#they need to stop being so damn endearing its bad for my health

[kitamars]

gay lawyers man. crazy

[oliverwvvd]

the devil in me, part ii

Back to writing these two, inevitably, at long last. This is for the lovely anon who dropped by and mentioned this one, despite it having been years since the last post. This is slightly trigger heavy, so sorry if the triggers contain spoilers, but people's mental health comes first so they can choose whether or not to engage with the content.

This is part of a series. You can find part one here.

pairing: Marcus Flint x Oliver Wood

premise: When Marcus wakes again in the endless white of St Mungo's, Oliver is still there, and his wand is still gone. Marcus thinks it's about debts owed, or at least, that's what he's trying to tell himself. Whatever other reasons might keep Oliver Wood at his bedside aren't remotely within a framework he's equipped to handle. [possible triggers: severe PTSD, hospitals, battle situations, Legilimency, implied invasion of the mind, implied intention not to survive]

When he wakes, one needle is back in his arm and Marcus’ first inclination is to be pissed off about it. Of course it is. Being angry is the best alternative, sublimation for all of the other emotions he should be feeling and isn’t. He doesn’t need any St Mungo’s trained therapist to tell him about that, mainly because it’s deliberate on his part.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters. “I don’t want painkiller withdrawal on top of everything else. The dosage has to be sky-high for me not to be feeling anything.”

“So you’d rather have the searing amount of pain that makes you pass out within minutes instead? You’re right; being a masochist is a much better idea.”

He closes his eyes. “Why are you still here, again?”

“Waiting for you to take your head out of your arse, though it seems I’ll be in for a long wait.” The tart rejoinder in a lovely, rolling Scottish brogue that he instinctively wants to wrap himself in doesn’t help his temper. Neither does the fact that Oliver is still too earnest despite the familiar barb in the words, as though he thinks he owes Marcus something. The stubborn set to his jaw is familiar too, viewed more than once when facing him on a Quidditch pitch.

It makes Marcus want to push him away for his own safety, because don’t you know what I am? Instead, his gaze is sulky, as though he’s a teenager again in a way he hasn’t been in years, and it’s solely fixed on Oliver. “I don’t like you, and I don’t want you here,” he says, and if that’s not the biggest lie he’s told in the past couple of years, he’s not entirely sure what is.

Oliver shrugs. “That’s too bad, Flint, because I’m not going anywhere.” He’s wearing a poloneck jumper, just like he used to at school when it got to winter weekends out of uniform, and Marcus has the fleeting, horrifying thought that maybe it covers bruises or worse. A second thought just as horrifying resurfaces: he still doesn’t have his wand.

That thought makes him abruptly change the subject. “Alright, Wood, since you’re here, be a good boy and tell me why I don’t have my wand.” It’s not a question. He doesn’t phrase it as one. To punctuate it and make it clear he’s not asking, Marcus opts to verbally twist the knife for good measure. “You owe me. That’s why you’re here, right? To settle the debt. So start talking.” That’s not a question either, because why else Oliver might be there is more than he can possibly handle getting into.

Oliver’s (Wood’s, damn it) expression darkens momentarily, as though he’s about to pick a fight. Marcus wants him to, because at least that would be normal, but he sees it the moment that Oliver registers he’s in a hospital bed all over again, sees the way his gaze turns pained and then the shutters draw closed again so he’s at a loss for what the other is thinking. He doesn’t like it. Oliver was always an open book, no filter, no love lost on his side of the equation. He doesn’t know what this new thing is.

He clears his throat brusquely. “Well?”

Oliver sighs. “They’re concerned about your mental state as well. That’s why you don’t have your wand. They thought you might try something you’d regret.”

Fury is, of course, the quickest and most reliable reaction. “So they thought they’d improve things by taking away the only piece of autonomy I had available to me for months? That’s genius thinking, that is. Who do I need to see to recommend them for promotion?”

Oliver’s lips twitch briefly then, clearly catching the sarcasm, but at the same time seemingly unable to smile at it. That’s fine, because it’s not funny at all.

Marcus exhales a sharp sigh, one that’s less exasperated by this point than unimpressed. “I suppose they thought I’d curse the whole place down, eh?” This time, it is a question, and the smile that goes with it isn’t genuine, it’s mean and sharp-edged. It’s an echo of all the ugly things that have stained his hands and his mind, and it occurs to him that throughout that, Oliver has been the only good thing, a pure thing he’d constructed for himself, a secret he kept that was sometimes the only reason he didn’t give in altogether. Now that’s done and it’s back to reality.

To his consternation, Oliver shakes his head, as though he can sense what Marcus is thinking. “No one believes that after the battle. You threw yourself in the way of someone that would have been dead if you hadn’t, without knowing whether you’d survive.” The words seemed hard for Oliver to speak, as though it was like a demon lived in his throat for as long as they sat there. “They didn’t know if you were going to pull through, the first couple of days.”

An eye-roll is Marcus’ first response to that, and he averts his gaze from Oliver then. “That was sort of the bloody point, Wood.” The words fall heavily in the room between them, but this time it’s not out of malice, it’s from defeat, an admission that he should have kept to himself. The anger hasn’t emptied its well yet, but for the time being, it’s quiet, a savage thing made somnolent again by the fact that he can feel the needle in his arm start to pour more potion into him. Presumably, it’s going to knock him out eventually.

Oliver’s own exhale is shaken, as though Marcus has punched him square in the solar plexus and it hurts, badly. After all these months of silence, it’s as though the casually cruel words aiming to drive him away are doing more damage than even the war has managed to. “Flint, you can’t just…”

Marcus wants to sit up again but the potion, damn it, feels like it’s got him pinned in place. That makes him edgy, makes him feel the cold sweat of panic beginning to prick, and he absolutely will not have a panic attack of any kind in front of an audience. He swallows hard, and Oliver seems unable to finish the sentence. It hangs there between them, unfinished.

That’s the moment that the door creaks open and the healer walks in, oblivious to the conversation that had been happening beforehand. Oliver leans back in the chair beside Marcus’ bed.

Marcus’ lip curls just slightly. “Come to check I’m still breathing?” he asks snidely. “Sorry to disappoint. You can go now, your duty is done.”

The healer does no such thing. “I’d hoped you’d be asleep by now,” he says with a tsk tsk sound that reminds Marcus of the teachers from school whenever he didn’t do his homework correctly. It does nothing to endear the man to him at all. “Evidently we need to increase your dosage. You shouldn’t have ripped those needles out of your arm as soon as you did, but Mr Wood tells me you have a remarkably high tolerance for pain.”

That causes Marcus’ gaze to narrow in Oliver’s direction, and it’s as accusing as it gets.

Oliver, to his credit (the little of it that Marcus is currently willing to give) doesn’t look away. “I’ve been in the Hospital Wing with you multiple times,” is the reminder that unexpectedly arrives, softer than he’s ever deserved. “You never took your painkillers. You always cast Evanesco.”

On the one hand, Marcus’ glare only intensifies, because Oliver’s just ratted him out to the healer. On the other, what does it even mean that Oliver remembers; how there seems to be something dark and sad behind his gaze ever since a few minutes ago. It doesn’t correlate with his real life knowledge of Wood, only the fantasy version he constructed in his head to have a reason to go on, and Marcus is fully aware of how incredibly unhealthy that was and is.

It’s only the healer’s voice that interrupts their charged stare, clearly ready to go for another lecture. “Well, there will be no hiding painkillers here. What were you thinking, taking those out? Did you just not realise the degree of damage you took?” It isn’t an indignant pair of questions, instead asked with the tone of someone who wants to understand the subject they are studying. It presses all of the wrong buttons for Marcus, and he endures it in silence until he can’t.

This is the moment he snaps. But it isn’t like every other time he’s lost his temper. No, this is different; his voice is surprisingly quiet and unsteady when he speaks. “Why does everyone want to know what I’m thinking suddenly? I’ve just spent the last two years having my mind pulled apart at a moment’s notice. All that I want is for everyone to stop trying to get into my head because I don’t want anyone in there ever again. Got it? It’s none of your business what I’m thinking.”

Dimly, he registers that Oliver has gone pale as he starts to understand what Marcus means. The healer looks appalled, because evidently, this was something undetectable while he was unconscious, and he’s beyond lashing out, because this has hit places he doesn’t want to go.

“Get out.” The words are quieter still, and there’s a flat, dulled down, deadly note to them.

Even half-conscious on a bed, drugged by the potion, it leaves to question what Marcus is capable of, the one thing no one has dared to think about so far. It’s a weak threat, but his voice carries all of it, like it’s every atom of a star at the moment of destruction.

The healer leaves. Oliver doesn’t, because Oliver hasn’t learned to be afraid of him, even though he should have.

When Marcus looks at him again, he thinks that he sees Oliver flinch, just a little around the eyes, and he knows he’s going to say something unforgivable if he isn’t left alone. “I meant you as well.” The words are empty. You need to go before I do any more things that I regret, and I can’t live with any more.

Oliver doesn’t listen. Instead, he does something that Marcus can handle even less. He climbs onto the bed and rests there next to him, close enough for Marcus to feel him breathe. “You’re really not a good listener, Flint. I already told you. I’m not leaving.”

Marcus’ hands suddenly feel too heavy, utterly ineffectual when he tries to raise them to push Wood right off the bed. Land on his arse. That’ll show him. Instead, his head starts to nod forward, and Oliver, the scheming bastard, must have known that the potion would take effect soon, had kept him talking until he had no choice but to go back to sleep again.

He’s so angry. He’s exhausted. He’s repeating the same cycle, inescapable, stuck on a loop of his own making. There’s wool against his face, something warm against his back. Oliver’s voice is there, he can feel it rumble in his chest, but the words don’t even register. It’s a warm sound, like copper and firelight, and it’s the last thing in his dwindling awareness before the world is lost altogether.

The frightening part is that he’s starting to want to wake up again. 

That wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

[imaginesupply]

Homecoming - Chapter Five

(Gif’s not my own.)

Summary: The day has arrived, Captain Syverson is going home. For good, this time. He is going home to a civilian life he can hardly remember and a wife he barely knows, with memories of the war still fresh on his mind. Love might not be able to heal everything on its own, but it’s a good start.

Genres: Romance, drama.

Story warnings: Smut (always fully consensual), mentions of PTSD and nightmares and mental health, angst, hurt and comfort, fluff, mentions of war (minor), mentions of cheating (minor), mentions of pregnancy (very minor), police appearance (very minor), violence (very minor).

Notes:

It’s my first time writing for one of Henry’s characters and I’m unsure I did Sy’s character any justice.

This is a Capt. Syverson x OFC (Ada) story, written in 3rd person POV but OFC’s physical description is very limited so it could also be read as Capt. Syverson x Reader, I think.

English is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes. Proofread, but not beta’ed. We die like men and all that.

Timeline is a little wacky: The movie takes place in 2003 and the U.S. forces were withdrawn from Iraq in 2011, but I never set a precise date because I don’t think it’s essential for this story. However, some elements might not be realistic because if we set this story in 2003: Phone cameras quality was not as good as it’s now, but for the purpose of the chapters, I will need you to imagine you could film great videos with your flip phone haha. Plus, it says Sy is coming back after being deployed for more than three years which makes no sense unless we set this in 2006 or later. I am asking you disregard any time inconsistencies.

Also: I am not American. I only lived in the US for six months and it was in the Midwest, not Texas so please bear with me if I write something stupid.

Finally: This will be a Christmas fic and I intend to post the last chapter (there will be seven in total) on or before Christmas. However, religion is never mentioned in this story and the Christmas-sy elements of this story are limited to family gathering, gift giving and tree decorating.

Chapter Five starts after the cut. (Chapter Four can be found here.) Let me know if you wish to be tagged in future chapters or if you wish to be removed from the tag list.

A/N: I am aware of the neutral, perhaps positive, portrait of the police I painted in this chapter. I am fully conscious of the recent (and not so recent) instances of police brutality happening all around the world, many – if not most – of them motivated by racism and other despicable ideologies. With this chapter, I did NOT mean to express support for the police forces. I simply had this ‘plot’ idea come to my mind and decided to write it. There is no ulterior motive.

While all my personal experiences with the police have been positive, I am aware that my ethnicity gives me privilege and that many people are not as lucky as I am. This both angers and saddens me. It has to change.

Black lives matter. Minority lives matter.

Chapter 5

Chapter warnings: Cockwarming, irresponsible driving (kind of), car accident (not serious), police (but no police violence), very mild violence, language (perhaps a little bit worse than in previous chapters but nothing you don’t hear in real life, I guess), mentions of mysogyny.

Ada yawned with Sy quickly following suit. “You can drive my car if you want, Sy. It’s not that new anymore, you know.” She offered, gracing him with the most angelic smile she could muster. It was the first time she was granting him the opportunity to drive her car.

Sy laughed next to her, his left hand moving over the center console to rub her thigh. He had that stupid grin again, that looking endearing with his current droopy eyes. “It’s your car, darlin’. Besides, you’d kill me if I ever so much as got a scratch on it.” He chuckled, suppressing another yawn. “And I know you’re only offering because you want to sleep.”

His wife gasped, a look of mocking offense on her features. “They’re your nephews!”

“But you were the one who said yes,” Sy countered, his eyes closing again as he made himself more comfortable on the car seat. The drive home was only about one hour and a half, but it was the perfect length for a nap.

“What the fuck was I supposed to say, huh?” Ada laughed, gesticulating wildly as was her habit. “Yes, Joshua, I understand you’re taking my pregnant sister-in-law to the hospital. No, I will not look after your kids for the night. It’s our date night.”

Next to her, Sy grimaced. She did have a point, even if he had been looking forward to going bowling with her: Ada was a sore loser which always ended with lots of fun for him. At least, his sister and the baby were okay. Just a normal case of Braxton Hicks, apparently, whatever that was supposed to mean. Perhaps it was good thing Ada didn’t want children because he’d freak out if she started having contractions four months in. “You fell asleep on Luke’s bed at one in the morning when you tried to get him to sleep for the third time and I had to spend the whole night entertaining them with tea parties because they wouldn’t tire!”

“Hey! That’s not cool!” She protested accusatorily, her eyes on the road as she switched lanes to take the next exit. “I didn’t know you couldn’t give kids sugar after a certain hour!”

Sy huffed, shaking his head. They’d had the great idea to bring donuts because according to his dear wife, sugar always made you feel better when you was anxious or down, and the kids had been aware something was off with their mom. “We suck at this parenting thing.”

