#localized entirely in seattle???????

[neonfretra]

THERES A KRAKEN GAME RN???

[augustvandyne]

oh here’s another addison thought

reader and addison start getting on, reader helping and assisting in surgeries. reader isn’t an intern tho.

reader gets a feeling addison likes her, addison does but she is Scared™️

and then addison goes to LA :(

and reader goes to her, last ditch attempt. “why did you leave me?”

angsty.. i like it

why did you leave?

You were Addison’s fellow. You were in your final year of residency when Addison made her big entrance, and you stood idly by as you watched everything with Derek, Meredith and her go down.

As soon as your options for fellowships opened up, you made sure you were to study under the Addison Montgomery.

She was kind of rude to you at first, as she was going through the final stages of her divorce, but she did finally open up to you and let you in on surgeries. And then, the two of you were closer than ever.

You did a lot of the surgeries with her, led them too.

Addison and you ate lunch together almost everyday, because all your other friends ate lunch while you were in surgery, so Addison would offer to eat with you.

“But Callie is sitting over there. You should go sit with her,” You would shrug and take a seat in the back of the cafeteria.

“I can’t leave you alone,” Addison huffed and sat beside you. “Besides, Mark will sit with Callie.”

You smiled appreciatively, “Okay. Only if you want to.”

You’d also go to the bar with her, and sometimes even get dinner with her if your schedules aligned. The two of you even got together for Christmas and exchanged gifts. Mostly because neither of you had any blood relatives in Seattle, and found comfort in each other.

She got you a necklace, and you would play with it when you got nervous. Addison would notice and try to comfort you, but she was beginning to think it was her that did it.

“Stop,” She removed your hand from your necklace. “You’re going to make a mark on the back of your neck from tugging on that.”

You’d let out a breath, “Sorry. It’s just the nerves.”

“Oh?” Addison lifted her brows, sitting beside you on the abandoned bed in the hallway. “What’s going on today?”

“An old friend is coming down to see me,” You shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Sure it is,” Addison swallowed down the negative thoughts and her own anxiety. “How long did you know them?”

“It’s a she, and I knew her my whole life before I moved out here. She was actually my first kiss.”

Addison nodded, pretending to be busy with the hair tie on her wrist.

“Hey, listen,” Addison turned her head, and she thought she might have told you about her ongoing feelings, but something else entirely comes out. “I’m going to visit a friend in LA next week. Could you watch over my patients? You’ll work under another neonatal surgeon while I’m gone. It’ll only be a day or two.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

She was gone for more than two days, and she didn’t answer any of your messages while she was gone. She came back almost a week later and she was different.

Addison told you about how she met a guy down there and that she missed her best friend, Naomi.

You stood by and tried to be supportive, you smiled and pushed the jealousy down, because even though you didn’t want to, you felt the same way she did.

She was tanner than when she left, and her red hair was a lighter shade now.

“It was nice down there,” She told you. “I think you’d like it. Because you love beaches.”

Your heart throbbed at the fact that she remembered something you told her the first time she talked to you.

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow, Dr. L/n,” Addison threw her gloves in the trash.

She barely called you that anymore, but right then she did, and it hurt like hell. For some reason you didn’t believe you’d see her the next morning. And your hunch was right.. because you didn’t.

You didn’t even know what you were doing, honestly. You just got the urge to leave Seattle for a few days, and you took yourself to LA.

You were at a local market when you spotted her.

She looked amazing. She’d cut her hair, and it was now to her shoulders. She was still tan like she was when you last saw her, but her hair was back to her normal red color.

She looks at you, and you think she might not even recognize you at first. Because truth be told, it had been almost a year since she’d left, and she’d built a life for herself out here.

Or so you hear through Callie.

You look down at the blueberries you were messing with, suddenly trying to look busy.

“Y/n..” Addison approached you, but you didn’t look up. “What are you doing here?”

“Um..” Your voice shakes, and you’re not sure if you’re going to be able to talk. “I needed to get out of Seattle for a few days.”

“I know the feeling,” She chuckles.

The sound of her voice and laugh makes your body tingle from your head to your toes.

“I’m sure,” You say bitterly, picking up a carton of blueberries so you can hopefully leave this conversation behind.

She just follows behind you as you make your way to the vegetables, “So.. uh.. how are you? How’s— how’s Seattle?”

“I’m fine,” You shrug.

“Are you still working in the neonatal field?” You see her hoist her bag higher on her shoulder from the corner of your eyes. “Is that why you’re here?”

“No,” You grit your teeth. “I’m here because I needed a few days away from Seattle, I told you. I didn’t mean to drive here, I just put my brain on autopilot, and it brought me here. I didn’t even think about you being here until now, okay?”

Your voice is soft and it’s scaring you because you hold nothing but anger for Addison. So the fact that you’re speaking in a sweet tone..

“It was nice seeing you,” You attempt to get her out of your head again, but it doesn’t work.

“Do you wanna.. I don’t know.. meet for drinks tonight?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” You clench your jaw, trying to keep yourself from saying something you know you’re going to regret.

“Y/n, look at me,” You hear Addison’s voice wavering like yours had only minutes ago.

You manage to pull your eyes away from the fresh produce and to her face, and it’s hard for you to look her in the eyes, but you manage.

Her hand comes up to touch you on the face, and when it does, you flinch at her soft touch. Your breath catches in your throat, and you have to swallow down the lump in your throat so you don’t start crying.

“Why did you leave?” Your voice breaks, and tears are beginning to fill in your eyes, much to your dismay.

“I needed a change of scenery—“

“No,” You all but growl, you sharply inhale and press your lips together. “Why did you leave me?”

Addison’s eyes flutter, and her own eyes fill with tears. You’ve struck her in a wound she was so desperately trying to heal.

“Y/n..” She wipes a stray tear with the pad of her thumb, her palm resting on your cheek. “I didn’t.. I didn’t leave you..”

“You did, though,” You try to turn your head, but her hold on you is soft and strong. “You left me, and I didn’t even get a goodbye.”

Next think you know, she’s pulling you into a hug, one of her hands now on the back of your head while the other snakes around your waist.

“I never meant to make you feel like that,” Her mouth is by your ear.

“It doesn’t feel that way,” You sob into her shoulder.

She pulls back, both her hands making their way to your cheeks, “I had feelings for you, Y/n. And I know it was immature, but— I— I was scared that you didn’t feel the same and I had to get out of there.”

As if your heart hadn’t broken enough times in your chest since this interaction had started, it somehow broke again.

“Addie.. I did— do feel the same. Didn’t you see?”

“I didn’t want to assume—“

You lean up and place a kiss on her lips, “Well stop assuming, and start living in the moment with me. This has been the worst experience ever. I hate the new head of neonatal, and I think she hates me too. I wish you would have just talked to me..”

“I will from now on,” Addison promises, staring into your eyes.

“What?” You smile softly, all of your pent up hate for her slowly melting away. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re beautiful, am I not allowed to admire you?” Addison tilted her head.

“No, you can,” You draw your brows together in amusement. “I like it, actually. But you want something from me.”

“I want another kiss,” Addison shrugged, shyness in her tone.

You laugh, “You’re adorable.”

“Thank you,” Addison nodded. “Now come on, I have a lot of people to introduce you to.”

“There it is,” You throw your head back.

[thesapphicdiaries]

an unhealthy obsession ;; ellie w. x abby a. x reader ;; pt. 1

and i'll get done for somethin' stupid like disturbance of the peace. | (ghostface au)

NOTES: this is entirely self indulgent tbh ,,, but fuck it !! we ball. future chapters will b linked here <3 reblg if u want to be tagged idk that's it. modern au btw. ellie might be a little ooc? for the sake of the au

TRIGGERS: murder but it happens offscreen + blackmail under the threat of violence n manipulation. there's also smoking wed

You'd be the first to admit your interests tended to ebb on morbid.

Maybe, you muse, it had to do with the source of your upbringing: Jackson. It was a stereotypical small town, where, cliché as it was, everybody knew everybody. The town's history was clean as a goddamn whistle. While places like Seattle— Abby's hometown— were a hotspot for crime due to the sheer amount of people making it slightly harder to get caught unless you were a goddamn idiot, with the close proximity of everyone within Jackson from Dina to Tommy Miller, any crime you could commit would be shut down by the local police force in a month at most.

At least— that was what you thought.

So, you indulged your macabre curiosity elsewhere: you binge watched slashers despite your parents' vehement protests and you researched the violent happenings that often took place outside your sheltered hometown. Hell, you'd even indulged in one of those stupid fucking murder mystery games with some of the allowance you'd managed to spare that wasn't spent on various branded paraphernalia... and the other kind, but nobody needed to know that.

You weren't exactly surprised at how others seemed to be creeped out by you: Friday the 13th wasn't exactly a commonplace interest. Even so, you'd managed to make a few close friends whom you considered enough to get you by.

You jolt as your locker slams shut beside your head, and Abby's cackling is all too familiar.

"Fuckin' dick," you groan, feigning your exasperation— you'd finished putting your stuff away, anyway. "What happened to 'hello'? 'How was your day, Y/N?'"

"Your day's always the same," Abby provides helpfully, and you roll your eyes. "You wake up, come to school, indulge the same 3 people—" Her, Ellie, and Dina— "in the same rotation of conversations until they leave, go home, get violently high, watch whatever weird slasher your fancying that night, and then go to bed."

You blink owlishly. "Got my schedule memorized down pat there, Abs. You been stalking me?" You smirk, playfully, but your brow arches when she falls suspiciously silent. "Uh... alright."

"Anyway, you're having a change of plans," Abby finally says, and your eyes widen as you pipe up to speak. "You'll still get violently high and watch a slasher, don't worry. You'll just be gracing me and Ellie with your company while you do." She finishes, and you fall silent.

'Alright," you mutter. "Do I get to pick the slasher, or are you gonna pick some cornball shit like Chopping Mall?" You huff. Abby begins to answer, but your phone suddenly chimes with a notification from your news app.

Local man found dead from apparent stabbing.

Your mouth falls open slightly as Abby reads the headline over your shoulder. You fail to notice her nervous expression.

"Huh," you mutter, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. "Something interesting finally happened in this town. Neat."

-

The choice in film, much to your chagrin, was Chopping Mall. Fortunately, you were too far gone to care.

Your head lolled of the side of the bed, your back strewn across Ellie's legs as you barely manage to register the words spewing from her mouth as you take another hit from the blunt she'd rolled.

"I just don't get how you like these," she complains. "I mean, it's the same damn formula every time. Does it not get boring?"

"That's the pointtttt," you groan. "The more formulaic they are, the better. Sure, some newer takes can be good: but sticking to the classics is a good play. Better safe than sorry." You wave off her concerns.

"Well, look at this little flim critic," Ellie teases as she stares at Abby, who's staring blankly at the ceiling. You'd never fail to find her lower tolerance hilarious.

"I mean," you and Ellie wait patiently through Abby's long pause. "They're right. Formulaic can be good. Patterns are more predictable— easier to keep up." She says, and you notice her and Ellie share a look.

"But they can also suck," she hisses. "Because if you're predictable, it makes it easier to connect. Like, in these movies how they're always killing off dumb, blonde bimbos— you can tell they're all copying eachother." She complains. You squint at the both of them, but don't comment on the subject.

"There's no right answer," you shrug. "I just find the middle ground. Sure, it's predictable, and boring. But it's also the safe call to make. People criticize these movies, but they make fuckin' millions. The original ones get better reviews, but they end up falling flat in the box office."

You don't realize Ellie and Abby's argument isn't referring to movies in the slightest.

"You sound way too fuckin' smart for the both of us," Ellie says, and you snort.

"It's because I am," your eyes flash toward Ellie's clock. "Shit. I gotta go. Parents will kill me if I'm not home soon." You shoot upward, trying to adjust to your surroundings. You cannot come home looking high out of your fucking mind. "See you guys later."

You watch as the two of them give you a halfhearted wave, and once you shut the bedroom door, you chalk up the strange shuffling to... something you don't want to know, honestly.

You don't realize it's much worse than you thought.

-

You surmise the punishment for being late is slightly lesser than the punishment for coming home inebriated, so you take the risk to sober up in a nearby alley between a convenience store and a small restaurant.

The alley is lit up by string lights and decorated with a few benches— perfectly habitable, and it's not what scares you— what does set you on edge is the unchecked darkness of the forest beyond the alley.

You elect to ignore the unease in your stomach, instead taking a hearty swig of the water you'd bought from the convenience store before coming outside. The tension in your shoulders almost releases, then—

You hear a scream.

A bloodcurdling scream.

Every nerve in your body tells you to run the opposite direction of the plea for help, every goddamn slasher you've watched over the years telling you playing the hero always gets you killed, but it's not heroics that lead you toward the source of the noise.

It's that same morbid curiosity that gets you watching slashers in the first place.

The noises grow louder as you draw nearer, and your eyes widen as you stifle a gasp when you see the bloodied body of Nora lying at the feet of two masked killers. You sigh in relief when you realize the treeline obscures you from view, but the noise comes out far too loud.

It hits you just how fucked you are.

You've made a few essential mistakes in the laws of survival so far, but you're not stupid enough not to run: you make a mad dash, but in a sick (and ironic) twist of fate, you trip over your abandoned water bottle and wince as the solid trunk of a tree collides against with your head with a loud thunk.

