#i love my domestic!chesters to death

[authornina]

Dalonte “DALY” Dennis: (TEK)

***THIS HAS NOT BEEN THROUGH A TYPICAL EDITING PROCESS; ALL SHORTS ARE ROUGH DRAFTS***

Daly shook his head listening to his sisters go back and forth about dumb shit. It seemed like they always waited until he came around to bring up niggas. He never intruded on their personal lives because he’d instilled enough in them to know what to do and what not to do. He had been on his own with them since he could remember. Daly was only ten years old roaming the streets looking for food to feed them. Life didn’t give him much of a choice to live another way. His mother left everything up to him, so he had to do anything to survive. At first it was just he and TJ, then two more girls came, and his mother literally dropped them off home to him. Daly cared for infants alone being just a baby himself.

They were on their way to the airport to pick up the baby of the three, Erie. She went away to college four years ago and this would be her first time back in Philly since graduating. They visited her a lot, but they were all happy to have her in the same state as them again. He was so proud of Erie for sticking it out and finishing college. At first, she would beg to come home. She even threatened to drop out several times. Daly spoiled Erie the most so during each one of her breakdowns he flew to Atlanta where she attended Spelman to talk her down.

All three of his sisters even being raised by him like straight niggas turned out to be great women despite their foul ass mouths and no-nonsense ass attitudes. People always said how pretty they were until witnessing one of them in action. Daly was a cool brother to have but he sometimes was too hard on himself thinking he could’ve done better with them and their emotions. He didn’t know how to raise children let alone girls but over the years he learned so much about women, more than he actually wanted to know. 

TJ was the oldest and she owned a popular hair salon. She was the wildest and most outspoken. Daly had to bail her out of jail several times, primarily for domestic disputes with her lovers. She was openly bisexual and came out to him when she was sixteen, saying if Daly didn’t accept her for who she was, he could kiss her ass. Of course, no matter what he loved his sister. TJ was five-eight, with tan skin covered by tattoos. She had them everywhere. None of them knew their fathers and Daly assumed she was biracial off her features and TJ didn’t like that. So, the long curly black hair she once had as a girl which made her ambiguity more apparent was shaved off and she chose to wear all types of colorful wigs. She was beautiful either way with her natural hunter green eyes and freckled rosy cheeks. Despite her lifestyle and appearance, TJ went to church a lot. She’d been that way since she was just a child. Always telling Daly she had them all covered on the prayer tip, so they were good. She believed the Lord protected her big brother the many nights he had to go out and do what needed to be done for them. TJ had a huge and loving heart she just didn’t have the patience for bullshit.

Ta’Kia, whom everyone simply called Kia was the calmest when considering the three of them. She didn’t bother anyone unless they bothered her. It was a different story if she knew you though, you wouldn’t be able to shut her ass up. She went to college in state at West Chester where she met her white boyfriend that she stressed out regularly. Kia was also fair skin and four-eleven of feistiness. Daly knew whoever her father was had to be black. She had 4C hair and to him that meant straight nigga. He learned all about the different types of hair black women had over the years. He didn’t assume they couldn’t have loose coils in general, but his sister came from nigga nuts with the shit that sat on top of her head. Kia kept it in all types of natural styles. She was the earthy vegan type. No man-made chemicals could touch her person and she only ate what she grew. She wore very little clothing often, even when it was cold with beads around her waist, lots of rings on her fingers and she had two nose rings and a septum. Daly didn’t know where the hell that aesthetic came from but again, he supported his sisters through whatever.  

Then there was Erieon, Erie for short, Daly’s baby. TJ and Kia didn’t give into her spoiled ass the way he did. If you asked them, their little sister was selfish, stubborn and plain old evil. Erie had a bad attitude, worse than all of three put together and never liked to admit when she was wrong. The only person she didn’t get out the way with was Daly. Erie was the surprise baby and the most beautiful little dark doll he’d ever seen when his mother first dropped her off. He fell in love with her the moment he had to take her on. By then he’d become an expert at caring for infants. Erie stood out because amongst her sisters she shined like chocolate satin. While her sisters rocked baldies and bushes, Erie loved box braids, and any other type of style that hung pass her butt in individuals. Everything about her was gorgeous. She was the most regular physically but personality wise, Daly had a time with that one. Sometimes he thought she had some mental health issues but seeing Lake go through so much and learning what he could, he swore his sister wasn’t that damaged. Couldn’t be. He simply gave her whatever she wanted and hoped it never went further than having temper tantrums.

When Daly was just a child, if it weren’t for Hassan, he and his sisters would be separated and spread out through the system. It was one of the reasons Daly was so loyal to Lake. Hassan made sure they never had to worry about being taken from one another. The house they lived in, he bought it and fixed it up. They had food and clean clothes every day. When his mother would try to come and interrupt the peace they finally had, Hassan made sure she didn’t any longer. Whatever bad shit people had to say about the late Hassan Porter, he and his sisters were blinded by the fact that he was the only adult to give a fuck about them. Even his mother’s sister didn’t offer a helping hand when she knew how they were living. Hassan didn’t ask any questions or want any answers. He saw a problem and fixed it. Never made Daly feel ashamed or embarrassed either.  

Once at the busy airport, they didn’t even have to park to meet Erie inside. She was sitting outside on her luggage with an obvious attitude.

“Here her ass go with the bullshit,” Kia said getting out the car. She hugged her resistant baby sister while Daly kissed her cheek before getting her stuff. TJ didn’t even get out the car because she was the least interested in what had her mean ass mad already. 

“What’s wrong, Erieon?” Daly asked once they were all back in the car. 

“Nothing.” 

“Erie! Stop bein’ a fuckin’ brat!” TJ turned around to her sister who was in the back seat now with her arms crossed and face balled up. “You always do that like somebody supposed to know what you thinkin’.” 

“Leave me alone.” 

“Erie, what’s wrong?” Daly asked her in a gentle tone making TJ and Kia roll their eyes.

“The flight was just annoying. I don’t like being around people.” 

“I’m sure people don’t like being around your evil ass either,” TJ said. “I’ma pray for you on Sunday demon.” She held the cross around her neck then pulled out a little bottle and splashed Erie. 

“Don’t put that saltwater on me!” 

“You need Jesus!” 

“TJ, stop,” Kia laughed. “Stay sprinkling people with your lil holy water.” 