“You don’t say!” Ada laughed, before loudly cursing at driver who’d just cut her off, something which never failed to make Sy smile. “The nap’s going to feel heavenly once we’re home.”

Sy hummed in agreement, his head falling back against the headrest as he drifted off, hiding his eyes from the sun with his cap. Ada glanced sideways at him, shaking her head. Part of her wanted to shake him awake. If she had to suffer, so did he. But he was right, she had slept more than him and he looked too peaceful to disturb, especially with some leftover glitter still on his cheeks.

Suddenly, there was a mild thump and the car stuttered before stopping, startling Ada who jumped on her seat.

"Shit!" She cursed. "Did I just...?" She began to panic, her eyes moving to the red car in front of them, too close. She had bumped it while she had been distracted by her husband’s stupid, sleepy face!

"Yes, yes you did," Sy laughed next to her. Ada was a good driver and she loved driving, but she was easily distracted and Sy never failed to tease her about it. This time, however, he could tell she was scared from the way her chest was heaving with her shallow breaths. "Want me to deal with it, darlin'?" He offered, tilting his head at the other driver who had just come out of the red, broken-down car.

"No!" Ada protested all too quickly, taking off her seatbelt and grabbing the necessary documents from the glovebox, accidentally hitting his knees in the process. "I am an independent woman who don't need no help," she muttered, trying to convince herself of her own statement. In the eight years since she’d had her gotten her licence, she had never given any of her cars a single scratch, let alone gotten into an accident.

Sy grinned at her antics but tried to hide his amusement, not wanting to make it worse. "All right. I'm here in case you need me, okay?" With a determined nod in his direction, Ada stepped out of the car and attempted to summon the Annalise Keating or the Olivia Pope inside her, whichever she could find in herself.

The man from the red car, who seemed to be in his early forties and balding, was already inspecting his vehicle for damage – looking mighty pissed as he did so. Ada approached the impact point from the other side, noticing the bump on the man’s old car. It didn't look too bad, she sighed with relief. Her own car barely had anything. Ha! She would have to use this as an argument next time Sy and her started discussing cars. Her black Citroën DS5 was sturdy and not just fancy looking, unlike what he said.

"Hello, sir," she said calmly, the man instantly looking up at her. Damn! He really looked furious, seething even. "I am so sorry for this. I was a little distracted- Anyway, it doesn't matter. My insurance will cover whatever repairs your car may require."

"You stupid little bitch!" The man shouted, out of the blue.

Ada gasped, backtracking. The muscles in her jaw twitched. What the fuck was wrong with him? "I understand your anger, but there's no-"

"What were you even doing behind that wheel?" He snarled, gesturing at her car, her baby. "Who the hell lets women like you drive cars like that?!” The man cursed, aggressively waving his hand in the air.

She just stood there, still in shock. Did... did he just bring misogyny into a fender bender situation?! "Women like me?!" She repeated, quite stunned.

"Aye! Bitches like you have no business driving-”

Ada flinched at the man’s words. He was starting to breech the distance between them, moving too close to her. Ada jumped again when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder before realizing it belonged to Sy and letting herself exhale slowly. Thank God he didn’t listen to her and stayed in the car!

"I get that you’re pissed, but that's no way to talk to a lady. You should to apologize," Sy told the man, making it sound very much like an order and very little like a suggestion. The driver huffed before coming closer, his face about as red as the car as when he started laughing. Ada instinctively hid under Sy's arm, though she aware of the ridicule of the whole situation.

"That's your whore? You let your whore drive your car?!"

Okay, this was going too far. It left her lips before she could help it, "that's my own goddamn car, you wanker!". Maybe it was time to stop borrowing insults from Tom.

Ada could almost hear how his jaw clenched when she felt Sy's whole body tense up against hers. "Call her a whore one more time and you're gonna wish she had run you over instead."

This was escalating. Ada bit her lower lip. She was going to have to be the bigger person here. "Look, I'll just go grab my phone from the car and call the police. They'll deal with this." Ada announced, dislodging herself from Sy’s grip before turning around to get to her car.

Her hand had just wrapped around the car door handle when there was a clouting noise, quickly followed by a loud thump, this time. Ada immediately turned around at the sound. The angry driver was out cold on the ground, blood rushing out of his nose and forehead, with Sy looking down at him, the same blood tainting his fist.

"Oh shit!"

°°°

A lanky guy, smelling heavily of pot, was thrown inside the almost full holding cell by the same officer who had arrested him. Sy was amused at the sight until the guy, after a full survey of the room, started walking him up to him before sitting down on the bench far too close for his liking.

Exhaling through his nose, Sy tried ignoring the smell and closed his eyes again. He didn’t expect the nap he had been looking forward to, to be in a stinky cell with stinky men but it would have to make do. At least, after the man sitting closest to the entrance had commented on the leftover pink glitter that still shone in Sy’s beard, nobody had bothered him anymore – not after he quite literally made the man piss himself with just one stare. That man wouldn’t have survived a single day in Baqubah.

"It's cramped in here," the new guy commented nonchalantly though his eyes were fixed on Sy. Out of politeness - damn Ada and her insistence on good manners! - Sy acknowledged his useless statement with a noncommittal hum.

"Name's Ben, by the way," he said, stretching out of his hand but Sy didn’t move a muscle. What was it in his current posture - crossed arms and spread legs - that made him appear friendly enough for a chat, he wondered, rolling his eyes behind his closed eyelids.

"And you are...?"

Sy groaned out loud time. "Not interested."

Ben didn’t get the hint and proceeded to ramble off about how he got caught selling pot near the university. Sy was actively working on drowning out his voice when the sound of fast and angry clicking heels on the concrete floor caught his attention. He smiled. Ada. Apparently, she hadn’t changed and was still dressed for date night, wearing a dress and stilettos, even though they had only meant to go bowling and eat at a steakhouse.

Somehow, everyone in the holding cell must have been intrigued by the same sound because all conversation suddenly stopped, the men all hoping to eavesdrop.

"I am here for Syverson. I wish to talk to him."

"Ma'am, I apologize but we are not allowed to let him out of his cell."

"Not a problem. Just give me the keys and I'll let him out myself!"

Every person in the holding cell laugh with Sy grinning quietly, amused at how she sounded distinctively more foreign when she was mad. He was used to her accent in more intimate settings, but he was enjoying the sound of it during her current outburst which was followed by an uninterrupted string of curse words and insults alike, all coming from her delicate mouth. First, in English, then French. Spanish. Portuguese. Italian. Sy frowned at the last one, he didn’t recognize it. Was it German? He'd have to ask her.

"What a woman, huh," the guy next to him deadpanned, still not giving up on a conversation.

Silence fell again as everyone attempted to listen to the rest. “I swear to God I’ll hang your heads up in my living room if –“

Sy only huffed, leaning back against the cold wall. "You can't even begin to imagine."

"You know her?" The pothead quipped up.

"Yeah," Sy replied. "She’s my wife." He said it loud enough to make sure everyone was able to hear it.

“Oh,” came the nasal voice next to him just as they heard heavy, resigned footsteps become louder.

A different policeman stopped just behind the door, a colleague just behind him as he fished out the right key from his pocket. “Syverson,” he called out loudly. “There’s a woman here for you.”

Sy got up at once, unable to hide his smug smirk. Ada always got her way.

°°°

“What the fuck were you thinking, Sy?!” His wife blurted out as soon as she was let inside the interview room, the young officer locking the door from the outside. Then, turning around, she caught sight of her husband handcuffed to the table and her shoulders instantly slacked, her anger vanishing almost instantly. “What you did was disproportionate,” she sighed, her voice calmer as she took a seat in front of him, the cold iron table separating them.

"He called you a whore, I just punched him!" Sy protested, leaning back on the chair. "My response was disproportionate - disproportionately small."

"You knocked him out cold!" Ada reminded him, her voice pitching higher than usual but the only response she got from Sy was a smug grin. "He might press charges, you know. It's battery."

Sy rolled his eyes, sitting up straight. "He’s an asshole."

Now, it was her turn to roll her eyes although she knew he hated it when she did that. She took a deep breath, hoping to calm down. Sy was looking entirely unbothered, but she was freaking out at the situation. "I'll try to convince him not to press charges and offer to cover the medical bill on top of the car repairs in return."

"Medical bill?" Sy asked, cocking his eyebrow.

"Yes. After the police took you into custody, he was brought to the hospital. From what I heard, he has a broken nose, needed stitches on his forehead and got a concussion." Sy only huffed with a smirk. "This is not funny, Syverson!"

"It wasn't funny when he called you a whore either," Sy countered. He was right. It was also very pleasant to see that dickhead in pain, but she wouldn’t tell him that.

"Look, my friend, Gale, who's a lawyer, is on her way. I'll get you out of here tonight. He’ll either agree to drop the charges or I’ll bail you out."

The corners of his lips twitched. He moved his hands as much as the chain allowed, to grab hers and squeeze them in his large ones. "Are you worried about me, darlin'?"

What a teasing little shit he could be! Of course, she was worried about him! He was in a cell! Feigning innocence, Ada smiled, running her thumbs over the back of his hands. "I am not. However, seeing what you did to that prick just got me really horny and I would like to have you back in my bed tonight," she whispered, watching as her husband’s smug grin slowly disappeared as she got up and grabbed her purse, heading to the door.

"You better get me out of here quickly!" Sy called after her.

°°°

He was returned to the holding cell, the officer uncuffing his wrists again once the bars closed behind him. There were two new faces, but he also recognized that at least three men had left already. Unfortunately, pothead was still there.

“I saved you your spot,” Ben smiled wildly, gesturing at the vacant portion of the bench next to him. “The guy in the red shirt was going to sit here but I told him it was occupied.”

Sy merely hummed, taking the seat that had so generously been saved for him. Hopefully Ada would get him out quickly because he didn’t know how much longer he could deal with his chatty neighbour.

“Was she mad?” Ben asked, whispering loudly and defeating the entire purpose of a whisper in the first place. “Did she yell at you?”

Despite his closed eyes, Sy could feel Ben’s stare on him as he awaited an answer. “No.”

Ben nodded thoughtfully, shaking the uneven bench as he did so. “If we go to prison, I want to share a cell with you.”

If Ada didn’t get him out of there quickly, he was soon going to get charged for battery again.

°°°

Sy stood by the counter, his attention on the ugly Christmas decorations he hadn’t noticed when they brought him in hours earlier. Somehow, he had managed to forget all about it. And fuck, he still needed to get Ada a present!  

“Here are your things,” the young officer told him as he slid over a transparent plastic bag.

With a curt nod, Sy ripped it open and fetched his wedding band first, before looking for his wallet and belt. He was already heading to the door when he turned around at the last minute. “Did Mrs. Syverson post my bail?”

“No, the charges were dropped.”

Huffing with amusement and a hint of pride, Sy zipped up his coat and headed to the front door. He swiftly descended the stairs in front of the precinct, his face illuminating at the sight of her. She was still wearing the black dress and the fancy shoes, her makeup now lightly smudged around her eyes.

As soon as he was close enough, his hands moved to Ada's waist and he leaned down to kiss her, only for her to pull away at his touch. "Not so fast, big guy," she teased, a glint in her eyes as she grabbed something out of her coat pocket he couldn't yet identify. "You're still in trouble."

Sy threw back his head, his laugh booming through the night sky as he finally saw what she was holding up in front of him. Handcuffs, and not the fluffy ones either.

"Now gimme your hands," Ada demanded, making him cock his brow at her authoritative tone.

With a chuckle he obeyed, presenting her his hands. "Yes, ma'am."

Sy watched keenly as she fumbled with the cuffs to get them around his wrists, and then seized the right opportunity to take the upper hand, easily taking the cuffs away from her small hands.

With a shriek, Ada found herself bent over the black hood of her own car, her cheek pressed up against the slick surface and her husband's body pressed up against hers. She could hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke. "Mrs. Syverson, you're under arrest for unlawful teasing back in the questioning room." Ada scoffed, the sound weakened by his heavy weight on top of her. "You have the right to remain silent. Everything you do say can and will be held against you in-"

"Your dick!" Ada suddenly blurted out, a little too loud given where they were, and Sy immediately stopped, clearly surprised, but she quickly felt him laugh against her back.

Before she could join him, Sy smacked her ass, effectively silencing her. "Guess I'll have to fuck that attitude out of you," he grunted before pulling away and fastening the cuffs around her wrists.

Ada kept complaining as he carefully dragged her inside the car. Despite her struggling, Sy easily opened the right backdoor and threw her on the backseat, mindful to fasten her seatbelt before closing the door. Her eyes widened and her mouth went agape when Sy sat down behind the steering wheel and proceeded to push back the driver’s seat and readjust all the mirrors.

“Are you shitting me?” She exclaimed, leaning forward on her seat as much as the belt would allow. He was messing up with all her settings and the grin on her face made it very clear that he was doing it all on purpose just to get her riled up.

“Language, darlin’,” he chided, turning on the engine. “Didn’t you ask me to drive earlier, anyway?”

Ada groaned in response, shutting her eyes tightly before opening them again. “You know very well that was-“

Sy didn’t let her finish, the tires squealing on the tar as he sped out of the parking lot all too fast. Ada involuntarily cringed at the noise. “I’ll make you pay for this!”

“We’ll see, kitten. We’ll see.” He was entertaining by her determination even though her eyes were already closing.

As expected, Ada fell asleep within five minutes despite the handcuffs keeping her arms in an uncomfortable position. Her head lolled before it finally came to rest against the window. He watched her though the central mirror, an adoring look in his blue eyes as she sighed contently the very moment she had fallen asleep. While he had managed to rest while in the cell, though not as much as he had hoped, he knew Ada had been up all afternoon trying to sort everything out and get him out. Sy had noticed her exhaustion as soon as she started fumbling with the handcuffs, her movements uncharacteristically clumsy.

He stopped at a junk food drive thru on their way home – night had already fallen and he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. He doubted she had either. Her eyes didn’t even flutter under the bright neon lights and once he parked the car on their driveway and went to carry her inside along with their food, after undoing the cuffs, her body was completely limp in his arms. It was only when he accidentally let her shoulder hit the doorframe as he tried to lead them inside their bedroom, that she woke up again. “Ouch!”

“Sorry,” Sy murmured and kissed her forehead before laying her down on the bed and setting down the bag on the mattress next to her. Her nose wrinkled as she sniffed the air even as he helped her out of her coat and dress, and then the shoes. “Did you get us food?”

