’t it work?”

“Magic powers? They're no good in the TVA, Mr Laufeyson.” Renslayer tells him. “The court finds you guilty, and I sentence you to be reset. Next case, please!” She calls out, as is there’s a colossal queue waiting.

“Reset? What does that mean? What, is it bad? What does it mean? You ridiculous bureaucrats will not dictate how my story ends!” Loki exclaims hurriedly, as the Hunters surrounding him begin to drag him away.

“It's not your story, Mr Laufeyson. It never was.” She tells him in a bored tone, a little harshly you think.

“You have no idea what I'm capable of!”

“I think I might.” Mobius stands quickly, making his way past you. “Have an idea of what he's capable of.” He adds. Renslayer considers him for a moment,

“Approach the bench.” He steps forward, and you hear him offer a soft,

“Hi.”

“If you're thinking what I think you are, it's a bad idea.” She hisses.

“Okay, I'm just chasing a hunch.”

“Anything goes sideways, it's on you.”

“Okay. I feel like I'm always looking up to you. I like it. It's appropriate.” You roll your eyes at him, as you stand and take your place beside him. Loki continues to struggle against the hunters. He looks Mobius up and down.

“And who are you?”

“I’m going to burn this place to the ground.” You hear Loki growl.

“I'll show you where my desk is, you can start there.” Mobius remarks, and you can’t help but smirk. He glances at you, sending you a winking once your eyes meet. You roll your eyes at him again. Loki slows his walk, looking across the railing out into the TVA. You and Mobius stop to look at him.

“Have a look.” Mobius tells him, gesturing towards the view. Loki approaches the railing, staring out at the city in front of you.

“I thought there was no magic here.” Loki asks, a frown of confusion on his face.

“There isn't.” Mobius replies.

“That's not real.” Loki decides.

“It is, and, unfortunately, so is all the paperwork. Good tinder for your fire, though. Come on.”

“This place is a nightmare.”

“That's another department. Now that department I'll help you burn down.” You shake your head at him, smiling. The three of you step into the elevator. You stand on one side of Mobius, with Loki on the other. You press the button for the appropriate department. The faint tune of elevator music fills the temporary silence, before Mobius turns to Loki,

“I’m Agent Mobius, by the way.” He holds his hand out for Loki to shake. Loki looks down at his hand, with no plan to shake it at all. “This is my associate, Agent [Y/N].” You offer him a small smile with a nod, as his eyes briefly acknowledge your presence. You’ve always liked how Mobius refers to you as his associate, rather than assistant. Unlike the majority of the TVA. Loki turns his attention back to Mobius,

“Are you taking me somewhere to kill me?”

“No. That's where you just were. I'm taking you some place to talk.”

“I don't like to talk.” Loki lies.

“But you do like to lie, which you just did.”

“Because we both know you love to talk. Talkie-talkie.”

“How long have you been here?” Mobius sighs,

“I don't know. It's hard to say, time passes differently here in the TVA.” Loki frowns at this,

“What does that mean?”

“You'll catch up.” The elevator door opens and the three of you step out. You remain close to Mobius’s side, with Loki trailing behind.

“So, you're part of the TVA's courageous and dedicated workforce?”

“Yes.”

“You were created by the Time-Keepers.”

“Yep.”

“To protect the Sacred Timeline.” You hear the mocking tone in his voice. He’s not believing a word of this.

“Correct.” Loki laughs.

“Is that funny?” Mobius asks him, as he heads down the steps towards the door. You both look back at Loki as he exclaims,

“The idea that your little club decides the fate of trillions of people across all of existence at the behest of three space lizards, yes, it's funny. It's absurd.” Mobius considers him for a moment before saying,

“I thought you didn't like to talk.” He opens the door, gesturing to Loki. “After you.” Loki passes you and walks into the room.

“I’ll wait until you’re done.” You say, meeting Mobius’s gaze.

“You don’t have to.” He insists.

“I’ll wait.” You’ve caught Loki’s attention, his head turning to examine you after hearing your voice for the first time. You watch as Mobius walks into the room, and you close the door behind him.

You’re not stood for long before Hunter B-15 approaches. She attempts to brush past you. You hold your arm out,

“Mobius is in the middle of an interrogation.” You protest. “You can’t just interrupt.”

“Stand aside, Variant.” You clench your jaw, a prickle of fear in your chest as she pushes the door open.

“What are you doing?” She calls out to Mobius.

“My job. Is it yours to interrupt?” He replies. His eyes fall on you as you give him an apologetic look. He shrugs lightly in response.

“We have a situation.” She tells him. He sighs,

“There's always a situation.” He turns to Loki,

“Don't go anywhere. It was just getting good. Spirited.”

You hover by the door, as Mobius and B-15 head further along the corridor to talk. You hear the two of them bickering momentarily before Mobius returns.

“We’ve lost another unit.” He tells you. You sigh,

“Are we going to wrap this up then?” You ask, he nods as you open the door. He steps inside and you follow him as he calls out,

“Okay, Loki, I think we can finish up tomorrow and just pick it...” He trails off, and you look around for Loki. The room’s empty. You watch Mobius slip his hand into his pocket, before leaning his head back with a sigh, “Mischievous scamp.” You both rush outside, Mobius calling B-15 back.

“Wish I could say I was surprised.” She retorts.

“Yeah, I wish you hadn't interrupted us.” Mobius adds, annoyance lacing this tone. The two of you jog alongside the Hunters she’s gathered.

“Me? It's my fault?” She exclaims.

“He can't have gotten very far.” You reason, attempting to prevent an argument.

“Split up. Prune on sight.” She orders.

“No, no pruning, no resetting. He can still help us!” Mobius argues. Your group splits up. You wander through the corridors for awhile before deciding to return to the projection room. Once Loki realised he can’t get far he might decide to hide in there. Turns out, you’re right. Loki is perched on the steps at one side of the room. You glance as the projector, the bold ‘End of File’ standing out from the screen. He holds the Tesseract in one hand, the blue glow casting a shadow across his face.

“I’m guessing you know that won’t work here.” You say, keeping a safe distance between the two of you. He nods,

“Not through a lack of trying.” You sit down on the steps, glancing at him for a moment before staring at the wall.

“Did he give you the: your only purpose is a side character to develop other people on their path to greatness, speech?” He looks up at you sharply. You meet his gaze, “I suppose that’s a yes.” He nods. You sigh, “I know it sucks, but I have to admit it does put things in perspective.”

“Perspective?” You nod,

“That the only reason why you did the things you’ve done, is because it was meant to happen. Because the all knowing space lizards decided it. But you’re out of the timeline now, Loki. You can do whatever you want.” You watch as he considers your words. “That’s not me giving you the okay to kill me. Or Mobius, don’t kill him. Anyone else, I’m not too fussed.” You joke. A small smile flits across his face. “I’m going to call Mobius now, he’s the better option over B-15.” Loki nods, and you retreat outside the room. You pull out your phone and dial for Mobius,

“Mobius, I’ve found him. He’s back at the projection room.”

“Do not approach him, [Y/N]. Do you hear me? I’m on my way now.” You agree, and wait outside the door. Mobius rushes down the corridor, grasping hold of you. “Are you okay?” You nod,

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” He pauses, checking you over for a moment, before nodding and opening the door to reveal Loki. You wait outside as they presumably have a heart to heart. It’s not long before Mobius is back by your side, with Loki in tow.

“Say hello to our newest team member.”

If you’d like to be tagged for this series just let me know!

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader, eventual polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: This chapter is Gen, no smut at all. 

Trigger Warnings: None in this chapter.

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 3/16 (all chapters)

“Good evening, Listeners! It’s 7PM on this fine Wednesday night and I hope you all are doing a-o-kay!”

Hizashi leaned back from his mic and pressed the cheer button on his soundboard.

“Tonight it is my absolute pleasure to announce a brand new segment to our show! I have a guest in my studio tonight. Please raise your hands, paws, flippers and/or wings for (Name), my lovely colleague from UA!”

He waved to you and you leaned forwards towards your own microphone.

“Pleased to meet you everyone,” you said, Hizashi clapping boisterously in the background. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”

“Cute, so cute!”

His excitement was contagious and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“(Name) is a very special guest,” he said, pushing the ‘ooooo’ button on his soundboard. “She’s the guidance counsellor at UA. (Name), why don’t you tell the listeners a little about what you do?”

“Well, the welfare and wellbeing of our students is of course our top priority at UA,” you said, “and so my role is to ensure these needs are being met. If they’re feeling pressured or struggling to find agency opportunities or simply unsure of their futures…”

“Of course,” said Hizashi. “Now, Listeners, (Name) has kindly offered up her time for this new weekly segment, which I’m going to call ‘Support Mic’. If you, my wonderful listeners, or anyone you know have a problem and require a sympathetic ear, please send them anonymously through my website or texting service and (Name) and I will advise to the best of our ability. Sound good, (Name)?”

“Yes!”

“Alright then, we’re going to take a short break and after that we’ll go through your submissions,” said Hizashi, bringing up the next song on his playlist. “If you can’t join us, please enjoy your evening, PLUS ULTRA!”

“PLUS ULTRA!” you echoed and Hizashi laughed out loud.

“So CUTE,” he cried out, before muting your microphones and playing music. He pulled off his earphones and you did the same, reaching for a glass of water.

You were now two months into your job at UA and the time had flown by. You had transformed your office into a space that felt more like your own and familiarised yourself with the names and faces of just about every student at the school. The previous guidance counsellor had been a woman in her eighties, retiring as opposed to taking on a new role and as a consequence your resources and day to day activities needed updating to reflect the modern climate.

None of it would have been possible without the help of your colleagues. Even Shouta, who had said at most half a dozen words to you since leaving your house, had sent the rather more vulnerable students in your direction.

The agony aunt segment was your idea and Hizashi only too happy to include it in his regular radio show, with the caveat that you bought him a beer the next time you went to the izakaya.

Truthfully, you didn’t expect very many requests to come in, so it came as a complete shock when you refreshed the website and found thirty had already arrived in the first two minutes.

“P...Plus Ultra,” you murmured.

━

Support Mic was only a half hour segment, but you could easily have gone on for so much longer. Hizashi had done nothing but coo over you since you left the studio.

“Waaah, (Name), you were a natural!”

You had been so very nervous before the broadcast. You’d expected to stumble over your words or get no questions at all. In the end you answered so many questions and talked so much that it felt like you had swallowed a bucketful of gravel.

“Thank you,” you said, packing up your purse, “for having me, I mean. That was a lot of fun.”

“Did you want me to drive you home? It’s getting late.”

“No, it’s fine, I don’t live far.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” said Hizashi, “see you to-morr-ow, sweet listener!”

You waved goodbye and continued up the street, reaching into your purse for your train pass, only for your blood to run cold when you realised it wasn’t there.

Shit

You rummaged through packs of tissues, chewing gum, pepper spray and more to no avail.

“Where is it,” you mumbled, grabbing your miniature torch and shining it on the contents.

You thought back to the last time you had seen it, when you arrived at work that morning. You had dropped your purse down on your desk when you saw Hizashi arriving and hurried after him to verify your studio appointment. It must have fallen out then and you sighed, turning the other way to go back to UA.

━

As a kid you had always been afraid of the dark. You were the one who squealed at ghost stories during sleepovers and had to hide your face during scary movies.

You liked to think that you had gotten braver as you got older, but that was far from true. You still didn’t like taking late night trains or watching horror movies with your friends. You definitely didn’t enjoy walking the empty corridors of UA.

Pull yourself together, (Name)...

It’s just the school. No one’s here. No one can-

Somewhere in the distance, you heard a door slam.

“Ofuckofuckofuckofuck,” you stammered, picking up your pace and rushing off in the direction of your office. Your shoes clattered against the hard floor and you were sure you heard a second set in pursuit.

You threw yourself into your office and closed the door behind you, immediately rushing to crouch under your desk. Someone, or something, hovered outside. You could practically see the newspaper headlines: Guidance Counsellor Found Dead in Violent Attack .

Every cloud had a silver lining, you supposed. You could see your train pass on the cabinet.

Whoever was outside your office rattled the handle and then stepped inside and you clapped your hands over your mouth to stifle any sound.

What could you do? None of the teachers were around and your quirk wasn’t suitable for fighting. Suddenly, you wished you had agreed to Hizashi walking you home. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to do something. You weren’t a teacher or even a pro hero, but you couldn’t sit by and do nothing.

But what could you do?

The intruder’s footsteps grew closer and you reached for your purse, frantically digging through it for pepper spray. Even if you couldn’t fight off this assailant, you could disable them just enough to get away and raise the alarm.

You tightened your grip on the can and released the cap with your thumbnail.

It was now or never.

You bolted out from underneath the desk with a screech and sprayed the intruder with a faceful of pepper spray, causing them to cry out in pain. You covered your face and ran for the door, only to fall flat on your face, arms and legs bound. You struggled against the bindings, rolling over onto your back to get a good look at your attacker.

H..hUH?

You didn’t know what you had expected, but you definitely couldn’t have predicted the sight before you. It wasn’t an intruder...it was Shouta and he was desperately rubbing his eyes and cursing. The material binding you was his scarf.

“Sh...Shouta?”

He paused, lifting an arm from his face and squinting down at you. He took in the sight of you, frozen on the floor with your arms and legs bound in place and sighed, returning it to its regular state.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, getting back to your feet, “I thought-”

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” he snarled.

“I thought you were a villain!”

“That’s really not the problem here,” he said. “What are you even doing here?”

“I...I forgot my train pass,” you said, wringing your hands. “I’m sorry. I should have just bought a new one.”

Shouta continued to rub his eyes with a groan and you reached out for his arm.

“Come with me,” you said, “that’ll just make it worse.”

You weren’t a hero, but there was something you could do.