“She think cause she got baptized that she still not going to hell,” Erie said, wiping her face. “Newsflash, you eat pussy, that’s a sin!” 

“Yo!” Daly yelled. “I don’t wanna hear that shit. All y’all shut the fuck up!” 

Why did he say that? All hell broke loose. They started shouting obscenities his way and he blew his breath wishing he went alone to begin with. Daly loved his sisters to absolute death, but they were a damn handful. How anybody dated one was beyond him. Man or woman. 

“Wit your big head ass!” TJ mushed him. “Don’t be talkin’ to us like that!” 

“I’m stayin’ with you TJ,” Erie said. They were the two who got along the least, but her sister was the most freeing to be around and let her do anything. Even though she was going on twenty-three, Kia and Daly treated her like a baby.

“Then you better act like you know, I ain’t for the walkin’ around my shit with no attitude! And I don’t clean up after grown muhfuckas.” 

“Why you don’t want your own shit?” Daly asked.

“Because I don’t wanna be alone,” Erie said low. “TJ lays with me when I need her.” 

“I can lay with you,” Daly said.

“You never be home.”

Erie saying that made Daly feel bad. If he wasn’t there often it’s because he couldn’t be and when he wasn’t, they had to take care of each other. They didn’t intentionally make him feel bad about it, they simply were dealt a shitty hand. No mother and their brother couldn’t be around due to the fact that he was the provider. It all affected each of them in different ways. 

“I lay with you too.” 

“Kia, your bed bout as big as this back seat. Then you like to sleep on the floor,” Erie said, and they all started laughing. 

Daly gave his sisters the range to live much more extravagant, but Kia didn’t want to. She liked her open space loft, mattress on the floor, no curtains, plants from wall to windows, three pairs of shoes and garden full of natural foods. TJ wanted to work for her own money, so she started a business. Erie was the only one who happily ran through his pockets like no tomorrow. He was okay with him being their backup plan if they ever needed or wanted it.

“Says the homeless one,” Kia rolled her eyes.

“By choice,” Erie retorted. 

After Daly took his sisters out then dropped them all off, he stopped at his old apartment. His phone was ringing off the hook and the only calls he returned were Lake, Wreck and Roddy. Mansion called him about fifty times. When those went unanswered, the texts started. 

Mansion: I know you with another bitch, since you wanna ignore me for her. Stay there, and don’t call me ever again with your hoe ass! 

Mansion: Bitch ass nigga! You really wanna cheat on me? And I bet she don’t look like shit! 

Mansion: I was fuckin’ somebody else anyway!

Mansion: I’m gettin’ a abortion!

Daly ignored each one. Mansion would say anything to get him to argue with her. At first it was funny, but now, he was a little tired of the constant back and forth. It was childish but that’s what he got for messing with a twenty-one-year-old. 

“What?” he asked, finally answering for her.

“Put your bitch on the phone.” 

“I ain’t wit no bitch.” 

“Right, you a hoe ass liar! Come get me right now.” 

“Fuck no! Go tell the nigga you was fuckin’ to get your crazy ass.” 

“I was just sayin’ that,” Mansion whined. “I love you.”

“Obviously,” Daly responded sarcastically and they both started laughing. “You gotta chill bro.” 

“My anger just get the best of me, you know I would never step out on you.” 

“I’m not comin’ tonight, I got shit to do.” 

“Like what?” 

“Shit.” 

“You lyin’.” 

“When the fuck do I ever have to lie? If I’ma be with another bitch, I would tell you.” 

“See that’s what I’m talkin’ bout, the disrespect! I’m not about to let you play in my face with no ugly ass hoe!” 

“Who ugly, Mansion?” 

“SHADIA!” she screamed, and Daly hollered. His on again off again girlfriend for years grinded Mansion’s gears. “You need to tell that dog face bitch you love me and it’s over.” 

“I told her that.” 

“Then why she still feel comfortable to go around talkin’ about my nigga? Why THE FUCK is she postin’ you on her Instagram?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You know because you keep givin’ that hoe hope!” 

“Ion give nobody shit,” Daly looked at his phone beeping. “Hold on, I’ma call you right back.” He didn’t wait for a response to click over for his sister. “Yea TJ?” 

“Come get Erie before I fuck her up!” 

“What she do that damn fast?” 

“I comes the fuck in my room and her ass changin’ shit around in MY HOUSE!”

“You got it ugly in here!” he heard Erie yell in the back. “Everything don’t gotta be green!” 

“DALONTE!” TJ shouted. “Come get your sister! NOW! Jesus be a high ass fence for Erieon…” she started her prayer for forgiveness then Daly heard a bunch of ruckus. He hung up on everybody tired of dealing with women for one day. It wasn’t even five o’clock yet. He got all the bags out of his trunk and went inside the apartment building. 

When he put his key in the door Tracy was standing right there with an attitude. Out of all the bitch fits, he was least interested in hers. He didn’t tell his sisters about their mother staying there and that’s why he moved because it would upset them. TJ mostly. She hated Tracy to no ending. 

“The fuck you standing there for waitin’ like you caught me cheatin’ or something?” 

“Because you leave me in this place, alone! I ain’t got no phone, no communication to the outside world—” 

“Man, fuck outta here,” Daly said, closing the door. “You lucky you got this.”

“I want to see my children, Dalonte!” 

“They don’t wanna see you.” 

Daly’s mother was a rehabilitated crackhead and ex-prostitute. He wouldn’t have offered her a place to stay but she was currently pregnant and had the nerve to tell him she wanted to do right for her baby. 

“Well it ain’t they choice, y’all is muthafuckin’ kids to me! I don’t care what we been through! I am your mother!” 

“You ain’t shit, Tracy.” Daly took all the bags in the kitchen. “Here, all the shit you wanted. Fuckin’ prenatal vitamins,” he threw them at her. “I know your ass ain’t do none of this shit with us! You want my sisters to see this shit?” He started pouring all the stuff out. “You got it in you to finally care about one of your kids.” 

“He is y’all little brother,” Tracy said, palming her stomach with tears in her eyes. Her oldest child hated her so she knew it couldn’t have been any better with the other three but not seeing them for so long hurt her heart. When she came to him, he didn’t even care at first. They owed her nothing and as a mother Tracy wished she could take every ounce of pain she caused them back. 