“Tenders and fries.”

Within an instant, she had ripped the bag open and was clutching the bucket of chicken to her chest, moaning as soon as she took a bite. He smiled knowingly at her– she had been hungry after all.

Hurriedly, Sy took off his clothes and slid in bed behind his wife, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her closer to him. They hadn’t slept together the previous night as they babysat the kids and he had missed the feel of her soft body against his. A content hum escaped him as his already partially hard cock nestled against the roundness of her ass.

Ada chuckled at his reaction, the vibrations of her body sending sparks of pleasure to his growing erection. “I have an idea,” she whispered, her voice becoming seductive again as she started rubbing herself against him.

Sy groaned deeply and tightened his grip on her waist, forcing her to still even though he was no longer sure for what he now hungered more; food or his wife. “We’re both hungry and exhausted,” he reasoned with her, his fingers moving some hair away from her neck so that he could kiss her there.

“Let me,” she insisted, a grin audible in her voice. Her hands disappeared under the bedsheets and she slid off her panties before retaking her initial position as the little spoon. Behind her, Sy groaned as her delicate fingers took hold of his cock, giving it a few pumps before guiding him inside her warmth. He muffled a soft moan against neck at the snug feeling of tight her walls, his arm tightening around her again. She let out a quiet gasp at the stretch, it hurt a little despite her still being sufficiently wet from when he had pushed her against the hood of the car. But once he was fully inside, Ada sighed at the pleasure of being again. “Now we can eat.”

°°°

There are two more chapters to go! Next chapter will include Christmas tree decorating. I am running behind on schedule so I cannot guarantee the last chapter will be posted by Christmas but I’ll do my best.

°°°

@colourmeinblue​ @hail-horror-queen​ @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl​ @kmuir1​ @madbaddic7ed​ @coffeebreathy​ @purplelove75​ @summersong69​ @helenaellie​

[liquidmcgarnagle]

Que piensa; What do you think?

The diner was just another hole-in-the-wall built in to the Tower District.  One young and very beautiful woman was the only one on shift tonight even though there were seven people at the bar, and nearly all the booths were full.  He felt disgusted with the fact that she should have to put up with this as he snapped his finger in the air for service.  He hoped she hadn't actually seen him do it, but she was there right away with a fresh face.  

“Are you survivin' the night?” he asked.  “This place is packed!”  

 “Well, I like to think that I'll never get jaded, but I do get a little from a friend.”  She places her left pointer curled against the right side of her nose.  The thumb presses against her cheekbone and outward, opening her nasal passages and she sniffs cleanly in.  “It ain't so bad, just gotta keep on keepin' on ya know?  More coffee?”

“Thanks...” he squints at her chest, taking time to look without seeming pervert-y.  “Delia?  Delaila?  Diladid?  No wait...”  She chuckles.  He tilts his head to the side like a bird getting another vantage point for its food.  You know how they do.

“Cute...” she wants to roll her eyes, but she does so rapidly enough that no one notices.  Hard to fake sarcasm on the go.

“You know I can never tell when someone in the,” he air-quotes “service industry is having a good time with me, or just after tips.”  Gretchen sinks lower in to the booth reading Nietzsche.  It almost pissed him off the type of stuff she was reading these days, like she would start dressing in all black any minute now.        

“Ah, gotcha” double-tapping a click to his teeth like a check mark.  She worked hard even though she had substantive support.  He hated waiting on people; she must put up with a lot.  Jesus, He knew the owner too, and he was a dick.  Literally... his name was Richard.  

“So, you good then?”  she sniffs.  He can still see a little bit of white Halloween in the crevice between her thumb and forefinger.  He was always observant regarding psychoactives.  Why?  It was like something like that always finding him and staring straight in to his eyes.  Staring him down almost

“Um, naw, we're ok.  You doin' ok honey?”  She took off quickly emptying the coffee pot in to three different cups.  

“Miss, I had decaf” one of the patrons at a booth said.

“Then just drink a little bit Henry,” she retorted.  “Besides, I've always given you regular... you tip better when I sneak ya some.”  Henry shrugged his shoulders.  

“Don't address women, like that, or anyone for that matter.  It can be perceived as demeaning Dad.”

“Well, shit, maybe you should start calling me Mr. Dad?”  He was slightly embarrassed at the remark, but maybe she was right.  The times were changing and change made him very uncomfortable.  He thinks about all the changes in his life that he fought tooth and nail against and how they bit him in the ass.  The change happened and he didn't like the fight.  Ugh, he thought.  He missed not caring.  He missed the booze.  He missed the fun times he thought he had.  

“Are you familiar with honorifics Pop?” she asked snootily, knowing he had no idea.

“What do you think daughter?” curling roughly the way he called her to show he was a little pissed off at the educational lecture he was about to endure.  

“In Japanese culture, politeness is key.  After the feudal era, the status of people was highly important to contrast the lack of order during war.”  Stephen rolled his eyes.  Pissing him off gave her fuel for some reason; medieval fuel for a modern era.  She would 'sophen' him up a bit to get him pissed off enough to go to work today... this time.  

“So, honorifics are expressions of respect and endearment like the nature of a relationship when people talk with each other.  Like, if I was a student and you were my teacher, I would refer to you as senpai.  You would call mom, mama-chan.  I would call someone in a grade below me kohai.  You would refer to everyone around you as bozu cuz you hate everyone.”  She enjoyed teaching her father random stuff at random times.  He couldn't take it otherwise.  Knowledge had to be peppered on to him as if from the mill.  She couldn't tell him this or else he would figure it out and be shut out permanently; or at least until he forgot.  

“This is too much shit honey... fuck... shit... goddamnit...” he smacks the table hard, rattling the dishes.  You hear the spoon next to his daughter's cup of coffee.  She drinks it black referring to it as Mississippi Mud.  Mmm, smacking her lips every time she takes her first sip.  She falls in to her seat.  'that ain't right he says to himself.'  

“I am only saying that this is another way to think.  And it's nice, right?”

“Yes.  Yes it is Gretch.  But that kind of stuff would never fly here.  Everyone is just sitting in their own shit, thinking their better than everyone else, waiting for the right time to strike when the iron's hot and the people, ripe for the picking.  Let's talk about something else.  What'd you do in school today?”

“They had us take apart owl pellets.”

“What the hell are those?”

“Ok, you know, owls catch mice and eat 'em and stuff?  It's not like they have a knife and fork with their bib tucked in when they go to town,” she eyes how ridiculous her father looks with his done in.  It would be nice if the whole Beethoven look was still the style, but it's not.  “Well, they regurgitate whatever is left over from the carcass.  Owls eat the rodent.  Then, after their body sucks all the meat and nutrients out of it,” she imitates vomiting “Ughaah ughaah!”

“Oh, that's cool!  Not!  Haha,” he laughs at himself tritely.  “What the hell's the point?  I feel like they are wasting their time with this kinda shit.  My taxes pay for someone to go out, catch fucking shit-ton of owls, and go through their shit?!?”  

“Our tax dollars daddy.” responding slowly to make sure he doesn't feel so alone.  “And besides, that's not how it works.”

“Whatever,” he looks away and throws his arm in the air.  

“Alright what else?” he regretfully asks, but these are his fatherly duties, to know what's going on in the life of his offspring, especially at such an early age.  It's only our current cultural climate of capitalist consumerism that has begun to lay the tile of family disruption.  

“Well in health class after seeing all of those fucking STD's!  I find that sex can be summed up into this: 'a stinky yellow discharge.' And that's on both sides!” she doesn't care what she said.

“I told you to stop swearin' like that Gretch.”

“I like to think that I have a spice rack that sits on my tongue.  You haven't taken me Costco for a while.  And I'm all out of “like, really? damn and cun---”

“Stop right there young lady!  Goddamnit!  Sometimes I wish your mother was here to teach you how to speak proper.  But then I remember how big a' cunt she is.” looking off in the distance he moves his eyes towards her to make sure she knows he's fucking with her.

“How else am I supposed to put some flavor on what I say?” snickering.  

“You're smart, I know you'll think of something.”  He sighs with his forearms propping up his entire upper-torso.  He feels the weight of being a father in his brain.  It's emotionally exhausting.  What were the payouts?  What was the reason he had a kid in the first place?  Oh yeah.  

Such weird juxtaposition.  The dissociation of church and state.  The association between church and state.  Dangle the lusty lace in our faces while those we were supposed to love tell us what we think is wrong.  Just gotta explore.  Just gotta find out... find out... find out... for yourself.  

“You need any money for school tomorrow before I forget?” Stephen asks her squarely, and then immediately nonchalantly.  Gretchen looks around, slightly unsure, slightly disgusted, but she says something anyway.  

“I don’t know.  Look at everyone.”  Stephen looks around.  “What, you don’t see it?”

“See fuckin’ what?” he tries to take out the meat of the fuck as he speaks.  

“Look at how sad they all are.  We all come here to get something.  To get something we have to give something.  We feel bad that we have to have this exchange; always feeling that we’re being cheated, scammed, or not getting our money’s worth.  This has given life to this negative connotation with even receiving something for free, like ‘What do you want?’”

“This is the way the world works Gretch.  Scratch my back, I scratch yours.  Quid pro quo.  Nothing is free, except freedom.  They like to say it isn’t but that’s just one more piece of bait.  Tradition!!!”  he imitates Fiddler on the Roof.  

"I don’t want to accept it.  That cannot be the final say of how we turn out; hating the fact that we have to get together just to hate each other through barter.  And then!  And then we retreat back to whichever hole we found to hide from them,”  she is enamored with the anger and logical emotion she produced.

 “Look, I just don’t want people thinking I’m a deadbeat Dad.”  An obvious tweaker stumbles in like an electron firing in every direction.  The camera speeds up and slows down, like in Donnie Darko as the montage music plays.  The camera pans for the first time through Middlesex school depicting the main characters how the director wants you to see 'em.  His body parts flail while still seeming like he's about to fall over any second.  He walks toward the bathroom and stops dead.  He turns around looking at Stephen.  He collapses with his ass out and his elbows on their table, jumbling the words “How much?”

Stephen sticks his hand down his pocket, grabbing an ugly wad of cash and lots of change.  Gretchen grabs her backpack and stands on top of the trampoline-like pleathery booth.  She weighed practically nothing compared to the bounciness of the seat.  Stephen turns with the fist full of money and plows the presently degenerate right in the face as the cash flies everywhere.  The faces of the patrons all looked up at the scene, like a frozen applause.  Gretchen jumps in to the air towards her father as he's shaking his fist in painful disgust.  “Gretch!” he yells. “Fuck that hurt!”  He catches her and tucks her under his arm like a football; she and the backpack flailing beneath at the mercy of her father's panicked and happy gait.    

The camera pans upward: -25 to -32.5 degrees, quadrant IV of basic geometric circumstance...    Aside from the third dimension, vantage vector is at y=-1/3x +1, where the y axis presents the door, and the vantage point is just a few feet in front of and below Stephen and Gretchen; with Delia halfway out the glass door, waving the coffee pot in her outstretched and snowy appendage.  This is slow motion of course...

He says panting in run “I wish that pot pie place hadn't close hun.”

“I know Pop, we'll find another place soon.  I'll find somewhere we've never been before.  A unholy, holier hole in the wall, K?” her voice staccatos with every bounce, like when a baby is trying to make noises when you bounce it on your knee.  It sounds funny.  

“Fuck, that's the third place this week.”  

“I know Dad.”

You know I love you Gretch.  Everything ”

“I know Dad.”  They are both smiling while he sprints heavily away with his most prized possessions.

[junk-yard-hearts]

Poly Bowers Gang HC’s

o lookie lookie 

Belch (I prefer calling him Reg or Reggie to Belch tbh)-

·         I see Reggie as more of the enforcer within their group dynamic.

·         The other guys can get kind of carried away and he’s the first to tell them to leave you the hell alone if he thinks they’re making you uncomfortable

·         After a thorough fucking he’s the one who’d gently kiss your temple and tell you how good you were

·         He always lets you sit in the front seat and glares over his shoulder at the others when they whine about it. As far as he’s concerned, it’s HIS car and you deserve the front seat, dammit. (He actually just wants to watch the sun hit your face and keep you away from Patrick)

·         The other guys give him hell because he’s so sweet on you but he just can’t help how much he adores you awe

·         The others laugh because you would never call him Belch and he blushes every time you call him Reggie

·         He’s the one you’d call after all your best friends stood you up for your girls-night-in sleepover plans. He’d hear your disappointed voice and the sniffles and sigh. He shows up at your house 20 minutes later with the fuckboy squad in toe.

·         You ask if he’d do a face mask with you and he looks panicked as fuck

·         But the second you hit him with those lovey eyes, he relents

·         The other guys sit around and snicker as you apply cerulean goo to his face but he couldn’t care less because the smile on your lips is everything to him tbh.

·         Henry tells him he’s such a girl, and Belch hits him with some “a real man would do anything to put a smile on his girl’s face” shit and Henry just slinks tf away

·         He drives you to school every day, and sometimes when your parents aren’t home, he comes in and eats breakfast with you and helps you finish getting ready.

·         He helps you pull your hair back and ties your shoes for you awawawe

·         Always opens your car door for you

·         You wear his t-shirts to school after spending the night with him and he gets all heart-eyed and thinks you look so cute.

·         He sees you in your faded jeans, with a bow in your hair, and his ratty Judas Priest shirt on and his cheeks get all hot cause he just thinks you’re the cutest.

·         For his birthday, you go to his house while he’s at work and you and his mom cook him his favorite dinner (chicken parmesan and fettucine), and you and the gang hang up a banner and surprise him.

·         You didn’t have much money so you made him a cassette mix tape and take them to the bakery on main street for cupcakes, and you all serenade him right there on the sidewalk outside the shop.

·         He tries SO HARD to keep up with your friend drama because he likes that you come to him to talk but fuck, you have so many friends. Who’s Trish?? Where tf did Emma come from? When the hell did Lisa come into the picture?

·         Takes care of you on your period like his mom told him to.

 Victor  

·         Vic is the one you go to about your friend drama and knows exactly what you’re talking about.

·         “Oh my god who does Lisa think she is talking to Gemma about you like that? I’ll kick her ass idc.”