━

You guided him to the empty staff room and murmured yet more apologies as you turned on the lights. Shouta curled up on the couch, rubbing his eyes and cursing under his breath.

You stole glances as you ran a cloth under the tap, chewing your bottom lip and feeling more than a little bit guilty.

“Here,” you said, squeezing excess water from the cloth and walking back to the couch. “This should help.”

You knelt down beside him and dabbed the cloth over his eyes as gently as humanly possible, wincing at the sight of how red and puffy they had become. You’d never used pepper spray before and almost certainly used far too much.

Shouta groaned in discomfort the moment the cloth touched him, but remained perfectly still.

This was the first time you had been alone since the reset and you found yourself tongue-tied.

You had slept together twice now, yet you still found it difficult to read him. He was the human embodiment of still waters and you had no doubts that his innermost thoughts were as much of a tangled mess as your own. He was just better at hiding them.

The morning of the reset, you had given up on sleeping. You were unable to stop thinking about the man in your bed; the man you thought you would never see again but would have to see almost every day.

You hadn’t been able to sleep after that, instead putting in a load of laundry and getting an incredibly early start on breakfast. When Shouta rolled out of bed at 6am, you had washed and dried his discarded clothes and folded them on your bedside table, as well as putting together an enormous breakfast and fresh pot of coffee.

“So,” you had said as he rubbed his eyes. “The reset.”

“Yes,” he said, dragging on his shirt and giving it a confused sniff. “Tomorrow is day one.”

That was the last he said on the matter and the longest conversation you had had in months.

Until now, of course.

“Does it still hurt?”

You sat back on your heels and lowered the cloth onto your lap, watching as Shouta squeezed his eyes shut and then, very slowly, attempted to open them. He immediately seemed to regret it, for he flinched and began to squint.

“I’ll get more water, just a-”

You moved to stand up, only for him to take hold of your arm.

“Why would you try and confront a villain without help? You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“I wasn’t going to fight,” you said. “I was going to raise the alarm.”

“Oh, and then what? You’ve exposed yourself to the villain without knowing what their quirk is. They could have set you on fire or gassed you or something.”

“I…”

You weren’t a student, he wasn’t your teacher, yet somehow it felt like being in detention.

“I don’t know,” you said.

“You need to be more rational in these things,” said Shouta, closing his eyes again. “Running head on into danger gets people killed.”

You were quite glad he’d closed his eyes. You couldn’t stifle the smile breaking out across your face.

He wasn’t angry at you at all. Stern, yes, though only out of concern for your safety.

“Good job I had a big, strong Eraserhead around to protect me,” you said, booping his nose with the cloth before getting to your feet. You expected him to protest, but he stayed silent, barely moving even as you ran the cloth under the cold tap.

“You’re not a pro hero,” he said.

“No, I’m not.”

“Then why are you here...in a school for pro heroes?”

You switched off the tap and squeezed excess water from the cloth.

“Are you questioning my credentials, Professor Aizawa?”

“Not particularly,” he said. “It’s important to know the strengths and weaknesses of your team.”

“You could have looked at my file, you know.”

“Too much hassle. I wanted to ask you in person.”

You returned to the couch, cloth in hand. You got the impression that this was a test. Perhaps he already had looked at your file and was suspicious of you as a result. You wouldn’t blame him in his position, given the nature of your quirk and role in the school. He cared about the students far more than he would ever let on.

“Well,” you said, dabbing his eyes. “It’s true I’m not a pro, but I do have a quirk. It’s not… a particularly conventional one, though.”

Shouta stayed silent, waiting for you to continue.

“My quirk is a lie detector,” you said. “I can force people to tell the truth.”

“How do you activate it?”

“I say a little phrase.”

“Show me.”

He squinted at you, watching your body language. You were familiar with this dance; people learning what your quirk was and immediately wondering if you had used it on them without them realising. You got the feeling it ran deeper with Shouta. He wasn’t as interested in seeing your quirk as how comfortable you were using it on other people. Were you the type to proudly abuse your power? Did you take it lightly?

In truth, you weren’t comfortable using your quirk. Not at all.

“Tell me,” you said, goosebumps breaking out across your skin at the activation. “What’s your happiest memory?”

“There was a roof,” he said, without a moment’s hesitation. “My friends were there-”

You chose that question as you had believed it would be harmless. The horror in his eyes as he realised what he was saying, though, made you wonder if you had made a terrible mistake.

He clamped his mouth shut, eyes shining red.

You realised your skin no longer tingled. He’d erased your quirk.

“I…I’m so sorry,” you said, immediately overwhelmed by guilt. “I didn’t-”

“It’s fine,” he said, closing his eyes. “I’ve given it back now.”

It wasn’t fine, though. You had seen enough to know that. You clenched your hands in your lap, all too aware of the water soaking your skirt.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, unable to think of anything more coherent.

“Answer my question,” he said, far more gently than the first time. “Why did you come to a school for pro heroes?”

You thought about the scars on his body; the flash of horror at what should have been his happiest memory.

“Because,” you said, “heroes are more likely to get lost.”

Shouta glanced at you out of the corner of his eye and you blushed, worried you had said something embarrassing. He reached down into your lap for the cloth and placed it on his face.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “You should go home.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, “I still have some stuff to do.”

“Can I at least make you some coffee?”

“Nah.”

You reached for your purse, albeit reluctantly, making sure to check and double check that you had your train pass. You couldn’t believe how much chaos it had caused.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything? I can get you some candy from the vending machine.”

Shouta had rolled over onto his side with his back to you and waved you away.

“Don’t think too much about it, just go.”

The school corridors didn’t seem so scary on your way out. The shadows didn’t seem quite so dark, nor your footsteps so loud. You were too distracted to truly pay attention, racking your brains for some way to make it up to Shouta. Perhaps you’d bring him lunch one day or make him his favourite snacks. Hizashi would know the kinds of things he liked to eat. You decided to ask him in the morning.

The lights were still on in the 1-A homeroom and you peered inside as you passed. From the looks of things, Shouta had been in the middle of marking. That wasn’t what drew your attention, though.

In his haste to leave the room and investigate the commotion, he hadn’t bothered to switch off the radio on his desk, instead leaving it to play to itself. Hizashi’s voice was more than a little distinctive and you knew within seconds that it was his show.

“ Now then, listeners, it’s time for our nightly poll! Tonight is a really difficult one, submitted by user rokstar88. When reborn into your next life, would you rather have no hair on your body at all or be completely hairy, like a yeti? Results are in after this short break.”

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter thirty: blood on the dance floor

we’s gettin’ naughty here, gang. big ol’ smut warning~

That fine drizzle of rain welcomed the circus on the third day there in Seattle, such that Sam didn't want to return back to the Bay Area or to Catalina for that matter. Therein lay a feeling about the Emerald City that something was about to happen. Something huge and beyond what they all expected. The fact that she learned about Metallica touring there in the month before and the whole entire set being a literal flame only added to the feeling. A premonitory feeling that they were all upon a shift of a tide of some sort.

The next morning, as she slipped out of Joey's hotel room on the second floor and past Alex's room next door to the elevator, and she made her way down to breakfast, she overheard Anthrax speaking amongst themselves about it there in the lobby.

“Alright, gang—we've reached the end of the line,” Scott declared. “We're facing on a new decade after this. Who knows where we go from here, really.”

Even though he hadn't been there for his own band for a time, Sam couldn't help but feel that he was completely right. If Anthrax didn't get it after all the nonsense they had been through, Sam guessed that it would be Testament to take the reigns for the ride straight into the next decade, the Nineties. If not Testament, then the door was open for the Cherry Suicides. One of those three had to get it if Metallica hadn't already.

Only a few months left of the decade and it was officially anyone's guess from that point onward in the music world.

She sat there at Testament's table with her cup of coffee right before her: she set her fedora there on the seat next to her in anticipation of Alex showing up. If Joey showed up there in the lobby first, she would have to run over to Anthrax's table on the other side of the room. But she had faith that Alex was coming, however.

All the while, she sat there next to Greg who appeared to be growing the first beginnings of a beard. Every so often, he showed her a little glimpse with a raise of his eyebrow.

She still owed it to him, but she was really doing it to settle the bet with Alex.

If she did it with Greg, Alex had to be there right before them, just to punish him for being such a bad boy. It seemed unlike her to think these things but she was in the thick of it all, right within the heart of it all.

She moved her fedora out of the way once she recognized that little plume of silvery gray in the doorway.

He showed her a little smile as he took his seat there, and she eyed his little black button up shirt, the lapels of which were covered in slight little wrinkles and a bit of dust.

“Is that new?” she asked him.

“Jesus, Alex, there has to be an iron in your room of some sort,” Louie said from her left.

“I dunno if there is, though,” Alex confessed with a shrug of his shoulders.

“C'mon, you dusty boy,” she encouraged him, and Eric and Belinda both chuckled at that.

“Dusty?” Alex laughed himself.

“Yeah, dusty—” She brushed off the shoulders of his shirt. “You're all dusty and messy and slovenly.”

“I ain't slovenly,” he insisted.

“Shut up and drink your medicine,” she teased him as Chuck passed a little white cup of coffee past Tiffany and Louie, and across the table over to him. Alex picked it up without a moment's hesitation and took a hearty swig of it.

“Medicine indeed,” he noted.

“So—Souls of Black,” Chuck declared, “I hope we can actually do this and get on Clash of the Titans. If we get it, I foresee us being on top of the world afterwards.”

“Who else is on the bill?” Eric asked him with his eyebrows knitted together. “You told me just a little bit ago and I can't—for the life of me—remember it.”

Sam giggled at him and he showed her a smile.

“Brain's fried from touring,” Greg cracked as he took a sip from his coffee.

“Megadeth is gonna be there—and I think Anthrax, too? Someone else will be there, too, I forget who, though—so that leaves one spot wide open. I hope we get it good.”

Sam pictured them on the same bill with Anthrax and Megadeth, and with Joey and Alex jamming together on the same stage. One could only hope, and she could only hope for herself. If it happened, she had faith that the two of them could look at one another in the eye and not feel a need to kill each other.

If there was one drawback with that whole tour for both Practice What You Preach and State of Euphoria, it was the fact that the two of them never seemed to be in the same room together, as if they did that all on purpose. Joey always hung out in his room and Alex always did as well. If Testament got that final slot for Clash of the Titans, then they had to have a reconciliation of some sort.

It would be the Nineties at that point anyways.

To leave behind the old decade in favor of a new one seemed perfect to bury the hatchet between the two of them. It just made perfect sense as they would be given a big reset button. If they buried the hatchet, then she wouldn't have to sneak around as much with Testament. But then again, if that happened, she probably wouldn't see Alex as much in the meantime. She would have to return to Joey and give all the love in the world.

That is if Alex's hand on her knee underneath the table and out of everyone's sight had anything about it. She jerked her knee inwards but his expression never changed for a second. She glanced down at his hand there in between their knees: his fingers bent a bit as if he was ready to touch her again.

Eric made a joke about undoing Belinda's bra right there when Sam felt his fingers once again.

During the whole road trip up from the most southern tip of Los Angeles to Lake Tahoe, not once did he employ that trick on her. But then again, they were both alone on that trip: here they were with the rest of the band as well as Belinda and Tiffany. His pinky and ring fingers caressed over her knee, and she nibbled on her bottom lip at the feeling there. It was amazing to her that he could do that without the ceiling lights reflecting so much on his watch face.

She wondered what he wanted.

But then again, Greg was right there.

She still had to do it with him.

She still had to settle that bet.

Alex was still a bad boy for thinking these things.

That cool demeanor hid something and she had cracked into it by some black magic. She nibbled on her bottom lip again as his middle and index fingers joined onto her knee right then. She thought about the drink he had mentioned before, the virgin screaming orgasm. A part of her wanted him to have a full on screaming orgasm right then for touching her with everyone there and for giving her such a bet to sleep with Greg.

“Alex—a word?” she offered him once she polished off her cup of coffee.

“Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing,” he confessed. He slid out of there first and allowed her to put her hat back onto her head.

Sam led him over to the front doors where it was pouring rain outside. Once she ducked around the corner and he followed suit right behind her, she turned around and put her hand right on the crotch of his jeans and fondled him there. She leaned into his face and put her lips to his; he jerked back and looked on at her, baffled.

“You're a bad, bad boy,” she taunted him in a hushed voice.

“Thought I was a good boy?” he recalled with a shake of his head. She gripped harder on his crotch: he wasn't firm, but she could feel him in there.

“You're a bad boy and you ain't getting your milk and cookies for it,” she teased him, to which he pouted his bottom lip at her.

“Please?” he begged her with a little tilt of his head.

“You ain't getting it,” she scoffed at him.

“I want my milk and cookies, though,” he begged her.

“You'll get your milk and cookies when you behave,” she insisted.

“How do I behave?” he asked her. She gripped even harder on him. “Ow—ow—ow—”

“What's the matter?” she teased him.

“It hurts—”

She loosened her grip and stroked him with the pad of her thumb.

“Come on—” she encouraged him to the closet right behind her. Just like with Cliff, except this time it was in a hotel rather than the subway.

They slipped inside of that cramped closet and he closed the door part of the way. Through the darkness, she held onto him once again, that time with more force. He groaned in pain from the feeling.

“Ow—ow, Samantha—Samantha—you're hurting me—”

“You like a little pain, though, don't you?”

“I do—just not this much, though.”

She let go and then slipped her hand down his jeans.

“You're a bad boy,” she whispered to him: the edges of her nails grazed against his skin just a bit, enough to bring a soft groan from the inside of his throat. She pressed her fingers a bit harder on his skin. “You're a bad boy—trying to get me to get down with Greg,”

“Oh, shit,” he breathed out, and he snickered at that.