“I almost said fuck him too,” Daly laughed, and Tracy smiled. Her son loved her; she knew this because he could be really cold when he wanted to be. There had been times she’d been on the other end of it. 

“I’m sorry for putting all of this on you, if I had another option, I would’ve chosen it. I know it’s not easy seeing me like this,” Tracy expressed to her son sincerely. 

“Whatever, I’m out, I gotta go break up a fight between your kids.” 

“Can you at least tell them I miss them?” 

“I’ll think about it.” Daly closed the door in her face. He stood with his back against the door feeling the way he did when he was younger. So many times, she would even watch him struggle with his sisters. Tracy would be home while he was trying to figure out a way to provide for them. Here she was pregnant again with another baby and needed her son all over again. Déjà vu.

#OnUs #authornina #Nina

[spencers-renaissance]

Fic Rec Bingo!!

So instead of Fic Rec Thursday, I thought I'd do something a little different this week and recommend 25 fics based on this bingo card (although it turned into 26, oops). I kept most of these as CM because that's my blog's focus, but due to the nature of the prompts, there are 5 Marvel (Irondad) ones & 1 Sherlock towards the end!

from @lightveils on twitter, but found posted on tumblr by @cywscross <3

1. A fic with a premise that shouldn't work but does

I never would've thought I'd enjoy a fic with Spencer as a little rebellious shit because it seems so ooc, but I loved this one!

las vegas kid by trashcanbarbie - 1.9k, 1ch, Gen/Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Gambling, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Young Spencer Reid, Teenage Rebellion, Protective Aaron hotchner, Pre-Canon, Father-Son Relationship, Teenage Spencer Reid

JJ raises her eyebrows, “so, you're trying to say counting cards isn't cheating?” “No,” he grins, boyish and charming, “it is.”

2. A fic you've reread several times

Discipline Changes by fullofcrazyness - 1.2k, 1ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Comforting Hotch

Jack stopped and looked at his dad, finally seeing that his dad wasn’t actually angry. Concerned and relieved, but not angry. He was about to say something when he saw someone in the doorway, white as a sheet. “Papa?”

3. A comfort fic

i'm always tired, but never of you by @iamrenstark - 2.2k, 1ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Hurt Spencer Reid, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sad Derek, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Derek Morgan Needs a Hug, Men Crying, Gunshot Wounds, Blood and Injury

When Spencer figured it out, he was stepping out of the elevator on the bottom floor of Quantico, and he went to tell Derek he loved him like he did every day, but he froze up, because he was afraid he wouldn't hear it back. (Or, Spencer thinks his boyfriend is falling out of love with him.)

4. A cathartic fic

Every Little Transgression by @58thacademic - 1.6k, 1ch, Gen, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sad Spencer Reid, Protective David Ross, Protective Derek Morgan, Mentioned Suicide Attempt, Spencer's Backstory, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Episode: s03e16 Elephant's Memory

Ok so. Elephants memory was really good because we got Reid backstory. But I'm still annoyed that he didn't defend himself against Hotch. So this was born.

5. A fic you'd print and put on your bookshelf

One Call Away by GhostInTheBAU - 204k, 32ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Dubious Consent, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Domestic Violence, Rape Recovery, Referenced Past Drug Use, PTSD, Hurt Spencer Reid, Protective Aaron Hotchner, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Flashbacks, Healing, Nightmares, Suicidal Thoughts, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Eventual Smut

When Reid's boyfriend attacks him, leaving him broken and bleeding, he calls the first person he thinks of for help. He calls the only person he really wants to see. He calls Hotch.

6. A fic you associate with a song

I associate this fic with The First Thing You See by Bruno Major. I think if you listen to the song, you'll easily see why <3

You Make Waking Up Worth It by @guccifloralsuits - 2.1k, 1ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Fluff, Minor Angst, Established Relationship, Morning Routines, Hurt/Comfort, Good Things Happen Bingo

“Morning sweetheart,” Derek says, pausing briefly to ruffle his hand gently through Spencer’s hair. The genius nuzzles into the touch but doesn’t reply. It’s too early for conversation, Morgan knows. Pretty boy may get up earlier than he does, but it takes the younger a lot longer to really wake up.

7. A fic that inspires you

This fic could have been in so many categories because I adore it, but I wouldn't have started writing Rain is a Chance to be Touched without this fic so it definitely belongs here.

Forgive Me For All I Could Not Become by @degrassi-fanatic - 105k, 20ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Canon Divergence, Getting Together, Angst, Case Fic, Confessions, Complicated Relationships, Near Death Experiences, Friends With Benefits, Smut, Miscommunication

In which Reid has always been good at hiding things. He hid his father's departure and his mother's illness from social services. He hid his addiction from his team. He hid his sexuality from the world. He hid his inappropriate feelings from his boss. That is until he's bleeding out in Hotch's arms, in an abandoned church, in Oklahoma. From there on out, Hotch and Reid learn to make a complete mess out of each other.

8. A fic that brought you on board a new ship

Even though it's unrequited, this was the first fic that really had me going !!! at Penemily <3

Another Wide-Eyed Girl by mallfacee - 2k, 1ch, Gen/Derek Morgan & Penelope Garcia, Penelope Garcia/Emily Prentiss (Unrequited), Coming Out, Internalised Homophobia, Derek Morgan is a Good Friend, Friendship, Gunshot Wounds, Episode: s03e08 Lucky

Derek Morgan is handsome and calls her “baby girl” and smiles at her like she’s the only girl in the room. Penelope Garcia knows she should be swooning and all she can think is that there must be something wrong with her not to react to a man like that giving her all this attention. Two years later she meets Emily Prentiss and understands.

9. A fic you wish could be a movie

Listen, I adore the soulmate trope, and an angsty moreid soulmate movie? Fucking sign me up right now

i need you now but i don't know you yet by @iamrenstark - 3.1k, 1ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt Derek Morgan, Mutual Pining, Soulmates, Hurt/Comfort, Buford Mention, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, Season 5

It goes like this; Spencer hasn't spoken to his soulmate since he was ten, didn't know their gender or their name or a single thing about them. Spencer's soulmate doesn't want him, and that's okay.

10. A fic that led to you making friends with the author

I'm doing two because fuck you that's why

This was one of the first fics I read of Adam's and I immediately fell in love with his writing! And I'm pretty sure that we ended up becoming friends after I rec'd it!!