·         Says goodbye with a firm slap on the ass

·         Smiles at the tiny squeak you make every time he slaps the ass

·         Always gives you candies out of the pockets of his vest

·         He says he keeps them to put a smile on your face and you know he stole that shit

·         Loves to rest his head in your lap and let you play with his hair

·         He gets this blissed out, barely conscious look when you gently scrape your nails across his scalp

·         Stares in slack-jawed appreciation when you wear those little skirts that sway when you walk

·         When you’re having a bad day, he paints your nails

·         He notices you getting nervous and scraping the polish off and just grabs your hand away and squeezes it.

·         Smacks Patrick over the head for making lewd comments about your body in public

·         “Dude, watch your fucking mouth, she’s a lady.”

·         You have study hall together, and you sit with your Walkman cassette player in between you, listening to KISS and holding hands, and reading your English class assignments

·         KISS is so not his cup of tea but he doesn’t mind them.

·         He knows you love them so he sits put and listens anyway

·         He learns all the words to all the songs on Smashes Thrashes and Hits from how often you listen to it.

·         You two smoked weed together and the guys found you laying outside staring at the clouds together being sappy

·         But he kicked their asses for making fun of it

·         You bleach his hair for him because he tried to do it himself and got burns on his head

·         You teach him how to put coconut oil through his hair to prevent burning, damage and uneven processing

·         Henry and Patrick laugh and look on, telling him how soft it is to dye his hair.

·         You turn around and tell them how harsh and dangerous bleach can be to the body and offer to put some on THEIR heads.

·         They scurry tf away

·         He loves to watch you masturbate, and loves when you wear lingerie for them.

·         When you and your boyfriends crashed a party, they went off to torture some people but you and Vic were making out on the stairs while all the girls with crushes on him watched

·         He lowkey loves showing you off at all times

·         For Christmas you made him the coolest sneakers he ever saw

·         You bought a pair of canvas kicks from the thrift store and spent hours painting them, and he fREAKED when he saw them

·         He loves when you wear that peachy smelling lipgloss but he always ends up with shimmer all over his mouth and the guys laugh at him. Worth it tho.

 Henry

·         You tell him you got your nails done and he gets this “The fuck are you tellin’ me for?” look on his face.

·         You frown. He realizes you just want him to act interested and suddenly he’s like AH YES, THE NAILS, THE FINGERNAILS YES THE NAILS ON THESE PARTICULAR FINGERS ARE LOOKING MIGHTY SPIFFY TODAY YES INDEED

·         He notices you painted them his favorite color and has to physically restrain himself from squealing like a schoolgirl because he loves that you love him lmao

·         Talks a major talk about what a ladykiller he is but the first time you take your clothes off and he sees your body in only soft lingerie he just stares in awe and appreciation

·         He thinks you don’t know (but you definitely know) he stole one of your silky pink camisoles and keeps it stuffed under his mattress.

·         He actually wasn’t being pervy, he holds it to him when he sleeps and breathes in that precious smell of delicate perfume and something distinctly you and it blisses him out no matter how stressed he is.

·         Always puts his arm around you in public or holds your hand

·         When its cold and you didn’t wear a jacket to school, he scolds you because he’s concerned for your health and comfort, and puts his jacket around your shoulders.

·         Will beat someone up just for looking at you wrong

·         Always is the guy who says he needs to “Defend your honor”

·         Its endearing but can be a bit much.

·         Always hitting Patrick for disrespecting you

·         Always being hit by Reggie for disrespecting you :^)

·         Is 90000% outraged when you confess an insecurity

·         “What on god’s green earth would you hate your tits for?! Have you fuckin seen them? Your body ‘so fine I’m havin to chase off every man in this damn town, cause they all want my girl.”

·         I think he’d be that boyfriend who if you wore a low cut shirt in public would walk around with his hand covering your cleavage cause that shits his eyes only thank you very much.

·         “Only yours?” you’d tease. “Damn straight.” he’d reply. “But what about Belch? N Pat n Vic?” you’d say, laughing. “OK, now listen here.”

·         Is totally fine sharing you but constantly refers to you as HIS girl.

·         Likes you to know who’s in charge.

·         One time you sucked his fingers clean after he fingered you and he is still recovering tbqh

·         Also one time you called him daddy in public and he came in his fccuccking pants.

·         You didn’t know what to get him for his birthday so you just had him over to spend the night and wore pretty underthings and had a night just the two of you.

·         You cut his hair. You’re always begging him to let you cut the fucking mullet off but he just won’t hear of it. He thinks he looks badass.

·       �� His hair is really soft tho and you put the mullet into a tiny braid and giggled endlessly.

·         He just quirked his eyebrow up at you and asked If he looked sexy.

·         Lives for validation

·         Tries to offer you aftercare but lowkey useless at it

  Patrick

Patricks are the dirtiest

·         Rarely allowed to be alone with you

·         Loves to say creepy shit just to watch you squirm

·         By far the most dominant and thinks aftercare is stupid lmao

·         He likes that you somewhat want to impress him

·         JEALOUS as hell of how much Henry adores you

·         And really, how much they all adore you

·         One time he got the sense that you might actually be real

·         Which freaks him out, and he can’t shake the feeling

·         He compensates for this by going out of his way to make you uncomfortable

·         Says creepy shit in public

·         Puts his hand up your skirt at the lunch table

·         More or less only touches you because he’s allowed to

·         He likes your hands a lot, he likes holding them, he likes when you touch him with them because they’re so gentle and soft

·         Comes and visits you at night because he just likes to be near you

·         At first it was unsettling but now you’re used to it and know he won’t try anything

·         As scared as everyone already is of the whole gang,

·         They’ll never fuck with you because Patrick is too damn scary

·         You had a one-on-one night once

·         The next day, the gang came over to hang out and you had welts on your chest from where Patrick dripped candle wax on you, bloodied bite marks on your collarbones and were limping

·         Belch punched him in the fucking face

·         He knows you probably liked it but the idea of Patrick getting too carried away without anyone there to stop him worries him

·         (I honestly think he’s just always looking for reason to punch Patrick lmao. If asked why, he’d shake his head and say “that boy ain’t right” mister fuckin hank hill)

·         He likes to brush your hair which is weird to the other guys but you seem ok with it, so…

·         The first time you met his mother she was visibly shocked that someone actually wanted to spend time around him yikes lmao

·         You wear one of his rings on a necklace because it slides off your fingers

·         Gets the roughest with you during sex and the guys are always wary of the fact that you actually seem to enjoy it.

Tip the author 

[bluephoenixdruidicprincess]

SPN 14x13, Lebanon (Yes, That One) -- Thoughts (Spoilers)

It's finally here, guys. The big 300. I've now seen 300 episodes of Supernatural. Phew...what a crazy ride its been. But let's dive into this, shall we.

I'm going to be a little different with this one. This is going to follow a little more of a recap structure. It's the big 300, so of course I had to change it up a little. As I recap this episode, I'll be inserting thoughts I have here and there. I will be recapping from memory so things might get a little out of order. It should go without saying but there will be spoilers. And keep in mind, this is just how I feel and how I interpret things. You may have a completely different interpretation and that's perfectly valid. These are just MY thoughts.

We open up with Sam and Dean in the midst of a hunt. A hunter friend of theirs died and Sam and Dean are trying to recover what was stolen from their friend as well as avenge him. They corner the murderer and in a really cringey fight scene, the murderer meets his maker. Typically, SPN fight scenes are, while not fantastically well put together, but at least put our heroes in a competent light. Honestly, I don't think I've seen such stilted choreography since season 13 in the vamp cave. But anyway, the murderer uses dragon's breath (which is essentially a flamethrower) to escape from Brothers Winchester and it sends them flying in different directions but apparently dragon's breath isn't that hot. Just a small little thing, but if you're standing that close to the fire, you should've had some burn marks, I'm just saying, at the very least, soot on your face. But whatever. Dean gets thrown across the room, Sam ends up on the floor with our villain monologuing to him and I'm uncomfortable with just how incompetent Sam appeared to be in this scene. The villain is monologuing and Sam is just sitting there and doing nothing. What happened to Sam's gun? Why didn't Sam sweep the leg or go for a gut punch? So many things he could've done to get the upper hand in the situation especially since the villain only had a sword. While swords can be very deadly, they're also easier to dodge as opposed to bullets or throwing daggers. But Sam just sits there in fear for a good 5 seconds (and 5 seconds is an eternity both on screen and in a fight) and Dean then shoots the guy and talks about the villain monologuing problem. I'm not mad that Dean got the kill or anything. I don't believe in "staning" culture but if you could at least have made Sam appear competent, that would be nice.

But with the murderer dead, Sam and Dean find out he has a lot of magical junk so they decide to take it back to the bunker. In the files, they find a magical pearl which apparently will grant your greatest desire. Obviously, the boys think, "this is great. Our greatest desire is to evict the douche currently residing in our nagen." But before this greatest wish can be made, we have to make a little side trip because one of the teenagers in Lebanon (the town where the bunker exists) stole the impala. Sam's all, "that kid is in danger, we gotta find her, there's dangerous shit in that car" -- and much to my annoyance, Dean is all, "how dare she take Baby, she better not hurt Baby". *Takes a deep breath* This is an aspect of Dean's character I find super irritating. This weird romance he has with the damn car. How he places the car above things that, realistically, are a little more important. Maybe he should be less concerned about Max scratching the car and more concerned about the fact you have a teenage girl you don't know (or barely know at the very most) in a car with deadly objects and deadly weapons. I get it, this is supposed to be a funny quirk of his and at one point it was but now it's been so overdone that it's more irritating than it is endearing. I really hope the show goes into Dean's character development, and approaches the car as a mirror of how Dean feels about his father and his childhood and as he grows to accept his father more, he'll eventually realize that just like he doesn't need his father, he doesn't need the impala. I'm sure I said something absolutely sacrilegious in the fandom but I'm not going to apologize for it. This whole obsession with the impala is immature and creepy and it makes me worry for Dean's mental health.

So they find the girl but not before the girl's actions releases a serial killer clown ghost (because in an episode dealing with past fears and insecurities, of course it's a clown). They kill the ghost but three of the teenagers see and therefore they get the "talk." And these three also appear to be seen as mirrors for Sam, Dean, and Cas. They weren't very subtle about it, let me tell you.

So after leaving the kids to process the information that the sounds you hear in your closet may actually not be in your head, Brothers Winchester arrive back at the bunker and try out this magical pearl. But behold! It would seem evicting au!Michael is not Dean's greatest desire because Father Winchester is yanked from the past (sometime before the pilot) and dropped into their time. And, I'm not going to say this a lot about this episode, but I like the cinematography used here. It was an excellent usage of the color red symbolizing Brothers Winchester's own repression and isolation they experienced from their father as well as John's revenge focused aggression, blindly lashing out at anything that moves even if it's his own children. And the scene was also shot in a very choppy way meant to be seen as a little confusing...also symbolizing the thoughts of confusion the boys harbor towards their father and much like the confusion John no doubt feels with the turn his life has taken.

Everyone eventually realizes what's up and they fill John in on what's been happening for the past 14 years. And it's a very nice, very touching reunion and then Momma Winchester shows up. John and Mary have a wonderful reunion kiss, its so beautiful. I completely understand how Dean got swept into the moment here. Witnessing something he probably only barely remembers from his childhood, thinking he'll never see it again, and there it is. And just like that it takes him back to a time when life was seemingly perfect. When he had hope, when he had dreams. His parents were alive, they loved each other, they loved him, he had an adorable baby brother. It gave him something he never thought he'd have again. And just the kiss in general, you know. Just so reminiscent of past lovers who never thought they would see each other again suddenly seeing each other and everything they used to feel all coming up at once. It was wonderful. Think Celine Dion, Its All Coming Back to Me Now and I think you'll have the tone of this moment nailed down.

But Sam and Dean leave these two to have their moment and Sam tells Dean there's going to be repercussions for this. Time travel is a funky thing. But they decide to have one family dinner and think about the consequences after that. Dean asks Mary for the ingredients to make her Winchester Surprise and John and Sam have a really touching moment. John feels the need to apologize to Sam about everything that happened between them. And Sam tells him it doesn't matter. Their fight happened a long time ago, he's put it in the past and moved on. Sam also tells his father that the biggest regret he has is never having the chance to say good-bye. Their last conversation being an argument and then Sam finding John dead on the hospital floor. This scene got me so choked up like you don't even know. I've been through this. Lost someone while we were on shaky terms, I never got the chance to say good-bye, so many things were left unsaid and I would kill for an opportunity Sam has here where I can finally tell that person it's okay and rectify the bad blood that occurred between us. And Sam acknowledges it as well. This opportunity he has right here and now is all he's ever wanted.

Sam and Dean go off to buy these ingredients but this is when they start noticing the time travel problems. The future is starting to change, but it's more of a ripple effect right now. They haven't changed yet, but time around them has and eventually the ripple is going to smother out and their new future will take hold. Sam calls it a time paradox. And because of the paradox, we're treated to season 4 Zachariah and Castiel. But in regards to Castiel here, it's important to note that he's more pre-season 4. He hasn't delved into hell yet to get Dean out so he doesn't really have any of those rebellious feelings yet. And no, I'm not going to quote THE Destiel line. In all honesty, I've come to hate the line. It's been over-used so much that it's basically lost all meaning to me. Fandom and canon just keep on poking at it, now it's just something I roll my eyes at whenever I hear it. I am sad that we got season 4 Zachariah. When they were saying we were going to get a different Zachariah, I was so hoping for a role reversal kind of situation but apparently the "different Zachariah" is meant to be interpreted as "different from season 13 au!Zachariah" who actually isn't all that different. PR is not show running, people. Take a grain of salt with everything they say. But the Wing Team is on a quest to find out who meddled with time. Even going so far as to threaten to murder a diner full of people. Thankfully, Sam and Dean stop that from commencing but are in a real shock that with this time paradox, it now means Cas is no longer the Cas they all know and love. That if John stays here, they're going to lose their best friend (in Sam's case) and potential lover (in Dean's case). But the scene plays out how you would expect it to. Zach is his usual douchey self and is giving Sam cancer just like he used to (good times, let me tell ya) but Sam remembers he has an angel blade on him and kills Zach. Nowhere near as badass as it was in season 5, but still cathartic. And next we get to see a re-creation of the tomb scene from season 8 with Dean and Cas in a match of fisticuffs. But this Cas has never met Dean so Dean really has no chance of reaching Cas. But Sam in some quick thinking rembers the sigil that will cast angels out and uses it. The boys make a break for the bunker and everyone gets filled in.