“Bad, bad, bad boy—I ought to just bite you right now.”

“Why you wanna bite everything, Samantha,” he scoffed. “Bite everything and hurt me.”

“'Cause you're a bad boy.”

“You call me a bad boy again I'm not gonna give you your milk.”

“Oh, you're really bad for that.” She held onto him and squeezed him extra hard. He showed her his tongue and he pinched his eyes closed. She moved her chest closer to his so her breasts brushed against him. He gave her a soft pained whimper as a result. She kept her mouth closer to his, but she never touched him or kissed him for a second.

Alex shuddered a bit at the feeling between his legs. Sam ran her tongue along her bottom lip as she felt something wet on her finger.

“I thought you said you weren't going to give me any milk,” she whispered to him.

“Hurt me,” he begged her in a little whisper. “Hurt me for that—god, please—do it. Do it!”

She dug her nails into his skin a little bit, but it was enough to coax a gasp out of him. He pinched his eyes shut and he parted his lips as if he beckoned a kiss from her.

But she resisted. She need not give that to him as of yet.

“What are you,” she whispered to him.

“I—” he breathed, and his chest heaved from the feeling. “I—I—”

“What are you,” she insisted, still with her voice low.

“I—oh, god—Samantha—”

“What are you,” she breathed right into his parted lips.

“A bad motherfucker,” he blurted out in a husky voice, and she paid him with a delicate kiss right on the lips.

“What are you,” she breathed again: she held onto him so tight that even in the dim light, she could see his face turned bright pink.

“A bad motherfucker,” he repeated, and she did it again.

“For real, though—what are you?”

“A bad, bad boy who wants his milk and cookies from his mama,” he pleaded to her.

“Oh, you'll get it,” she vowed. “You'll get it when the time is right.”

“Isn't the time right now?” he asked her in a small voice.

“You need your cookies, though. Can't have either one without the other.”

“I'm gonna get so fat hanging out with you...” His voice was mellow and husky, as low as she had ever heard it before.

“I'll keep you going, baby,” she vowed to him in a light airy whisper. She put her other hand down his pants for the second part. Alex closed his mouth as she fondled him in the space right between his thighs, right there in the darkness like she did with Cliff. He tilted his head back and groaned in his throat at the feeling.

“Swear to god, you're gonna make me come right in my jeans,” he moaned in a pained whimper.

“You should have,” she told him.

He whimpered through his gritted teeth. She felt his hand move up her back towards the hooks on her bra, and she wagged a finger at him.

“Don't you dare,” she teased him.

“Why can't I?”

“Don't you dare!” she teased him again and she giggled at him.

“But—but—”

“Don't—”

“Sam? Alex?” Tiffany's voice floated in right then.

“God damn it!” Sam groaned.

“Just as I was starting to feel better,” he said, still in a husky voice, albeit one that was a bit lower so she wouldn't hear them. “Pick up where we left off later on.”

“Deal, baby.” She put her lips to his one more time before they bowed out of there. Tiffany had disappeared around the corner but Alex straightened out his shirt and that was enough for Sam to put on a scene for when she came back there. Even though Alex came in his pants, she didn't get any of it on her hands.

“God—such messy boys!” she declared as Tiffany returned to them in the opposite direction.

“Oh, there you guys are! Breakfast is ready.”

Alex let out a low whistle as he tugged down his shirt over his belt and the button on his jeans, which was undone for the entirety of breakfast. Joey still hadn't gotten up at that point, either: Scott, Dan, Frank, and Charlie all congregated around that table all by themselves on the far side of the room. Sam paid hardly any attention to the conversation at the table before her as she looked on at them.

She thought of going up to Joey's room and waking him up with her lips around him, but then again, his door might have been locked at that point. There was no way she could do it with him even if she could. Alex said something about Sam herself right then, but she still paid more attention to the table on the other side of the room.

“We've got to record that album, though,” Chuck pointed out.

“Samantha wants to go there, though,” Alex insisted.

“Don't even know if it's open, though, Alex,” Tiffany joined in. “It is Saturday after all.”

Sam herself turned to them with the tines of her forks nestled in her lips.

“Talking about the sound garden,” Louie explained from across the table.

“Tell you what—if there's time over Thanksgiving, we'll come on back up here,” Chuck concluded.

“You'd do that?” Sam asked him, and he nodded his head at that.

“Aw, Chuck, you're too kind.”

Since it was their final day there in Seattle, Sam decided to hang out with them all the way until they landed in San Francisco together. She would head on back to her father's house and sleep there for a long time given the sheer extent of the tour and she wasn't in school, either. But there was still one thing that she had to do before they did anything more.

And both Alex and Greg knew it themselves.

Indeed, once they had cleaned their plates, she put her fedora back onto her head and Alex led her back to his room, complete with a gesture to Greg to join them. But he lingered back for Chuck and Tiffany, however. As a result, Sam and Alex awaited them there at the elevator doors: she eyed the slight curve underneath his shirt and she wondered if it came from all of the ginger snaps or just from eating a hearty breakfast, but he looked good with it there. He tucked his thumbs into his belt loops and gave his lush dark hair a little toss back with a flick of his head.

“Man, you look—so utterly gorgeous right now, Alex,” Sam noted. “Really gorgeous.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely—decadent—” She lowered her gaze from his chest to his stomach and then his hips and his legs. “Absolutely gorgeous, my sweet friend.” She flashed him a wink and he returned the favor with a mischievous little smile: the smile disappeared when something behind her caught his attention. She turned and followed his gaze to the tall guy on the other side of the hall there with a diaper bag over his shoulder. She kept her eye on the thick dense mop of dark curls upon his head as well as his straight nose and the cupid's bow in his mouth.

“God, where's my wife,” he muttered, and then he looked on at Alex.

“You that guy who threw a jug of cider at Scott last night?” he demanded.

“Yeah, 'cause they sucked,” the guy sneered at him: he was tall, taller than Alex who was rather big himself, and made Sam feel rather minute in comparison.

“You must be that little brat from the Bay Area,” he scoffed.

“Me?” Alex chuckled.

“I've seen you up by the sound garden,” he said in a singsong voice. “And I've seen you at that theater, too. Total brat.”

“Yeah, like you would know,” Alex laughed at him.

“You guys are such rock stars,” he spat back.

“We ain't rock stars,” Alex insisted. “If you knew anything 'bout us, you would know that we're not rock stars. We're just a bunch of guys who happen to play rock n' roll.”

“Rock n' roll if it was on a butt,” said the guy, and Alex rolled his eyes at that.

“They're not rock stars,” Sam joined in right then. “Poison are rock stars. Led Zeppelin are rock stars. And not to mention, you say that like it's a bad thing.”

“It is a bad thing,” he said to her with a little gyration of his head, “it's all hollow and soulless.”

The elevator doors slid open and he brushed past them both without pardoning himself, and he closed the doors before anyone else could stop him. Alex looked over at Sam with a disgusted look on his face.

“Had to have been the rudest person up here in Seattle so far,” he told her: for a second, he raised his gaze to right behind her again. “Everyone up here has been real nice to us all so far.”

“Wow, what a prick,” Chuck declared from right behind Sam. Alex sidled closer to her so he was out of the way of the elevator.

“Called us 'butt rock', too,” he remarked as he smoothed the front of his shirt once more, “—whatever the hell that even means.”

“Joke's on him, though—you guys are butt rock,” Sam pointed out and she slapped Alex right on the seat of his pants.

“We're more like booty rock,” Louie joked.

“Ass and titty rock!” Chuck joined in and they burst out laughing.

“Vagina rock,” Alex said under his breath, and Sam slapped him on the seat of his pants again.

“Stop spanking me!” he exclaimed, and the whole room froze right then.

“What?” Chuck couldn't keep a straight face upon saying that.

“—is what she said—in her sleep last night,” Alex stammered with a gesture over to Sam; all the while, his face turned bright pink with embarrassment and Sam chuckled at that.

“Dreaming about literal butts last night, Sam?” Eric teased her.

“Literal butts with a nice sheen on 'em,” she went along with it. “A nice sheen for a nice seat on the rock in question.”

Alex and Eric laughed at that; the former then gestured for Greg to follow them into his room there next to the elevator.

“Oh, yeah, that's right! I was gonna help you guys.” He raised his eyebrows upon his saying that.

“Help with butts?” Eric joked.

“Help with butts, yes!” Sam cracked back, and she bowed back into Alex's room with him and Greg both. She kept the door ajar behind her by about a half of an inch; she turned to the table underneath the mirror and she spotted a bottle of tomato juice next to a bottle of vodka and a high glass.

“Bloody Maries, Alex?” Greg joked as he took his seat there on the edge of the bed.

“Yes!” Alex exclaimed. “'Cause it puts hair on your chest. Let's see—the bartender told me how to do it... you guys get yourselves ready in the meantime.”

Sam turned to Greg and the warmth crossed her face as a result.

“He told you, didn't he?” she said.

“I never forgot!” he admitted.

“So you wanna—do this on the bed or the floor?”

“Whatever makes you most comfortable,” he said as he leaned back on the bed. There was a clinking of Alex's glass and he stirred his Bloody Mary.

“I'll watch,” he announced as he put his feet up.

“What!” Sam demanded, mortified.

“I wanna watch,” Alex repeated, nonplussed. “I wanna watch you guys do it. I am a bad boy, after all.”

Sam turned to Greg who raised his eyebrows at her. She hoped that his incoming beard was freshly trimmed as she reclined back on her elbows.

“Well—Frankie and I did watch Charlie and Marla perform oral when they were together,” she recalled, and Alex almost gagged on his drink at that.

“That wasn't you, that was the booze, I swear,” he promised her with his head bowed a bit. “Bit of extra pepper on that...”

Sam turned to Greg, who undid his jeans for her. She peeled off her top and she climbed on top of him. He smelled of French toast and cologne.

“C'mere, Greggy—” she beckoned him. She pressed her hands on either side of his face and she put her lips onto his and he was quick to set his hands on her back and unhook her. Her bra slid down her arms so he was face to face with her chest. The strap nearly caught on the fire opal bracelet that Chuck gave her but she shook her hand about to rid of it.

“Right there—right there—right on my tit—right there! Yes!”

“Should I use my teeth?” Greg asked her.

“Do it, Greg!” Alex cheered him on from the other side of the room.

A bit of nibbling from him: the first bristles of his beard grazed against her skin, such that it tickled her.

“Lemme get you below the equator,” he begged her with a twinkle in his eye.

“As long as I can get you below the equator,” she retorted.

“You dare me to do it? 'Cause I dare you to do it.”

“Dare to!” Alex cheered her on in a hushed voice.

“Gladly!” Sam said, triumphant over both princes. She let Greg caress over her breasts some more with those callused bass player fingers: long and lanky much like Alex's fingers. The rough skin tickled her more than those first sprigs of hair on his face. The thought of it against the skin between her legs tickled her a bit.

She leaned back towards his belt and she undid the buckle for him. She glanced up at Alex, who sipped on his Bloody Mary through a straw with his eyes hooded and his face blank. He then flashed her a wink; meanwhile, between her legs, Greg undid her jeans for her.

She kept her eyes locked on Alex as she put her lips around Greg's head. She wondered if a little deep into her throat would get Alex going, or perhaps the vodka in that Bloody Mary would do the job better than she ever would.

That smooth velvet tongue caressed over her and the hair that made up his beard brushed against her skin and it made her gasp. But she continued on with the job. She kept her eyes locked on Alex's face as she sank further down towards Greg's body.

“A little blood for your popsicle there?” Alex offered her at one point.

“Joey can never know about this,” she proclaimed as she kept her tongue around that erection.

“What if I knock you up, though?” Greg asked her.

“You ain't knocking me up, Greggy,” she pointed out, “not with the way you licked me just then.”

She gasped when he touched that little bundle of nerves at the way back there. That spot that Joey knew how to touch so well. But Greg was touching it.

Greg was touching it and Alex was watching them all the while: and the only thought that swam through her mind was where they would go from there. She was about to get off right then and there, all from Greg running those fingers on her clit. She was about to get off and also get off: she rolled right off of him onto the foot of the bed, out of breath and with her mouth filled with his taste as well.

She rolled her head over at Alex, who flashed her a wink. Completely naked, she sat upright and strolled over to him.

“We've got our very own stripper, Alex,” Greg pointed out as Sam leaned forward into Alex's face. That drink was already getting to him a bit.

“You smell like tomatoes,” she told him as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“I'm spicy,” he said.

“You cheeky bastard.”

“I'm spicy!”

She took a seat on his lap and she put her bare breasts right up into his face. Alex raised his eyebrows at those tight nipples.

“Do I owe you anything, Alex?” she teased him.

“Do you owe me anything? No?”

“I feel like I owe you something, though.”

“You don't, though.”

“What if I do?”

“You don't, Samantha, I promise.”

She eyed the crotch of his jeans.

“Don't even think about it,” he nudged her off.

“I'm thinking about it,” she said.

“Yeah, she's definitely thinking about it, Alex,” Greg added from behind them.

“Bloody Mary and blood on your denim—bad boys need a little lap dance before they get their milk and cookies.”

Greg cackled at that as Sam lifted up and ran her bare ass across Alex's lap.

“Yeah, you like a li'l blood on the dance floor, don't ya?” Alex teased her.

“More blood to paint with, of course,” she retorted as she took a seat on his lap: she could feel him having risen up right underneath her. He took another sip of Bloody Mary with a hooded look to those deep eyes.

“I see you turning into a little fat rat,” she teased him.

“Little fat rat—little fat rat with his hair all over the place,” he retorted, and then he shrugged.

“Why'd you shrug?”

“'Cause I could,” he replied in a broken voice. She stood up from his lap and then he stood up. With his free hand, Alex undid the buttons on his shirt and showed off his hips to her. Sam set her hand there just to feel him.