Plum Sauce by @goldencatchflies - 1.5k, 1ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Jealousy, Platonic Morcia, Episode: s07e13 Snake Eyes

Garcia tells Spencer about what she thinks happened between her and Derek. He doesn’t seem too happy about it...

I read this from Syd and absolutely loved it, and like with Adam, we became friends from there! (I mean technically husband and wife, but, y'know. Semantics.)

You Belong With Me by @spencerspecifics - 11.4k, 1ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Song Fic, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pining, Fluff

A fluffy Moreid fic based on You Belong With Me by: Taylor Swift

11. A fic you associate with a place

This reminds me of a chilled Sunday afternoon on my old sofa in my living room, with the fire on in the background. I read it all in one sitting and loved every word <3

Metanoia by @makaylajadewrites - 39k, 16ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Canon Typical Violence, Implied Rape/Non-Con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Established Relationship, Near Death Experiences, Frostbite, Rape Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Autistic Spencer Reid, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, Eventual Happy Ending

Oh, Derek… He couldn’t stand the thought of him bursting in with SWAT in tow, gun at the ready, only to descend those creaky stairs and find his naked, bleeding body, vacated of life, crumbled on a red-stained mattress. The realization that he was going to die at the end of this was catching up to him, but maybe it would be better that way.

In which an unfortunate resemblance to an unsub's victims puts Reid right on his radar.

12. A fic that made you gasp out loud

Gasp out loud might be a *bit* of an overreaction, but this one took me on a rollercoaster and I loved every second of it (all of bau-gremlin's fics will do that to you tbh)

The End by @bau-gremlin - 3.1k, 2ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Graphic Violence, Stabbing, Blood and Injury, Temporary Character Death, Hurt Spencer Reid, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt Aaron Hotchner, Sleepy Cuddles, Protective Spencer Reid

The famous interview with Chester Hardwick ... except Hotch and Reid get separated and Reid is left alone with Hardwick and a prison-made shiv.

13. A fic you found at the right time

You're Going to be Okay by fullofcrazyness - 2.6k, 1ch, Gen/Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Dark, Suicidal Thoughts, Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Sad Spencer Reid, Hurt Spencer Reid, Depression, Protective Aaron Hotchner, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending

Spencer was no stranger to depression. His father leaving him, his mother’s episodes, being twelve years old in a Las Vegas high school. All of those things made him very familiar with the illness. “I… I think I need some help.”

14. A fic that you would read a fic of

Chain Reaction by EloquentDossier - 42k, 16ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Alternate Universe, Texting, Dialogue-Only, Text Fic, Self-Esteem Issues, Fluff, Angst, Implied/Referenced Past Drug Use, Canon Divergence, Pining, Oblivious Aaron Hotchner, Happy Ending

A dialogue-only AU in which Hotch texts what he thinks is Rossi's new number but is actually the slightly eccentric stranger whom Hotch knows only as "Spencer." What follows is something neither man could have ever quite expected.

15. A fic that made you laugh out loud

The Bet by @degrassi-fanatic - 1.6k, 2ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Bets & Wagers, Humour, Fluff, Canon Divergence

“Fifty bucks says Hotch writes you up and sends you to sexual harassment sensitivity training.” she declares as she stares him down. Without looking away from her, Reid takes out his own wallet and flips it open to pull out a fifty dollar before placing it down right next to Prentiss’s own money. “Fifty bucks says Hotch will go out with me.”

16. A fic that gave you butterflies

The healing and dynamics in this one is just.... off the charts :')

Who Spencer Reid Loves by @blueberriesandbubbles - 36k, 11ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Rape/Non-Con Elements, Abusive Relationships, Domestic Violence, Abuse, Hurt Spencer Reid, Mutual Pining, Rape Recovery, Healing, Fluff

Derek Morgan has been in love with the resident genius as long as he's known him. When Spencer enters a relationship with a mystery man, Derek is unhappy. He is even more unhappy when he meets this man. Spencer starts acting different and Derek knows something is wrong and he has a feeling its connected to the man Reid is dating.

17. A fic that embodies something you value in life

The utter and total love and devotion in this fic just punches me right in the gut every time I reread it

A Little Fall of Rain by jack_hunter - 4.3k, 2ch, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Spencer Reid Whump, Autistic Spencer Reid, Major Character Injury, Secret Relationship, Team as Family, Dad Rossi

Morgan crept up behind the doctor and snatched the headphones off of his head, earning a yelp of a protest as he slipped them over his own ears. “Les Mis?” Morgan asked with a quizzical look, “didn’t peg you as the musical type, Pretty Boy.” Spencer snatched the headphones back. “I’ve always loved the theatre and I went to see Les Misérables with-... a friend last Friday.”

18. A favourite AU

The Curious Case of Dr. Reid by severaance - 37k, 10ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Transgender Character, Fluff, Trans Spencer Reid, Light Angst, Getting Together, Developing Relationship, Smut, Insecurity, Happy Ending (Warning for Homophobic & Transphobic Slurs)

"And your names for the order, please?" The barista asked, eyes flickering expectantly between the two before her. "Spencer," she answered, although she was not talking to the barista. "I'm Spencer." The man before her had the same idea. "Derek."

19. A fic you stayed up too late to finish reading

I stayed up one night and read pretty much all the marvel fics this author has written, but this was the last one that I simply could not resist. The next day wasn't pretty :/

The more you say, the less I know by forthenightisdarkandfullofterror - 13.9k, 3ch, Gen/Irondad, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Temporary Amnesia, Protective Pepper Potts, Not Endgame Compliant, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Blood and Violence, Hurt Peter Parker, Whump

Tony wakes up from snapping with amnesia and for the life of him can't remember the kid hanging around, claiming to be 'just an intern'. Feelings get hurt.

20. A fic that made you feel seen

heavy in my bones by hopeless_hope - 4.4k, 1ch, Gen/Irondad, Chronic Pain, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Peter Parker, Whump, Father-Son Relationship, Dad Tony, Worried Tony Stark, Angst, Chronic Illness, 5+1 Things

Five times Peter lied to someone about his chronic pain, and one time he told the truth and got the help he needed.