Through the blurry haze that is your vision, you see the two killers standing right in front of you. You prepare for the worst, when—

"Y/N?"

Oh, shit.

"El?" You hear the panicked rambling of another woman. "Abs? What the FUCK!?"

You almost kick out when Abby covers your mouth with a gloved hand, but know better than to get violent with the woman twice your size with a fucking hunting knife to boot.

"Ellie, El, this is bad." Abby's voice is shaking. "What the Hell do we do, man?"

The forest falls painfully silent.

"Well," Ellie finally begins. "The best course of action? Kill the witness." You whimper, and mentally hit yourself for showing any vulnerability. "But," she continues. "On the other hand, I kind of like this one."

You will Abby to take her hand off your mouth with a pleading look.

"So," you hiss. "What's your plan, here? I don't have all night. Either get this over with and slit my throat or hurry the fuck up."

Ellie grins. "I've always liked that you were a little feisty, Y/N."

"I said," you grit your teeth. "Hurry up."

"Here's the deal, darling," Ellie tilts your chin up with the hilt of the knife. You look away. "You help us out. And we don't kill you." She wrenches your head forward, just enough to look her in the eyes. "You say no, or you rat us out," she mutters, lowly. "And we slit your throat. Deal?"

It hits you there's not a lot of options on the table. You glance over at Abby, clearly the more emotionally charged of the two, and wonder if you can bargain with her. But, you decide, she's probably just as crazy as Ellie or too scared to say no if her going along with this in the first place was any indication.

And, a darker part of you whispers, you wonder how it must feel, if they're willing to do such heinous things.

Finally, you assent with a shaky nod.

"Alright," you wrench your gaze away again.

"I'll help you."

WC: 1.5K

[itspbandjellytime]

The Assistant [Hailee Steinfeld x Fem!Reader] - Chapter 1

Plot: Y/N Waldorf is fresh out of college and her first job is being Hailee Steinfeld's personal assistant, but what Y/N doesn't know is that Hailee is hiding a huge secret from the general public and from her, as her assistant.

Notes: This is a multi-chapter fic, you can also read this on wattpad under the same username "itspbandjellytime". This fanfic is also going to contain NSFW themes in the near future, so if you're under the age of 18 please don't read this. Thank you!

Word count: 1.5k words

[Y/N's POV]

My name is Y/N Waldorf, I am 21 years old and I live in Seattle, Washington, and I just graduated from college a few months ago. After four gruesome years of this course that I didn't like, I am finally free and I get to choose what job I'll have in the future since this is America and it's a free country after all. I got to say College was mentally challenging, but it was worth it after all and I got my degree, which I will probably never use in the future.

My parents, are real estate brokers and they were high school sweethearts. But they're not your typical high school sweethearts where one is a football player and the other is the girl next door, my parents were a bunch of nerds who fell in love and gave birth to two girls. I am the youngest and my sister Kelly, is the eldest. 

If I can talk about their reaction to me graduating college, all I can say is that they were happy that I finished college after ranting to them I want to drop out every five seconds. However they have been bugging me for months to get a job which is annoying at first but I manage to get used to them bothering me at 3 in the morning to get one which I have- well had. I told my parents I've been working at the coffee shop somewhere in our local town, but they told me to get a PROPER job, a job that can pay me well and can give me money to support myself. As if the job at the coffee shop didn't support me when I was in college which it did for some time, I quit my job at the coffee shop a few weeks ago and now I am scouring the internet for a job.

My eyes start to hurt from staring at the screen of my laptop way too long, scrolling through countless job hunting websites, my ears start to hurt as well from the headphones I am wearing and blasting out my playlists as I look for the said job. I start to slowly give up at this point and start to overthink about my life choices until I was on the verge of tears, when all of a sudden I saw something that says: "Urgent! In need of a Personal Assistant, please contact Laura McKinnon." along with her details. I was skeptical at first when I saw the advertisement, I am fully aware about the scams happening which leads to people being in very life threatening circumstances. But with a quick google search, I realized that she works as a talent manager and she's based in California, I feel like this is also a sign from God at the same time. I immediately typed down her e-mail address and sent my resume to Laura, hoping for the best and I don't get scammed.

A few days have passed, I've been checking my e-mail almost everyday to see if I get a word from Laura which I did. According to the E-mail I sent, I am scheduled to have an interview with her via. Zoom the next day. The next day arrived and I was interviewed by Laura through Zoom, once the interview concluded she told me she'll contact me again once I get the job or not. I waited and waited, day and night for a response from Laura. I was desperate to get this job that I started to go to church almost everyday, I was religious for an entire week basically.

One day, while I was in a middle of a run just to count my steps in and getting my blood pumping, my phone starts to ring. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and answered the call from an anonymous number "Hello?" I spoke, panting and catching my breath "Hello is this Y/N Waldorf?" The person asked, the sound of the person's voice sounded sweet, feminine, and had a valley girl accent. 

I furrow my brows, checking my surroundings before speaking "Yes, who is this?" I asked.

"This is Laura McKinnon, from the office of Hailee Steinfeld. I am just here to inform you that you got the job as Hailee Steinfeld's personal assistant." Laura said, hold on... Did she say Hailee Steinfeld? Like... THE Hailee Steinfeld?!? I get to work as Hailee Steinfeld's personal assistant?!? I tend not to freak out in the middle of the street knowing I am gonna be a part of Hailee's team. I've looked up to Hailee since I first saw The Edge of Seventeen for the first time and I never looked back since, she is also the reason why I am into women and met one of my closest friends, Jackie.

"Miss Waldorf? Are you still on the line?" Laura asks me, I snapped back to reality and stammered for a bit to find words "Uhm... Yes. Sorry, I was distracted." I responded, chuckling nervously.

"It's all good Miss Waldorf, anyways you will be starting next week. I know you are based in Washington, but if you have any associates around the Los Angeles area, you can stay with them." Laura told me, all did was respond with a nod and a smile on my face "Yes... I will do that, thank you so much." I said as Laura ended the call.

After my run, I headed straight to my apartment and called up my bestfriend Jackie, I know it's crazy that I am calling my internet friend before my parents who have been bugging me to get a proper job. I met Jackie through our shared interest and love for Hailee Steinfeld, thanks to the website "Twitter", I was blabbering about Hailee on the site as usual and then she asked if we can be mutuals on that site  and we have been inseparable ever since also Jackie lives in Los Angeles around West Hollywood so I can crash at her place. 

"Jackie!" I said with a proud tone, running around my apartment like I am a dog who just got the zoomies. 

"Y/N/N! Hey, what's up?" Jackie asks me, I settle down on the couch and clear my throat. 

"Girl guess what?" I ask her, I cant contain my excitement as a huge grin forms on my face.

"What?" She asks me back.

"I got a job!" I exclaimed, not telling her what my job is and who I work for just yet to build the suspense.

"No way, congrats girlie! What job?" Jackie asks.

I clear my throat again, a smirk forms on my face "Personal assistant." I confidently say.

"For?"

"Hailee Steinfeld." I responded, giggling like a teenage girl. I heard Jackie scream on the other line, causing me to laugh at her response "Yes, I am being serious Jackie. And I need to crash at your place." I told her.

"Oh my God sure, you are free to stay at my place... holy shit... You bagged a good job." Jackie compliments me and all I can do is laugh.

"It's insane, I know." I said, smiling "I start next week, and I gotta tell my parents about it as well." I added.

"Well you better tell them, girl." Jackie encouraged me, I can tell that she's leaning against a wall and smiling with her phone on her hand.

"Of course, I'll tell them and I will drive by there tomorrow." I said, ending my call with Jackie.

I told my parents about the job that I got, their reactions were positive and they supportive of me moving from Washington to California the next day. But my grandparents are huge conspiracy theorist believers, they start to talk about random things about the entertainment industry and my parents just shook their heads and told me to ignore them and enjoy my job. And in the words of my mother, she told me that this job is a once in a life time opportunity and I should savor every moment. Which I will, cause I have a feeling that working with your idol will be one of the best experiences I will have in my life time.

I spent the entire day packing my things for California, and It's a good thing that my sister, Kelly is down to look after and live in my apartment for the mean time. I love my sister, I would die for her. 

The next day, I finally left Washington and headed to California. I decided to take my car and drive, it feels like a road trip with yourself and it's very therapeutic. I suggest that you try it, I spent the entire road trip blasting out Taylor Swift, eating convenient store food, sleeping in my car in empty parking spots. 

The trip lasted for 17 hours, and 17 hours later I arrived in sunny Los Angeles. The last time I was in Los Angeles was when I was 15, when I first met Jackie and we saw Hailee live when she opened Charlie Puth. I took time to look around the surroundings as I drove to where Jackie lives, a smile forms on my face and it made me realize that this will be the start of a new chapter of my life and I hope this one will never end.

[t4tozier]

interesting bits from the track commentary:

intro/uranium suite:

- the show started out as a cabaret where the kids sang directly to the audience with their monologue songs but then they connected them all to a plot so that they could take it further

- they initially cut out the uranium suite but then added it back bc it captured the dying town vibe the best

what the world needs:

- ocean had a bunch of different versions of her song, including a “marx gospel” and jazz version

- they listened to a lot of mika and shake it off by taylor swift for what the world needs

noel’s lament:

- noel’s lament was pretty much ready to go off the bat, they cut one verse but that was it

every story’s got a lesson:

- “ocean needs the world to make sense…[these kinds of people] demand order in chaos”

this song is awesome/talia:

- mischa was the most “liquid” character because they kept combining characters into what eventually became him

- “this song is awesome” was supposed to pretty much be only profanity lol, it was originally much sleazier and he was also doing a rap battle against himself in a funhouse mirror to show the two sides of himself

- jacob richmond on talia: “maybe she exists maybe she doesn’t, but it’s what you perceive that’s important”

- brooke maxwell called up the ukranian consulate to ask them how to say i love you in ukranian and recorded it so they could write it phonetically for the lyrics

space age bachelor man:

- the cat planet was based from david bowie’s “cat people” and took inspiration from queen and flash gordon for the music

- it was initially a 10 min song to imitate prog rock but got a little too self-indulgent and you kind of forgot your place in the show so they actually initially completely cut it for a show but then put it back in

- ricky’s the most comfortable in his skin out of the kids

the ballad of jane doe:

- it’s sadder for jane to be completely forgotten because they’re all dead but she’s the one that doesn’t even get remembered or known as an identity

- brooke called her “the queen of the carnival” and said they weren’t originally sure if she was actually on the rollercoaster with the kids or the sort of spirit of the carnival or had died hundreds of years ago and then left it ambiguous—“don’t explain the matrix”

jawbreaker/sugar cloud:

- constance’s monologue was the first thing jacob richmond wrote and it was the opening monologue for the cabaret show

- there was a teddy bear surfing in the middle of the song at one point ?? they described it as an “elvis beach party”

- the recorder solo was kept throughout the entire evolution of the song

- it was being debated about whether or not they should keep it bc ppl were really divided but brooke especially likes the arrangement on the album

- they wanted to find a way to explore a senseless tragedy and loss and not make it feel so heavy because you don’t always need something to make you feel worse and be a bummer, they wanted to energize the audience

- the carnival played into the different genres of music throughout the show bc you can hear so many different genres just walking through the fairground

- they recorded this at the beginning of the pandemic so they all were recording from different studios

- the cast recording features local vocals for the ensemble/background vocals including on be safe be good and a world inside

it’s not a game/it’s a ride:

- the “sailing through space” section of it’s not a game had to be rearranged for the cast recording because it was supposed to be tentative and a capella and they gave the actors a backing track so it sounded too perfect at first

- that section is also inspired by super tramp, they brought it up multiple times

- this was another song that had a ton of versions and the it’s just a ride section was partially based on sgt pepper’s and OKGO’s this too shall pass music video

bonus tracks:

- be safe be good was in the seattle version of the show and it was placed during the penny lamb sequence but they took it out because it took away from the impact of the visuals

- it also was more of a subdued version where the kids were bummed that they didn’t get to go rather than being happy for penny so that was another reason for cutting it

- the rachel in question is director (?) rachel rockwell and she really loved this song so they put that in there for her

- brooke recorded these two himself bc making an album was very expensive and they didn’t have the budget for the whole cast so he just sang them himself and had the local vocals for background

- a world inside was going to replace sugar cloud so there are some similar motifs

- sugar cloud is more uplifting but also more abstract and this one was trying to get more into constance’s head on a less metaphorical level

- this was also being written during rehearsal and they were under the most pressure for this one, it was also the one that had the most outlines and restrictions

- it was in the show for two days and then they realized it didn’t fit with the vibe of the show so they had to scrap it

- the show in canada ended with karnak’s theme but there wasn’t really an end to the song and it wasn’t a satisfying conclusion

- they originally didn’t have jane or any of the kids coming back to life either they basically did their thing and left

[goldenraeofsun]

Day 7: Fine Wine

“You aged like fine wine.”

Castiel chokes on his drink. He slowly turns on his barstool to see a stranger swaying slightly in place. A light sheen of grease – or cheap gel – reflects off his hair in the lights behind the bar, and twin lilac bags sag underneath each eye.

“Pardon?” Castiel says. He discreetly sniffs, but the man must have showered more recently than his appearance suggests. Either that, or he simply drank enough so the scent of alcohol masks the smell of body odor.