“Nice curves, Alejandro,” she teased him.

“Nice curves... says the girl with the nice full curves,” he breathed out; Greg was still right there behind them. She stooped over for another vampire bite on Alex's skin. She stroked him first with her fingers and then nibbled on him.

“Imagine me as a little fat rat and you're doing this to me,” he said, and she ran her tongue over the spot to which he writhed about a bit.

“Does that tickle?” she teased him.

“You have no idea,” he said.

A pinch and a poke, a nibble and a lick, and then she rounded it out with a few little kisses. Alex once again had another little bruise on his belly, right above his belt. The mark of the mistress.

Alex finished the rest of his Bloody Mary and then he checked his watch.

“We better get going,” he told them. “Don't wanna miss that plane.”

Sam ran her fingers through her dark hair and then she turned to Greg, who had put on her bra over his still clothed body.

“Greg—Greg, why are you wearing my bra?” she asked him in a broken voice.

“Why the hell not?” he blurted out as he tossed her panties to her. Her jeans still lay on the side of the bed right next to him. Sam raised an eyebrow at him and the pale washed out tone to his skin.

“You better not get any puke on that thing or I'm going to—literally kill you.”

“Kill him after you blew each other into next week,” Alex muttered under his breath.

“That's hot,” Greg added to that, but Sam rolled her eyes at that as she put her panties back on, followed by her pants.

And the whole entire time, she kept her shoes on.

[caranfindel]

Initial reaction 15.14: Last Holiday

Well, friends, here we go. Are you ready?

(I'm not. But here we go anyway.)

THEN: Cuthbert Sinclair. (Really? That's a deep cut.) Abbadon. Larry Ganem. (And S8 Sam, who is fucking gorgeous.) Oh, and God and Jack and all that stuff, in case you forgot.

NOW: Sam's in the library, doing research, and is distracted by some ominous noises. Ominous in a machinery-breaking-down kind of way, not in a monstery kind of way. Enter Dean, wearing an apron. "What's with the apron," asks Sam, "because it's only protecting your jeans, not the Red Shirt of Bad Decisions." At least that's how it sounded in my head. I mean, who only gets dirty from the waist down when they're cooking? (Well, that lends itself to all kinds of double entendres, doesn't it?) Or maybe Sam doesn't say that because he hopes the RSoBD will be destroyed in a tragic burger accident.

Seriously, Dean, that shirt is precious and you need to protect it, no matter what Sam thinks.

Dean complains that the pilot light keeps going out, and the hot water is unsatisfactory (and we know how he feels about his showers), and Sam reminds him that if the bunker was ever state-of-the-art, it was in the 50s. They exposition for us that Jack is hiding in his room. "Can you blame him?" Sam says. "His soul is back. Everything is hitting him. Everything he's done..." And Sam continues, but I'm sorry, I'm stuck here, thinking about re-souled Sam with everything hitting him. {sob} However, neither of the Winchesters seem to be thinking about this, so. Carry on.

The guys remind us that if Jack kills God, he'll have to kill Amara as well. Which I assume means Amara isn't going to get killed? Just saying. As much as I talk about foreshadowing (too much, please stop!) this show teases us with anti-foreshadowing with equal fervor. And Cas is apparently looking for Amara? What does he hope to accomplish? "Excuse me, but we're killing your brother, so you have to die too. Condolences. But if we follow canon - not that there's any reason to assume we will - you have to die at about the same time. So I need you to come with me while we figure out where he is and how to kill him."

There's another ominous noise, and Dean says "Oh, come on. Now the air?" I hope he means the air conditioning, and not the air purifying/exchange/whatever that Ketch shut off when he locked them in the bunker back in... whatever the BMoL season was. Hey, remember when the guys were locked in the bunker and they were running out of air and they wore single layers and goggles and got all sweaty and depressed? Because I've kind of never gotten over it. But I digress.

Sam is surprised that Dean expects them to fix it. "We've fought the devil," Dean says. "I've killed Hitler. I think we can handle a few old pipes." Surely this isn't the first time they've had to do some repairs around the place.

Deep within the bowels of the bunker, Sam reads some ancient instructions and complains that they can't just call a plumber. Dean refers to the bunker as the most "secretive, secure supernatural hideout in the world," which makes me laugh, because remember when Larry Ganem told Sam it was secure against all manner of evil? What a joke. Is there anything or anyone evil who hasn't been able to get into the bunker? My house is more secure against evil than the bunker, and all I have for protection is a circle of termite bait and a couple of ancient dogs.

They locate the "bunker grid control center thing thingy" (oh Sam, I adore you), complete with reset and standby buttons. Standby is glowing. Dean hypothesizes that it will work just like his computer, which needs to be shut down when it gets too many popups (I suspect you need some virus protection, dear boy), and slams down the reset button before Sam can stop him. Everything goes dark, but then starts up again, so Dean considers it a success. He calls himself "Meat Man" again and heads upstairs to finish cooking his burgers.

Time jump. Dean goes into his room, carrying a burger and a beer, and is astonished to find a middle-aged woman there. She's wearing a plaid wool skirt I owned in the 80s and is folding his underwear. "Oh, hello dear!" she says cheerfully. Dean yells for Sam.

Gosh, Dean, it's like this place isn't secretive or secure at all.

The horrified Shaggy and Scooby boxers are ~chef's kiss.~ Well done, someone.

Title card!

Library. The woman tuts at dust and wonders how they've lived in "this filth," which reminds me of an awesome Tumblr post which theorizes that faeries actually keep the bunker clean, and only first-born son Dean can see them. "Lady, who the hell are you," Dean demands, and is chastized for his language. He calls for Sam again, and gives him the story of how he walked into his room and found her "folding my underthings."

She explains that her actual name is indecipherable in "your tongue," but "Mr. Ganem called me _Mrs. Butters."_She's a wood nymph. And she's not in the woods, nymphing (thank you Dean) because she has more important things to do - she lives in the bunker and takes care of the Men of Letters. I.e., "my boys. My family."

Dean invites her to leave, but this is her home, and she's been here since "before the war." And she thinks it's 1958. "Well, I hate to tell you," Dean says, "but it's 2020." YES, DEAN, WE ALL FEEL THAT WAY ABOUT 2020. Mrs. Butters is horrified to learn all her boys are dead. And for some reason Dean tells her they were murdered by a demon instead of saying old age, or they went to a farm upstate, or whatever. She spots a photo of the last group of MoL, which we've never noticed before, and realizes that this is why they never came back from that last ceremony. When they didn't return, she decided to put the bunker - and herself - in standby mode.

But she also realizes that if these boys are like those boys, it's been a while since they had a home-cooked meal or celebrated a holiday. Or washed their clothes, as she makes a face. That's uncalled for, lady. We all know that Sam Winchester smells like rosemary and mint no matter how long it's been since he did laundry. Sam explains that they're not really "holiday people," which rings true coming from the guy who didn't want to celebrate Christmas and hates Halloween. (And only had one real Thanksgiving in his life and his brother still holds that against him but NO I'M NOT BITTER.)

Dean is more interested in what "standby mode" is. Mrs. Butters says the MoL used her magic to give the bunker "extra oomph," and snaps her fingers. Voila, extra oomph! There's some humming noises, the telescope alcove lights up (!), and an alarm sounds. Because the map table is actually a monster radar, and it indicates a nest of vampires 50 miles away. And gives the address. WELL.

{Sidebar: Why didn't the BMoL know the AMoL had this capability? Why was their focus on "you're not as good as us" instead of "you used to be as good as us; what happened?" Discuss.}

Do I care? No. Because look at these precious perplexed faces.

Dean's ready to go (and it earns him another stern warning about his language), but Sam wonders if they can trust her. "Look at her," Dean says. And I agree. She's a dumpy middle aged woman in a brown plaid wool skirt. She's basically me. And who could be more trustworthy, more concerned with the Winchesters' health and safety, than me?

Um. Anyway.

Not to change the subject or anything, but the pretty is strong tonight, y'all.

Dean suggests they give her the benefit of the doubt, and if it turns out she's not what she says she is, "then we deal with it." The music turns ominous. "What about Jack?" Sam asks.

Oh, Jack is actually in this episode? I thought maybe they were explaining his absence earlier, like they always do with Cas. (Because I always cover the guest star credits on first watch. Spoilers.) But it turns out Jack is actually with us tonight. Sitting on his bed, looking depressed. Dean knocks on his door and tells him they're going out, and there's a "probably harmless" guest making snickerdoodles. This sparks Jack's interest. It would work on me, too. I love snickerdoodles.

Impala. Sam's not sure it's a good idea to keep Mrs. Butters around, even if she is legit. He's concerned about Jack, but Dean brushes him off.

He'll be fine. I mean, I've been through worse and look at me. I'm the picture of health.

Ignoring your trauma doesn't make you healthy.

Sure it does.

Oh, Sam. Just listen to yourself. No, I mean, please. Listen to yourself.

Sam feels like Jack is hiding something, and I wish there were someone around who had also done awful things while un-souled, and remembered what it felt like to deal with that afterward. Someone sympathetic and empathetic. With soft puppy dog eyes and beautiful hair. Oh well. I guess Jack will just have to go unburden himself onto whoever he comes across.

Bunker. Mrs. Butters brings Jack a sandwich. He doesn't open the door, but she leaves it for him.

Vampire nest. A couple of vampires are watching Dark Shadows (so meta!) and drinking blood stolen from a blood bank. So, are these, like, maybe not bad vampires? Maybe they don't kill people? We'll never know, because Sam and Dean walk in and cut off their heads. And come home to... Christmas. Lights are strung all over, jazzy Christmas music is playing, there's a huge decorated tree and gifts, and Mrs. Butters has a tray of homemade cookies. "We are so keeping her," Dean says. Sam looks unsure.

Kitchen. Mrs. Butters tells Sam that since he and Dean have been so busy killing monsters, they haven't had a chance to celebrate anything. But I can barely pay attention to a single word that comes out of the woman's mouth because LOOK AT SAM IN THIS T-SHIRT. LOOK AT IT.

Single-layer Sam is something to celebrate.

She insists that Sam "enjoy the world you're fighting for" (which is never gonna happen, lady) and excitedly talks about all the holidays she wants to make up for. Then Jack enters, and her mood changes instantly. Even Jack's adorable little dorky wave doesn't melt her. "What are you?" she asks coldly.

Enter Dean, wearing a real-life version of the purple "sleeping robe" and nightcap he wore in "Scoobynatural." OH MY GAWD. I really hope this was a surprise for the rest of the cast.

And I also hope he's not really going commando underneath... or do I?

Mrs. Butters is distracted enough to decide that if the boys vouch for Jack, he must be okay. She hands Jack a smoothie but tells Dean he must have tomato juice due to his cholesterol. And she pronounces it the Patrick Stewart way, not the Mark Hammil way.

Before Dean can drink his to-mah-toh juice, the monster radar alarm goes off, and the guys rush off to prepare for a hunt. For future reference, when you leave the kitchen, Sam's room is to the right and Dean's is to the left. We next see the guys fully dressed, receiving sack lunches from Mrs. Butters. Dean's sandwich has the crusts cut off. {Sidebar: Sam never had someone to cut the crusts off his sandwich. Hold me. And also, how many reminders am I going to have of "Dark Side of the Moon" tonight?} She tells Sam the monster is a lamia, the blessed knives are in the trunk, and she just waxed the car so Dean needs to take it easy.

As the guys rush off, she turns to Jack and his smoothie mustache. "Well. What shall we do with you?"

NOTHING GOOD, I'M SURE.

As Jack helps wash dishes, he fills her in. Lucifer was his father, Mary was his family and his friend but he killed her. Mrs. Butters is very supportive, telling him "life gives us second chances and it's our obligation to hold onto them." And she presents him with another smoothie.

Montage! Thanksgiving dinner. More hunts. More sack lunches. Halloween (and even Sam seems to enjoy it). Fourth of July. (Yet another "Dark Side of the Moon" shoutout). A hunt requiring the grenade launcher and Thor's hammer from that episode whose title I can't remember! Sam's birthday! By the way, none of these holiday celebrations include Cas.

Mmmm. So worthy.

Time jump. Jack catches Mrs. Butters looking at something in a file cabinet and being very sneaky about it. He requests another smoothie to get her out of the room, and then finds what she was looking at. It's her MoL file, including a reel of film. The film shows Cuthbert Sinclar talking about File 5150 (aw, RIP Eddie Van Halen). The subject was actually recovered from the Thule (aw, "Everybody Hates Hitler") and we learn that wood nymphs "react violently when home or family are threatened." Sinclair says he "conducted a series of experiments designed to show this strange and magical being of our mission" and convinced her to join the MoL family. Huh. Wonder how he did that. Then Mrs. Butters demonstrates her devotion by literally ripping the head off a Thule. "Son of a bitch," says Jack, because he's been spending a lot of time with Dean.

Jack runs into the war room looking for Sam (and yes, I'm petty enough to love that he looks to Sam first), who is off getting ready for a "big date." Huh. Okay. Mrs. Butters offers him soup, but then Sam walks in, giving off some pretty strong Hot Professor Sam vibes (hello again, "Everybody Hates Hitler") with a sweater vest and tie, and I am thrilled with this development.

Thrilled, I tell you.

Mrs. Butters tells him he looks wonderful but offers to trim his hair (back off, lady, I will cut you) and Dean enters in time to make a weak Abercrombie and Bitch joke. Sam tells him Eileen's in town, and he's taking her out to dinner and "some privacy, something."