Sam and Dean realize that in order for everything to go back they way it was, they have to smash the pearl. Everything will be forgotten but everything will also revert back to the way it once was. Sam wishes there was a way John could remember everything but Dean tells him he prefers that John doesn't. John going back with knowledge of the future could change who they are and Dean doesn't want that change. He wants to be exactly who he is right here and right now which is just so much progress. John tells them to do it because if the timeline changes, Mary's resurrection could never have happened and she'll eventually disappear. Even though he's going back to a time where he will die, trading himself for Mary is more than worth it. He'd rather have Mary exist in the world and himself die as opposed to living the rest of his days without her. And maybe it's because I have so much Kingsom Hearts nonsense floating through my brain, even if he doesn't remember, this will have left a mark on his heart. It'll leave him feeling something even if he doesn't understand why he feels that way. Everyone has the family dinner they always wanted, John also apologizes to Dean for everything, he tells both of his sons just how proud he is of them, he and Mary have another moment and the pearl is broken. Father Winchester disappears and everyone is crying. Our most beloved Cas returns and remarks on why everyone is acting so weird and Dean tells him they have a story to tell him. I kind of wish we got to see them tell Cas but I understand why we don't. Story-Telling 101. Don't repeat information the audience already knows, instead, insinuate the character is being filled in off-screen. John wakes up in his time in the impala and remarks on the good dream he had and drives off to his dark future. And the episode ends.

So what did I think of this episode? Honestly, I'm of two minds on it. Narratively and character-wise, this was a really good episode. But structurally and production-wise, not so much.

It had a really good narrative, the acting was fantastic, but on a cinematic level, My Chuck, was this episode dull to look at. The directing was just extremely stilted, apart from John's entrance, I don't think there was a single scene I thought was visually appealing. The musical score was very bland. It makes me really sad that there was so much hype for this episode but so little effort put into the production of it. Of the milestone episodes, 200 is probably my favorite.

I also say this episode kind of faltered on a structural basis, as well. While I appreciate the use of the Lebanon characters, I feel like they were largely unnecessary for the actual plot. And when they were first pitching this episode to us last year, I was imagining the Lebanon townsfolk being more of a primary aspect of the episode. While I enjoyed the themes and the mirrors with the Lebanon element, I feel like this would've been a better structured episode without them and given the episode more time with the family reunion and the Wing Team.

But I do love the narrative themes in this episode. Choosing between your past family and your future family. Putting your past behind you and acknowledging yourself as an individual. I've seen a few posts lamenting about how they dislike that Dean didn't yell at John or anything along those lines and honestly, I feel like that's the point. Dean has grown past that. He's acknowledged that as part of his past and has moved on from it. We all have trauma we associate with our parents. And while yelling at our parents might make us feel better, will it really heal us? Will it give us what we really need? And that's the whole thing with Dean, isn't it? Want vs Need. Dean's greatest desire was never to face John again and tell him how much he hates him -- no, Dean's greatest desire was to face his father again and not see himself in his father. To realize he's become his own person that isn't his father and that he likes that person and he doesn't want that to change. That's what Dean wanted. That was the self-acceptance Dean needed and I'm really excited to see where this all heads for Dean as a character. Now that he's accepted himself, is he going to allow himself to be happy now?

Essentially, this episode was a beautiful episode about family, about the progression of family, about finding acceptance and forgiveness and being able to put it behind you and look towards the future and I thought that was extremely beautiful and well done. I'd give this episode a B+. Sadly, I do knock it down because of the production value.

[violetnpurple]

Hello My Lovely Amazingly Cute Anon!! <3

Don’t apologize. I’m sorry I’m responding late, but I wanted to make sure I could respond to everything you said and give u a good and thoughtful response even if it took me awhile. I also honestly am so honored that you feel safe venting to me, idk what I’ve done or said to deserve that but I am really glad that you feel this way :D

I just first what to say that I’m no therapist. I’m 23 yrs old and i barely know what I’m doing with my life, lol. I will try to give you advice to the best of my ability but please, if you can, find someone you really trust in your life to talk to about this. if you don’t thats fine, try to see if you can see a therapist. I have one (after lots of encouragement from those around me) and it was one of the best choices I made. You said you’re 16 so I know it will probably be hard for you to find one if your mother (or parents) aren’t up for it. But if you can get them to help you find someone to talk to that would be great! If they’re being difficult, I’d say try to look for people outside your family, preferably trust-worthy adults, that you think you can talk to and who can help you.

(and i’ll just stop counting at this point, this is going to be long lol) I can really relate to a lot of your problems, Anon. I’m pretty plus sized. It started happening in high school and since then I’ve just gained more weight🤷🏿. Another parallel is that my mother has always been the one person in my life (bedsides myself) to bring up my weight. Constantly. She always framed it as her desire to “be honest with me” and “tell me the truth because no one else would and she loved me”, but that did nothing to curb the sting of her comments. Her favorite thing to talk about a couple years ago was how the “whole family was fat according to our doctor” so it was necessary we all went on diets. I’m so sorry that your family’s teasing has driven you to starving yourself. That’s seriously not okay. Especially your mother. She really should be your main source of comfort. Someone you could rely on! I hope she can become that person for you one day soon.

I’ll start by answering your main question: No. I do not think you need to loose weight. In my mind, fuck your entire family. Especially your mom. Lol I know those are basically fighting words, but I mean it. She’s been no help in this. As your mother she should be supporting you with school and helping you figure out what your dreams and goals are for life. Teaching you how to survive the real world, for when the time comes. Not giving you constant anxiety about your weight and looks. This is terrible parenting. I’m sure she has her positive traits, but for this situation, I’m not endeared to her. Also, the fact that you followed up your question by saying you did not want to be skinny tells me all I need to know. If you don’t want to loose weight, YOU. DON’T. HAVE. TO. I can’t stress this enough. i know you’re getting shit from your family, but if YOU don’t want to loose weight, that you don’t have to. Fuck everyone else. It’s your damned body. You have to live with it for the rest of your life. ITS NOBODY’S DAMN BUSINESS WHAT YOU WANT TO DO WITH IT. if you like the weight you’re at, stick with it. if you want to loose 10 pounds (in a healthy way, with some exercise) but your mom says to loose 50, tell her to take a fucking hike!! (actually, please don’t, because she might throw you out or something and I don’t want to be responsible for that but u get my drift lol) Your curves are beautiful, I don’t need to see you to know this. You’re literally 16 and honestly you’re body is going to keep changing anyways. Don’t put more stress on it by starving yourself. You’re growing!! Your body needs food and nourishment. Your body cares about you and loves you and want to keep you alive. Your heart keeps beating in an effort to keep you going, BECAUSE IT LOVES YOU. Repay your body by feeding it, by feeding yourself. By loving yourself. EAT WHAT YOU WANT. I know I’m rambling, but I want you to get my point.

As for your pain everywhere I REALLY want you to see a doctor, darling. Like, as soon as possible. that doesn’t sound comfortable or fun. your body could be sending you signs for something. Please, please try to get an appointment with whoever you see for check-ups or things like that. Explain to them what you’ve told me about the pain everywhere. And if you feel comfortable with this doctor (and you don’t think they’ll tell your mom or someone else you don’t want to know about your mental health) I’d tell them about how you’ve been feeling. My only worry is that you’re a minor so if your doctor is worried he might go to your mom. But some doctors can be forced to keep silent and just help you, I’m just not sure what is needed for that to happen. At minimum please talk to them about your full body pain.

And to address your belief that you’re ugly or would get uglier if you lost weight, that’s BS sweetheart. You’re a lovely person. Don’t ask how I know, I have magic so I just know these things💖💖. I really hope some day that your family will realize this as well.

I can see that a part of you does love your body, Please hold on tight to that. Hold on to it like your life depends on it. Remember to be kind to yourself and please don’t kill yourself. I know you might think that no one will miss you but I will, I can promise you that. You have your entire life ahead of you. Think about the future and what it holds. And if that’s not helpful, try to think of the little things in life that make u happy. even the tiniest thing can help you see that it is worth it to live another day. If it helps and you want to, you can send me anon messages on days you’re really sad about whatever you want. You can also message me, I am very open to that. Though I have to be very honest, I work a lot so I can’t always answer messages immediately, but I will do my best. Please try to eat 2 meals a day, minimum. When it a good day, try 2 meals with a snack or even 3 meals. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!!! Start out small if that makes u feel better but try after awhile to eat a bit more. like i said before you’re growing. Give your body what it needs. Fuck everyone else, THEY’RE NOT YOU. You’re you. Your body loves you and wants what’s best for you. Treat it right by feeding yourself and being kind to yourself physically and mentally. I know its not easy, but I know you can do it, sweetheart. Just try one step at a time. I’ll try to be here for you if you need anything I can give.

I’m actually so close to tears writing this because to be so honest with you anon I’ve also been having trouble with food and my desire to eat. I’ve told no one about this except you (and now all of my followers, lol) but reading your message has made me think really hard about the huge difference between how I treat myself and how i treat everyone else. I won’t go into detail too much because I’d just end up writing a novel and keep you up all night reading about my issues lmao. We don’t want that. I’m just thinking about how I whole heartedly want you to feel comfortable in your body. How I really want you to have a healthy relationship with food and your family. These are all things I’ve been denying myself for a long time and I’d be a hypocrite to demand that of you and not myself. I really don’t want to make this ask about me, but I just want you to know that you’re seriously not alone, I promise. What I ask of you I’ll be asking of myself. From now own I’ll do my best to be as kind to myself, as I try to be to others. :D

I love you!!!!! Don’t forget that!!! I’m sending you a care package filled with hugs and kisses and magic so you can sleep and have no bad dreams!!!! ILYYYY!!!

[gingerlytragic]

New Rules

At what point does decency morph into an aural assault invitation? And when is it then appropriate for said decency to mutate into disdain? And for God’s sake, can we all agree on a universal plan to manage/extinguish it? These are genuine public issues that, continuing as unidentified and unenforced conundrums, will inevitably breed a new kind of twisted and hostile version of an “acceptable” social milieu.  For example, “How are you?” in no way requires a thoughtful response. A thoughtful response is a waste of time. It is regretful to the instigator, and plainly disrespectful. Rather, the acceptable answer to this inauthentically polite query is a perfunctory nod and “how ya doin?” At this point it is very important to break eye contact, drop your shoulder and keep it movin’. Because once we start pretending to care about the real answer, uncomfortable conversationalists will never stop. They’ll never learn the rules which aren’t legally, but ought to be, in place 

I’m sure violations of these rules occur all the time, all over the country. Never more had it begun rearing its head, however, into horrifying existence, as it did when I moved to the South. Perhaps such transgressions exist in the North, but I had always been more preoccupied with my own assholery and social tip-toeing to notice. A conversation in New Jersey, wherein a two-word answer would suffice, a guy might grant you a grunt. In North Carolina though? That same two-word answer is stretched like taffy over a candy hook made from your brittle, dwindling patience. Much like taffy, their words are stretched and elongated, becoming thinner and less substantive with each pull, while cavities slowly and painfully form.

Apparently in North Carolina the invitation of “How ya doin” need not be signed, sealed, and delivered. No, no, no. In the balmy October of the South, just existing in a space warrants no-knock access to your attention and headspace. Let us set the scene… 

I sat for too long in a doctor’s waiting room, reading. On the other side of the room, at my nine-o’clock, a 65-year old white woman with silver fly-aways made herself known by a diet coke can full of factors. From my seat I heard her gargling coughs. They were deep and wet in a way a girl can appreciate, and undoubtedly caused by her smoking at least a carton of Parliaments a day. She sported nose tubes that seemed to connect to nothing, and initially hobbled through the threshold with a cane and a silent struggle. A metaphorical silence of course, as the coughing was perpetual from the start. 

Sitting to my right, comfortably in my periphery, was an able-bodied white man in apparent health. He was about the age of the female smoker but the two could not have been more different.  Let’s call him Craig and her Joanne-- Jo, if you will. When Craig entered the building he walked right over to the receptionist’s window. He presented his paperwork and the woman in scrubs, Rhonda, for our purposes, went to work on her computer. Now, apologies to any HIPPA enforcement agents out there, but the window of glass does nothing to prevent the rest of the waiting room from eavesdropping. The furthest chair is fifteen feet away and other than a TV with looped new clips of “how to incorporate greens into your diet” and “a patient with diabetes dies every seven seconds” there was no obstruction of sound.

The free air space proved so much more frustrating than informative, and this is why we need rules. I didn’t hear about this guy’s weird growth or incontinence or shitty blood pressure. I learned, instead, that he is a perpetrator of multiple social-felonies and should be put away from the public forever. After Rhonda the receptionist’s “thank you,” he stayed put at the window to engage in assault. Yes, I know the climate and yes, I am selecting my incendiary verbiage with care. This. Was. Assault.

“When’s this mask thing gonna let up, huh? It’s eighty-six degrees and I gotta wear it while I work outside!” Craig didn’t care about masks then and he doesn’t care about the masks now. Or maybe he does, but that isn’t why he was talking about it. He was just filling air; stuffing to the seams miniscule pillows of conversation to ease his own discomfort at what was once just innocent silence, a polite absence of sound. I know this because at Rhonda’s lack of intrigue, he continued, “My mamma is out in the country. She doesn’t understand new food, so I go out there to eat with her when she’s lonely.” 

Oh Craig, I thought. Does he go to help her understand the new food? Is the new food the cause of her loneliness? Does she miss her old food? And what new food are we talking here? Was Craig’s mother just woken from a vampiric slumber and now summons assistance with Lean Cuisine? WHAT IS THE NEW FOOD, CRAIG? I had so many questions.  I never did find out though, because at Rhonda’s radio-silence, he awkwardly forged ahead with more relevant small talk. Opening his wallet for his copay he suggested that he “ought to be getting a flu shot this season, right?” I’m not sure Rhonda recognized his rhetorical tone, because she finally caught interest enough to respond,  “Oh, would you like your flu shot? We can do that during today’s appointment!” “No, no,” Craig explained, “I don’t want my arm to hurt.” With a meek “...okay…” from Rhonda, Craig lumbered away and lowered himself into a chair at my two-thirty. He kept his eyes forward and nose, for the most part, in his own business. 

Meanwhile, Joanne over there was hacking up a storm. A tornado, to be exact; one that transported her out of Kansas, to a self-sustainable yellow brick road of mucous. Our old girl Jo was on and off the phone, talking and laughing to herself, but politely contained all the contents of her brain deep inside, with an airtight cap and a six-digit combination lock. Her sinus molecules may have been spewed but her thoughts were not, and I appreciated this about her. 