21. A fic you love without knowing the source material

(I mean this is literally all marvel fics but I'll rec this one because I loved it so much)

the locker room by searchingforstars - 15.5k, 3ch, Gen/Irondad, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Mental Health Issues, Misunderstandings, Arguing, Miscommunication, Crying, Whump, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rape Recovery

Peter's falling apart and he doesn't know how things will ever go back to normal again after Ryder.

22. A fic you've gushed about IRL

Genuinely, this fic is better than most published fiction I've read...

The Third Option by Uncertainty_Principle - 220k, 37ch, Gen/Irondad, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Physical Abuse, Alternate Universe, Hurt Peter Parker, Foster Care, Identity Reveal, Slow Build, Disordered Eating, Homelessness

Ben and May divorced before Peter’s parents died, so when Ben is murdered Peter goes into foster care. It takes just a tiny taste of superpowers for Peter to decide he doesn’t want to put up with his horrible foster father anymore—the streets are infinitely more appealing. All he wants is to be Spider-Man anyway.

So he leaves. Simple.

Simple, that is, until Iron Man needs Spider-Man’s help. Peter isn’t about to turn down an opportunity to fight alongside Tony Freaking Stark, but he also isn’t going to let his hero know that his recruit is a fifteen-year-old homeless dropout. So they strike a deal. Peter will help Tony. In return, the mask stays on. And that’s when things get complicated.

23. A fic you still remember many years later

The Transport Series by ancientreader - 135k, 2 works, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Backstory, Canon Drug Use, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Physical Disability, AU, Important Character Death, First Time, Developing Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Humour, Fluff

How to become a consulting detective. // Jim's lessons are hard to unlearn.

24. A fic with a line or two that you've memorised by heart

"He has held up buildings and nuclear bombs and whole entire countries on his back. Peter’s body is the heaviest thing he’s ever held."

when my body won't hold me anymore (where will I go) by @madasthesea - 4.4k, 2ch, Gen/Irondad, Temporary Character Death, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt Peter Parker, Crying, Forehead Kisses, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, Hugs, Platonic Cuddling

But he knows. He knows. He can feel it. Peter’s dead. Peter Parker watches as Tony carefully arranges his limbs on a cot. “Mr. Stark,” he tries for the dozenth time. No one hears him.

25. Free Space

And to round it off, we have to celebrate the fic that really and truly welcomed me into the CM fanfic world...

Chanel by @4x24 - 24k, 7ch, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Getting Together, Spencer Wears Makeup, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Typical VIolence, Humour, Fluffy Ending, Pining, Smut Heavy

Penelope mentions offhandedly one night that she thinks Spencer might look good in makeup. Spencer takes the suggestion to heart. Derek likes the new look - and Spencer - more than he probably should. (Season 4)

#fic rec bingo #fic rec friday #criminal minds #sherlock #irondad #cm #johnlock #moreid #irondad and spiderson #hotchreid #penemily #derek morgan #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #sherlock holmes #john watson #tony stark #peter parker #irondad fic rec #moreid fic rec #hotchreid fic rec #penemily fic rec #criminal minds fic rec #criminal minds fanfiction #moreid fanfiction #hotchreid fanfiction #penemily fanfiction #irondad fanfiction

[dwellordream]

“The foundational myth of child sacrifice in medieval Europe is surely the Biblical story of Abraham and Isaac, a story common to the three monotheistic religions so consistently in conflict during the Middle Ages. Abraham’s sacrifice is an interrupted sacrifice: God commands Abraham to sacrifice his only son; Abraham consents; and because of the father’s demonstrated obedience, God withdraws his demand for Isaac’s death and provides an animal for the sacrifice. Yet the interruption of the sacrifice is not always the most important aspect of the story; the exemplary force of the story in medieval Christian contexts does not depend on the fact that Isaac is not killed by his father, but rather on the father’s willingness to sacrifice his son and the son’s willingness to be sacrificed, and these are the aspects of the story featured in fifteenth-century dramas about Abraham.

The other Old Testament story that represents a father’s sacrifice, the sacrifice of Jephthah’s daughter in Judges 11, is not an interrupted sacrifice: the daughter dies at her father’s hands. Perhaps because the sacrificed dead daughter does not fit into Christian typology, this story is not the subject of dramatic development in the Middle Ages, though it is mentioned by the sacrificed virgin, Virginia, in Chaucer’s Physician’s Tale: “Thanne yif me leyser, fader myn,” quod she, / My deeth for to compleyne a litel space; / For, pardee, Jepte yaf his doghter grace / For to compleyne, er he hir slow, allas!” Like the sacrifice of Jephthah’s daughter and like the sacrifice of Virginia, the sacrifice of Isaac is the story of a father’s sacrifice. Isaac’s mother, Sarah, is absent from the Biblical account of the sacrifice in Genesis 22: Abraham neither seeks her consent for the sacrifice, nor considers her reaction to it.

However, in some of the medieval plays about the sacrifice of Isaac, Sarah is brought into the play indirectly, in the dialogue between the father and son. In the Chester play, when Abraham tells his son that he must die as a sacrifice to God, Isaac wishes for his mother’s presence, since she would plead on bended knee for his life: “Would God, my mother were here with mee! / Shee would kneele downe upon her knee, / prayeinge you, father, if yt might bee, / for to save my liefe.” When in the Northampton play Isaac protests that his mother would not have let him leave home to be killed, Abraham replies that he loves Isaac as much as his mother does, but that God’s will must be done (“I loue þe as wele as she doþe, in fay, / And 3it þis dede most be do”).

Isaac later pleads with his father not to let Sarah see his bloody corpse; rather he should tell Isaac’s mother that their son has gone to live in another country (“But, good fader, tell 3e my moder nothyng, / Sey þat I am in another cuntré dwellyng”). Abraham knows that Sarah will never believe that their son has simply run away: “What shal I to his moder say? / Vor ‘where is he,’ tyte will she spyr; / If I tell hir, ‘ron away,’ / hir answere bese belife—‘nay, sir!’” In most of these dramas, Sarah appears in the story only as an absent referent, if she appears at all. She represents parental love and domestic safety, and she must be protected from knowledge of the father’s sacrifice and the covenant it will establish between the patriarch and his god. 