"Heavy on the something," Dean says, and we're going to talk about that later, I promise. But for now, Mrs. Butters tells Sam to take one of the old cars from the garage. Finally. Can we just make this permanent? Can Sam have his own fucking car, please? She produces a bouquet of roses from nowhere and sends him on his adorably anxious way. Then she tells Dean she found a broken TV in one of the rooms and fixed it. "The Dean Cave?" Dean is off like a shot. I wonder if that's the TV he smashed with a hammer, and if so, how did she fix it? (Also, hello again, "Scoobynatural.")

Jack is still unsettled. He follows her into the dungeon and tells her he saw the film. {Sidebar: The film showed her killing one of their enemies because she's protective of the MoL. Is it really that awful? Discuss.} "And how did that make you feel?" she asks. "You relished his pain, didn't you, Jack?" Oh, turns out that was a setup - she wanted Jack to see the video, so she could confirm that he was a bloodthirsty little monster. And do the Winchesters know how powerful he has become?

They should be scared of you!

I would never hurt them.

You have before, haven't you? Have you ever thought that Sam and Dean keep you in here, closed in, secure, because they're scared you'll do to someone else what you did to their mother?

Well, I mean. Now he has. She flings Jack into the wall. He tries to use the glowy eyes on her, but he finds himself powerless. She snaps the magic handcuffs on him. "You didn't think those smoothies were for your health, did you? Oh, I've learned a few things while I was doing the dusting around here. A little yarrow root, some ground jawbone for texture, and voila! You are as weak as a puppy."

Wait. That's all it took? To power down a nephilim, who is canonically more powerful than his archangel parent? So when the Winchesters were trying to take down Lucifer and AU Michael, all they needed was some yarrow root and ground jawbone? And the answers were all right here in the bunker?

(Sigh. Don't think about it. That way lies madness.)

(Also, canon! Ha ha ha ha.)

She tells Jack she's making the bunker safe again and getting rid of all the monsters. Like you, sweetness. Aw. Sad Jack.

Kitchen. Dean comes in looking for a snack and is immediately presented with some kind of grilled sandwich. She tells him to eat it, because he'll need his strength when they go kill Jack. Aw, that's the sound of a heart breaking.

Dean is disappointed that their good thing has gone "full Nurse Ratchet," and glances longingly at the sandwich he has to leave behind. He takes Mrs. B's knife and suggests they let Jack go and pretend this never happened. The only logical conclusion is that Dean is under Jack's spell, so he gets tossed into the dungeon too. Oh, cool. Does that mean Sam gets to be the hero and save them?

Spoiler alert: Ha ha ha ha no.

Hello, Demon Dean. That's the only other time we've seen this expression, isn't it? {Or is it simply the only one branded onto my brain? Discuss.)

Map table room. Sam comes in and is met by Mrs. B. "Bit past your curfew, Samuel," she says curtly. He's no longer wearing his tie. Hmm. So, let's talk about the Eileen situation. Isn't it weird that (1) Dean didn't know she was in town, and (b) she's not spending the night at the bunker? Wouldn't you think she'd be a house guest? I mean, she's not "in town" for the heck of it. The only thing that would bring her to Lebanon would be Sam. So why isn't she here seeing Sam? Is she just driving through on her way somewhere else? She can't even spend one night in the bunker? And the tie? If Sam removed his tie, doesn't that strongly suggest Dean was right about the "something" going on? Did they do it in the back of the old car? At a hotel? I have questions, friends.

Anyway. Sam asks where Jack and Dean are, since it's late and they should be sitting around the map table waiting for him to come home and not, like, in bed or anything. "Well, I have some good news, and some bad news."

HERE IS SOME GOOD NEWS INDEED.

Honestly, I like this look better without the tie.

Time jump.

So, Jack has taken over Dean's mind. And they're both downstairs, right now, ready to be killed by us.

You were always the smart one, yes.

Sam, who is the smart one, says he's going to go to his room and get his gun, and he'll meet her in the dungeon. "And we can... get to the killing." I LOVE HIM. {Sidebar: I have watched his fake relieved sigh several times and it makes me smile every time.} Once he’s safe in his room, Sam calls Dean and starts to tell him about Mrs. Butters.

Went psycho, we know.

Why didn't you call me?

Well, I mean I, you know, I figured you were "practicing your sign language."

And that's more important than coming to save you?

...

Dean?

It's been a while for you, man, you know?

Aw. Always the supportive big brother. {Sidebar: As long as Sam is doing something Dean thinks Sam should be doing. But I digress.}

{Sidebar: I love Dean, y'all know I do. Warts and all. He'd be boring if he were perfect.}

Dean suggests Sam shoot her, although they don't know if a gun will kill her because neither of them got around to researching it because they were distracted by Christmas and Thanksgiving and breakfast on Boxing Day. That's how you get killed, guys. {Sidebar: How much do I love that Sam calls it Boxing Day? For my Brit friends, that's not really a thing in the U.S., although it's gradually starting to become one. And I love it.}

Dean then suggests that putting the bunker in standby mode might put Mrs. B in suspended animation again. Meanwhile, Jack and Dean are stuck in the dungeon. Jack suggests using his power to remove the cuffs, but Dean points out that the power surge would catch Chuck's attention. But what power surge? Jack already tried to use his power against Mrs. B and it turned out he didn't have any.

Jack suspects there are other reasons Dean doesn't want him to use his power, and suddenly decides it's time for a deep conversation.

Do you still think I'm a monster? Okay, I'm just gonna say this, okay? Just get it out there. Jack, I'm trying, okay? I really am. But what you did, that's not easy to forget. Now, I was angry with you. For a while. And maybe I still am a little bit, okay? But I'm not gonna let some evil Mary Poppins take you out. You understand?

Okay. Good talk.

Sam shows up in the library looking for Mrs. B, and trying to hide his gun, as if he hadn't told her he was going to his room specifically to retrieve said gun. But Mrs. B realizes he's trying to kill her, and freezes him. She's not mad, she's just disappointed. She tosses him into a chair and keeps him there with the power of her mind, not with rope or anything, in case you were wondering. {Oh, hello, "Funeralia" and "The Trap."} She tells him that when the MoL first found her, she didn't realize how important they were. But Mr. Cuthbert explained it to her. And since Sam is her favorite, she's not going to give up on him. Yet. She's going help Sam the same way Mr. Cuthbert helped her understand. Well, that doesn't sound ominous at all.

He's my favorite too! And I also think he needs to be hurt! See, she's basically me!

Dungeon. Dean is going to try to chop Jack's handcuffs off.

You're sure this is gonna work?

Let's say yes.

Aw. That was a perfect opportunity to bring back "maybe 90% sure." And it doesn't work - Jack is sent flying into a glassed-in cabinet that I've never seen in the dungeon before. Dean says "dang it" before remembering that he can use his big boy words, which is adorable. And then he gets an idea.

Upstairs. Mrs. B tries to convince Sam that Jack is a monster because he's Lucifer's son. Sam, of course, takes the opposite side of this debate. "Now, Mr. Cuthbert taught me that pain can be a wonderful teacher. Let's see if it can't correct your ways."

I SWEAR, Y'ALL, SHE IS ME.

Sam could sneer at her and say "I've been tortured by the devil himself; what can you do to me?" but we don't have that version of Sam any more. Mrs. B, without tools, yanks off one of his fingernails. {Oh, hello "A Very Supernatural Christmas!"}

Meanwhile, downstairs, Dean has a different theory on pain. It's just "weakness leaving the body," he tells Jack. We get a little "on three" bit, where he actually does the thing on one. And the thing is that he tries to cut Jack's handcuffs again, but this time Jack is strategically placed in front of the dungeon door. So when he's thrown back by the blast, he ends up breaking the door down.

Upstairs. Sam's been relieved of even more fingernails.

Downstairs. Dean takes a hammer (!) and smashes the reset button. Why doesn't he just push it with his hand? I mean, sure, we get the hammer, and the red lights and warning klaxon, and all of that turns me into Pavlov's dog {Hello, "Soul Survivor"}. But still. Seems unnecessary.

Upstairs. Mrs. B seems to be gone, and Dean bends over like he's untying Sam's wrist. But Sam's wrists aren't tied to anything, so. I got nothin'.

Downstairs. The runes that seem to hold Mrs. B in stasis light up, but do not stay lit. Well, that can't be good. And then the bunker grid control center thing thingy starts shaking and springs a leak. Ooops. Here she comes, complete with glowy green eyes.

Upstairs. Dean finishes untying Sam from the chair he wasn't tied to, and remarks on how gross his tortured hand is. Mrs. B shows up, yells that they've all been very bad, and flings them across the room. She's sure Sam will thank her someday for killing Jack, because it's so important to kill monsters and keep the MoL safe. It's why she couldn't go back to her forest. Sam explains to her that Mr. Cuthbert tortured her and used her, and Dean tells her Jack is going to save the world. Oh, okay then. The regular lights turn back on and Mrs. B tearfully says she misses the MoL so much.

Aftermath. Mrs. B heals Sam's hand and apologizes and all is immediately forgotten and once again, Sam gets to forgive his torturer and turn the other cheek. Yay! Sam, what was it you said earlier?

Gif stolen from @michaeldean

The guys send Mrs. B back to the woods, but first they have this conversation:

Sadly, without my magic, the bunker will revert to standby mode, so. Ah well, things were getting too easy anyway, you know? Who needs a monster radar? Or whatever that telescope thing is? It's an interdimensional geoscope. It's a what? I looked in it earlier; I didn't see anything. Oh. Well that's not good.

Holy crap, you guys. Interdimensional. It let the MoL look at the alternate worlds. And now you can't see anything because all of the alternate worlds have been destroyed. Gotta admit, this is an excellent little twist.

Jack presents Mrs. B with the photo of the MoL. "Oh look," she says. "The man who tortured me and kept me from my home, right here, front and center." Well, no, she doesn't. But I do.

Mrs. Butters gives them some last instruction. "Dean, eat your vegetables. And Sam, cut your hair. And Jack, go save the world." Well, I'm in favor of one or two of those things.

Try to tell me I'm wrong. Just try.

After-aftermath. Jack tells Sam that he doesn't know if he can kill God, since he was sidelined by a wood nymph "because I was stupid." He asks if Sam thinks he can do it.

"Jack, you're the only who can." No pressure.

Dean shows up with a truly awful-looking birthday cake for Jack. "I made it myself. Obviously." But Jack is thrilled because it's from Dean, and it means Dean loves him and has forgiven him, until the plot requires otherwise. He makes a wish and blows out his single candle. Fade to black.

So! There were parts of this that were simply marvelous. There were parts that were kind of dumb. There were parts that would have made me very angry if I weren't so tired and jaded. But the good parts were darn good, and the pretty was dialed up to 11, and we all know I'm a sucker for a pretty episode. And there was NO B PLOT. AT ALL. Thank you baby Jesus.

And let’s just refuse to consider the possibility that these were, in fact, their last holidays. Thanks.

Now I get to see what you thought about it. And, as always, please help me stay unspoiled for future episodes, including episode titles and casting info. {smooches}

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #225

“i tried to write your name in the rain, but the rain never came.”