I learned by her last phone call that Jo wasn’t from around here. One could easily hear that she didn’t speak with any sort of accent, though that isn’t uncommon for the less redneck natives. Juxtaposed with Craig’s mumbling drawl, her language was crystal clear and frank as fuck. Jo offered a job to the stranger on the other end of the phone, and was as transparent as you’d expect from a Northerner, “Don’t you dare accept unless you’re serious, this has fallen through four times before and I won’t be made a fool of.” I was given no inkling as to what the job entailed, as Jo possessed no performative bone on her body. If Craig was in her position, he’d have turned to tell me about how his stubborn mother needs to accept this part-time job offer at Panera, in order to immerse herself in twenty-first century food and culture, being a vampire and all. 

Jo then started breaking down the commute from the Path in JC over to Liberty State Park, or the WTC, “or one of those, who remembers?”  Recognizing the NY/NJ transit-ese, my eyes lit up. Suddenly Jo’s coughing bothered me less, her loud phone call became endearing, and I stopped wondering where those damn nose tubes were leading. Because now she was from the North. One of us, I thought. I marveled as she caned her way to Rhonda’s window, not for small talk, but to sanitize her hands and empty an entire tree-limb’s worth of tissues from the soon-to-be-empty box. The threat to the environment worried me not, for Jo is a New Yorker (or better yet, from Jersey), and I’m sure she knows what she’s doing. 

The army of tissues, it turned out, was not for her tube-occupied nostrils.  I never saw the spider, but heard the thump thump thump of her trying to murder it. With her cane. It was quite a jarring sight, actually. “Now that is a big spider,” Jo remarked aloud, but privately. With this new information I smiled and chuckled to myself. Something about the sight of an aging Northern woman with a cane and oxygen attempting to annihilate this creature in a doctor’s waiting room. Craig would have let us know about the presence of the spider and then stomped on it in some barbaric execution of manners-meets-masculinity. 

As I turned my head, eyes bright and lips curled beneath my mask, Craig’s gaze briefly latched onto mine. Audibly sighing and shaking his head, Craig gestured as if we were in this together. “Can you believe this woman,” his eyes suggested. Dude, you don’t even know, I thought, I am SO on her side. I turned my attention back to my book. Though both born during Eisenhower, Jo conducted her morning according to how she felt, reacting to what happened around her. I believe Craig would have had the same morning, regardless of events, acting instead of reacting. Walk in, make small talk, be polite, mention mama, eyes front, don’t bother anyone. Ironically, Craig’s version of manners is contingent on the mindless suffering of others. We need not assault the aural orifice of others to avoid awkwardness of our own silent suffering.

So we need rules. Like most legislation, the states can decide for themselves where to draw the line and what the punishment should be. I don’t think the death penalty would be appropriate for a minor transgression, but then, we are in the South.  If marijuana possession, which you keep to yourself, warrants 45 days in prison and a one thousand dollar fine, then what’s a short stint with a court-mandated muzzle? Craig is not a bad guy, he just can’t read a room. Until all the legal kinks are worked out I hope his next doctor’s appointment is full of other selfishly polite Southerners with whom he can share tales of ma in the country. And I hope Jo moves back up North, takes me with her, offers me that mystery job, and I’ll never let her down.

[yong-yong-ma-boi]

bf!haechan

lmao so originally i was supposed to post some svt requested fics that are long overdue but its donghyuck’s birthday so

i’ll post the svt requests laturrrr im so sorry for those who requested it

HAPPPPPPPPPPYYYYYYYYYYYY BIRTHDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY LEE DONGHYUCK

so how would it be to date this savage meme boi?

lee donghyuck is vvv playful, he likes teasing people 

mark, jaehyun, taeyong, mark, let’s just say all nct members

and mark especially 

and you aren’t an exception my dear reader

bc lee donghyuck is a relentless little shit, so expect to be hit with savageness

with no amount of mercy whatsoever

your relationship is based on slander tbh jUST KIDDING

he teases the crap out of you, and sometimes he may go over the line between playful and hurtful, 

but this boy still loves you

but he really doesn’t show it when you’re around other people

he feels like the hyungs would think he’s going soft when they see him with you being lovey dovey 

so when you’re with mark or the others, he keeps the loving to a minimum and just roasts you or anyone

sometimes it doesn’t seem like you guys are a couple, because he doesn’t show much skinship in public and he always roasts you HARD

you’re not a pushover tho reader don’t worry

you’ll give this lil shit a run for his money

“babe, jagiya, baby, sweetie, baobei, tianxin, mi amor, my love, my life, Y/N. why are you so stupid?”

“stop making fun of me for falling down the stairs, hyuck. you should speak for yourself. you’re the reason the sm building had to have double doors”

“i am not.”

“you may as well be”

you guys sometimes team up to roast mark instead when you’re tired of roasting each other poor mark

donghyuck is a lil bit of a cocky shit sometimes

does “im cute and all of you are ugly” ring a bell?

no?

like he’s cute and he knows it, i know it, the fans know it, everyone knows it

but he likes hearing it from you

he likes-no loves hearing you compliment him

even tho compliments are very very rare in your relationship

but that’s what makes it more special

like we all have insecurities buried in the backs of our minds and well, sometimes his resurfaces and it makes him feel bad about himself

and it affects him so much

when that happens he’s quiet and he’s emotionless and doesn’t reply 

and his insecurities make him feel like he’s not good enough to do what he wants to do, to be who he wants to be

that’s why he keeps to himself, because he feels unworthy of the things he has

but you always reassure him that he’s worth it

that he’s so special, so talented, so handsome, and he deserves everything coming his way

and he shouldn’t feel apologetic about that

and that he shouldn’t listen to anyone who thinks otherwise

soooooo i mentioned before that he really doesn’t show much skinship in public

and i think that’s because he’s a lil shyyyyy

because for sure, his members would make fun him

and well, because strangers can see

when it’s just the two of you though

he’s very cuddly

like, sometimes y’all are on the couch with your legs on top of his and both of you sitting on each ends, and he never lets you move your legs because he likes the feeling of them against his

sometimes you’re lying down on his chest, with his left arm around your waist and his right one holding the phone up to his face

lets just say that everytime y’all are together a part of him has to be attached to any part of you 

imagine cuddling with him tho

doing those things i said ^^

huhuhuhuhuhu be my boyfriend donghyuck pls 

what about kisses tho

omg

i imagine your first kiss with donghyuck to be a light peck

and it was so so sudden 

like you were just so cute and your face was so close he couldn’t help himself

and you’re both a blushing mess after you realize what just happened 0_0

anddd it’s cute because he likes pecking you 

he just does it impulsively

not that it’s a bad thing

but it’s a bad thing for your health because everytime he does it you swear you lose at least 5 years of your life

and it honestly happens during moments when you least expect him to do it

like you’re in the middle of a daily roasting session and he suddenly leans in and pecks your lips and goes back to insulting you like it never happened

or when you’re trying to take the frying pan from him because he should rest and you really want to cook

or that time when you were putting on blush and was asking him if it was even on both sides

its not always on the lips though

like you were studying once and he walked by and suddenly pecked you on the cheek and went out without saying anything

only to return with pizza

or that time when you were carrying your groceries inside your apartment and you didn’t know he came over and he says hello by pecking your nose when you’re trying to put your keys on the table beside the door

moving on

dates with donghyuck vary 

you have your fair share of fancy restaurant dates, amusement park dates, movie dates, cafe dates, shopping dates, pokemon go dates, ice skating dates, laser tag dates, picnic dates, study dates

you know what i mean

but you’re favorite kind of date when you’re at home with him and pigging out and ranting about how the character is an idiot and just wearing your pjs smelling like utter crap bc none of you care 

because it’s laid back and you both don’t have to worry about being seen and don’t need to worry about how you look because you couldn’t care less if he looks like he doesn’t know what the hell a shower is

and he doesn’t give two shits if you smell like you don’t know what a shower is or maybe he does. he loves you, just pls, stop being stinky

another thing is i can see that he’s thoughtful but not that often

and it makes it more endearing

and his way is a bit unconventional, but still sweet if you think about it

like, he borrowed your phone and set an alarm 

but the alarm was him pterodactyl screaming

so, all in all, it was sweet of him to help you wake up for your 8am exam but you still want to have functioning ear drums

“did you make it in time?”

“yes i did. thank you, but next time, don’t scream at me pls”

“you’re welcome”

and you don’t notice it a lot, but he really listens to what you have to say he just makes it seem like he doesn’t know 

but on the inside he’s listing everything that comes out of your mouth

‘so she hates pineapples on her pizza’

‘oh okay her science teacher is giving her a hard time. i’ll ask jaemin if he can help her with science’

‘she likes yeri noona’s hair color imma ask where she had it dyed’

‘she likes taeyong hyung’s highlighter, imma ask the stylist what shade it is’

and then you’ll be surprised the next day or week after, he’s gonna bring up what you said 

and it’s honestly so sweet

he’s caring too

like he makes sure you eat well and on time

he even texts you to make sure because he’s killing himself with worry

and when you’re sick he brings soup over and tries to take care of you without catching whatever you have

and when he’s away he always texts you goodnight and tells you to text him if you’re on your way to school or if you’re heading home

or if you’re going out

actually even if he’s in korea or not, he always hast to be notified that you’re safe and sound in whatever place you went to

he even has your friends’ numbers saved on his phone so he can check on you when he’s far away

he even makes them promise to take care of you for him

you shouldn’t know that tho, so keep it a secret

and he always brings you stuff from abroad

sometimes its cute sometimes its random and just plain weird 

sometimes its weird but very useful

and he won’t admit that he got them because he thought of you when he saw it

how can something so evil be so fluffy

so all in all, he may be an evil, cocky, thoughtful, talented,caring, lowkey clingy guy

he’s still a wonderful boyfriend

and dating him?

it’s a damn wonderful long ass ride

[smittenwithlouis]

Best of the 🦇 Fic

Aka Waiting On You by @lads-laddylads​

This is easily one of my favorite fics so I’ve compiled some of my favorite quotes, lines, and moments from this masterpiece. Enjoy!

⚰️ [Spoiler Warning!] 💉 

“You’re feisty for someone so small” [Definition of Louis Tomlinson right here ijs :/]

Harry bites the way he talks, and walks, and kisses, with an intensity that’s somehow on the right side of too much, overwhelming without being overbearing. [ Gentle 🦇 lover Harry tho...need I say more?]

¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡WALL SEX!!!!!!!!!!

“What if he saw you up against the wall and taking my cock like this, this desperate for it after you tried so hard to pretend you weren’t interested?” [Lmao gentle lover but then he a nasty™ exhibitionist kinky bastard...excuse me but like...sign me tf up :/ also Niall would be out there pulling a Regina George’s Mom move with a video camera. Lets be real...aslo me as Niall]

"Please, c’mon, bite me again,”....“Baby, I don’t need more—” Harry begins .....”No, I need it, please, Harry, just—” Louis says, and when he sees Harry’s fangs descend, he feels like he could cry with relief [Honestly this scene killed me bc like LMAO he’s gagging to be bitten like...let that sink in for a sec and then you have 🦇 Harry like no no baby I’m good like u don’t gotta but Louis is like BINCH this for my pleasure not u tf...Iconic]

Louis turns around, he sees his clothing from the club last night in a neatly folded pile on the floor [Harry deadass fucking folded Louis’ clothes before he left. Like why is this such a Harry thing to do?When will your one night stand EVER, Lmao I HATE]

They may start humping each other with the next few minutes, and Louis wants to tell them to leave room for Jesus [Louis is such a little binch...why didn’t he leave room for J when he was dry humping Harry at the club?...smh]

“You’re all so fucking full of yourselves and it disgusts me.”....“You were so fucking full of me last week and you didn’t seem disgusted by that” [I SCREAMED SO LOUD LMAOOOOO. Honestly. I’m here for Harry calling out Louis in all his bs. This was iconic]

“Because people get off on being bitten? It’s like...a sexual thing...“Mmmm, no, that’s pretty much just you” [Imagine being that deep in denial or having no once of self awareness. Like kinda felt bad that he didn’t realize his own damn kink but LMAO now all his friends know he gets off on being bitten. Oh Louis hahahaha. Also, Harry being all smug about it. BYE]

Louis gently burrows his feet under Harry’s thigh. It keeps his toes warm [This was just so cute and super relatable cause I literally do the same thing rip]

A young vampire who looks like he’d rather be actually dead than undead and working at Panera [This line LMAO. Idk if many people appreciate this type of humor but I do. I giggled so much]

“I’m a cop and I could report this restaurant for at least three health code violations” [Hahaha he’s so endearing and so aggravating at the same time. But its so cute how he does shit like this and you know on the surface it pisses Louis off but in reality he’s so endeared by it. I’m here for Harry cheating to get what he wants tbh]

“Up we go” Harry says [STOP this was so cute! Literally all I pictured was that gif of that bodyguard picking Louis up like he weighed nothing :’) my smol son...bless him]

“Vampires don’t even fucking sweat” Louis mutters to himself angrily [Okay but how iconic was this scene? Harry is such a damn tease. Louis had been fantasizing about H covered in oil and as if H KNEW he was like I don’t got oil but this water will do...like LMAO. So Louis being sexually frustrated and grumpy like a kitten with a “🦇s don’t sweat” was just so funny lol]

“Are we — are we gonna have sex now?” Louis asks when Harry lays him down.Harry laughs, and that seems rude. Louis and Harry have had sex before, so why not have it again? Louis is in his bed, after all, so he doesn’t understand why Harry is trying to play hard to get. Why else would Louis be in his bed?Louis feels his eyes slipping closed, but he’s going to ask these questions because he wants answers.“Just go to sleep, baby,” Harry says softly, and no. No, Louis isn’t going to do that [The damn nerve Louis has to say Harry is the one playing hard to get BOI lol. But like this scene is so endearing. Like, Harry just saved his ass and Louis is so damn drunk and HARRY CALLED HIM BABY. Ugh its disgustingly sweet. I love it :’)]

“Smaller than I remember,” Louis says, swallowing hard. Harry’s smirk only widens [I’m that gif of that dude looking into the camera like I’m in the office. Like, Louis trying to pretend like Harry doesn’t have a monster**** and didn’t get fucked for an inch of his life is so fucking petty and hilariously embarrassing lol]

“So, I was thinking that we should have sex,” Louis says suddenly, and Harry chokes on his drink [This was so abrupt and just lololol he was so done with being sexually frustrated this was also when I screamed FINALLY BINCH]

¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡HANDCUFF SEX!!!!!!!!!!