“You’re Cas – Castiel,” the man says as he braces himself on the bar and laboriously climbs on the stool next to Castiel. He adds, almost accusatory. “Dr. James Novak of Seattle Mercy Hospital.”

Castiel’s jaw drops.

He hasn’t gone by Dr. Novak in close to fifteen years. He was twenty-two when he got his first role on a longstanding medical soap opera (an impossible age for a doctor of his character’s reported caliber, but Castiel was assured this was normal at SMH).

When Dr. Novak was killed off for the sixth and final time, Castiel went on to play a few bit parts in CSI and Law & Order spin offs. He reached the pinnacle of his acting career a few years ago with his starring role in Hell Hazers II and a seven-line part in a Marvel movie. Afterwards, the acting jobs seemed to dry up, or maybe Castiel was tired of the constant sisyphean cycle of auditions chewed him up and spit him out a little worse than before.

Currently, he teaches high school drama in a local private school. While it doesn’t fill him creatively, he can’t say the same for his bank account. 

“I, yes, I was,” Castiel fumbles. He hasn’t gotten recognized since his Dr. Sexy, MD days, and, even then, it didn’t happen frequently.

The man beams, and the smile transforms his face. He looks almost handsome. “Knew it,” he says. “’M Dean.”

“You already know my name,” Castiel replies, unsure of how to proceed. He’d come to the bar for a quiet celebratory drink – he’d finally finished all his college recommendation letters in time for early decision deadlines. On the other hand, Dean wasn’t technically bothering him as Castiel didn’t have many plans to bother.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees with a long sigh. “Figures I’d run into you today.”

Castiel has no idea what that means.

Dean points a shaking finger in Castiel’s face. “You’re the reason I became a doctor.”

Castiel’s mouth falls open. After a beat, he forces out, “You’re not serious.”

“As a heart attack.” Dean chuckles, the sound grim and humorless.

“I – I’m sorry?” Castiel tries, feeling entirely off balance with the abrupt turn of their conversation.

“Don’t be,” Dean says bitterly. “Not your fault I killed a patient today.”

Castiel shoves his horror down. With a determinedly neutral expression, he says, “I’m sure it’s not your fault,” because he didn’t act in 147 episodes of a medical soap opera for nothing.

Dean shakes his head, tapping the bar to get the bartender’s attention. “A double of Jack for me, and one more of whatever my friend here is drinking.”

As the bartender moves back down the bar to prepare Dean’s order, Castiel frowns. “Are you sure you should be having another?”

Dean scowls. “’M not on call for another 48 hours.”

Castiel gives him a deliberate once-over. ���I was referring to your current state of drunkenness.”

Dean waves his concern away. “’M fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

Dean exhales an explosive sigh. “You fuck up a aortic dissection repair on a twelve-year-old who just wanted to perform in her school dance recital next month, and tell me you’re all hunky dory after.”

He’s a surgeon. A pediatric cardiac surgeon.

Castiel inspired a pediatric surgeon?

He leans in, his heart twinging in sympathy for both Dean and his late patient. “I’m sure there were complications.”

Dean mutters, “High blood pressure and Type 2 diabetes.”

Castiel lays a hand on Dean’s arm. “I may not be a real doctor, but I spoke often enough with our medical experts to know those aren’t inconsequential conditions when it comes to your specialty.” 

Dean harrumphs and greedily grabs the drink the bartender sets down before the pair of them. He takes a long pull of his whiskey. “But enough about me. How come you quit acting?”

Castiel shrugs. “It’s a hard life,” he says vaguely, continuing as Dean makes a go on gesture with his free hand. “I was tired of not landing parts and struggling to make my rent each month. I gave it until I turned thirty, and, well, you can guess what happened next.”

Dean snorts into his glass. “At thirty, I wasn’t even done with my residency.” He casts Castiel a surprisingly shrewd look for how much he’s had to drink. “I think you gave up too early. You were doing good stuff.”

Castiel’s biggest sore spot throbs painfully. “Forgive me for tiring of living off PB&Js and inhabiting a technically illegal bedroom according to the housing code of Los Angeles.”

But Dean just huffs a dry laugh. “You haven’t suffered until you try to convince your way too smart younger brother that fluff marshmallow mix and macaroni is exotic and not a move of pure desperation.”

Castiel chokes on his next sip. “That sounds horrendous,” he says, his temper softening.

“Yeah, well, it was food, so,” Dean shrugs, “he ate it eventually. There weren’t that many options while snowed in at the Royale Motel in Scranton.” He tips back the rest of his drink. “We moved around a lot, growing up,” he says, spinning the empty glass between his fingers. “Sometimes the only things I could rely on were the daytime soaps.”

Castiel’s heart breaks. “I would have thought you would have become an actor, in that case.”

Dean laughs. “My old man said actors made shit money, so I picked something else.”

Castiel can’t help rolling his eyes, chuckling lightly under his breath. “Your father was right.”

“Guess so,” Dean says thoughtfully. “D’you miss it?”

Castiel nods. “Every day.”

Dean leans in and lays his hand over Castiel’s. He throws a significant glance at their empty glasses. “Whaddya say we get out of here?” he asks in a suggestive voice.

Castiel blinks. “I – I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Dean pulls back at once, but not before Castiel catches the hurt on his face.

“You’re drunk,” Castiel says gently. “I wouldn’t want to take advantage.”

Dean grunts but gets to his feet without arguing. “’S fine,” he mutters. “Had to shoot my shot, right?”

“Of course,” Castiel says, not exactly sure what he’s agreeing to, but it’s evidently the right thing to say since Dean just nods and starts to walk away, reaching into his jacket. But, to Castiel’s alarm, he pulls out a set of car keys instead of his phone to call a taxi.

Castiel hurries after him. “Dean!” he calls.

Outside the bar, Dean turns around, a smirk playing across his lips. “Change your mind, big guy?”

“What? No,” Castiel says as Dean tenses. “But you can’t drive,” he says helplessly.

Dean scowls. “I’m not that drunk.”

“I’m pretty sure you are.”

Dean rolls his eyes so hard Castiel is surprised they don’t pop out of his skull. “Out of the two of us, only one has a real medical license.”

Castiel crosses his arms over chest. “If you won’t call a cab, come to my apartment. It’s just down the street.”

Dean step forward, and Castiel lets out a silent sigh of relief. “Your apartment?” he repeats. 

“So you can sober up,” Castiel says resolutely. 

Dean shoves his hands in his pockets. “Lead the way, Dr. Novak.”

* * *

Castiel wakes up with a crick in his neck and a shooting pain in his lower back. He never made it to bed after talking with Dean for hours on his sofa in his living room.

A muttered swear comes from behind him, and Castiel cranes his head around to see Dean, still wearing his clothes from last night, bent over Castiel’s finicky coffee machine.

“You have to flip the switch on the side,” he tells Dean as he gets to his feet.

“Mornin’,” Dean says with a grin. “Thanks for letting me stay over.”

“Thanks for not throwing up on my couch and trying to make me coffee.” Castiel slides around Dean to open the cabinet with his mugs. He pulls out his favorite sky blue cup.

“C’mon, I wasn’t that bad.”

After some rooting around, Castiel finds the novelty Dr. Sexy, MD mug he received in a gift basket on his last day of filming. 

Dean laughs out loud as he takes it from Castiel. “It’s even got his cowboy boots!” he exclaims as he inspects it from every angle. 

Castiel nods, turning so Dean can’t see his smile. “You’re welcome to take it,” he says. “I have far more mugs than I need for one person.”

“Aw man, don’t tell me that,” Dean groans, “or else I’ll actually do it.”

“Take it,” Castiel says firmly as he pours coffee into Dean’s new mug. 

Dean cradles to his chest, breathing in deeply. He inhales half of it in one go, to Castiel’s concern. “Christ, that’s the stuff.” He meets Castiel’s astounded gaze with a little grin. He polishes off his cup in the same time it takes Castiel to add enough sugar and cream to his satisfaction. “Coffee is practically a pro sport for surgeons; you have no idea. But I’ll get out of your hair after this,” Dean says, an apologetic note to his words, “but do you mind if I leave my number before I head out?”

Castiel gapes at him before he realizes Dean doesn’t see his answer as so obvious it goes without saying. “Yes, of course,” he says in a rush, half a beat too late. 

Dean grins. “Awesome. You were always on my celebrity hall pass list.” At Castiel’s furrowed look of confusion, Dean’s smile broadens. “You know, that list of longshots that’ll never happen so you might as well give your girlfriend the OK to sleep with Idris Elba or Hugh Jackman or Chris Hemsworth.”

Castiel watched enough Marvel movies to prepare for his own role to know what all those actors look like. “I’m nothing like those men,” he splutters.

“Well, yeah, everyone has a weird one – my last boyfriend would’ve fucked Scar from the Lion King if given half the chance.”

“A flattering comparison,” Castiel deadpans as Dean chuckles.

Once Dean washes out his mug (he insists on it), grabs his jacket, and inputs his phone number in Castiel’s cell, there’s no reason for him to linger. 

Castiel awkwardly trades goodbyes on his threshold before he shuts the door behind Dean. 

He thinks about calling for the rest of the day. Dean is his first thought on Saturday morning too, but he concludes it’s too soon.

He debates reaching out on Sunday, but 48 hours have passed since their first meeting, so Dean’s probably in surgery. It’s clearly a bad time to make contact. 

By Monday, Castiel talks himself out of it altogether. Dean is a pediatric surgeon at one of the most prestigious hospital systems in the county (Castiel looked him up on the off chance Dean wasn’t being truthful, but his degrees are published on the hospital website for all to see.)

Dean saves lives every day. 

Castiel is a washed up actor who peaked a decade ago. The closest he got to saving a life was convincing Siobhan that getting bangs a week before school picture day would not be in her best interest.

But Castiel won’t let his strange run in with Dean mean nothing. In a fit of productivity one weekend, exactly one month after Dean stayed the night at his apartment, he stops by the local theater and marks down the day of their next auditions.

In January, he tries out for a small play written by a local playwright, and wins a part. Not the lead, but a good, meaty character part. 

He mostly forgets about Dean in between classes and his own rehearsals – until the director hands out their complimentary tickets. None of Castiel’s family live in the area, and his friend, Meg, is out of town that week. 

As Castiel wracks his brains for someone to invite, he can’t help but keep coming back to Dean. 

He chickens out of actually calling Dean and instead sends him a picture of the tickets with the date prominently displayed and a short text, “If you’d like to come.”

Dean texts back four hours later.

Dean Winchester 5:22 Sorry surgery just ended Of course I wouldn’t miss *the* Castiel DeAngelos’s big comeback!

[doggernaut]

Hi, hello, if you've read It's alright, you can afford to lose a day or two in the past day or so and are wondering what perfect storm of frustration/depression/anxiety contributed to its creation, have at it:

April 2022: After 20 years of marathoning, I ran a marathon PR at my dream race, 10/10 would do again, top 5 life moment.

May 2022: Asthma attack during a track workout, spent the entire summer rebuilding my lung capacity.

September 2022: Bruised the ball of my right foot, lost more training time (also started grad school, this is important later).

October 2022: Foolishly ran a out-of-state marathon anyway, started experiencing Covid symptoms the day I got home (did I get Covid on the plane to Chicago or at school... based on the timing it was probably school and I likely had it while racing, but who knows).

November 2022: Three weeks out from Covid I ran another out-of-state marathon. (I KNOW but listen. These two specific races were planned years before and got deferred due to Covid cancellations. I also ran the second of the two extremely slowly. Almost an hour and a half slower than my PR.)

November 2022-December 2022: Technically no longer testing positive for Covid but still coughing constantly due to a sinus infection and then some other infection. (RSV? It was going around.)

January 2023: No longer coughing, began slowly and reasonably training for the Boston Marathon in April.

February 2023: Knee pain?!?!

March 2023: Knee still in pain, can barely walk, let alone run. Hauled myself off to PT only to discover the cause of my knee pain is actually an imbalance, possibly due to overcompensating due to the lower back/hip pain I developed after sleeping on the couch for two weeks while I had Covid.

April 2023: Ran the Boston Marathon on minimal training and didn't do too bad, all things considered.

Summer 2023: Able to run slowly but comfortably. Had a glorious five weeks of running while studying in New Zealand. Even got down to tempo pace for a mile or two at one point.

September 2023: Returned home, tried running, couldn't breathe.

October/November 2023: Saw an allergist after a month and was diagnosed with a mold allergy (mold season in Seattle is ... bad ... but also never affected me before). The doctor concluded that this allergy and the exacerbation of my asthma in the aftermath of Covid is possibly due to having had Covid.

Started a daily inhaled steroid to help my lungs. Started being able to get through easy (3 mile) runs. Weaned myself off of it.

January 2024: New start! Committed to building back with daily runs and/or strength training sessions. Running does not feel as good as it used to. I have lost a lot of core strength over the past year and it makes a huge difference in how I feel during a run. Everything feels like a huge effort and thinking about ever being able to do a speed workout again is daunting, but at least I can run.

January 20, 2024: Fell down the motherfucking stairs in my house and severely bruised my tailbone, setting myself back YET AGAIN.