How many times a day do you check your cell to see if you have a text? Considering my dumb phone doesn't let me know I have texts half the time, I do multiple times throughout the day. Ever wonder if the person you hate will become the person you marry? HA HA YOOOOOOOOOOOO SARA AND I DID AND NOW I DEADASS WANNA MARRY HER TOMORROW How many times a day do you wash your hands? It varies. After I use the bathroom or if I'm about to touch food. You walk in on your parents smoking pot, what do you do? lol h u h How old were you when you had your first crush? Hell if I know. I do remember as a young kid though, I was very much "ew boys no thnx." Maybe like... 5th grade? When was the last time you asked God for something? A long, long time ago. Your opinion on smoking: Just don't, dude. It's money going towards gradual suicide. No one likes the smell. You sure won't like how it affects your body. It's an addiction/it's stressful to stop. I'm not gonna like, judge you if you smoke, but nevertheless, I'll tell anyone it's an awful idea. Make love or fuck? It depends on the mood. I was more into the former mood back when that even applied to me, though. Have you ever cried so much over something that later felt like nothing? Oh, I can assure you I have. The last time you were afraid of the dark was: I'm not really scared of the dark, but one time I got up semi-recently in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and after one incident, I was so, so careful and nervous to step on Bentley's tail. He lost his fucking mind on me when I did it once, of course on accident. The TV was off by this point, so I couldn't see well at all. I love having a dog that fucking scares me. How often do you say I love you to your parents and mean it? A whole lot. Your boyfriend/girlfriend say they can’t hang out & it’s been two weeks. You? I mean sure, it sucks, but if they're legitimately busy, they're busy. Have you ever wanted a wild animal for a pet? If yes what animal? I had a phase where I really wanted a fox, and now I am DEAD serious about fostering opossums at some point. When you go to sleep, do you have to have white noise or silence? SILENCE. Though I don't really get /total/ silence 'cuz I have to have my fan on. My room's always hot. Have you ever gotten in a fight with a teacher? No. Ever had a creepy dream about a teacher? No. Where were you when you had your first sleepover? Your house or a friends’? I believe I was at my then-best friend's house. I had suuuuch bad separation anxiety from my mom that I know I was older than most kids who did. What are you limits for doing stuff for money? I'd never do sexual favors or seriously hurt someone for it. Is there someone you are mean to all the time for no reason? No. I'll admit I'm typically rather short with Bentley, but Jesus, do I have reason. When you think of love what’s the first that comes to mind? Sara. How do you calm your mind and find peace when you are stressed? My best bet is going to sleep; that's pretty much, usually, my reset button. Have you ever given someone flowers? I gave Jason flowers once or twice. I gave my mom some for Mother's Day as a kid. How often do you get on Facebook? A couple times a day... mainly just to see memes lmaoooo. What day of the week is usually your busiest day? Good Lord, Tuesdays. I'm at school for 13 hours. Mostly sitting in the library waiting for classes, but. I do study a whole lot, though, and it's when I get a bunch of schoolwork done. Is there a place that you will never return back to? Idk. When was the last time that you created a PowerPoint? I'm actually working on/off one for FYS 'cuz we have to do this "Lifeline" thing where we introduce ourselves and give our stories. Guess who's not fucking ready. Do you like group work? NO. NO. Particularly if it's with people I don't know. Do you have any stickers on your laptop? No. Is music or the TV on while you complete this survey? I'm listening to Chase Holfelder's cover of "Kiss The Girl" rn. Does your grass need cut currently? No. Do you listen to Nirvana? Occasionally. What color are the doors in your house? White. Have your friends ever not wanted you to be with someone? Probably. What is your favorite use for whipped cream? I hate that stuff. What is your favorite flower? Orchids. And your favorite nut? Ew no thanks. Can you curse in a foreign language? Of course I know "fuck" and "shit" in German lmao. Are you fond of spaghetti? Hell yeah man. Have you ever played in the mud? I sure did zoom through it on my bike as a kid. Do you remember what your first real relationship felt like? That relationship ultimately led to PTSD, how could I possibly forget. Who can make you happy no matter what? Sara, Mark, and Game Grumps are particularly good at that. How tall are you? 5'4.5'' Are there any animals near you? No, I'm at school rn. Do have a lot of lists? No. Are you a godparent? No. Do you sleep too much or not enough? Eh, it depends on the day and my mood. Have you ever gone a full day without interacting with another person? Yep. How many relationships have you been in that lasted less than a year? Four. Where were you going the last time you were on a train? Never been on one before. Do you think having a bad temper is a sign of immaturity? I mean, no? It's an interesting question and I guess a "maybe," but. I feel this depends on the trigger. Have you ever been significantly more physically fit than you are now? I was a fucking yoga master babe in 9th grade, fuckin fite me. When growing up, did your parents keep the house very tidy? I guess? It wasn't dirty. How many watches do you own? Zero. Are there any ways in which you greatly differ from everyone else in your family? Political views, I guess? Or the fact I'm bi? I only know of one person in my extended family that's gay. Should teenagers be allowed to have their cell phones with them in class? No shit? Emergencies are a thing? BUT, respect the teacher, please. I cannot stand people using their phone in class, especially here in college. You're paying a shitload to learn. Spend that time as you're supposed to. Take education seriously. If your phone's on vibrate for said emergency situations, that's cool. Do you have any gay relatives? Lol oh. Yeah, Mom has a cousin. Have you ever had to have a pet put down? Yeah. Have you unfollowed, deleted, or blocked anyone on social media recently? I deleted my sister's mother-in-law in fury over her homophobia because I've seriously had it, then just a few days ago actually I went through my Facebook list deleting people I just didn't really feel connected to/didn't really care to follow their journey anymore. How many cups of coffee do you typically drink per day? Zero. Do you know what your vocal range is? It's not broad. I'd say I'm probably in a rank slightly lower than most women. What’s the biggest financial mistake you’ve ever made? I've never really been in the position to be capable of that. I've never had a source of income. If so, what sub-genres of metal do you like the best? Probably heavy. Or symphonic, though I haven't found too many artists in that sub-genre that I really enjoy. But BOY, when I do? I will BINGE that shit to the ends of the earth. Have you ever turned down someone who didn’t handle the rejection well? Ha ha oh man, I remember in 4th grade, this kid Nick was desperate to date me. It was endearing and cute, but he asked kinda obsessively. Then jfc, when I broke up with Tyler, you would've thought I was Jason and he was me, holy shit. How large is your largest scar, and what is it from? Well, I can't see it, so I actually don't know. I guess kinda long, but not wide. It's from a cyst removal surgery. Who was the last person you sincerely thanked? Omg, my Writing teacher. She really liked my writing on my essay. I was so flattered. When was the last time you went for a walk? Like, just a casual walk for the sake of walking? Not since I was at Sara's last. That was when my muscle atrophy was starting to get extremely bad though and I was very close to death omg. Have you ever been in a relationship where there was a large difference in maturity levels? I don't think so. When cooking a meal, do you clean up as you go or wait til you’re done? I don't know how to cook. Do you develop crushes easily? NO. I am soooooo romantically picky. What’s the longest you’ve ever stayed as a guest at someone’s house? A month or more with Colleen after we were evicted. That was a really good time, honestly, regardless of how we feel about each other now. I don't think anyone's done something so selfless for me, and we really did have fun. How bad was your acne when you were a teenager? I'd say it was normal for someone that age. Do you like salsa that has fruit in it? NO. Do you think stained glass windows are pretty? Hell yeah. That was my favorite thing about the church I grew up with; Catholic churches tend to truly have incredible stained glass. Are you scared of snakes? Nope, snakes are Baby. Have you had your wisdom teeth removed? No; I only have two, and I just slightly have enough room for them. Do you like hard or soft pretzels better? I strongly prefer soft. Have you ever been carded when buying something? Yes. Do you eat meat? Regretfully. Can you sleep with the light on? NOOOOOOOOOO. I have to truly be exhausted. Have you ever broken a bone? No, but I did fracture my wrist as a kid. Have you ever made ice cream in chemistry class? Bitch I wish, tf. Do you use the microwave often? Considering a bitch can't cook, yes. Microwavable meals are the reason I am alive. Have you ever painted a room? No. What’s in your copy and paste? This survey. Do you know anyone that’s painfully, socially awkward? Fuckin ME JFC. How do you usually pose in your pictures? With the left side of my face facing the camera (bc my hair kinda swoops over the right side), and I'll usually smile with my teeth or do a :D face bc at least I look happy instead of high with my squinty-ass eyes. :') Do you know anyone that absolutely freaks out if you try to take a picture of them? um????????? me?????????????? Do you pick on them for it and attempt to take loads of pictures anyway? If someone doesn't want me to take a picture of them, I absolutely don't push them 'cuz I totally get it. How’s your posture? Bad. Have you ever had to take care of a fake baby in family ed? Thank God in Heaven no. I. Would. Have. Raged. ^ were you a good mother/father? N/A What’s your favorite way to wear your hair up? My hair is too short for that. But I generally find french braid buns SO pretty. Have you ever read a ‘banned’ book? Uh, I don't think so. What does your screen name mean? Favorite animal, meerkats, + favorite artist, Ozzy Osbourne. Have you ever had to take a sobriety test? N- no wait. They were mandatory when I've gone to the ER for suicidal thoughts. Do you like movies more if they’re based on actual events? It doesn't really matter to me. What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever done with your cell phone? Idk, dropped it? What’s your opinion on gold diggers? Selfish, or smart? Both? Uh, I don't think it's exactly debatable to call it selfish... I mean, you're dating for the sake of monetary gain...? What would you do if your bf/gf was hitting on someone else right in front of you? I couldn't even try to picture her doing that, but obviously I'd be uncomfortable and jealous. What’s something you’ve done that you’ve sworn you’d never do? Idk, multiple things. Which ex of yours do you talk to the most? I only talk to Girt. Can you recall the first person you ever drank/got drunk/high with? I drank with family, probably, but I've never reached the point of being drunk, and I've never been high. ^ are you still friends? I mean, I love my family. Have you ever taken someone else’s vehicle without permission? No. What were you doing the last time you were videotaped? *shrugs* Is that something you’d be comfortable uploading and sharing? I don't know what it would be. Which friend wears the same size clothes as you do? Probably none? I don't have many friends to compare to. Is there anyone’s wardrobe that you’d like to steal? UM Suzy Hanson is a B A B E? ?? ? ? ??? I adooooorrrrre her clothing line (Psychic Circle), too, and so wanna buy something. Have you ever been lost in the woods? DARLIN I've watched The Blair Witch Project 2 much for that shit. What did you last stretch the truth about? Idk. Have you ever had withdrawals from something? Caffeine, and then WoW for quite a few months after I stopped playing for like, a year or more. Is there anyone on your friend’s list you know next to nothing about? I know at least one of Mom's friends that I've only met once, and briefly. How old is 'too old’ for you to date? I wouldn't date over 30 (I absolutely stg that has nothing to do with H I S age being 30 lmaoooo). How do you feel about guys in tight jeans? Skinny jeans look good on like, anyone. Favorite hour-long show? Uhhh idk. Well, at least out of the shows I used to like and would be most interested in watching, The Good Doctor. Favorite half-hour show? Meerkat Manor. Most people who’ve slept over at your house all at once? My current house? Just one, I think. Steak or chicken? Chicken. I'm piiiiickyyyy w/ steak. Is flirting really cheating? Yes, if you're clearly not just teasing. What’s something you own that’s /only/ of sentimental value? My pebble from my partial hospitalization program. What’s your choice of chips? Girrrrrllll gimme Cool Ranch Doritos. What song would you use to torture someone? i t ' s  f r i d a y  f r i d a y What is the weirdest compliment you have ever received? Probably that my nose was cute? If someone REALLY fat was upset, and saying how FAT they were, what would you say? First off, NOT say "you're not fat omg ur beautiful." I'M overweight and don't like when people say that. I'm perfectly aware that you're lying "for my own sake," which is sweet, but it's not helpful. Motivate me/the person to improve without being an asshole. Let them know I believe in them, which I do for ANYONE. If I could lose 60-70 pounds in a year, anyone can. What’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard a kid say? So when I was very little and my mom gave me orange juice, I freaked out because it had pulp in it. And what did I say? "I CAN'T DRINK THAT IT HAS NIPPLES IN IT" look idk don't ask but boy does Mom love sharing that story. A random stranger walks up to you and says 'you’re hot’. You say: Most likely "go away." Possibly "thank you, but please go away." Actually yeah, that's more likely. Like it's flattering to know someone finds you attractive, but yeah, that's just uncomfortable for some stranger to do that. I also wouldn't want to really piss the person off. Do you send messages on Facebook a lot? Definitely not. Almost the only person ever would be Girt. Have you ever gone to a strip club? No. Not my kinda scene. Like I absolutely will not think less of someone who does this, but I just don't like but moreso feel bad for men or women who reduce themselves to their sexual capabilities. Do you like Chinese food over pizza? Hell nah man. Pizza is supreme. What color is your watch? I'm not wearing one. I never do. Do you believe in love at first sight? Absolutely not. Visual attraction, of course that's real, but I promise you dear, you don't love someone upon looking at them. When you eat Frosted Flakes, do you add sugar in it? I hate that stuff. Who’s the biggest hugger you know? Ashley's father-in-law's mom. ... At least I think that's what she is? Do you want to change your name? Nah, it's fine. Have you ever tried to erase someone from your memory? Of course I have.

[fcllenflowers]

*You feel your sins crawling on your back.

*M!A: Karmic Retribution*

First day drabble under the cut. Trigger warnings for mentions of gore, suffocation, torture, suffering, waterboarding.

The first day is going by unbearably slow. Steel has been suffering all through the night, plagued by nightmares and occasionally failing to even make it to the bathroom. Crimson stayed up as well, taking an emergency leave to stay home and change her sheets whenever she needed it, cleaning up the throw up she’d fail to pour inside the large basin he provided her with. Painkillers were ineffective. They were not even aware of the duration this curse would have. But for one thing, Crimson had forgot all about punishments now. All he did was sit by his sister’s side, cradling her through her spasms and muffling her cries with kisses and nuzzles. Such was his love and affection for this damned creature that he risked his job, rest, health and quite frankly mental stability to stay by her side. Narcissus, on the other hand, went to work and returned a few hours later. He brought them some food from a nearby restaurant that Steel failed to hold in her stomach and Crimson only half-finished. The rest of their portions were stuffed in plastic tupperware and stored the fridge for later consumption before Narcissus took over and Crimson finally took a break to rest. Of course, after staying up for twenty-four hours of anxiety, he collapsed on his bed and was sound asleep within minutes.

When that was done, Narcissus unloaded an eight-pack of large water bottles from the grocery bags he’d carried home and grabbed a kitchen towel. Bottle in hand and towel tucked in the pocket of his pants with the white tip hanging out, he headed to Steel’s room in complete silence and entered without even knocking. Green eyes trailed over the girl’s form on the bed –laid on her back, arms crossed over her chest and a single eye staring blankly at the ceiling. Who knew what kind of pain she was re-experiencing. Perhaps it was Undyne’s slow death by being literally fried alive in her armor, somewhere in the plains of Hotland.

“Ugh. You poor thing…” He hums, slowly kneeling beside the mattress. There’s a hint of disregard in his voice. Or perhaps it’s irony. Clothes are scattered everywhere, in places they shouldn’t be and Narcissus’ irritation grows. It could be impulse or pure evil that moves his hands to slowly wrap around the girl’s neck. He receives a whimper –a pleasing whimper, music in his ears. It sounds better than all the Bach symphonies he could fathom and he tries to squeeze more out of her little neck. It’s such a delight, the pulse of her throat in his palm as she writhes and struggles, immobilized by the curse. Agony blends with the million screams stuck in her throat; an ugly mix.  He knows Steel won’t beg for help; because he was there when she learned how pointless it is to do so.

Perhaps she could knock on the wall. Perhaps Crimson will hear. He should be sleeping in the next room. The idea shines in her one good eye and the next moment Narcissus releases her throat to press both her wrists down on the bed with his instead. A knee thrusts into her chest, knocking the idea out of her head along with whatever breath might have been left in her lungs out. And with that feeling begins the reminiscence of Mr. Johnson’s lungs being squished to the size of a fist and Steel starts rasping for breath. It makes too much noise and Narcissus methodically reaches for a pillow behind him and presses it firmly on her face.

That feeling; that well-known agony. The feeling of being stuck, of losing all control over your body and the situation, locked up and forced to expect some ungodly punishment.