Only in the Northampton Abraham does Sarah appear as a character, and there she learns of the sacrifice only after God has spared Isaac. Even though Abraham claims that he must tell Sarah of God’s command, he reveals the intended sacrifice of their son to his wife only at the end of the play after a ram has been divinely provided as a substitute for Isaac. Sarah responds with incredulity: “Would you have slain my son Isaac? Then I would have lost all my happiness. Alas, where was your mind?” Abraham’s rebuke: “My mind? Upon the good Lord on high!” If, as Carol Delaney has suggested, the Abraham story is the foundational text for a pervasive notion of procreation that conflates masculine engendering, masculine authority, and the patriarchal family, Sarah’s absence would seem to be a logical part of the dramatization of the story: the child engendered by the father belongs to the father who has the authority to decide his child’s fate.

The mother’s absence corresponds to her lack of authority over her child. And when Sarah appears as a character, as she does in the Northampton play, and also in the fifteenth-century Mistére du viel testament, although she eloquently states the pain she would have suffered if her son had died, she could not have prevented the sacrifice. Indeed, in Le Mistére du Viel Testament, the play in which Sarah’s role is the most developed, Abraham worries about what Sarah will say when she learns her son’s fate, but he claims that he cannot tell her of his plan to sacrifice Isaac, for she would not understand: “Should I tell his mother? No, that would be futile, for a mother is always fragile and, if I give her to understand, she could come defend her son and save him from death. And in that case we would incur the anger of all powerful God. In short, I will obey, and today my son will die. But I won’t say anything to Sarah until after the sacrifice, for I know only too well that her heart will break because of it.” 

In Abraham’s decision not to tell Sarah of God’s command, he explicitly recognizes her resistance to the heartbreaking infanticide, and he implicitly recognizes a mother’s right to protest the death of her son. But he also claims that if Sarah refused the sacrifice they would incur God’s anger. Abraham defines the father’s sacrifice as accomplishing an act of higher good that a mother cannot understand, and he implies that Sarah is incapable of sacrificial thinking, that she cannot imagine that a higher good could be served by her son’s death. 

And when Abraham returns home and explains to Sarah his decision not to tell her of the intended sacrifice, Sarah admits that she could not have shared Abraham’s sacrificial logic: “Certainly if you had told me of it, I would not have given my consent.” Abraham’s decision not to tell Sarah about the sacrifice of their son suggests, as Delaney has argued, that men are the primary parents of their children, that men engender and therefore have the right to dispose of their children. And the Biblical story of a father who agrees to kill the son that God has miraculously given him suggests that all children are gifts to fathers from God the Father.”

- Peggy McCracken, “The Gender of Sacrifice.” in The Curse of Eve, the Wound of the Hero: Blood, Gender, and Medieval Literature

#the curse of eve the wound of the hero #medieval literature #history #religion #peggy mccracken #medieval #christian

[the-other-art-blog]

Jo’s Boys: Chapter 2 Parnassus (Part 2) May and Amy

As I said on Part 1 of these chapter post, the following quote says so much about Amy, but also relates to May.

...for she was one of those who prove that women can be faithful wives and mothers without sacrificing the special gift bestowed upon them for their own development and the good of others.

May married before Louisa started writing this book. It looks like Louisa was very interested in how May balanced family and work. At the time women had two options, either they focused on their careers or they get married. Trying to combine them seemed crazy.

There were a few literary works addressing this issue at the time. In 1877 Elizabeth Stuart published The Story of Avis which depicted a woman who gave up her art after getting married. Louisa read this book and warned May about it, but her sister was determined to prove those thoughts wrong. She writes,

‘I mean to combine painting and family, and show that it is a possibility if left alone.’

This blessed lot is mine, and from my purpose I shall never be diverted... I am free to follow my profession, I have a strong arm to protect, a tender love to cherish me and I have no fears for the future.

And indeed she succeeded those two years of marriage. In fact, 1879 proved to be one of May’s most prolific and successful years of her career. It’s such a shame May died just weeks after giving birth when her career was going so well.

To quote that same letter, “May decided wisely”, and Amy too.

There’s the idea that Amy stopped pursuing an artistic career because Louisa was jealous of how easy things came for May. She wasn’t wrong. May was incredibly lucky and there was always someone willing to help her. And as the baby of the family, she was often shielded from the hardships of life. So if Louisa was bitter, I wouldn’t blame her (although she pampered May too). And if this were true, I think her vision of May changed by the time she wrote this book.

I think Louisa gave Amy this development as part of her curiosity and admiration towards her own sister.   🥰 🥰 🥰

Come to think if it, Amy never really stopped drawing. After rejecting Fred, Louisa tells us that Amy has a quieter trip and that she spends her time sketching ( faceless knights in shinny armor or couples dancing, but that’s another story 😉 ). And in the last chapter, Amy is making a bust of baby Bess. Of course Amy would never drop her art, even if she tried. It’s such a fundamental part of who she is that it’s impossible for her to stay away from it. It defines her and differentiates her from everyone else around her.

Now, long has been discussed about May’s approval or dislike towards the character of Amy. The only direct quote I have found from May about Amy is a letter to Alf Whitman where she refers to her book counterpart as “horrid stupid”. She might be referring to Amy’s selfishness and vanity, as she recognizes she was the same once but now she is changing (like Amy did). However, this was before Part 2 was published.

Regardless, I am convinced that May would have loved how Amy’s life turned out. May was an incredibly generous person who dreamed of offering art to everyone, no matter the social class nor the color of their skin. She was always willing to help a fellow artist. She gifted Daniel Chester French his first sculpting tools, yeah THE Daniel Chester who sculpted the Lincoln Memorial! (In fact, he wrote the preface for May’s Memorial by Caroline Ticknor in 1928. He was always grateful for all the support and encouragement May gave him.)

Another thing that Amy and May have in common is the criticism towards their marriages. Many people don’t consider May feminist enough because she didn’t participated in the suffragette movement, she got married and she expressed how much she loved her domestic life. Who cares if she openly criticized the art system and spoke openly about the unequal opportunities that women have in artistic education. Even less, if she rejected multiple suitors until she found the right one, someone who would love her and respect her career.

In one of her letter, she said,

‘the lonely artistic life that once satisfied me seems the most dreary in the world’

Many people judges her and claims that she succumbed to the patriarchy. Really, what May was calling “dreary” was the lonely life she had. She was in Europe away from the rest of her family, she couldn’t even say goodbye to Marmee when she died. She was depressed for a while and felt guilty for not coming back home. The only person who was able to cheer her up was Ernest (like Laurie did with Amy 😊 ). She could go wherever she wanted because she had nothing attaching her to a certain place. But May always dreamed of marriage and a family. In a previous letter she says,

If mine can’t be a happy domestic life, as such as I have longed for and prayed for, perhaps the good God meant me for great things in other ways.