All of this is boring and unimportant if you are not me but if you're looking for context, this is it! I don't claim to be, like, a superstar athlete or anything but for the past decade or so I've been an "age group" runner, performing at or near the top of my age group in local races, running in the lead pack in group runs, hitting pretty tough (and I realize, somewhat arbitrary) qualifying standards (the Boston Marathon was a dream for a long time, and I finally got there), and seeing my times drop despite being in my forties now. It's hard, and humbling, to fall too far behind in such a short time. And it's hard to see my friends still excelling and feel like I'm being left behind. This is why Jack is kind of a sad, anxious mess in that fic! Because I am a sad, anxious mess!

[feminismisstillahatemovement]

SEATTLE, WA - The Babylon Bee had the honor of sitting down with a local brave #resistance fighter to learn more about the fearless counterculture fighting against hate and other bad stuff like that. According to Doy Keeblesmush, a leader of the local resistance movement in Seattle, the ideology consists of whatever the media, universities, corporations, and Hollywood tell them they should think.

"Yeah, I'm pretty much a free thinker," said Keeblesmush when interviewed at a protest rally sponsored by Kinko's. "I would say my ideology is an eclectic mix of Vox, Marvel comics, Starbucks' Twitter feed, and whatever my Sociology 101 professor says. There's a lot of hate and misinformation out there, so it's important that I get my life's moral compass entirely from multi-billion dollar corporations and celebrities. The only exception is dead German philosophers like Marx. They're cool too."

According to Keeblesmush, blindly following the prevailing winds of culture as dictated by trends and hype is the best way of making sure one is on the "right side of history."

"It's important to be on the right side of history since that is literally the only way to determine whether something is right or wrong!" said Keeblesmush. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to attend an afternoon boycott of MyPillow organized by Tempur-Pedic."

[tumbleweed-writes]

Lilies and Thistles: Chibs Telford X OC Fic

This fic is at least a decade old, but I am starting up updating it again. I figured it can't hurt to share the first chapter here.

--------

Lily Unser managed to stumble out from the rain while keeping a tight grip on her leather camera cases. She knew that if she allowed the slick rain to trip her up and pull one of the cases from her grasp then she'd be screwed.

Cameras and photography equipment weren't cheap and she only had as much as she had thanks to the wonders of hunting for deals through online shopping and Black Friday sales.

She'd long ago developed the ability to maneuver through the rain without slipping. By now she had it all down to a fine art. It was a necessary skill when it came to living in a constantly rainy place like Seattle.

When she'd first moved from Charming California to Seattle Washington she had been looking forward to the rain and cold weather, but now she was missing the warmth of California and the small town atmosphere of Charming.

She guessed that old saying there's no place like home rang true.

Lily was spent just as she always seemed to be after a long afternoon and night of working weddings. Wedding Photography was a pain in the ass, but it paid generously.

It was a good job for her to have over her summer break from school. Doing wedding photography allowed her to fine tune her talents while keeping her rent paid and food in her fridge.

The pay almost wasn't worth the trouble though. Lily had reached her limit for the day of dealing with a highstrung bitchy bridezilla, a snooty mother in law and mother of the bride, drunken groomsmen, and a father in law who'd thought it was a great idea to pinch Lily's bottom.

It had been enough to make Lily wish that she could partake in the flowing open bar. A nice tropical Blue Hawaii or a fruity Mai Tai would have been the perfect drink to take the edge of the day and night right off.

She knew enough though to realize that most brides and grooms weren't too thrilled when their wedding photographer took a break to get tipsy off free booze.

Lily wanted nothing more than to get out of her black strappy high heels, slip out of her black cocktail dress, undo her long dark hair from it's twist, and collapse in her modest twin bed. She was too exhausted to even entertain the idea of grabbing a quick shower and washing the dark makeup from her face.

She knew that she would have to wake up bright and early tomorrow and make it to the darkroom at the art and photography academy she was attending, so she could develop all these photos she'd taken.

The bride and groom she'd worked for had insisted on going with the old fashioned traditional film route over the digital camera route.

It was a pain in the ass to develop the film, but at least it gave Lily some much needed quiet time.

The darkroom had always been Lily's sanctuary. She could go sit in it and put her mind to rest for a moment as she developed film.

She had always loved the process of seeing pictures develop from practically nothing. To Lily the entire process was the closest thing to magic she would ever witness.

She'd spent the past three years of her life attending the Art Institute in Seattle. She was studying Media Arts focusing primarily on Photography, and was loving every second of it.

She'd spent the first year and a half after high school attending a community college in Seattle studying Accounting. It had been her father's idea.

Sheriff Wayne Unser had wanted his daughter to have a good education in a secure field. Accounting had been the perfect career for Lily, or at least according to her father it had been perfect. She'd hated the program and had left a year into it. She'd switched her major a couple of times before leaving school for a little while as she attempted to figure out just what she wanted. She'd worked odd jobs around Seattle ignoring pleas to come home and give a local community college a shot.

Lily's true love laid in art and photography and she'd used this love to guide her future. Yes she was good with numbers, but her heart laid in taking pictures.

So she'd worked hard to get back into school, finish up her core courses, and had gone for her true love in an art program. Her dad hadn't had much room to argue over this decision. As a grown woman nearing her later twenties, her father had long ago had to accept that Lilian Unser was an adult

Lily had always been strong willed and the sheriff knew by now not to get in her way.

The only reason Lily had been able to get into the art institute was because she'd worked her ass off getting every scholarship and every bit of financial aid she could get her paws on. She'd worked hard and she knew that it was all worth it at the end of the day.

Lily knew for a fact that she didn't want to photograph weddings for the rest of her life. She'd only been doing it for a few months; freelancing, and she'd hated every second of it.

The money was what kept her coming back though. She was a struggling photography student with no family nearby, money was something she couldn't refuse.

What Lily wanted more than anything was to be an independent photographer. She wanted to work on her own terms. She wanted her own studio. She wanted to hang her works up in galleries where people would come near and far to view.

She wanted success. To her success meant no more bitch brides, no more drunken jerks pinching her bottom or asking her to dance, and no more being up on her feet in all too high heels while carting around a heavy camera.

Lily entered her dark studio apartment somehow managing to make it to the ringing phone sitting by her sofa, without tripping over any dirty laundry or shoes.

She did her best to hide her exhaustion as she spoke up. "Hello."

Lily widened her eyes stunned to hear her father's voice on the other end of the line. "Hey kid."

Wayne Unser and his daughter weren't the type to have long conversations over the phone. It didn't mean that they didn't care for one another. It was just that talking on the phone had never been their thing.

Long talks over the phone had always been Lily's godmother Gemma's thing. Gemma Teller Morrow spent just about every Wednesday calling Lily to check in on her.

Lily cleared her throat doing her best to hide her shock as she spoke. "How are you? Is everything okay with Della and the girls?"

She cringed a bit at her question. To be honest she couldn't care less about her step mother and her half sisters. Della had never taken to her step daughter and Lily had never taken to her.

Kate and Jade Unser were both a bit spoiled by their mother Della. Lily had always felt animosity for her 24 year old and sixteen year old half sisters.

When Lily was younger she'd tried hard to please Della, but it had become clear fast to Lily that Della and she were never going to get along. She'd tried hard to bond with her sisters but Della had always made a point of spoiling the girls while Lily was lucky if she got something other than hand-me-downs at the start of a new school year.

Lily knew it was cliché but she had always felt a bit like a fairy tale brought to life; a girl whose mother had run off leaving her with her father, an evil step mother and evil step sisters. It was all a bit too much like Cinderella when Lily really let herself think about it.

She shook her head a bit at the Cinderella thought. Life wasn't a fairy tale and she sure as hell wasn't Cinderella.

Lily knew that her step mom was just a bitch who held a grudge against Lily's mother. Lily knew that her step sisters were just rotten. And that this was all just life; life could sometimes be shitty.

There was no dashing prince charming coming to rescue her, and the closest thing she had to a fairy godmother was Gemma Teller Morrow.

She was pretty sure that the Grimm Brothers weren't picturing Gemma when they wrote about Cinderella's magical godmother.

She twisted her mouth a bit trying not to burst out laughing at the thought of badass biker queen Gemma being anyone's fairy godmother. She found herself easily picturing Gemma turning a pumpkin into a motorcycle.

Lily shook her head at the ridiculous thought leaving it all to it just being a long night stacked on top of sleep deprivation.

She turned her attention back to her father as he spoke. "They're okay...Kate's engaged and Jade is getting ready for her junior year of high school. Jadey made first chair with the cello. Della wants you to do Kate's engagement photos. The wedding is taking place this fall...and it's costing me an arm and a leg. I keep telling Katie that she has to leave some money in my savings account for when Jade ties the knot. At least I know I can count on you to stay on budget when you get married."

Lily let out a soft sigh not thrilled at the prospect of dealing with Kate getting married. She had a feeling that her half sister would put most of the bridezillas Lily had to deal with for work to shame.

She hated to think of how bad Della would be about this whole wedding thing.

"I tried to call you on your cell, but it went straight to voice mail." Unser pointed out lightly scolding his eldest daughter.

He worried about Lily being so far from home. If it had been up to him she would have gone to school in Oakland, but Lily had gotten scholarships to Seattle and he'd known that they'd be fools to turn down that opportunity.

Lily sat down on the arm of her old beaten up brown sofa as she reached down finally freeing her feet from those awful heels. "I turn it off when I'm working weddings...Most brides aren't too happy when Ace of Spades starts blaring out during their vows."

Unser laughed at this comment stopping to cough mid laugh. Lily frowned at the cough her intuition sparking at how horrible it sounded. Something was wrong with her dad; she could just sense it.

She spoke up almost not recognizing her voice. Lily found herself feeling more like a child than a twenty four year old woman. "Are you okay daddy?"

Unser took a deep breath his voice sounding so heavy as though he had the world sitting on his shoulders at that moment. "I have bad news sweetheart...It's my colon...fucking cancer. The doctors say it doesn't look good...I'm sick Lil. I need you."

And with that little statement Lily quickly realized that the life she'd known in Seattle was over.

Her dad needed her and she had to be there for him.

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

Sheriff Wayne Unser glanced across the arm rest onto the passengers seat of his old Ford Pickup truck, where his young daughter sat her arms crossed over her waist as she peered out the window.

Unser was surprised to find that his daughter had changed in her time away. Though she still looked younger than she really was it was clear that she'd grown into her features loosing a tiny bit of the baby-fat she'd held as a teenager.

Her long dark brown hair was pulled up into a high pony tail revealing a youthful pale face. Her big dark eyes were locked on the scenery as it passed them by.

The only things Lily had seemed to inherit from her dad were brown eyes and brown hair. The rest of her was all her mother, or at least Unser was sure it was her mother though some might argue her larger eyes had come from Unser. 

Lily's mom had been a pretty young thing whom Unser had met at a bar. It had been a bad time in his life; his dad had just died and his relationship with Della had hit a rocky patch.

Vera had been her name, or at least that was what she'd told Wayne Unser. She'd been an attractive woman much like Lily, average height, a pear-shaped body, a sweet petite smile, an upturned little nose, and big doe eyes.

Unser shook his head still a little stunned at how much Lily had taken after the woman. His daughter had grown into a gorgeous young lady. In her time away it seemed she'd matured losing some of the baby fat she'd held at eighteen. 

In a way Unser could admit he found it dismaying to realize she'd grown in her time away. It wasn't as though she'd taken many visits back home or at least her visits with him had seemed so short. She may have come home for the occasional Christmas, but her visits to Gemma Teller Morrow had always seemed to a little less brief than her visits with her father and his family.

Realizing that his oldest child truly was now an adult left Unser feeling a bittersweet sense of discomfort. In a way he had thought of her, in her absence, as the fresh faced eighteen year old who'd left California for Washington years before. She may be nearing 25 but he'd always see her as a child. 

He cleared his throat trying his best to make small talk with Lily. "I have a futon in the office set up for you. Kate is staying in her old room while her fiance and her plan the wedding, and Jade is in hers...Della turned your old room into a craft room and she'd skin me alive if I touched anything in there...so the office is just going to have to cut it till I can get you set up with an apartment."

Lily turned to face her father giving him a sheepish smile trying to hide her irritation that Della had taken over her room the second she'd moved out. "That's okay dad...I talked to Gemma last night while I was packing up some final things, and she wants me to stay with Clay and her. They have the room for me so it's no trouble. I can stay in one of their guest rooms till we get me a place of my own. It'll work out...You won't have to sacrifice your office for me."

Unser nodded his head trying to hide the annoyance he felt over Gemma sticking her nose in to this, but he knew better than to be shocked. This was Gemma after all.

He should have known that Gemma would stick her nose into things the second he'd made her Lily's godmother.

He let out a sigh turning his eyes back to the road. He could admit that at times he felt as though he didn't understand a thing about his daughter.

It was his own fault. He knew this.

He'd been so tied up with work that he often hadn't taken the time to really connect with Lily. Della just made everything all the more complicated.

Della Unser resented Lily. She saw the young woman as a constant reminder that Wayne hadn't remained faithful during their rocky patch.

Della couldn't help but to feel bitter when she looked at her husband and his daughter. Della hated the fact that Lily had taken the place in Unser's heart as his first born child; his baby girl.

Unser frowned remembering the day Lily had been brought to his front stoop by her mother. The way Vera had shoved a crying Lily into his arms while a pregnant Della stared on.