“I want to watch the Vampire Diaries,” Louis decides finally [need I say more lmaooo]

He reaches for Harry. Harry opens his arms to Louis immediately, burying his face into Louis’ neck, and Louis shivers slightly, rubbing at Harry’s back [this was such a small and tender moment. It was just so cute since up to this point they had rarely been really affectionate like this it just made me feel all asdfghjkl...also tho I felt bad for Niel]

Louis can’t help but scoot closer to him, wrapping his arms around Harry’s torso and clinging to him like a koala bear [this was just cute okay???]

Finally, Harry huffs out a sigh and leans in, giving Louis a kiss on his cheekbone [I live for small little moments like this FUCK ME UP with emotions and feelings rip]

"I have Steve talking about pterodactyl porn, I have Niall speculating about whether it’s legal to marry ducks in the District of Colombia" [shit like this makes me side eye writers tbh like...now I know u’ve seen or talked about some weird shit. Like, Emma how did u even come up with this??? How much pterodactyl porn have u watched? like...I’m not judging u or nuffin but lowkey I’m like how much of a freak is she? Ya feel me? Get back to me on this lmao I need explanations....]

Harry’s shirt is riding up slightly, exposing the trail of hair that leads into Harry’s boxers, and there’s a small bit of a drool pooling on Harry’s skin. Oops [Excuse me but like this is so cute? Louis droolin on Harry...as gross asit may be like...how endearing tho? Again little shit like this is what makes me adore fics so much. Bless]

“Why aren’t you into me?” The words burst out of Louis suddenly, and that definitely wasn’t what he meant to say [This made me feel so asdfghjkl for Louis cause like I felt bad but also it was his fault in the first place but again with him bursting out with his feelings is so cute]

“I was waiting on you,” Harry says simply, and Louis’ heart skips a beat [I SCREAMED SO LOUD LIKE YALL HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I LOVE WHEN AUTHORS PUT THE TITLE IN THEIR STORY OR LIKE THE TITLE COMES FROMA LINE IN THE STORY. BLESS UP]

“I can’t believe you thought I didn’t want you,” Harry says, pulling away just enough to speak. “Do you think I handcuff all of my friends and let them ride me on the sofa?” His eyes are sparkling [Honestly Louis...like wyd boi]

Louis can tell that even in the throes of pleasure, Harry’s first concern is making sure Louis doesn’t get hurt [Gentle 🦇 lover Harry at it again]

Harry bites into Louis’ left ass cheek with his fangs, and Louis cries out loudly enough that he’d be concerned for Harry’s neighbors if he cared about anything other than this right now [How much nastier™ can this get tho? BYE]

Harry reaches his finger down Louis’ crack, teasing gently, but he can’t quite reach where he wants to touch. He makes a frustrated noise and hitches Louis’ leg up, forcing Louis to wrap his arms around Harry’s neck until he’s up against the wall yet again [Y’ALL MOTHERFUCKERS OUT IN PUBLIC LIKE WYD??? LEAVE ROOM FOR JESUS!! So, Harry loves to have Louis pinned to walls and lives for the exhibitionism...me as H tbh]

“I didn’t even hear the goddamn door open,” Louis mutters. “But what’s your excuse? You have super hearing!” [He was to busy fingering u in the bathroom hallway NOT EVEN IN THE BATHROOM but the damn hallway!! :/ Also, did he even wash his hands afterwards? Harry over there talking about health code violations to the wanting to be dead, undead Panera boy but he over here fingering Louis’ ass and not even washin his hands afterwards...ya nasty]

Harry goes full on drama with it and dips Louis right there in the middle of the restaurant [Louis as if ur life doesn’t revolve around drama...sit yo big ass down istg...also this was extra af but cute af so like I’m here for this]

He wraps his larger pinky around Louis’ smaller one as he speaks, and Louis gives him a small smile and nods [THIS IS LOWKEY SUBLIMINAL ADVERTISING FOR PNL. YOU AIN’T SLICK BINCH. I SEE U. Anyways, y’all can read Pinkies Never Lie HERE. Good shit. Good shit...lots of hot sex especially H wearing his rings fingering Louis scene...ijs. This scene was cute too btw]

It was raining that day, and in Louis’ mind’s eye, every rain droplet that hit the car window was there to cleanse him of everything that he had been with Luke [Literally look can CHOKE but I liked this sentence quite a lot]

“And in the last ten minutes, I’ve revised my opinion on your intelligence quite a bit, so for it to go even lower is saying something" [Listen, Nick being involved was quite a shock I will admit...but also he was literally so dumb af in this scene and I love that Harry told him so lololol]

“Louis,” Harry says, and Louis forces his eyes open again. “I love you. I love you so much.” “I love you too,” Louis says, voice quiet and raspy from the damage done to his neck. “Yeah?” Harry says, smiling as he wipes some blood from the corner of Louis’ mouth. “Don’t get cocky about it,” Louis says. His vision is spotty and Harry’s voice sounds very far away. Harry laughs, eyes still wet with tears. “You hadn’t said. Before.” “I was waiting on you,” Louis says, a small smile on his face, echoing what Harry had once said to him [This fucking scene ripped my heart out like wtf SO ASDFGHJKL!!!!!!!!!!!! Like this would be the time they said I love you. I HATE but like I love all at once??? and Like this time Louis was waiting on Harry and IM A MESS FUCC U EMMA U SUCC!!!]

Louis can feel Harry’s fingers tracing a three on his good wrist, and he realizes suddenly that he’s not drawing a three, that he was never drawing a three. He’s drawing a heart [THIS. JFC. Honestly Emma you’re such a sapp...this was so fucking cute and fluffy and asdfghjkl FUCC U]

“But don’t pull a stunt like that ever again,” James says, smiling ear to ear. “I don’t need my lead detective to be the first vampire to die of a heart attack in the history of vampirism” [Lmao me as James...honestly the way Louis attracts trouble...Harry would get a damn heart attack lol]

“Why does everyone always think that arguing is our version of a mating ritual" [Is this binch forreal??? Cause it literally was...they’re bickering and arguing was all foreplay tbh. LOLOLOL]

“Oh Luke,” he says, voice amused. “You still don’t get it. I figured out for myself that I was worth something long before I even met Harry. He was just the first vampire I’d met in a while who believed it too” [YASSSSSSSSS BINCH. THIS RIGHT HERE!!!! IS SO IMPORTANT.SO SO SOOOO IMPORTANT!!! HE DON’T NEED NO ONE TO REALIZE AND KNOW HE’S WORTH IT]

While Harry gets their satanic ritual or whatever it is he’s aiming for going [Hahahaha again with this type of humor. I LOVEEEE]

“A lifetime with you is never going to feel like enough,” Harry says honestly” ... “I guess it’s good that you’re going to have me for longer than that, then,” Louis says [LOUIS GONNA BE A VAMP!!!! FOREVER TOGETHER IM SO HAPPY!!! Also, can we get a sequel? drabble? SUMFFIN?? I vote for hot and hard 🦇 sex ayeee!]

“We were worth the wait” Louis clarifies finally [BINCH FUCK U IMA MESSSSSSSS]

Anyways, this is long af and totally unnecessary but I enjoyed reading this SO DAMN MUCH. I’m in love with this fic. There was a little bit of everything I enjoy reading. I’m still a bit annoyed that I didn’t guess Nick was the second person involved...I was always side eyeing Jeff just cause he didn’t do shit in this fic (funny how art imitates real life lol) and thought it would of been a big WTF lol. Emma, I know this fic was a nightmare at times to write but thank you so much for writing this. Especially bc it was somewhat out of your comfort zone and stuff so I really appreciate it. Okay, Imma stop being sappy and shit but you know how much my weird ass adores fics like this. So, THANK YOU! 

Everyone please go read the 🦇 fic if ya haven’t already and if you have...READ IT AGAIN. 

Xx.

[thebeckychronicles]

Post 22- 7 day countdown, infections, biopsies, PTSD, and CHAD IS OUT

Warning: lots of cursing because I was annoyed with half of what went down this past week so I think you’ll be able to tell which parts hehe

It’s been a while since I’ve posted an actual update that wasn’t written while I was all up in my feels.

The date of my last chemo infusion is August 9th, with me getting fluids for the last time on August 10th. I’ve been counting down the days since I hit 60. Right now it’s 7 days til the 9th. To say I’m ECSTATIC is to say the least. This past Tuesday was my 11th chemotherapy session, so the first part of my 6th cycle. 6 seems like such a small number but when I think about it but then I think how those 6 cycles translated to 6 months of treatment and I’m kind of left in awe at how far I’ve come. It’s both shocking and heartening.

It’s funny because my oncologist had said in the beginning that after the second or third treatment Hodgkin’s Lymphoma patients typically feel better, or that the chemotherapy side effects tend to bottom out instead of getting worse. She, as well as other specialists, had said that the port would be super easy to have, I wouldn’t even notice it and that it’d make getting treatment a lot easier. Seems like I hit the jackpot on experiencing all the unlikely scenarios when it came to my port and to chemo. So let me give you a rundown on life in general and how treatment is going.

I can’t remember whether I mentioned it or not but last month I started an internship at a non-profit immigration legal services organization. I’ve been LOVING IT. The woman I’m interning for is WONDERFUL (Hi T) and is as excited to teach me as I am to learn. It feels really good to be getting out of the house more often and doing something that isn’t just productive but actually meaningful and helping others. Plus, they’re so flexible with my treatment schedule and take into consideration my needs especially considering my health.

I also enrolled at Cascadia for the fall quarter to finish up my AA since I didn’t get to last year. Tuition is a little stressful considering financial aid sucks and I haven’t really been working much but I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. I’m just excited to have some sort of routine and normalcy back in my life. Before my diagnosis I felt burned out and kind of rudderless. Now, as clichéd as it is, I’m feeling more motivated to finish school, to figure out what I want for myself and what I want my life to look like.

Two of my best friends moved to different states. One from California to Colorado, and I’m super excited to see her thrive in her new place since she’s been talking about it non-stop. She drove up from California and I met her in Oregon and we saw her favorite band the Avett Brothers in Bend, Oregon which was amazing. That small town in kind of in the middle of nowhere and on the edge of the Willamette national forest and the stars there are ridiculous. It’s funny we always half-way plan these spontaneous little trips so we didn’t really thinking about where we were gonna spend the night so we ended up sleeping in her car in the national forest at some random campground. The view of the sky was worth the slightly uncomfortable sleeping arrangement. My other best friend moved to New Mexico. I’m also super excited to see her grow where she’s at now.

So last week Tuesday was my 11th chemo session. And it was an eventful one. In the days leading up to my last infusion my port had swelled up and actually blistered. At this point my port acting up isn’t anything new so I didn’t bother to go the clinic about it since I was going to soon anyway. Whatever, I’m a bad patient. Morning of the infusion comes and I tell my nurse that my port looks funny and that it’s hurting a bit more than usual. She peels back the sticky paper stuff (can you tell chemo brain is taking its toll on my vocab?) and wipes off the numbing cream.

“Oh kittens.”

Did I mention how much Chad (my port) sucks?

As endearing as her exclamation was, it was also kind of concerning since she’d never seemed really thrown by how messed up my port looked. Apparently my port was so concerning she went to get one of the other oncologists I was meant to see today (my oncologist was out of town) and see whether they should access it or not. He came in, looked at my port and then proceeded to look just as confused and alarmed as my nurse. He then went outside to talk to another oncologist who came to see my port and they decided to go ahead and access my port (which fucking hurt despite the stupid numbing cream). My nurse accessed my port but it was decided that I needed to go down to Radia Diagnostic Imaging where they put my port in because while they successfully accessed my port they weren’t sure if it was leaking (ew) and that’s what was causing so many issues.

At this point a 15 minute appointment before treatment turned into an hour long one that was making me late for chemo. I went down to RDI where they injected dye into my port and then used an x-ray to see if it was working properly. Which it was. I will say that the whole team in RDI seemed perplexed by Chad too. One of them even said, “In my ten years of doing ports I’ve never seen this.” Thank you for that reassuring comment dude. They deemed Chad well enough to get treatment so they sent me to infusion with instructions to come back once I was done so a specialist could look at it. Infusion was infusion, nothing new except I had an awesome visitor. Hi Shauna! :D

Once infusion was done, I went back down to RDI. The specialist looked at it, again seeming very confused by Chad and said the dreaded B word. Biopsy. I swear I didn’t used to have an issue with needles until I got cancer. THANK YOU BECKY. So they brought me into a different room and had me take off my shirt and lay down under a blanket while they set up their torture tools (Again, I NEVER had issue with needles and getting blood drawn or anything until that first awful biopsy. Shit’s traumatizing.) Luckily at that point my mom got to the hospital and was able to be in the room with me while the biopsy was done. They got me all cleaned up. 1, 2, 3, a “quick pinch, quick pinch,” from the specialist and a huge fucking sting later, I was numb and they were digging out tissue and whatever fluid was in that blister. A few minutes later they had me cleaned up and on my way home, with a reminder that they’d let me know if anything suspect popped up in the culture and a prescription for major antibiotics just in case.

The next day I went back to infusion for fluids. Honestly, I was feeling pretty good. Having one more down just one more infusion to go, in addition to the fact that I hadn’t started to feel awful, I felt like I was sprinting towards the finish line.

Then Thursday came. If I was sprinting towards the finish line, feeling good Tuesday and Wednesday, I ate it hard on Thursday. (Insert appropriate meme here.) I woke up and my body was in total rebellion to the things I was putting it through. I woke up and my teeth hurt, my muscles were cramping, my bones felt like they were on fire and everything hurt. I couldn’t even really name the pain. To top it off, Friday morning I woke up with an awful rash that burned and stung, in addition to Chad being his usual pain in the ass self. I figured I should call the clinic and they had me come in immediately. Usually I’m pretty lowkey at my appointments, I’m not really demanding and I’m pretty patient during mix ups and stuff. But at this point, I’m annoyed that they’ve insisted I keep Chad even though he’s been more trouble than he’s worth, a lot of my issues that have come with treatment have stemmed from Chad, and three NO ONE LISTENS WHEN I SAY I DON’T WANT THE PORT. I’m pissy, I feel terrible and I’m done being an easygoing patient.