Narcissus no longer had to pin her down. She was experiencing the pain of having two long sharp needles piecing both ones eardrums simultaneously. She wasn’t going anywhere.

 He wasn’t even aware of what she was feeling when he pulled the towel completely out of his pocket. It had been hanging there for a while now but Steel hadn’t noticed of course. Apart from the fact her room was dark and her eyesight impaired, the pain had clouded all sorts of reasonable thought processes she might have been capable of if she did. Now it was taking over her senses as well. A tickling sensation spread over her limbs, as if thousands upon thousands of tiny ants were climbing on them, raiding her aching body and pinning it against the mattress.

Accepting her horrible fate, the girl slowly closed her eyes and concentrated her efforts on drawing one final breath. The pillow was removed and the towel was draped over her face in its place.

“I thought you and I had made a deal.” Narcissus whispered, hint of sarcasm evident in his husky voice. “I don’t care whose rules you want to play by…but causing trouble like that? Getting us exposed? That’s too reckless for my taste, princess.” He coos. Steel’s palms slowly clench into fists, chest heaving up and down rapidly, writhing, struggling for a single breath. The cloth is already humid. She doesn’t know what’s coming to her. Everything is dark and she’s forced to lay there and endure through the uncertainty and the fear; the terror. Narcissus’ voice resembles the million screams she’s caused and she’s experienced. A life of pain and suffering she’s handed out and lived through herself flashes in front of her closed eyes. The hallucination of these all too familiar glowing buttons fades into the background, hand automatically making a futile attempt at reaching out and touching the immaterial surface... Grey and useless. No Reset. No Save. No Load.

                                                   No Escape.

She can sense the liquid coming from a mile away. It’s cold and humid underneath the towel. It makes her want to sneeze but she feels to weak to even attempt that. The scent of laundry detergent fills her nostrils and makes her sick.

“Uh. I’ll hate having to clean this up. Look what you’re making me do.” Narcissus groans, lifting the large water bottle over her head. Steel’s body makes a final attempt to flinch, to evade the torment. It is of course, pointless, as Alphys’ scream of horror as a knife goes through her head fades into the background of her mind. She feels the sharp blade penetrating her eye. It stings and burns and never stops. Narcissus at this point has realized that the greyface magic must indeed be something horrible. He clicks his tongue and just as his wrist turns to tilt the bottle over his Frisk’s head, the girl produces a raspy plea.

“Pl-…please…d-d…I…s-..I’m sorry!”

There’s a moment’s silence and just as Alphys’ pain gives place to the sharp sting of a stab wound to the chest, Narcissus snickers and starts pouring water on her face. At once, the gasps are muffled. Coughs replace them as her lungs struggle to function. It feels like drowning but not. It gives you the exact, precise experience of being strapped to an anchor at the bottom of the ocean but at the same time unable to find sweet release in death. Instead, it keeps you hanging –on the edge. Muffled pleas are barely audible in the form of gasps and mutters under the soaked towel gag. Narcissus lets the entire bottle contents empty before he screws the lid back on sits back to inspect his work. Steel’s chest is heaving painfully, slowly struggling for whatever release it could achieve with a knee pressing down on it and the wet towel blocking her nostrils and mouth. The cough gets worse. Narcissus rolls his eyes and leans closer to her, moving some braids to the side and onto the wet mattress to expose her earlobe.

“Listen. If you stop coughing like that and keep quiet, I’ll only use three more bottles. Otherwise, I bought an eight pack yesterday.” He whispers and tucks her braids back with the tips of his fingers. Steel barely even winces underneath the towel.

She would pass out, but her body won’t let her. Perhaps that’s what Karma is.

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

5: Nice Catch!

The housekeeper had drawn the short straw on Sunday morning. It was 10am and thus time for the occupants of these motel rooms to vacate. She went through the motions as she pushed her cart of cleaning chemicals, rags, and motel room necessities (including a spice candle she liked to light to drive away any of the more pungent odors) down the row. Her ‘gold’ name tag that read Mary glimmered in the sunlight. Something out of the ordinary made her pause the music streaming from her cellphone. Room 126’s door was completely open. The sturdy door’s bronze chain clattered against it in the gentle breeze. She apprehensively peeked inside. The room was as if no one had been in here at all. It was a total reset. The bed was neatly made. No wet towels on the floor. No suspicious tissues in the trash bin. Just nothing out of normal. Except that wasn’t totally true. She observed that the right hand side night stand drawer was open and its previous contents were missing. John’s favorite shoes hit the pavement - one in front of the other - and very carefully inside the solid white line that separated him from thousands of pounds of steel repeatedly passing him. His blue gym bag swung too and fro from his side in rhythm to his steps. It had been three days since he had turned over the vehicle into the hands of Mike Maguire. She had told him that there was a motel about two miles from her shop and offered to call him a ride. He had declined in a polite fashion, left her his phone number, and departed on foot. He disappeared into the darkness and perhaps Mike wondered if she was suffering from a fever. From there, he went inwards. The book with no cover ended up being rather trite. A love story with very little love at all. He would have probably guessed that the cover was illustrated to show a man with long luxurious blonde locks and chiseled bare chest. Perhaps on a horse. There was a lot of allusions to animals in there - rutting like animals, it said. John closed the book and tossed it back into his bag with little thought. On the second day of seclusion, someone who represented his employer, the mustached man, insisted that they were onto something. The previous session had netted over two million views and a whirlwind of positivity - ultimately they clamored for more. In the text message, he provided credentials for an official account and that he should just go live every once in a while and tell the world what he was thinking about. John didn’t understand why anyone would care but he wasn’t about to argue at this point. Nothing came to him that day but on the third day, his mind opened up with something to share. The shop’s sign was now just in view as he pressed the little F icon and then the button to go ‘live’. The picture from the phone’s camera jumped up and down as held it front of his face at arm’s length. “Good morning all.” A semi-truck whizzed past him - a little close for comfort. He danced sideways off of the pavement all while trying to maintain the shot. “Maybe this isn’t very safe to do. Anyway, I am on my way to see you all and I wanted to make more of an effort to share myself.” John stepped back onto the pavement and continued walking towards the shop. He had contemplated what just to say. John was listening to them. So far they said the same thing and as always it was a total character assassination. John had built the garden for that very purpose and as much as he liked to visit — there was only one way in. “Combat sports are no doubt fueled by aggression and so it is no surprise that the overwhelming traits are anger and hatred for one’s fellow man. So I am sorry that a warrior feels the way that he does. I hope that he finds peace in his soul. What he said was meant to provoke a response. And so I ask everyone I am sharing this with now, what should I say? Should I dispute what he said? Should I jump to the defense of the other man in this equation?” John shook his head. “There really isn’t the need. There is only one thing I need to convince him of. He needs to ask himself what truly will be the intrinsic entertainment value of what could happen that night? Will the boredom seep through his body as both of his carotid arteries are compressed? What will his mind consider enjoyable as it goes through cerebral ischemia? And through that would he learn a great lesson: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” The corner of his mouth turned up into a brief smirk before returning to his normal … almost blank expression. “Today and what it is — well that is not lost on me and I don’t want to waste any more of your time so I will leave you with this: A deer cannot eat hay. I found that interesting.” John turned off the live feed and pocketed his phone. He quickly crossed the road and entered the parking lot of the auto body shop. He observed that the only car in the front lot was a loud yellow sports car. It had white fuzzy dice hanging from the rear view mirror. He had received a voicemail yesterday afternoon about the completion of a repair but hadn’t felt like communicating with anyone that day. He pulled on the handle of the shop door and surprisingly it opened. He hadn’t noticed the other day the loud chime that was omitted throughout the shop when the door was opened and faintly he could hear the same noise echoing throughout the attached garage. He set his gym bag on the red plastic chair and waited patiently with his hands in his jeans pockets. A voice cut through the silence, “Ay, we’re not open today. This an emergency?” John thought about that for a moment and posed in a raised but still calm tone, “What really constitutes an emergency?” “Oh, it’s you…” A few moments passed. He could hear metal clanking and finally the owner of the shop entered the shop floor. She was not in uniform and instead wore the same baseball cap, a green and white jersey with the number 3 on it, a pair of oil-stained baggy jeans, and a pair of work boots. How come you’re just comin’ in now? Messaged you yesterday.” “Your door was open.” “Yeah, that was my bad. Forgot to lock it after me.” “I can come back tomorrow. I didn’t realize what day it was until a little while ago,” for John, time seemed to blur and it was difficult to understand that other people kept different schedules than him. “Nah, you’re fine. Just wasn’t expectin’ much of a rush today, so I took the opportunity to just catch up on some stuff around here.” John looked at her with a blank expression perhaps not understanding the ebb and flow of small talk, “I read a book this morning. I never really liked it before but his last message certainly was inspiring. He said to spread the good news to everyone and everywhere.” The woman looked at him in a confused manner before smiling at him and then to the area where she kept all of the completed work orders. She looked back up at John as she found the clear folder with the order and keys, “Anywho. Your car’s all shipshape an’ seaworthy. Was about three hours work, so… seventy-five for the rim repair, same for a new tire, and ninety per hour for yours truly… I’ll call it an even four hundred. Just try to be more careful in the future, yeah? That coulda been a heckuva lot worse. Could’ve wrecked your axle, not to mention your whole suspension.” John reached into the envelope and dumped the remaining contents of it onto the counter: 12 one dollar bills, 1 quarter, and three pennies. John looked at the funds and then back up at Mike. He guessed that the rest of his bonus had gone towards the motel room, “That’s, uh, what I have.” “Well, I take credit, you know. You got a Visa? MasterCard? Anything like that?” John held up one finger to Mike and then retrieved his wallet. He held it open. On the forefront, it contained only his recently issued New Mexico driver’s license. He slipped his fingers under the clear holder and retrieved a credit card. “This card has credit for a free meal at Shoney’s. They burnt my toast last week. I think it’s only good for the one in Fort Myers.” “Hmm,” She tapped her chin, a slightly wry smile slowly crossed her lips, “What were you doin’ out there?” “Well, having breakfast.” “At Shoney’s, yeah. But what else? Sure you didn’t go all the way down there just for toast an’ jam with Shoney Bear.” “Oh, I started a new job. I haven’t officially got paid yet and I don’t know if I’m very good at it. They gave me that envelope a few days ago in Atlanta but I think they were handing them out to everyone.” That wry smile grew just a bit bigger, a spark of recognition flashing in her eyes. “You, um, mind tellin’ me what that new job is? Just outta curiosity.” “I fight people…” John said that quietly, “ … I have to be in Pittsburgh next. I’m a little early, sure, but I don’t mind,” at this point he started to talk himself as if the orange-haired woman was not there,“and they said I should open a bank account but I’m not sure that I would like that very much. It’s almost like it doesn’t exist. How can I trust 0s and 1s?” “I thought so,” that wry smile turned into a bit of a warmer one, a kind smile that seemed both clashing and complementary to the woman’s rough exterior, “I think I know who you are. Saw you on the internet. That video was freakin’ great. And… heh. I used to fight people too. We got that much in common.” He pointed at the picture above her. “So that’s you?” She gave a big fat grin. “Yep.” “Cool,” John looked at the bill nervously, “So I don’t have any way to pay this but I signed a piece of paper and they have to give me more if I show up I think. I know this sounds lame but can I get an IOU?”he reached into the wallet and lifted out a pair of tickets stamped ‘Monday Night Brawl’ where the money would be, “oh, they gave me these. I don’t know why I got these because I’m going to be working there. Maybe if you show up I can pay you after its over.” “Sweet! Okay, Mister Bishop Church, you got yourself a deal. But you better not try an’ welch on me. I got a punch that can lay out guys bigger than YOU,” she grinned playfully. He slid the tickets over the counter. She grabbed them, looked at them intently, and slipped them in her back pocket. “Your ride’s around back. I’ll go unlock the gate for ya.” She fished out the keys from the clear folder and tossed the keys to John. He snatched them out of the air with one hand. “Nice catch!” He grabbed his gym bag from the chair and slung it over his shoulder. And once again, John followed Mike out.

[humanintereststory]

5: Nice Catch!