Wayne shifted the crying infant in his arms feeling lost as how he could get her to calm down. He sighed when he stared down at her realizing that her little face was as pink as the onesie she was wearing.

The yelling hadn't helped the already fussy baby's temperament. The little girl had already been screeching when she'd been shoved into his arms but Della's screams had only made it worse.

Wayne still remembered the exact words Della had screamed at him as she'd stormed out of their tiny house ''I'm going to stay with my mother. You handle this you prick.''

Wayne sighed guilt flooding him as he remembered the way Della had glared at little Lily. She looked at the infant as though Lily was a cyst on the face of humanity.

It wasn't the child's fault. It was all him, Wayne knew that.

Della and he'd had a fight the night Lily had been conceived. He'd gone off to a bar to drink away his heartache. He'd met Vera that night at the bar. She had been so gorgeous. Her long dark hair had been so long that it had almost almost reached down to her hips. She'd had a mischievous little smile on her face as she'd sipped her beer. The bell-bottoms she'd been wearing had hugged her backside perfectly.

Wayne could remember that Vera had reminded him of Cher; tall and gorgeous.

That night Vera and he'd shared a few beers and talked about the music playing over the loudspeaker. They'd both loved the Allman Brothers and Janis Joplin. They'd gotten tipsy and after a bit of flirting they'd wound up back at a motel where they'd slept together.

He'd spent a passion filled night with Vera unaware that this little life had been created.

The girl's name was Lilian; Lilian Winter Unser.

Wayne was little Lilian's father Vera had insisted as she shoved the screaming infant into his arms.

Wayne had barely had time to squeeze a word out as Vera spoke. ''I'm leaving her here with you. You have a good set up here Wayne. You can give our daughter everything I can't. I don't have anything to give her. I just can't be a mom...I'm not ready to take care of a kid. Please be good to her and tell her I loved her.''

And with that Vera had walked away jumping into the taxi she'd taken leaving Wayne in the dust with a crying baby and a pissed off pregnant fiancee.

Wayne knew that Vera might have a point about him being the more stable option for Lily. He had a nice little home and a good job with the police station. He was normal compared to Vera.

Vera didn't have much from what he knew; though it was the early eighties Vera was still locked in the hippie free love lifestyle. She never stayed in one place too long. She drove from town to town doing whatever it took to survive. She was always on the move like a modern day nomad. Vera was a free-spirit too careless and unstable to be a proper mom to a little girl.

Wayne had done the only thing he could think of at a time like this. He'd reached for the telephone calling the only person in the world he could think to call; his childhood best friend Gemma Teller.

Lily was still screeching as Gemma entered the room her high heeled boots clicking against the wood floor.

She shook her head staring down at the upset infant. "Shit Wayne. What have you done?"

"I fucked up Gem. Her mom is god knows where. She just dropped her on me...I don't know what to do? I mean I could leave the kid with my mom but what about Della?" Wayne spat out shifting Lily in his arms.

Gemma narrowed her eyes at Wayne stepping closer to him. Her voice took on a stern dangerous tone as she replied to this. "You aren't dumping this little girl on your mom. Fuck what Della thinks. This is your daughter. Family is forever Wayne. You can't tell me that you don't feel something for this baby girl?"

He sighed knowing that Gemma was right. The second Vera had placed the little girl in his arms he'd felt something in his heart pull. Despite all the dramatics and chaos Wayne knew he loved his baby girl.

He wasn't going to send her away to his mother's like she was something he should be ashamed of. No her conception hadn't been under the best circumstances, but she was still his child.

He was going to do the right thing; be a dad.

Wayne shook his head his mind going a mile a second. "What am I going to do Gemma. I don't have anything for her...no crib, no toys. There's barely any clothing but what's in that backpack. Anything I have is for the other baby...that's if Della comes back after this mess."

Gemma tossed her purse down on the sofa taking the baby from Wayne's arms as she spoke. "I'll get into my storage locker. I should have some shit left over from Jax and Thomas."

Wayne cringed at this statement; Thomas. Little Thomas Teller had died just the year before of a heart condition. He hadn't been much older than Lily was now.

Gemma didn't let Wayne's look of pity deter her as she shifted the sobbing infant in her arms. "What's her name?"

"Lilian Winter Unser." He remarked still a little stunned that Vera had given the girl his last name.

Vera had left the child's social security card and her birth certificate in the small backpack of things she'd left.

All that was in the bag not counting these two documents were a few purple and white dresses, a white onsie with little yellow ducks on it, a small package of diapers, formula, and a little white teddy bear.

Wayne knew he'd need more than that to raise a child. He needed a crib, a carseat, a changing table, more clothing, more diapers, toys, a stroller, and at least a dozen other things.

His brain ached as he realized just how much it took to raise a baby. His brain only ached more when he realized he'd be raising two babies once Della gave birth that is.

She shook her head at this name. "Well that's no good. Lily...we'll call her Lily."

"Why does she keep crying? I can't get her to settle down...you don't think there's something wrong with her do you?" Wayne blurted out his dark eyes growing wide as he stared at Lily.

Gemma rolled her eyes at just how clueless Unser was; a typical male. She spoke as she patted the infants damp bottom. "She needs to be changed."

She didn't give Wayne the chance to say anything as she snatched up the backpack heading to the back bedroom.

She spread a blanket out on the bed making quick work of unfastening Lily's little onsie. As soon as the baby had a fresh diaper on she calmed.

Gemma smirked a bit as the little girl smiled up at her one of her tiny hands reaching up to play with one of Gemma's necklaces.

She spoke to the girl her voice soft and soothing "You've got a long road ahead of you Lily...that father of yours is a disaster and don't even get me started on his fiancee. Don't you worry bout shit though. No one's going to hurt you as long as I'm around. You have Momma Gemma to look out for you."

Unser let out a huff knowing that he probably wouldn't have made it through Lily's first few years without Gemma.

Gemma had long played a mother role in Lily's life.

It bothered Unser to admit this. After all Della was her step mother and should be a mother to Lily.

Lily and Della had done nothing but fight all their lives though. Wayne hoped that with all the pain of his illness the two would come to tolerate one another and might even learn to lean on one another.

He spoke up knowing the perfect way to maybe start that bonding between his wife and daughter. "Della wants you to come over for dinner next Friday."

"Della want's me to come for dinner?" Lily replied raising an eyebrow at this. She could see straight through that comment enough to see the bullshit.

Lily shook her head feeling a little guilty that her step mother and she couldn't find a common ground. She silently reminded herself that she'd given Della all the opportunities on the planet to be a good mom and Della had failed time and time again.

It was no shock that Lily had moved out of the Unser household and had moved in with Gemma and Clay when she was fifteen.

Gemma had welcomed Lily with open arms and had made sure that Lily was taken care of, just the way a mom should.

"I'll think about it." Lily blurted out knowing that this was the easiest way to tell her father no.

She had a feeling she couldn't avoid her step mother forever though.

Lily felt her stomach roll at the thought of facing Della Unser. No one could drive Lily up the wall faster than her step mother.

Yep No place like home.

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

Lily practically jumped out of the truck as it pulled into TM Auto.

She ran to Gemma her arms encircling the woman a soft laugh escaping her lips as she spoke. "Momma Gemma."

"Hey baby. Look at you. You've grown up so much." Gemma replied smiling at the young woman who she'd always seen as a daughter.

Wayne sighed as he exited the truck watching his daughter and his friend together. He could admit he was a bit envious over the way Lily looked up at Gemma.

Lily adored the woman. She always had.

Though Unser was thankful that Gemma had been there for his daughter he couldn't help but to be irritated at the way Gemma was always jumping into things when it came to Lily.

Gemma had given Lily everything her little heart desired; a car when it was time to start driving, new clothing, jewelry, a place to live and hideout when Lily had gotten into a big fight with Della or Wayne.

After a while it had seemed as though Gemma was Lily's parent not Unser.

Gemma only saw this as her being there for Lily. She saw how Della treated Lily. Gemma knew that Wayne was too damn blind to see the truth. Della had always had a hold over Unser, even when it came to Lily.

Unser gritted his jaw as Gemma spoke up. "Come on baby lets get you settled in. I've already looked at some apartments for you and I may have sweet talked Clay into getting you some furniture."

Lily grabbed her suitcase from the back of Unser's truck giving her father a hug as she spoke. "I'll see you later dad. Call me after your appointment."

Unser let out a sigh watching his little girl walk away and disappear into TM Auto's tiny office.

Sometimes he wished he could turn back the clock. Maybe if he could do that he could fix all the mistakes he'd made with his baby girl.

Chibs Telford frowned looking up from the Harley he'd been reconstructing as he saw Sheriff Unser's old pickup truck pull into the parking lot.

It wasn't police business at least Chibs realized. Still though the sight of the sheriff always made his stomach churn, never mind the fact that Unser had been on the Sons payroll long before Chibs had even come to Charming.

He was perfectly ready to stare back at the Harley until the passengers' door on the truck opened up revealing a petite young woman.

Chibs let his eyes scan the young woman's body not helping but to like what he saw. The black jeans she wore showed her hips and bottom off perfectly and the low cut plum tank top she wore under her jean jacket showed off a small but perky set of breasts. He could see three necklaces dangling in between her cleavage; a long uncut rough clear crystal that was wrapped around wire hanging from a chain and two thinner silver chains with tiny heart trinkets hanging from them.

What Chibs liked the most though was her long dark hair. It was pulled up high into a ponytail. Chibs was sure that if she took her hair down it would reach down to the small of her back. He had to admire her smooth pale skin as well. Her skin seemed all the more milky when paired with those big dark eyes of hers.

She was pretty, he'd be a liar if he tried to deny it.

His interests were only peaked as Gemma left the office to be ambushed with a hug from the young woman.

He raised an eyebrow at the words that left the young woman's mouth Momma Gemma.

Chibs was puzzled as he saw Gemma smile down at the girl the same way he'd seen the Queen of SAMCRO smile at Jax Teller.

This was an interesting development Chibs realized.

In the five years he'd lived in Charming he'd never once seen a woman make Gemma smile like that.

Whoever this girl was she was obviously close to Gemma's heart, which Chibs knew wasn't an easy task.

Her closeness to Gemma only sparked Chibs' interest.

He continued to work as he tried to casually eavesdrop on this woman's conversations with Gemma and Unser.

Chibs found himself dying to at least know this woman's name.

He was sure he'd never seen her around town before. He was pretty sure he'd remember a pretty face like that not to mention a body like that.

He widened his eyes as the young woman gave Unser a tight hug. He only caught one word from her mouth dad.

Chibs sighed realizing that he had no place looking at this woman, not when she was a cop's daughter.

Chibs reluctantly decided that he better keep his distance if he knew what was best for him. Flirting with the sheriff's daughter wasn't a bright plan. Following his instincts with this girl was just asking for trouble.

He wasn't sure why he was so damn fascinated anyhow. After all it wasn't like he didn't see pretty girl's every damn day of the week.

The clubhouse was full of sexy women who'd gladly spread their legs for him without him even having to say a word.

A small voice in the back of his head pointed out the obvious though The girls in the clubhouse had been passed around from guy to guy at least a dozen times or more. The croweaters didn't make Gemma smile like that.

Chibs sighed knowing the truth; the truth was he was sick of the croweaters. It wasn't really any fun when you could get a woman without having to put the work into it.

As much as he hated to admit it he missed having more than sex with a woman. Yes sex was nice and all; it felt good and it was satisfying. But the satisfaction never lasted and at the end of the day Chibs was always left sleeping alone.

He was tired of always sleeping alone.

Chibs hadn't been able to move on from Fiona and all that had happened back in Ireland; all that had drove him to the MC and to Charming California.

He had almost gotten accustomed to being alone. It was just that when he saw a pretty girl like that, a girl that made the Queen of SAMCRO smile, his mind allowed itself to dream of maybe having something more than sex with her.

Chibs shook his head at these thoughts.

He knew these were just the thoughts of a foolish man, a man who wasn't getting any younger and didn't have a life that any woman would want to be a part of.

Despite the fact that Chibs knew it was best to just ignore his curiosity and stay back he found himself peeking back at Gemma and the woman as they disappeared into the office.

He let out a huff realizing that staying away would be harder than he thought.

[kodiacast]

Timing: Not too long ago in the far off land of… 2022 Location: The Wormhole Feat: @alteyed & @kodiacast Warnings: Gun use (describing wound on ghost), alcoholism (the hunter) Summary: So a hunter walks into a bar…

Between the fingers tapping along the polished wood and the pen tapping on the journal, the large man at the bar was making a hell of a lot more noise than he usually did. Otis was reserved, to put it mildly. A mountain of stoicism, or at least that’s how he appeared. Generally, the bear was barely used to being around so many people. His moms and the ranch workers were just about the only social interaction he’d gotten before moving up north. He knew there would be a culture shock but this was… distracting. 

Otis came to Wicked’s Rest looking for a new perspective, but found himself a bit too much of a shy violet to properly interact with the locals. But he was trying to get better. Hence the bar. The Journal. And the Writing, but in public. This wasn’t his first time in the Wormhole. It was close to home, and cheap enough that he could afford to keep a tab open long enough to get some work done. Only, it was getting pretty hard to think. So many eyes all around, so many ears. It was a little unnerving. A strange feeling for the apex predator, one he wasn’t too sure he’d come to terms with. 