Just months before meeting Ernest, she still dreamed of romance! So sue her if she was happy with her husband and her domestic life. That was her dream.

I haven’t finished reading The Story of Avis, but by the synopsis, it seems that part of the problem was Avis’ husband and his lack of support towards her artistic career. This is an issue that neither May nor Amy had.

Ernest was one in a million. He never represented an obstacle to her career, on the contrary, he was an enthusiast. In the end, May got her Laurie   🥰 🥰 🥰

Now that I think of, Louisa followed the destiny of the real-life people in her characters. Beth, John and Marmee died in the novels because Lizzy, John and Marmee died in real life. However, she kept Amy alive.

Nobody expected May’s death. She had had such luck in life that it felt impossible for it to stop.

In various letters, May had asked Louisa to visit her in Meudon (where she lived with Ernest). Unfortunately, Louisa couldn’t go. There were responsibilities at home and her health was a big issue and she didn’t want to be a burden.

May’s death was devastating for Louisa. In one of her diary entries she remembers the last time she saw her, waving goodbye from the ship to London. Then she writes,

A lonely time with all away. My grief meets me when I come home, and the house is full of ghosts.

To me that phrase is incredibly personal. My grandparents and two of my aunts lived together. In the last years they’ve all been passing away and now the house that once was full of life is abandoned.

Louisa apologized in the preface of this book for writing little about Amy,

Since the original has died, it has been impossible for me to write of her,...

Indeed, I would have love to read more about Amy, but these first two pages about her are so important and tell us so much about her, her marriage and her career.

Maybe Louisa had already written this chapter before May’s death. Who knows. Maybe Louisa couldn’t bear another loss in her fictional family too. If May was gone, at least Amy would live and have a happy long life.

#there's a latter where Anna refers to May's 75th love affair #it migt be an exageration #but it does show how popular May was #little women #louisa may alcott #jo's boys #may alcott nieriker #amy march #amy laurence #ernest nieriker #may x ernest #amy x laurie

[princesssarisa]

Assorted thoughts on “Little Women”

 In no particular order.

*I’m glad I waited this long to read the original, unabridged novel. If I had read it as a teen or a preteen, I just might have followed countless girl readers’ example of having a crush on Laurie and being angry that Jo doesn’t marry him. Reading it now, I’m able to see him as the well-rounded, likable yet flawed character he is, not just as a girl’s prize, and realize that while he and Jo have a beautiful friendship, they wouldn’t have worked as a couple. The canon pairings of Jo/Friedrich and Amy/Laurie are the right ones.

*About the controversial issue of the characters’ ambitions... None of the young leads achieve their childhood dreams in the end; Alcott’s intended message was clearly  “We don’t always achieve our dreams, but life can still be happy in ways we never expected.” That’s all well and good. But apart from Meg’s gender-neutral dream of being rich, the characters’ “castles in the air” are all in defiance of their expected gender roles: Jo wants to be a famous author and Amy a famous artist, two fields normally reserved for men, while Laurie wants to be a composer instead of going into his grandfather’s business. And all three of their endings are distinctly more gender-conforming: Jo becomes a schoolmistress, Amy becomes a society lady, both become wives and mothers, and Laurie goes into business “like a man.” I think it’s fair for modern readers to be disappointed by that conformity, even while appreciating the realistic message about childhood dreams. Those feelings aren’t mutually exclusive. For modern audiences, I think the standard adaptational change of Jo publishing her own version of Little Women at the end (instead of 20 years later in the last sequel) is a good change.

*About Jo needing to control her temper... I understand why this annoys some feminists. So often women are expected to suppress all anger and never stand up for themselves. Maybe it is problematic that role model Marmee explicitly never shows her anger, but only purses her lips and leaves the room. But personally, I think it’s presented in a healthy, gender-neutral way. Jo’s anger isn’t a problem because it’s “unseemly” or “unfeminine,” but because it can lead her to do cruel things to others. The mistake that teaches her the lesson in “Jo Meets Appolyon,” letting Amy skate on the thin ice, isn’t a loud, aggressive act of rage, but a cold, silent act (or rather inaction) of spite. Besides “control your temper” doesn’t mean “never stand up for yourself.” The book has several examples of women calmly yet firmly calling out other people’s bad behavior (most often Laurie’s ^–^) and it’s portrayed as entirely right. And though it’s tempting to be annoyed by Mr. March putting his finger to his lips when he sees his wife starting to get angry, it’s also a nice subversion of gender stereotypes to see a marriage where the husband is gentler by nature than his wife and is a calming influence on her. Stereotypical couples are the other way around.

*As a person on the autism spectrum, I relate strongly to Beth. I fully embrace the headcanon that Beth herself is autistic and that Lizzie Alcott might have been diagnosed as such if she had lived today. So it hurts a little to see other readers call Beth “boring,” “annoying,” a “doormat” and “the worst of the sisters.” Although she is idealized because she was Alcott’s tribute to her dead little sister, she’s not the cardboard cutout of bland feminine virtue she’s so often been stereotyped as being. It’s clear from the start that Beth isn’t “normal,” either by our standards or by past ones. Her crippling shyness isn’t just “sweet Victorian modesty,” but portrayed as a real flaw that she struggles to overcome. She’s been homeschooled because as a child her social anxiety made regular school unbearable for her. She still plays with dolls, believes in Santa Claus and has imaginary friends at age 13. She has no desire to get married, or to have any kind of career, or ever to leave her parents’ house. And because of all this, she clearly has a low opinion of herself: hence she tells Jo that she was never meant to live long, because she would never have been anything but “stupid little Beth, trotting about at home.” But the narrative belies her words. In both of her illnesses, so many people rally around her and reveal how much they love her and how valuable her quiet kindness has been in their lives. Ultimately she dies in peace because she realizes her life hasn’t been worthless after all. With my own social struggles, my tendency to be “younger than my years,” and my own desire to have a quiet life close to my family instead of going out into the big, overwhelming world and doing big, overwhelming things, I find her storyline beautiful, because it gives me hope that my life is just as valuable as anyone else’s.