The housekeeper had drawn the short straw on Sunday morning. It was 10am and thus time for the occupants of these motel rooms to vacate. She went through the motions as she pushed her cart of cleaning chemicals, rags, and motel room necessities (including a spice candle she liked to light to drive away any of the more pungent odors) down the row. Her ‘gold’ name tag that read Mary glimmered in the sunlight. Something out of the ordinary made her pause the music streaming from her cellphone. Room 126’s door was completely open. The sturdy door’s bronze chain clattered against it in the gentle breeze. She apprehensively peeked inside. The room was as if no one had been in here at all. It was a total reset. The bed was neatly made. No wet towels on the floor. No suspicious tissues in the trash bin. Just nothing out of normal. Except that wasn’t totally true. She observed that the right hand side night stand drawer was open and its previous contents were missing. John’s favorite shoes hit the pavement - one in front of the other - and very carefully inside the solid white line that separated him from thousands of pounds of steel repeatedly passing him. His blue gym bag swung too and fro from his side in rhythm to his steps. It had been three days since he had turned over the vehicle into the hands of Mike Maguire. She had told him that there was a motel about two miles from her shop and offered to call him a ride. He had declined in a polite fashion, left her his phone number, and departed on foot. He disappeared into the darkness and perhaps Mike wondered if she was suffering from a fever. From there, he went inwards. The book with no cover ended up being rather trite. A love story with very little love at all. He would have probably guessed that the cover was illustrated to show a man with long luxurious blonde locks and chiseled bare chest. Perhaps on a horse. There was a lot of allusions to animals in there - rutting like animals, it said. John closed the book and tossed it back into his bag with little thought. On the second day of seclusion, someone who represented his employer, the mustached man, insisted that they were onto something. The previous session had netted over two million views and a whirlwind of positivity - ultimately they clamored for more. In the text message, he provided credentials for an official account and that he should just go live every once in a while and tell the world what he was thinking about. John didn’t understand why anyone would care but he wasn’t about to argue at this point. Nothing came to him that day but on the third day, his mind opened up with something to share. The shop’s sign was now just in view as he pressed the little F icon and then the button to go ‘live’. The picture from the phone’s camera jumped up and down as held it front of his face at arm’s length. “Good morning all.” A semi-truck whizzed past him - a little close for comfort. He danced sideways off of the pavement all while trying to maintain the shot. “Maybe this isn’t very safe to do. Anyway, I am on my way to see you all and I wanted to make more of an effort to share myself.” John stepped back onto the pavement and continued walking towards the shop. He had contemplated what just to say. John was listening to them. So far they said the same thing and as always it was a total character assassination. John had built the garden for that very purpose and as much as he liked to visit — there was only one way in. “Combat sports are no doubt fueled by aggression and so it is no surprise that the overwhelming traits are anger and hatred for one’s fellow man. So I am sorry that a warrior feels the way that he does. I hope that he finds peace in his soul. What he said was meant to provoke a response. And so I ask everyone I am sharing this with now, what should I say? Should I dispute what he said? Should I jump to the defense of the other man in this equation?” John shook his head. “There really isn’t the need. There is only one thing I need to convince him of. He needs to ask himself what truly will be the intrinsic entertainment value of what could happen that night? Will the boredom seep through his body as both of his carotid arteries are compressed? What will his mind consider enjoyable as it goes through cerebral ischemia? And through that would he learn a great lesson: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” The corner of his mouth turned up into a brief smirk before returning to his normal … almost blank expression. “Today and what it is — well that is not lost on me and I don’t want to waste any more of your time so I will leave you with this: A deer cannot eat hay. I found that interesting.” John turned off the live feed and pocketed his phone. He quickly crossed the road and entered the parking lot of the auto body shop. He observed that the only car in the front lot was a loud yellow sports car. It had white fuzzy dice hanging from the rear view mirror. He had received a voicemail yesterday afternoon about the completion of a repair but hadn’t felt like communicating with anyone that day. He pulled on the handle of the shop door and surprisingly it opened. He hadn’t noticed the other day the loud chime that was omitted throughout the shop when the door was opened and faintly he could hear the same noise echoing throughout the attached garage. He set his gym bag on the red plastic chair and waited patiently with his hands in his jeans pockets. A voice cut through the silence, “Ay, we’re not open today. This an emergency?” John thought about that for a moment and posed in a raised but still calm tone, “What really constitutes an emergency?” “Oh, it’s you…” A few moments passed. He could hear metal clanking and finally the owner of the shop entered the shop floor. She was not in uniform and instead wore the same baseball cap, a green and white jersey with the number 3 on it, a pair of oil-stained baggy jeans, and a pair of work boots. How come you’re just comin’ in now? Messaged you yesterday.” “Your door was open.” “Yeah, that was my bad. Forgot to lock it after me.” “I can come back tomorrow. I didn’t realize what day it was until a little while ago,” for John, time seemed to blur and it was difficult to understand that other people kept different schedules than him. “Nah, you’re fine. Just wasn’t expectin’ much of a rush today, so I took the opportunity to just catch up on some stuff around here.” John looked at her with a blank expression perhaps not understanding the ebb and flow of small talk, “I read a book this morning. I never really liked it before but his last message certainly was inspiring. He said to spread the good news to everyone and everywhere.” The woman looked at him in a confused manner before smiling at him and then to the area where she kept all of the completed work orders. She looked back up at John as she found the clear folder with the order and keys, “Anywho. Your car’s all shipshape an’ seaworthy. Was about three hours work, so… seventy-five for the rim repair, same for a new tire, and ninety per hour for yours truly… I’ll call it an even four hundred. Just try to be more careful in the future, yeah? That coulda been a heckuva lot worse. Could’ve wrecked your axle, not to mention your whole suspension.” John reached into the envelope and dumped the remaining contents of it onto the counter: 12 one dollar bills, 1 quarter, and three pennies. John looked at the funds and then back up at Mike. He guessed that the rest of his bonus had gone towards the motel room, “That’s, uh, what I have.” “Well, I take credit, you know. You got a Visa? MasterCard? Anything like that?” John held up one finger to Mike and then retrieved his wallet. He held it open. On the forefront, it contained only his recently issued New Mexico driver’s license. He slipped his fingers under the clear holder and retrieved a credit card. “This card has credit for a free meal at Shoney’s. They burnt my toast last week. I think it’s only good for the one in Fort Myers.” “Hmm,” She tapped her chin, a slightly wry smile slowly crossed her lips, “What were you doin’ out there?” “Well, having breakfast.” “At Shoney’s, yeah. But what else? Sure you didn’t go all the way down there just for toast an’ jam with Shoney Bear.” “Oh, I started a new job. I haven’t officially got paid yet and I don’t know if I’m very good at it. They gave me that envelope a few days ago in Atlanta but I think they were handing them out to everyone.” That wry smile grew just a bit bigger, a spark of recognition flashing in her eyes. “You, um, mind tellin’ me what that new job is? Just outta curiosity.” “I fight people…” John said that quietly, “ … I have to be in Pittsburgh next. I’m a little early, sure, but I don’t mind,” at this point he started to talk himself as if the orange-haired woman was not there,“and they said I should open a bank account but I’m not sure that I would like that very much. It’s almost like it doesn’t exist. How can I trust 0s and 1s?” “I thought so,” that wry smile turned into a bit of a warmer one, a kind smile that seemed both clashing and complementary to the woman’s rough exterior, “I think I know who you are. Saw you on the internet. That video was freakin’ great. And… heh. I used to fight people too. We got that much in common.” He pointed at the picture above her. “So that’s you?” She gave a big fat grin. “Yep.” “Cool,” John looked at the bill nervously, “So I don’t have any way to pay this but I signed a piece of paper and they have to give me more if I show up I think. I know this sounds lame but can I get an IOU?”he reached into the wallet and lifted out a pair of tickets stamped ‘Monday Night Brawl’ where the money would be, “oh, they gave me these. I don’t know why I got these because I’m going to be working there. Maybe if you show up I can pay you after its over.” “Sweet! Okay, Mister Bishop Church, you got yourself a deal. But you better not try an’ welch on me. I got a punch that can lay out guys bigger than YOU,” she grinned playfully. He slid the tickets over the counter. She grabbed them, looked at them intently, and slipped them in her back pocket. “Your ride’s around back. I’ll go unlock the gate for ya.” She fished out the keys from the clear folder and tossed the keys to John. He snatched them out of the air with one hand. “Nice catch!” He grabbed his gym bag from the chair and slung it over his shoulder. And once again, John followed Mike out.

[amberwoodlake-blog]

Before the leaving

We leave this place soon ironic as we just got here I’ll never be ready to say goodbye to a life with Carly I find it hard to acknowledge I’m leaving. It’s not the house although I adore this place I’ve always longed to live in the country and with my love a baby on the way well its all too good to be true no it’s not the place it’s the hopes and dreams that pull at me. I remember the day we arrived and I lay on the floor in the sun in our new bedroom staring at the red walls oddly religious with a bursting heart. We were all exhausted and not just from moving but this was it. All those years in limbo falling deeply in love and dreaming of this. A home to call ours. The furniture we picked and placed the smell of freedom for our love I could love her properly here .I imagined the notes I could leave her the flowers for dinner morning forehead kisses that turn into more .Candlelit baths and dancing to music or not with dinner on the stove .Warm nights together bedtime stories with our boy and the little one to come the memories ahead buried in the walls of every room. We made so many plans in the beginning. Sitting watching movies gins in hand talking about vege gardens tepees and dinner nights with our friends. What if I’d known so soon after experiencing what it was to share a life with me the woman sitting beside me would realise she needed to feel more than I was and I’d be leaving .I’d never have believed it. Things were too wonderful in my full head and heart was convinced it was our destiny and finally we were about to get what we deserved.Our beautiful house and our hopes, all our hopes. But as I stare at the rooms now I can only see them naked.I can’t keep seeing our things our family and your beautiful face appearing from a steamy bathroom in the morning .it’s okay you don’t feel it I don’t blame you. I understand it.But it doesn’t change how it hurts .This butterfly I was lucky enough to lay eyes on let alone catch in my glass jar was never mine to keep. No one is really ours to keep. I listened to a podcast about the way we project things onto those we love to make them perfect for us. We paint people with our own desires and hopes. But the paint has been peeling off for a while now and although beneath You are just as wonderful as I ever knew you were your not perfect just human because the truth is there is no such thing.

This house feels like a graveyard of dreams that turns my stomach I hold our love in my hands and mourn it’s death over and over again although I love you and feel you love me too I know you can’t love me like I love you so I must go because staying only makes us hurt sharper .Whatever comes next feels so frightening that I want to pause time and sink into safety.I want to fall asleep with you in our bedroom all five dogs heavy on the covers hot water bottles at our feet with the window open the owls in the distance.You safe in my arms or me yours it didn’t matter it was perfect. Jamie is my constant. He is so magnificently gorgeous to me that sometimes I ask him to stay still just so I can take in his face. His funny parting his big smiling teeth, his almond shaped bright hazel eyes, the crescent dimples when he smiles.He is so young and loving like a puppy.He knows every single button to push to drive me crazy but my god he is made of honey. “Did you know,” he’ll say often, “That you are beautiful and the best mama in the whole world and thankyou for everything you do to make my life happy?” He is my only little one and I feel so protective of him. So swayed by his delicate emotions. But I know I can’t give him everything. He tells me I’m mean sometimes and I tell him I’m his mum not his bestie. Growing up all of the boundaries were blurred so I stand by mine like an empathetic warrior. I’m packing again in his room I found his baby box filled with baby things. Teeny tiny booties and onesies and slings and wooden toys. Tucked away safe for my next child. Such a lonely concept now I picture it without you I don't want to that's not how it was supposed to be . Part of me wants to give everything away before someone takes it from me and breaks my heart hard because I’m so very beautifully sensitive. I do wonder if I will ever raise a child in love. I pick Jamie up from school. I feel pretty uncomfortable here. I don’t have many mum friends at school and with my dreams falling apart I feel like I’ve failed somehow. I’m already one of the youngest parents at school and now the woman who was the love of my life will leave me again she will be gone and I will be fulfilling some terrible stereotype the single mum . Maybe no one cares but I don’t know. I walk around a bit aimlessly then I think, fuck it. I take Jamie’s hand in the car and we sing he wears my biggest sunglasses and I put on some bright lipstick.I just need to get out of my head more. We lose power and reception for a night .Near alone in a dark big house I feel sick in my aloneness why can’t I feel her love around me why doesn’t my spirit beckon her home with happiness.I feel her guilt of not knowing why she can’t love me keep her from returning home .Sometimes she can hardly bare to look at me because i resemble dissatisfaction. She looks at me with a sad smile that says sorry like the sorriest person on earth I want to hold her and tell her it’s ok my own mother couldn’t find enough love for me so she mustnt blame herself if a mother can abandon a child at any chance given then anyone else must feel not at fault it is me . For a reason I’ve not yet found I’m uncomfortable to love to keep and to hold for life .There is greatness beyond me and I am proud of those brave enough to free themselves from my intensity .I know I am beautiful but I am a lot I am difficult and so weathered perhaps some are afraid to love me for the fear of hurting me further is too great which means they never intended to stay anyway .I never needed reassurance my love wanted forever but more that they feel it strongly enough to try to get down to the naked soul and be vulnerable with me to give it all we have in fierce and rare born love every moment no matter how long it would last . I never could hold back it wasn’t in my nature I was never more false than when I mimicked the distance I felt from her I played cold terribly it always ended up hurting me more because we both knew I’d always break first . She wasn’t cold it wasn’t that she didn’t have emotion in fact she felt as strongly as me she was just far more accustomed to suppressing her feelings especially the big ones it was easier to say nothing so she did until I asked her hard questions which was pointless because even she didn’t know if her answers were truth.All we knew for sure was that once upon a time we fell in love we wanted eachother more than anything and now we are here as this sad crumpled mess of confusion love and emotion . Trees lay across the road like sleeping giants and the lake laps at our street. The pool bathes in moonlight candles flicker around the house, I write by the fire she takes calls outside in the dark then holds me tight as I cry in her arms over my failure to fill her . My tears dry we watch movies holding hands sleep next to eachother like we’re in love only to awake as strangers .Maybe that’s why I feared sleep the resetting of our love began each morning with the rising sun and just as I felt she wanted me too when the stars sparkled back on the patio it began to dissolve with dark each day I must win her love or bare the weight of not feeling her at all . I turn to my phone when I feel she wants to be alone I talk to the people who still bother with a person who cares when she wants to .I am lucky to have such loyal followers I only wish they gave me something I could use . Instead they are a temporary distraction from my failing relationship.I find it hard to use social media when I’m happy it has little use . My phone lays mostly untouched as I’m too busy experiencing my life as it unfolds . Jamie falls on my nerves striking my sensitivity when he’s furthest from the source of my hurt I address him with my lack of patience I’m always sorry carly she notices and gives our boy all the empathy he deserves at his age I wonder if she’s thinking “What are you going to do when I’m not around?” I wonder if she thinks I’m a failure as a mother too .I give him my greatest love but what if I’m disillusioned about that also what if that love is also not enough and he needs more of something I cannot provide because all I am I give and that is all I am. I know she doesn’t need me, but I wonder how it’s going to be for her to live for good without me .To go from her marriage to the hopes of our loving little family to being alone.Ive never understood how that was better than being with us.Did I make her that sad.Soulmates shouldn’t do that I’m so sorry baby .