“Ah– hey–” The bear sighed, attention shifting from the lack of words on the page to the bartender. “Could I– Another?” You’d think with a profession built around talking he’d at least be good at it, but Otis had never been a real conversationalist. Words never seemed to fit in the right order when he had to make them up on the spot. Always mixing up, switching around. Like his mouth was a blender and speech was a smoothie. Well, maybe not a smoothie, everything always came out pretty rough. 

— 

Being back in Wicked’s Rest meant a lot of things, but mostly it meant that with every whisper, she was left to guess whether it was a spirit, or somebody trying to figure out why, under their breath, Rue Kincaid was back in town. She’d gotten used to the voices; had gotten even better at ignoring them– pretending she couldn’t hear their requests. In Seattle, the population of ghosts that swarmed her were typically of the familial variety with a few stragglers here and there, all aware that she could see them even when she tried to pretend she couldn’t. 

Her old hometown was entirely different. With its high death toll, it was bound to be filled to the brim with ghostly entities, all looking for their medium to latch onto. But this was just visiting, and while she had the option of working out of her dad’s ski loft for the summer, she figured there’d be more money to me made in town at the tried and true Wormhole. It wasn’t the cleanest of establishments, but the tips were typically good, and it was hard to say no to easy money, even if she had some funds coming in from her over the phone business. The underwriting job had proven to be boring, and while she didn’t anticipate straying from Seattle for too long, a summer couldn’t hurt. 

Rue finished off the glass that she’d been polishing, putting it down onto the counter when her attention diverted to the customer sitting adjacent from where she sat. He’d been quiet, for the most part– an easy customer, and a face she saw a few times since returning to Wicked’s Rest. Her gaze flickered to the now empty glass and she gave him a curt nod, grabbing the glass before pouring more of the brew in, cutting off the head by pouring some to the side before filling it up the remainder of the way. “This all you want?” It was why people came to bars, wasn’t it? He had a notebook in front of him, and a pen poised between his fingers. She had to wonder what he was writing, and she wasn’t typically the kind of person to beat around the bush. “What’s going down in there? Grocery list? Are you a food critic, here to review the beer? Just know I’m not in charge. I only work here, just for the summer at least.” She gave him a wink before grabbing an additional glass to begin shining. 

—

You had to get alcohol at a bar, right? It was like the law or something. Truthfully, the bear didn’t care for the stuff. Didn’t really like the way it reminded him of the air outside a dumpster in the thick of summer. But it’s what you were supposed to do, and Otis wanted a place to be social, so. Beer. An IPA, or something. Locally made with so many hops it could put a bunny to shame. The label seemed nice. That’s why he picked it. All scrolls and swirls like an Alphonse Mucha portrait. Got his brain lost in the ways he followed the lines. He found himself staring at it long after the drink was poured. Long after he was asked a question, or was it a series of questions? 

Otis blinked back to the bartender, ideas swirling behind his dark eyes. Something about a label that drew people into a trap, ensnaring them in a trance far deeper than any stupor the alcohol behind it could cause. Something about spiders spinning webs in fanciful patterns. Swirls rather than sharp angles, pleasant faces instead of the gnashing mandibles that so many feared. His first good idea in weeks. 

He smiled. A soft thing, hardly different from his neutral expression at all. “No judgin’ here, ma’am.” Otis’ gaze drifted back to the journal where he made a few notes, and half of a sketch. “...got any… bottles of that there brew? Tap’s fine but–” But he wanted to take it home. Wanted to keep the inspiration nearby. “S’nice is all.” 

— 

With a raised brow, she presses her hand to her chest with the rag in it, aghast by the manners he provides. “Ma’am? You know, I’m only twenty-five.” She’d heard it before, plenty of times here and there, but never while she was tending bar. Maybe it was because The Wormhole’s clientele fell all over the place. Rue looked from his glass, then to the tap that she had poured it from. 

“Mm, I’ll see what I can dig up for you, sir.” With a begrudging smile, Rue retreated to the back fridge where she began to look and see if they had any bottles of the brew, the rabbit staring up at her from its label, tucked just behind a box of oranges. She grabbed the bottle and returned to him, setting it down just next to the freshly poured glass. “Might taste different, coming from the bottle.” She leaned against the wooden bartop, ducking her head low to grab another glass that was tucked away in the corner beneath the overhang. “You a beer connoisseur?” She avoided looking at the notebook he wrote into, not wanting to invade his privacy. 

— 

“Ah sorry, meant no disrespect.” Sheepishly, Otis shuffled in his seat. A thin blush reddening his cheeks. The last thing he wanted to do was offend someone, but the north was so much different than his hometown. Either of his moms would have whupped him upside the head for not calling someone in service by their due titles. But Ah– northern attitudes, right? “Just didn’t know yer name is all.” He added, before realizing that might also sound wrong. Shoot. “Not that you gotta give it or nothin’ I just–”

Before any other misunderstandings escaped his traitor of a mouth, Otis hung his head. Hunched himself into his shoulders and went back to writing, but not before paying for the drink, with a little extra tip for the confusion. But she came back, and she was asking things again. Small talk. The kind he never knew what to do with. Felt too heavy in his hands, too small to shape into something worthwhile. “Truly don’t know much about beer.” He responded, candid, shy. “Sorta just like the branding…” 

— 

“If I’m being honest, I don’t know much about beer either.” Not necessarily the truth– her dad had tried his hand at running his own brewery before failing miserably, and instead bought IPAs from the only other active brewery in town to cycle through the small bar within the lodge. Rue looked over the wrapper and gave a short nod. “The art is good, yeah. I can see why you like it.” She gave him a small smile before returning to shining the glass. 

“You can call me Rue, by the way.” She didn’t look up from the glass she was shining as she spoke, “or Prudence, but Rue is better.” Rue set the glass down, planting both hands firmly on the bar top as she looked up, leaning slightly forward. “Should I call you man who likes bunny, or do you have a name? You don’t need to tell me it, if you want. We can go by codenames.” She paused, a short laugh pulling from her chest. “Or, I guess, you can have the codename. I already told you mine.” It was easier to focus on conversations like these– to ignore the woman behind him, the way her throat was slit– an accident, she thought– something about a linen wire. She’d heard the story before, could hear it now as the woman droned on and on, but she focused on the clientele, leaning backwards to tick up the volume of the song by a few notches. “Love this song.” She grinned at him. 

— 

A notch twitched at Otis’ brow. For sure, he thought, he’d ruined the conversation before it ever really started. A messy mix of misunderstanding and miscommunication. More monstrous than the words he wove through the old microphone at home. This was what he should write his next episode about. The horrors of trying to get to know people. 

Rue came back, Well she sort of had to, it was her job. But it wasn’t necessarily part of the description to entertain surly bears that sulked around the edges of the bar. There was a warmth to her, a brightness. Made him wanna open up more. “Rue is...nice. It’s a nice name.” Otis repeated, accent heavy on his tongue. Committed to memory. She’d already painted a picture in his mind, now it had a proper title. “Fittin’.” Cause she was nice too. Nice enough to keep up with his… lack of expertise in this area. 

“Otis.” The bear took a second to reply as the warbling torrent of his mind tried to come up with something better, something about codenames, something clever. Nothing came, just a whisper of half formed ideas clogging up his thoughts. “That’s– That’s me. You can– I’m Otis.” He raised his glass, tilted his head and nodded. “It’s good, yeah. Good song. Don’t think I’ve– heard it before.” 

— 

“Thanks, I sorta picked it myself.” Not untrue, since her dad had tried calling her Prue as a nickname instead. She went by it sometimes, but only for him, due to his insistence.

“Well, I’m Otis, I think you have good taste in beer and music.” It was an old man's name, or at least she thought it might be. But Otis didn’t look old, not in the slightest. Maybe slightly older than her, but not by decades or anything. The woman behind him finally had enough, disappearing through a wall. At least that was over with. Lucky enough for her, most of her family knew not to bother her when at the bar, but there were a few– her great uncle in the chair by the door, being one of them, that never got the memo. 

“It’s by Imminence, it’s called Paralyzed.” She leaned over and grabbed her phone, showing him the screen. “We get to plug our own playlists, so guess I’m sorta… biased?” Rue offered with a laugh. “Might be… a bit sad for a bar, though.” Whatever, she thought. It was just the two of them, anyway. It was uncharacteristic of the bar, but… 

Her thoughts flew out the moment the door slammed open. A man with a woman behind him– translucent, eyes wide with terror, a bullet between the eyes, followed after him. He’s going to kill more, he’s going to kill more. The woman repeated this continuously, rising in pitch as the man spoke, “drink, want a–” His focus shifted as his gaze leveled on Otis, or Rue thought. The drunken expression he wore moments before transformed into something else– determination, maybe. 

— 

Otis’ brow quirked again, before settling into a confused smile. A joke, that was a joke. That meant this was going… well? The bear couldn’t get out of their mind to just talk, everything had to be predated with a mini meditation on the right choice of words. Only to lose them all in translation between thought and speech. He nodded, thankful for the compliment and then again for the song title. Even wrote it down so he could find it on the youtube later on. 

“Somethin’ nice about sad songs though. Feels… more like a comfort when you’re down too. Happy feels broken when you ain’t. Commiseration, like a hand to hold, is better, y’know?” Probably more words in a row than he’d said face to face with someone since he moved to this town. Another sign things were improving. Good, very good. 

He didn’t pay much mind to the sudden slam. Didn’t even turn to look at the stranger who waltzed in already half cocked and clearly looking to add even more to his blood alcohol content. Otis was far and away too preoccupied with Rue, and with the brewing story inspired by the bunny brew. Far more content with sharing his attention to what deserved it, rather than what was demanded. “To be truthful with you–” He started, musing aloud as he wrote a few things down, fully ignoring the newcomer. “Rather have somethin’ sweeter. Like… What's that one soda drink, real red, with the cherries? Summ’n real nice about it. Smooth-like. Perfect for sippin’.” There was no attention given to the rowdy customer, no notice to the way he slinked in close, far too close. 

His breath bounced off the back of Otis’ arm, and the bear barely budged. Didn’t like that much. “Oi. Shitheel. Look at me when I’m–” A hiccup. “–when I’m lookin’ at you.” The man was giving a masterclass in articulation, clearly Otis should have been taking notes. “What’s a beast like you doin’ in a place like this?”  Slurred and mumbled, half the words weren’t really audible. But the man tried to twirl the bear around in his seat. Giving a full attentive audience to his belligerence. 

“...Can I…. help you?” 

— 

Rue would have much rather spoken to Otis about songs and what they meant– maybe not so much how they made her feel, because nobody needed to know that, but this asshole had other plans. He was piss drunk and she could smell alcohol on him as he neared– bourbon, she thought. She wrinkled her nose, gaze passing over his shoulder to the woman who was still repeating the same thing over and over. The blood that dribbled down her forehead, though translucent, was a stark reminder that she had been killed, and it was apparent that the man ahead of her had done it. 

But Otis was still speaking, seemingly unperturbed by the addition to their company. Maybe he couldn’t see him? Was the man dead, too? Spirits could force doors open, could do a whole lot more than just that, but he didn’t look dead, not in the way the woman behind him did. Was this something else? 

She tried to level her focus on Otis, to respond to him. Shirley Temple, she wanted to shout at him, it’s called a shirley temple. Maraschino. Syrup. Sweet. Seedless. 

The man was antagonizing Otis now, and it still didn’t seem as though he noticed him. Rue’s hand tucked beneath the bartop, grabbing the baseball bat that was clipped to the underside. There was another one just behind her, but this would be less inconspicuous. 

“Hey, fuck off– what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She raised the bat above her head, swatting it towards the man’s head, easily missing Otis in her aim. “Get the fuck out, NOW.” The man looked surprised by her sudden outburst, but his hand was still firmly planted on Otis’s chair. 

“Youa–h gonna make me?” Before he could get the rest of the words out, Rue was climbing over the bar top, kicking over a glass in her attempt to make it towards him. “I said get the fuck out!” The man’s eyes widened slightly as he stumbled back, and the spirits behind him– both the woman and her great uncle, stared at her with equal parts amusement and disbelief. “Get-the-fuck OUT!” Rue swung the bat at his head as she slipped off of the counter, kicking the chair next to Otis forward so that it caught the man’s legs. “I said now!” She swung again, and it whistled through the air just above the man’s head as he sloppily ducked, stumbling back towards the door. 

Otis was lost to her now, all she could see was the way the man had put his hands on him, on the way he commanded attention. Rue hated it– hated the way that he looked at Otis, the way he looked at her. She didn’t like the way that the spirit looked at him either, mouth hanging in a perpetual scream that never came, blood dried to her forehead. 

—

A sudden shift had the bear stepping back. The stranger insisted, getting a little more handsy, and Rue came in like a bat outta hell. Something about the scene sent Otis right back to the ranch. To the ways his moms would run a coyote out of the chicken coop, or how Lila or one of the other ranch hands would scare off a bobcat getting too close to the cattle. A fierce protective bolt of lightning. Snapped at the second the air got too excited. Sensed something, maybe. The intent Otis had missed behind the stranger’s wild expression and drunken slurs. A heat that had somehow been insulated against ever affecting him because the bartender diffused the bomb so quickly. So efficiently. 