So after my RN took my vitals and went to consult with another oncologist, two nurses came in to do blood cultures from BOTH my arms. They had already done 2 blood cultures that both gave negative results to an infection, so I with, some attitude I’ll admit, asked why they were doing another blood culture when they’d recently done two others. One of the nurses had been the same one to do the blood cultures the last two times. And apparently, nurses don’t really get to do them too often so they hit the jackpot with me and she got to teach two other nurses how to do it with me as their guinea pig. Apparently, I was to be the guinea pig again. Right then, I was super frustrated and wanting to cry because one, everything hurts and two, I actually wanted to rip that damn port out myself if they weren’t going to do it. Whatever, the nurse explained to me that this time they were just gonna focus on blood infections on both sides of my body rather than whatever else it was that they were testing last time (I guess the blood cultures last time weren’t to test… for… blood… infections?). They did the blood cultures (I think at this point I can do them myself considering I know the procedure now ha) and my RN came back. She told me to get some type of cream for the rash and that if develop a fever to call back and that they’d let me know about the blood infection. Also, side note, that biopsy they did Tuesday also yielded negative results so no infection. Which is good but WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH MY PORT THEN???? She also tried to give me a bit of a pep talk, saying that they only had to use the port one more time for one more chemo session. To which my response was, hell no. You are taking this thing out of me. The next time someone touches my port it’s to take the damn thing out. So I insisted on her writing up the order so that when my oncologist got back Monday, she could just sign it, send it to RDI and get me scheduled to have Chad taken out that week. So she did and now here we are.   The rest of the weekend was physically painful in ways I can’t really describe but still pretty enjoyable. I went to my sister’s best friend’s wedding which was sweet. Although I went sporting that awful rash (that I still have today- Wednesday.) And then Sunday was spent with the family celebrating my uncle’s birthday and yesterday we celebrated my cousin’s birthday too.

But let’s talk about today (8/1). CHAD HAS VACATED MY BODY THANK YOU GOD. But let me also just say that removing him was a terrible process that I was awake for and do not recommend that AT ALL. Seriously. Maybe because my port and the area around it is just generally super tender and painful and that made the process of removing it more painful than usual but whatever- point is the port removal was just as bad and traumatizing- if not more- than my first biopsy. My first biopsy which I start crying about when asked to talk about it.

I guess what doesn’t kill you make you stronger. Or it just gives you really unhealthy coping mechanisms, a morbid sense of humor and some PTSD. I really think the biopsies and the port removal and being awake for those procedures really fucked me up in the head. Someone will ask about those procedures and I kid you not I have to try not to cry or get emotional when I do. Even writing this now I’m tearing up which sucks because again things like needles and surgeries didn’t bother me before. Now I’m THAT patient. The one that although doesn’t flail and make your job harder as the person performing the procedure, they do panic and quietly cry and loudly curse a lot and probably make your job slightly entertaining but at the same time you want to roll your eyes at because you think they’re being dramatic.

Yeah, that’s now me.

First I had to check in at clinic and get my blood drawn by my nurse. After confirming that my white blood cell count was well enough to go on with the procedure I went down to RDI and waited an hour for to be called back. A nurse came to get me and led me to the room where they were gonna perform the procedure, the specialist saw my port and said, “Oh yeah, that needs to come out.” THAT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU FOR 6 MONTHS. So I walked into this procedure thinking it’ll be as easy as when they put the port in. They’d knock me out and I’d wake up sans Chad.

Nope.

They explained the procedure to me and right before I signed the consent forms they mentioned that I’d be awake during this and that they’d be using local anesthetic. Keep in mind, the memory of the last biopsy from last week and the anesthetic is still fresh in my mind, so my first thought was WTF. Rude. I went ahead and signed the forms because I was getting this thing out of me one way or another and I was trying not to panic about that and not be a baby about the whole thing.

They got me all set up on the same x-ray table they had used on me last week. They covered my whole body with this tent-type thing that gives them access to the area but covers the rest of my body. I started to panic a little bit more because it was weird that I wouldn’t be able to see what they’re doing. There were two nurses helping the specialist during this procedure.

The whole experience was not fun. The anesthetic hurt. A lot. I think they injected me a total of 8 times. The last 3 being because when they started cutting me open I felt something sharp rather than the pressure and pulling/tugging you’re supposed to feel when you’ve been numbed for a procedure. So apparently, I didn’t take to well to the anesthetic and honestly I could still feel sharp sensations during the procedure even after the 8 shots of anesthetic. But at that point I figured just suck it up because I didn’t want to get unnecessarily poked if the anesthetic wasn’t gonna work anyway. Either way I was going to feel pain. Pretty sure I was having a panic attack during the whole thing. I just was laying there silently crying out of pain and frustration and just being overwhelmed by everything I’m putting my body through in the name of regaining my health and wellbeing. It was like that first biopsy and feeling overwhelmed and so foreign in my own body all over again. During this procedure they took some skin samples and blood samples to see if they could figure out what kind of infection caused me to have so many issues with Chad.

After that whole ordeal, they stitched and glued me up. Trying to make myself feel better I sarcastically said, “Well that was pleasant.” To which one of the nurses responded saying, “See, it’s not so bad! Most patients end up saying it wasn’t too bad.” To which I thought, BITCH WHERE???

So then they sent me off with another batch of major antibiotics to take for the next five days, three times a day.  

So here I am, the next day FREE OF CHAD.

Next week Tuesday I’m going in for another procedure to get a PICC line put it. A PICC line is like a really long IV that stays in your arm and is threaded into one of the major veins there. Since Chad got the boot they need another way for me to receive my last chemo which they’re going to administer using the PICC line. I hear they use local anesthetic to place it too. So we’ll see how that goes. Thanks for keeping up with me everyone, I really appreciate it. 7 MORE DAYS :D

[motherhen-bear]

Critical Role Relationship Week: Day 6 - Kashaw & Shaun Gilmore “A Sweet Torture”

Kashaw moved his chin from resting in his left palm to his right, fighting back a yawn as the time difference between Whitestone and Vasselheim continued to fuck with him.

Vox Machina could kiss his ass, the ungrateful shits.

Life was weird sometimes. Instead of walking the path of the solitary man, he now sat at a long table beneath a castle with a fucking floating orb of death less than a hundred feet away, amongst reigning Ladies, Arcanists, Wizards, and Sorcerers, members of the Council of Emon, Paladins of Bahamut, and Spy Masters. He sat there, Zahra to his right, and tried not to look like he'd rather be anywhere else, as everyone planned for whatever shit show lay ahead. If the smirks the purple-garbed sorcerer with the impressive goatee was giving him were anything to go by, he wasn't doing a very good job.

After another hour or so, Cassandra finally dismissed them. Kashaw winced as he stood, his body still sore from the trip, but when Zahra reached out a hand to steady him, he waved her off.

"I'm alright, Z, don't worry," he promised.

"I always worry, darling. You won't get me to stop as easily as that," the red tiefling teased, tapping his nose with one clawed finger. "How about we get some dinner?"

Kashaw shook his head and, at her side, began the trek out of the Ziggurat. "As tempting as that sounds, I have a feeling I'm more likely to fall in my food than eat it. Think I'll just head back to the barracks and get some sleep."

"Want me to go with you?" she offered as they began ascending the stairs back up to the castle's main floor. "It's getting dark out. We wouldn't want you getting lost now."

The human cleric rolled his eyes, "I think I can manage it."

Zahra smiled, "I have the utmost faith in you," she said and after giving him a quick peck on the cheek, sauntered off.

Kashaw watched her go and then glanced around. Most of the others that had been at the meeting had already separated to go about their own business - only Allura, Drake, Kima, and the old, crusty wizard had stayed back below when the rest had scattered. Kashaw looked about the fancy main hall with its towering ceiling, climbing pillars, and tapestries hanging off the wall adorned with a sun-and-keep design. The room broke out into at least six different directions on this floor and had at least two main winding staircases leading up into what he was sure would be a dozen more doors and corridors. Bypassing them all, he headed to the main entrance and looked down over Whitestone where the city was already alight with the evening lamps.

"Right," he muttered to himself. "So was it three lefts and a right, or one left and three rights?" and he headed down the stone steps into the city.

An hour later, the cleric was ready to take a page out of the big man's book and start smashing. There were too many damn buildings filling up space, too many damn streets that led to other streets, and he was taking too many damn turns at that damn giant tree in the center of the damn town. It was really starting to get dark now and Kashaw had a sinking suspicion he wasn't anywhere closer to the barracks than he'd been when he'd started. There wasn't much choice - he was going to have to ask for directions.

Swallowing his pride, he picked one of the modest, yet well-put-together homes at random, walked up and knocked on the door. After a few moments, the door opened and there standing in the light extending from the interior stood a familiar-looking man with dark sun-kissed skin, long dark hair and a braided goatee, dressed in purple evening robes and holding a steaming cup of what appeared to be tea in one hand.

"Well well, Kashaw Vesh gracing my doorstep. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

Shaun Gilmore stood before him, looking rather bemused, but also adapting to the situation with his regular grandeur. Kashaw hadn't many, if any, real one-on-one interactions with the sorcerer beyond general introductions upon his arrival and the odd meeting between Vox Machina's Whitestone allies, but even someone who'd had only the briefest of meetings with the man would find Gilmore very hard to forget.

"I was really just picking doors at random, didn't mean to disturb you."

Gilmore's smile, beyond comprehension, actually grew wider. "Well then, this night is certainly a fortuitous one if it has gifted me with a rare sighting of the mysterious and ever-brooding Kashaw the recluse."

Kashaw just stared at him. "Yeah, lucky you."

He knew he was being rude, but it wasn't intentional, not really. Zahra had told him once that he was something of an "acquired taste," and that if he smiled a bit more others might "enjoy the flavor". However changing an entire demeanor, one that he'd built up ever since the day he'd discovered that the deity his mother told him he was destined to marry was actually a life-sucking enigma of darkness and pain, was not exactly as easy as changing what he wanted for breakfast.

To Gilmore's credit though, he didn't seem offended. More like amused as if he had just stumbled upon an interesting sideshow performance or an unconventional use for health potions. Whatever his thoughts, he turned around and reentered his lodgings, motioning behind him for Kashaw to follow. After a moment of lingering oddly in the doorway, he followed the other man inside and shut the door behind him.

Without a word, the sorcerer led to the kitchen-slash-dining room and motioned for him to take a seat at the table before moving to the counter where a kettle sat, steam rising from the tip. He refilled his cup.

Kashaw stood awkwardly in the center of the room before addressing the man that had his back to him. "Really, I was just looking to get some directions to the barracks. I don't need any tea."

Gilmore snapped his fingers and a teacup, saucer, and spoon magically floated off the shelf and into the cleric's hands.

"Nonsense," he replied, turning around and taking a seat himself as the kettle floated after him. "It's been too long since I had a guest for more than a minute or two and I intend to take advantage of it. Also, and pardon the intrusiveness my friend, you look like you could use a cup of tea more than most dragons could use a good slaying." He waved his hand again and the chair opposite him pulled out from the table. "Come! Sit for a spell and then I'll be sure to send you on your way."

Reluctantly, Kashaw took a seat and held out the cup for the enchanted kettle to fill. Taking a sip, he held back a slight grin as the refreshing flavor spilled over his tongue.

“So, how was your visit with the iron-asses and zealot-types?” Gilmore asked after a few minutes, throwing a wrench into the surprisingly comfortable silence.

Kashaw felt a vein in his head begin to pulse. “Oh, great. Y’know,” he bit out, words like acid on his tongue. “Only took me a goddamn week to pretty much sell myself to the Huntmaster for two insanely expensive contracts, and then come back through the frozen wasteland to find out, ‘oh hey, yeah so we don’t actually need those anymore, thanks anyway!’ Yeah, it was fucking fantastic.”

“I heard,” Gilmore smiled sympathetically. “Our intrepid adventurers aren’t exactly known for their patience. Or planning.” He took another sip before continuing. “Still, I’m sure they do appreciate your efforts.”

“What, like they do yours?” Kashaw spit out and proceeded to seethe, while the other man just looked at him awhile.

He felt bad for saying it. He did. It wasn’t kind and it wasn’t necessary, especially for someone like Gilmore, who had been busting his ass alongside Allura to keep the city off the map. Compared to them, Kashaw really hadn’t lost a whole lot, even if time was a rare commodity these days, but dammit that could have been a week spent healing in the medical tent, a week training recruits to have at least a fraction of a chance if the inevitable should happen and the dragons shifted their attention north. A week spent with one tiefling over another.

As if reading his mind, and who knows maybe he was, Gilmore put down his tea and leaned on the arm of his chair, “Time is a precious thing, especially when the days are measured by long you go without hearing the beating of leathery wings or seeing dragon fire on the horizon. For those left waiting for the shoe to drop, it’s agonizing, but for those actively racing against the clock… it must be a living hell.”

He smiled then, a bit sad, but still warm. “The latter clings to the things that bring them comfort – love, friendship, or even just reliability. Sometimes all three. Sometimes all three in one person.”

Kashaw huffed a breath, “Not really fair.”

Gilmore chuckled, “No, perhaps not. Tell me though,” and he leaned towards him, “Isn’t it interesting to know that not one, not two, but seven people if not more believe you to be one of the few who absolutely will survive?”

The cleric stared into his tea, the scent filling his nostrils with warm, slightly sweet steam.

In his life, Kashaw had spent a good portion of it intentionally trying not to make friends. Being the only living cleric to a vengeful Goddess of evil and despair didn't usually endear him to very many. Being her husband didn't typically score him very many points either.

So, he felt it was in everybody's best interests to keep himself separate, go where he was needed or where his fancy struck him, and just get by without having to deal with the messy bits that liking people typically came with.

Of course, that was before.

Before he'd been recruited into training hopeless, would-be soldiers in a city he'd only just arrived in. Before he reached out to a force he loathed and a half-elf started breathing again under his hands. Before he met Z and for the first time, actually started to think there was something to this whole "emotional ties" thing. Before dragons came crashing out of Gods-knows-where and began setting the world on fire. Before he met the most crazy-ass, ridiculous family he'd ever seen, helped kill a giant cat demon to clear up a debt, and kissed a very pretty and babbling druid before walking off into the sunset, secretly hoping he'd see them all again.

Before he actually started to give a damn.

Kashaw let out a long sigh, rubbing his hand over his face. “Giving a damn really sucks, doesn’t it?”

Gilmore chuckled and leaned back in his seat, picking up his tea from its saucer. “Oh yes, my friend. It really does.”