The man retreated. The bartender stood there like a guardian. And Otis felt more at home in this town than he ever had since moving there. The bear hadn’t really gone out of his way to make close connections. Hell, wasn’t really anything to say that’s what this was either. Just a hell of a woman protecting the hell out of her bar. Weeding out a wasp before it could sting. 

A low breathy whistle escaped his lips. He pulled the jacket closer around his shoulders. A little stunned, a lot amazed. “...Sent him runnin’ like a rat been caught rummagin’ in the rubbage bin.” Otis’ accent was never thicker than when he felt the need to add a little southern simile to spice up the sentence.

“….You do that often?”  

—

Rue watched as the man disappeared through the door, her own chest heaving. Her head buzzed with electricity– adrenaline fused together with the hatred she felt. The spirit that had followed him inside followed him out, and Rue was left to witness it, the lack of accountability. 

For a moment, she forgot where she was, and she turned to look a Otis. “Only when some piece of shit comes in trying to act all tough.” It wasn’t the first time she’d run somebody out of the bar, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. If she got loud and aggressive, shrieking like some banshee, then people often cut their losses. People didn’t like when things got loud. She couldn’t blame them. Rue tucked the bat to her chest and turned the corner to go back behind the bar. “Are you good?” 

She repositioned the things that’d been knocked by her eagerness to cross the distance to the man, putting the bat back to where it’d come from. “He didn’t bruise you or anything, did he?” Her skin was still warm and her chest still swarmed with a smattering of different anxieties– what if he came back? What had he done to that woman? 

—

Not knowing the context was a blessing that coupled with the security Otis carried himself with. He hadn’t gone to pieces at the aggressive display. Hadn’t flinched even when the man’s touch spun him around in a way that maybe he shouldn’t have been able to. The bear was of the mind that if he ignored the problem, it would usually sort itself out. Generally, things tended to. A stalwart confidence in his own ability to withstand whatever the world had to throw at him. 

“Yeah, sure ‘m fine.” Otis assured her. An apologetic smile crept in, as if he’d somehow caused the trouble by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. As if the drunk wasn’t going to cause issues no matter who was on either side of the bar. Maybe the man was having a hard time, Otis thought to himself, staring out towards the door where the stranger had made his exit. Maybe he’d been through something and was dealing with the grief it caused him. It never even occurred to the bear that maybe the man was predisposed to hate someone like him, something like him.  

“Wish some fellas wuddin’t make their sorry hearts a problem for other folk.” A huff of air filtered through Otis’ nose, noting how this was something the north and south had in common. People who’d been filled with hurt, hurt other people. Just a fact of life. “My mamas always told me to keep compassion for folks like that. But also to pay them no mind.” Easy for the one who didn’t have to see the specter of a woman with a hole in her head. “How ‘bout you, Miss Rue? How’s the ticker feelin’ after a fright like that?”  

—

Rue hid her shaking hands on the other side of the bar top, fingers now tangled in a rag. She checked behind Otis, towards the door, but he didn’t come back through. Her great uncle continued to stare at her, his own gaping wound obvious to her from where he stood. She gave him a look that she was half-sure Otis wouldn’t have noticed. 

“As long as you say so.” Rue offered him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She pressed her hands into the rag, willing the trembling of her fingers to cease. She’d seen a lot– had done a lot, and no matter the anger that coursed through her for the sake of others– the bullet between the woman’s eyes, the dried blood– all of it, it made her feel ill. 

The lack of urgency that Otis showed had upset her in a way she didn’t want to address. It wasn’t her responsibility. Her gaze lifted up to meet his as he spoke and she let out a breath that matched his. “It’d be easy to do that, right? Pretend it doesn’t exist, the hurt that they cause.” It’s said before she can stop it, but she shakes her head as if to dislodge the thoughts that continue on as her words fall into the air. “Oh, I’m fine. I’ve thrown a bat around a time or two.” Another smile, and it still doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s an odd thing, knowing how each family member has died– of being able to trace them back, accident or not. To have this capability, of being stuck with this capability, it’s a responsibility she wouldn’t wish on anyone else, certainly not Otis. “But uh, yeah, I’m good.” Another breath, before Rue is balling the rag up and tossing it to the side. “How about that shirley temple?” 

—

There was a clear tension tightening between the woman’s chest and the empty door frame. A palpable string, struck out from a chorus of ethereal violins. Her words were comforting, her demeanor less so. Haunted. If Otis had to put a word to it, that’s what it would be. The pools of her irises held depth that her age betrayed. She’d seen things. Seen the could-have-beens maybe. The ending of stories that didn’t stop at the end of a bat, quelled by a thread of threats. 

Otis stared, held his gaze a beat longer than maybe he should have. Trying to convince himself that he was embellishing again. Treating life like it was a story. Like everything was a play that just needed a narrator's touch. Maybe Rue was just tired. It’d been a long shift. He’d been there for a good majority of it. Nursing half-enjoyed beers, and wishing for the sweet little drink he couldn’t recall the name of. 

But she knew. Of course she knew. Otis knew fear, Rue knew drinks. The presence of the stranger hadn’t riled up that undefinable essence that the bear had always needed. He hadn’t gotten sick from accidentally drinking it in. Probably wouldn’t mix too well with whatever made it into his stomach so far. Sort of a relief, honestly. Meant he could stick around for a little while longer. Maybe figure out what kind of life made a person so steely. Meant he could enjoy that fruity little drink. 

“Yeah– sounds–” Otis nodded, wanting to say more but instead he choked up again. Back to square one. Quietly settling into the chair, hunched as he had been. One hand pouring over the notebook, the other playing with the ring he kept around his pointer finger. “Sounds good.” 

[lazyyogi]

Hey Lazy, I've been struggling with loneliness lately. I've been pretty introverted most of my life: I've got three friends I've known since we were in diapers, my college roommate, and an ex, and thats basically it. Of those, the only one who lives near me is one of my three oldest friends, and we get together once a week to hang out and chat. Of the entire group, the only one that really initiates contact regularly is my ex.

I've been trying to reach out and meet people recently, but it feels like it never works out. Went to Bite of Seattle this past weekend, and the music was so loud I couldn't hear the person standing right next to me. And to add injury to insult I burned the crud out of my neck. Got connected with a local Plum Village/Thich Nhat Hanh sangha over the weekend...and everyone there is like twice my age. Found a poetry group with some awesome people that actually meets up in person, all of once a month.

The yoga/buddhism group I met with for years and made friends through fell apart over the course of the covid lockdowns.

I'm unemployed, so I don't have that point of contact with people. I'm going to be volunteering at the local children's theater, working front of house this coming season, but that won't start for a while yet.

A lot of people, particularly those who have social anxiety and are introverts, feel that making friends and having good social experiences hinges on them being liked. Awkwardness, discomfort, and confusion arises when we feel like we must present ourselves in a certain way in order for other people to want to spend time with us. This self-referential focus not only totally disrupts the flow of interaction but also entirely misses the point:

It's not about being liked. It's about taking a liking to others.

It sounds like you're making the effort to connect. The poetry group sounds cool! And the theatre volunteering too.

I'm an introvert in that socializing often feels like I am spending energy, and I regain that energy by spending time alone. But I do love to socialize and spend time with people.

I have been in this new city for three years now, ever since starting residency during the pandemic in 2020. I don't have a single friend here other than work acquaintances.

Part of that is just how busy I am. But another aspect is that it can be very difficult to make new friends as an adult.

Joining groups, finding hobbyist activities, and just generally exploring what's around in your area is a good start.

Some social dynamic shifts I've noticed in myself since entering my mid 30s:

Talking less about myself.

Asking more questions. Taking an interest in the person with whom I am talking.

If I do talk about myself, it's usually to guide the conversation further and then back toward the other person. Like, "I once did something like that too, [insert thing here], and I felt like [blank]. How'd it strike you? Have you done anything similar recently?"

I learn more about a person by hearing their perspectives, motivations, or passions rather than hearing about their history.

Joking, laughing, teasing happens when you are feeling playful. Don't worry about being funny, just let yourself have fun. If they get it, great. If they don't, then it's just another thing to laugh about.

Loneliness can be difficult. Taking the steps to have a healthy social life is a good way to address it. The other thing to keep in mind is that loneliness may be transformed into aloneness.

When we are lonely, there is a perception of separation. When we feel alone (in a divine sense), then it feels like solitude even while we are in communion with the universe. I've written a fair bit about this in the past, I'd be happy to dig some of those posts up for you if you have trouble finding them.

Much love, brother.

LY

[takecareluv]

vinnie and reader who have been together since highschool

a.n. i love love love this concept <3 there's something about best friends to lovers that will always have my heart. i hope you enjoy !!!! 🫶🏼☺️

childhood sweethearts || vinnie hacker x reader

you and vinnie knew each other your whole lives, having grown up next door to each other in seattle. you quickly became best friends from the time you could talk, and since then have not spent much time apart.

at age four, you were running around the playground together, racing up and down the slides and taking turns pushing each other on the swings. 

at age six, you were constantly forcing vinnie to play the prince to your princess, putting together pretend tea parties and balls as a result of your big fairytale phase. in return, he would make you play superheroes with him. you would always dress up as cat woman, while he pretended to be spiderman, fighting crime all over your local park. 

you two always had combined birthday parties each year, being that your birthday’s were only a week apart. most kids would have complained about having to share the attention on their special day, but you guys loved it, thinking it was the coolest thing having your birthdays so close to each other. your mom’s would work together to coordinate a party you both would enjoy. whether it was pirates and mermaids, or barbies and whatever action figures vinnie was obsessed with that year. 

when you reached twelve years old, you both would beg your parents to drive you to the mall so you could meet up with your friends at the food court, annoying the workers handing out samples, and getting starbucks drinks. you would walk around the stores, thinking you looked so grown up, while never having enough money to buy anything and giggling when you entered victoria’s secret or spencer’s. 

everyone around you, your mother's especially for that matter, knew you two were destined to fall in love. when you were younger, you always shook them off, grossed out by the idea of dating any boy, let alone vinnie. but as you got older, and cooties turned to crushes, you slowly understood what they were talking about.

you couldn't deny vinnie was extremely handsome, braces and all. not mention always so kind and protective over you, something most other boys in your class were the entire opposite of. by the time you entered high school at the age of fourteen, you found yourself completely in love with your best friend since diapers.

you never thought he could like you back, i mean he was a complete catch, and you were well, you. in your mind he could never think of you as anything more than a sister.

but you were soon proven wrong when he asked you to be his date to the freshmen formal, where you danced together the whole time, and finished the night by sharing your first kiss. 

since that magical night, you and vinnie continued to share more firsts and other special moments together that you would never forget. 

-- 

by the time you graduated, you had been dating for more than three years. while some thought you were adorable together, others thought it would never last past high school, like most other teenage relationships. 

but you and vinnie were different. he was your twin flame. nothing could compare to the love you had for that boy. you couldn’t see yourself doing life with anyone else. 

so when he asked you to go out to l.a. with him after graduation, you packed your bags and bought a plane ticket. 

when he asked you to help him in pursuing his dreams, you were right by his side, never leaving him through all the hate and criticism he received. 

when you asked him to support you in your own dreams, he did the same as you, sticking by your side and aiding you in whatever way you needed. 

when you asked him to move out of the hype house and into your own little apartment, he was quick to let thomas he wouldn’t be living there anymore. 

and when he finally asked you to marry him, you of course said yes. 

from the puppy love you shared as kids, to the intimate relationship that blossomed as adults, you and vinnie were in it together for life. he was your soulmate, and you were his. and that certainty only grew as the years went on and you fell more and more in love. 

[amtrak-official]

My good train friend, do you also support and love local commuter trains / light rails? Seattle has a light rail extension to Bellevue that’s been postponed for yet another 5 years. Turns out that building a light rail over a floating bridge was harder than they thought. Also there were concrete failures so they have to rebuild the entire bridge.

Of course I support commuter trains, but that Bridge thing seems like it will be an issue. Seattle does seriously excite me with it being one of the news and fastest growing mass transit systems in the Nation

[quokka143]

cities in the us I think skz would be from

♡ chan - seattle, washington

I will die on the hill that chan is seattle coded. he just fits the grunge aesthetic so well, and after he performed smells like teen spirit in seattle it just solidified it for me. skz music definitely has some grunge influences so I think he would have gotten his start in the underground seattle music scene.

♡ lee know - new orleans, lousiana

where the weird and the mysterious thrive, so too would lee know. his entire vibe is dark and alluring on the outside but once you look past the exterior you see someone full of resilience, strength, and endless things to discover and to me that's very new orleans. since he makes such a charismatic host I feel like he'd be hosting walking tours through the fernch quarter where he can tell some ghost stories here and there and maybe give the tourists a little scare for his own entertainment.

♡ changbin - jersey city, new jersey

if you say changbin isn't jersey coded you're lying to yourself. our loud, muscular king would fit in perfectly with the jersey gym and beach culture. I could see him going to the gym during the day and out to the clubs at night to shake his ass to his favorite songs with his friends.

♡ hyunjin - newport, rhode island

okay follow me on this one, I know this sounds a little obscure but for some reason when I think of hyunjin as someone from the usa all I can think about is him living in some new england town painting the fall colors or sitting on his porch in a seaside home painting the ocean. it seems so peaceful and I feel like that suits him.

♡ han - new york city, new york

hanji is so nyc coded to me and since the maxident trailer lives rent free in my head, here we are. like imagine him living in a little new york apartment while he chases his music producer dreams. every night on his way home he pops into the bodega down the street to grab something to eat and gives their resident cat a few pets before heading home to work on more tracks in his home studio.

♡ felix - miami, florida

I feel like our aussie beach boy just needs to be somewhere warm and sunny with a good nightlife and let's be honest, miami is the place for that. he'd probably spend his days at the local dance studio before heading down the beach for a swim to relax after.

♡ seungmin - portland, oregon

seungmin's entire vibe just screams cozy coffee shop on a rainy day. I could see him sat by a window reading a book and sipping his americano just spending the afternoon soaking up the warmth and delicious smells inside the cafe. he would probably have a favorite spot he always sits where he can gaze out the window and people watch.

♡ jeongin - los angeles, california

we already know jeongin is from busan, he's accustomed to beautiful beaches, colorful places to explore, and great food, so to me it makes sense he'd be from los angeles. I feel like he'd be working his way towards being a singer and maybe giving some vocal lessons on the side to help himself along. on the weekends he's probably exploring some new place to eat with his friends.

[saturdaynightghostclub]

Highway Hypnosis

Chapter 9: Cicely

I met an old woman in a movie theater queue in Chicago right after I graduated college. She was there alone, like me, trying in vain to make her day mean something. I noticed her immediately; in a sea of denim and cotton, she was in a sundress and sandals, the kind you wear to wade through a river when you’re hiking. She noticed me too, though I’m not sure what it was that stood out about me. She asked me where I was from; for some reason I didn’t strike her as a local. I leaned into it, just for a secret to keep, and told her I was from Seattle. And what a coincidence, she was too. “In my past life,” she explained, “I was a mermaid. It kills me to be out here with no water.” I reminded her of Lake Michigan, and she just shook her head. It wasn’t the same.

That woman stuck with me. Maybe I was projecting onto her, but I swore from that moment that I could feel her living deep inside the throes of my body, with her fist curled around my spine, dictating my every move with a benevolence I resented. I grew restless, too big for my mother’s home and entirely too small for whatever lay beyond its front door. There was an inevitability to the woman’s words; she and I would make it back home. Maybe we’d go somewhere and be mermaids together, just jump into the freezing northern waters and reject the world that had brought us up.

As I emerge from the Evergreen river’s icy current, I wonder if this counts. Is it that you can’t be a mermaid in freshwater, or is it more a matter of affinity? Regardless of how the movie theater woman would answer, I think she’d be proud of me. For some reason her hypothetical opinion of me matters more than I’d like to admit.

Jasper’s sitting on a large rock on the river bank, letting the late afternoon sun evaporate whatever cold water is left on his skin in transcendent drops of gold. He spent the night at my place last night, high on life after cracking the library code mystery. There have been remarkably few times throughout my life when I’ve been completely, genuinely at a loss for words, but waking up in his arms this morning was one of them. His face is turned toward the sky, and then suddenly it isn’t. I swim leisurely toward him as his gaze focuses on something on the beach towel to his right—my cell phone, I realize, which must mean it’s ringing. By the time I reach him and haul myself up onto the rock beside him, it’s almost too late. I don’t bother with the caller ID in my hurry to pick up the call, and the regret that washes over me immediately after the damn thing goes live is palpable.

“There you are! Thank goodness, Andie, do you know how many times I’ve tried to call you?”

“Mom? What’s going on, is something wrong?”

“Is something wrong?” My mother asks, incredulous, as if I should already know. “I have called you eight times, Andrea. Eight! And you haven’t picked up once. Care to explain?”

I don’t, but I’ll try. “Service is spotty up here, I honestly didn’t realize you’d even tried calling,” I say, followed by a weak “sorry, Mom.” I realize I’ve unconsciously pulled my knees to my chest, a position I often assume when talking to my mother. A therapist I once saw said it was part of a fawn response, which I suppose is understandable aside from the fact that it happens even during the most benign conversations.

“I don’t want your excuses, it’s not why I called,” she snaps. I figure it would be better to just let her talk, as anything I have to say past this point will be under the lens of her scrutiny, so I wait for her to continue. “I’m coming up to visit,” she says, “on the first of September. I’m staying four days, and I’ll need a ride to and from the airport.”

“Okay,” I say, cautiously, “will you send me your flight details in a text so I know what time to come get you?”

“They’re in your inbox already,” she replies, sounding exasperated. Once again, I guess I should have read her mind. Silly me. I inhale, sitting up straighter as Jasper slides an arm around my waist, his hand coming to rest on my hip. I’m not sure if he can hear anything more than my side of the conversation, but he seems attuned to my stress regardless. I cover his hand lightly with my own, resisting my body’s urge to move closer to him.

“Okay, I mean—,” I start. I can’t exactly tell her not to come; I can’t even lament that she didn’t warn me further ahead of time as, per her own testimony, she tried. “—Okay. I’ll see you soon, I guess.”

“Don’t sound so eager, it’s only your mother,” she replies sharply.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” I sigh, “I’ll see you in a week. Can’t wait.” She hangs up the phone without saying goodbye. Manners only matter when it’s mine that are lacking. I set the phone down, staring straight ahead for a moment as I close my hand around Jasper’s, lacing my fingers through his.

“Your mom?” He asks after a beat, in his soft way which, infuriatingly, makes me want to simultaneously tell him my deepest secrets and break down sobbing in his arms. How on Earth does he do that?

“Mhmm,” I hum, deciding on a dime to keep the conversation light, “she’s coming up in a week. She didn’t tell me why.”

“Sounds like a real piece of work,” Jasper says, leaning in to kiss my temple before I finally look at him.

“Yeah,” I nod, “you could say that.”

I don’t know if it’s residual teenage rebellion or the fact that I know inherently that my mother will hate him or what, but in this moment, looking at Jasper, I’m hit by a wave of Something that knocks the breath out of me completely. He is truly, completely perfect.

It occurs to me that I’ve been staring at him a moment too long when, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead, he says “What?”

I kiss him, and his small noise of surprise is submerged in a current of that sweet, slow darkness that envelops me whenever we’re together.

Jasper and I, in a rare moment of extraverted unison, have agreed to spend the evening with Joshy and Janie at her apartment above the cafe. It was Janie’s idea—she said it would be fun to have “couple friends,” but I get the distinct feeling she’s just curious about what exactly a relationship with the infamous Moss might look like—and, while she vaguely mentioned card games, I know for a fact she’s made no plans beyond sitting around on the floor and passing a bottle of gin back and forth. It’s a refreshingly low-stakes concept; in Chicago, if I wanted to socialize with anyone I needed to go to at least three bars and one late-night taco truck before we settled down for the night. I don’t think I’ve done the old “split a bottle of gin” routine since senior prom.

For some reason I expected Jasper to be nervous about the outing, but he’s not. He’s actually anything but. He even snagged some snacks from the general store on our way to Janie’s because “you can’t show up empty-handed, who raised you?”

The door to the apartment is unlocked, and upon opening it I’m met with an almost-tangible wave of sound. Music, laughter, pots and pans banging around in the kitchen.

“Hello?” I call, “We’re here.”

“Coming!” Janie responds, shortly before rounding the corner with two cocktail glasses hanging from her right hand. “Nice tat, Andie,” she grins devilishly, and after a moment of confusion my hand flies to my neck. I spin to look at Jasper, swatting him with the back of my hand.

“Oh my god, did you give me a hickey?” I hiss, a spark of satisfaction overcoming my embarrassment as his face flushes red.

“Sorry, sorry—ow, Jesus!” He mumbles, stifling laughter and backing away from my attacks until his legs hit the arm of Janie’s couch. “Okay, okay!” He says, finally allowing himself to laugh fully. “Okay, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I swear.” He’s holding out his pinky finger and, with a raised eyebrow, I link mine through it. As long as he swears.

Janie has disappeared back into the kitchen, replaced by Joshy, who’s apparently been banished for burning the popcorn. “Boys,” I say in lieu of a goodbye, sweeping into the kitchen to let them entertain themselves while I endure Janie’s inevitable bout of relentless teasing.

“I cannot believe he did that,” I mutter softly, coming to stand beside her, “I’m going to kill him. You know my mother’s coming to town in a week? Kill him for me, Janie.”

She laughs. “Spoons are in the drawer closest to the fridge,” she says. I understand her meaning; anyone who’s been the unfortunate victim of a hickey is familiar with the cold spoon trick. I search the drawer for the biggest metal spoon I can find before submerging it in a glass of ice water. Janie’s stirring a jar of something gorgeous and purple. She turns to me and says, “Honestly, I’m impressed. I didn’t think he had it in him.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t think anyone’s given me a hickey since high school. What’s that?”

“Gin, I infused it with this blue tea stuff. It’s supposed to be good, we’ll see. So, have you…?” She asks casually.

“Yep,” I reply, trying to match her tone so she doesn’t shriek in response. It’s no use.

“Yes!” She squeaks, “How was it? Was it good?”

I feel myself flush and press the cold spoon into my neck in the vain hope that it’ll bring me back to a normal temperature. “Janie, I don’t even have the words to describe how good it was.”

“Really? Oh my god, Andie! Tell me everything, I can’t believe you didn’t text me immediately,” she says, bringing her tone back down to a whisper-shout that’s no less suspicious than her high-pitched shriek.

“It literally happened last night!” I whisper-shout in response, unable to keep the grin from my face.

“No excuse!”

“Fine, fine! ‘Kay, so first of all, he has a tattoo above his knee—,”

“Ladies?” Joshy asks from the doorway, eyebrow quirked in an amused expression. Shit.

“Coming!” Janie answers brightly, shooting me a look that says plainly “we’ll talk about it later.” I almost wish it was just the two of us tonight, just Janie and I. There’s nothing like a debrief between girls, between friends; I knew I missed having non-men around, but now that I know I have at least one to count on, it's like forbidden fruit. I don’t want to hang out with the boys, I want to dish with my friends. I make a promise to myself, then: I’ll call my college friends tomorrow. I’ll tell them everything. I won’t let go of my adolescence just yet.

[inky-snowdrop]

Love Is Love

A 2023 L.G.B.T+ Aesthetic Collection

Day 15 • Rachel Amber is Bisexual!

Day 14 • Day 16

👇🏽 Pride Headcanons Below! 👇🏽

💗•💜•💙

Rachel has dated both men and women in the past canonically (more men overall), but I headcanon that she has preference towards women. She just... feels more comfortable around women. Also, unfortunately, Rachel falls into that bisexual stereotype of not being entirely faithful to her partner (who was Chloe at the time). Granted, it was more emotional cheating then physical cheating (except for a few kisses she shared with Nathan whilst they were both high), but... it happened and it kinda pissed Chloe off and made their relationship more strained

Dating Rachel Amber would be a chaotic and exciting affair. Be prepared to wake up at 3 in the morning to crash the local gas station, steal a few candy bars and/or instant coffees, and find an abandoned building to sit on it's roof and watch the stars fade into a sunrise. And then the next day it's cave exploring on the beach and the day after that it's breaking into Blackwell at night to go skinny dipping in the pool. She would keep you on your toes 24/7.

Rachel fucked around with Nathan Prescott for a bit during her freshman year of high school and then again when she was a senior. At first, it was a friendship turned tentative romance brought on by a mutual interest in the arts, then it got broken off during their sophomore year. But by their senior year, the teenagers were brought back together by the clawing desire to have someone who fucking UNDERSTANDS what it's like to have a father that's let you down and who is never going to change. The drugs made the connection stronger, even as many of Rachel's other connections discouraged the relationship. It wasn't an unhealthy romance, but it was obvious that something was gonna give eventually. A relationship built on suffering was never meant to last...

Rachel started officially dating Chloe in her sophomore year. Chloe was Rachel's rock, keeping her from flying to close to the sun, and Rachel was Chloe's angel, keeping her aloft even as the world crashed down around her. Rachel and Chloe would hang out in American Rust every single day, talking about everything from favorite bands to shitty home lives. Chloe's truck was where they talked, but occasionally they'd chill in the boat as well. Chloe also got into the habit of carrying a gun with her after the incident with Damon. Rachel and Chloe did take that lumber train all the way up to Seattle one time, sauntering through the city as they walked into every furniture store and pretended to pick out furniture for their apartment and twelve dogs. Dinner would be shitty subs that they ate on the train, holding hands as the trees zoomed by and guitar music played between them...

...but Chloe wasn't enough for Rachel. You see, Rachel needed to be free and Chloe was too stuck in her suffering to even consider a future with Rachel. Sure, in time Chloe could get there, but Rachel wanted that future NOW. Which is why she gravitated back to Nathan, because his family and wealth could be her ticket out of Arcadia Bay (and also because she related to him a bit too much). If only he could grow a pair and cut ties with his shitty fucking parents, but nope. He, too, was not enough for Rachel. Frank had a vehicle, he could get her places in a heartbeat... But he was volatile, too dependent upon drugs to give a shit about this reality. He was content in Arcadia Bay, just like Chloe and just like Nathan... But Rachel FUCKING WASN'T. She needed to get out Get Out GET OUT and be free... And unfortunately that's when Mark Jefferson stepped into the picture...

If Rachel had to pick a song to describe her sexuality, she'd pick: Sugar, We're Goin Down by Fall Out Boy

💗•💜•💙