*I also relate to Jo, as so many readers do. The result is that I’m of two minds of the chapters “Calls” and “Consequences.” On the one hand, there’s no doubt that Jo is at fault in those chapters and does more-or-less deserves to lose the trip to Europe. She’s genuinely, purposefully rude to her aunts and to the other people they visit and she humiliates Amy and harms her social life – at the subsequent fair, the Chesters ban Amy from the art table because Jo insulted them. Plus the only reason why she has to join Amy in the calls in the first place is because she promised she would, so it’s hypocritical of her to whine about it. But on the other hand, I do empathize with Jo. With my own my social difficulties, I relate to her hating formal occasions where she has to dress up, mind her manners, make small talk about topics that don’t interest her with people she dislikes, and always be “agreeable” and “docile.” For Jo and for so many of us, it’s so hard to be that way, yet it’s the mold that all women were expected to stuff themselves into in the 19th century and to an extent still are today. Amy is lucky that she enjoys playing that social game and that it comes naturally to her. So it’s easy to sympathize with Jo’s envy when Amy is chosen to go to Europe, to feel as if Amy is rewarded for her social conformity while Jo is punished for failing to conform, and to feel as if the message is that all girls should conform like Amy. Fortunately, the book as a whole doesn’t send that message: even Amy achieves her ultimate happiness by letting herself be a bit more like Jo and call Laurie out on his laziness and apathy, when back in “Calls” she had argued that a lady should never show disapproval to a man.

*I don’t understand why some commentators think the chapter “On the Shelf” is so horribly sexist. Well, actually, I do. It’s tempting to find fault with John for being “jealous” that Meg is focusing more on their babies than on him and for “neglecting” Meg and spending carefree evenings out while she slaves away with the twins. And for Meg to be told by her mother that this is her own fault for “neglecting her duty to her husband” understandably rankles some feminists. But I honestly don’t think there’s any real problem. Meg genuinely neglects John and overtaxes herself by devoting every waking minute to the twins and letting neither John nor anyone else help her, because she’s afraid that otherwise she’ll be a bad mother. John isn’t jealous of the babies, he understandably feels ignored and useless. Nor (despite what some critics think) does he cheat on Meg, or want to. He just goes to a friend’s house rather than sit alone at home; Meg’s fear that his eye is roving to Mrs. Scott is just a product of her own stress. The resolution is arguably just the opposite of sexist: Meg finally lets John take an equal share of child-rearing duties, lets Hannah babysit often so they can both have time for themselves too, and steps out of her domestic sphere to share talks with John about politics, literature, etc. By the end of the chapter, their marriage is more egalitarian than ever.

*I’d like to read a fanfic where Jo meets Rodolfo from La Bohéme. I wouldn’t ship them, since they’re even more “too much alike” than Jo and Laurie are, but I’d like to see them meet. They’re both lively, passionate, temperamental ENFP writers, whose minds are full of “castles in the air” (they both use that exact phrase), yet whose lives both turn out differently than they had hoped, although Jo’s outcome is much happier. Both also adore a sweet, gentle, sickly young girl (Jo’s sister Beth/Rodolfo’s love interest Mimí) whose death they both regard as the end of their own youth. Furthermore, both of their authors modeled them after themselves. Jo is more down-to-earth than Rodolfo, though, and I’m not sure if they’d be friends or hate each other – Jo would definitely be indignant to learn how Rodolfo emotionally abused and broke up with Mimí because he couldn’t bear to watch her die, when she herself nursed Beth day and night through both of her illnesses and never left her side. But it would be an interesting meeting.

@fairychamber, @thatvermilionflycatcher

#little women #meta #opinions #rambling

[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday: Tell Me Where To Find Shelter -- Weird And Complicated Video Game Crossover AUs Strike Again

Okay, so last week I offered you all an updated rewrite on my old Fallout 4 Sole Survivor!Victor AU, Tell Me Where To Find Shelter. And at the very end of said update, I let you know that I had an idea for fitting Alice into the AU --

Specifically, my Malkavian Alice from Vampire: the Masquerade -- Bloodlines.

Look, the fact of the matter is, Fallout 4 and Bloodlines have been rather closely connected in my head from day one of my purchasing them -- hell, I got them during the same Steam sale! (Along with the BioShock series entire, which is why I had a couple of posts about Tell Me Where to Find Shelter back in 2016, then it dropped off the face of the earth -- I played Bloodlines first, and followed up with that series.) And my “Londerland Bloodlines” playthrough of Bloodlines was done concurrently with my starting up Fallout 4, so -- yeah. Me wanting to figure out how to cross the two over was probably inevitable.

I know what you’re all thinking, of course -- “how the hell do you make this sort of crossover work?” Well, I have had a few ideas:

-->This version of Malkavian Alice and her adventures in 2004 Los Angeles would be much more like the standard fledgling’s, given that the Corpse Bride characters are now born in the future. So the person she saves in the hospital is Heather (who she does manage to send away in time to save her life), and the Giovanni party goes down without dragging an undead version of Lizzie into the mix. Obviously the story and setting would have to be tweaked to fit better into Fallout’s alternate history (though given what the computers in the original game are like, maybe that’s easier than expected). She still goes Independent, and escapes from Los Angeles in the wake of LaCroix’s explosive death, making her way slowly but surely to the East Coast because she has had enough of California and everyone there.

-->She manages to get on with her unlife, watching the growing tensions with China and the Resource Wars with unease, but keeping to herself and doing her best not to let her humanity slip as she gets older. When the bombs fall, she’s sleeping the day away in a basement bunker she set up in Boston -- but the destruction from the explosion ends up collapsing part of the ceiling, burying her in rubble -- with a chunk of timber piercing her heart. She ends up in a staked torpor. . .

-->Until Victor shows up at her location at night to clear out a few raiders who are taking over the place as a base. One of the raiders yanks out the stake to use as a weapon, has three seconds to wonder why it’s got fresh blood on it -- then Alice explodes from her centuries-long hiding place and drinks him dry. Victor is too stunned at first to actually shoot her, and once Alice’s blood thirst has been quest, she immediately puts her hands up and does her best to show she means him no harm. They talk, Alice explains what happened (and goes ahead and admits she’s a vampire when Victor explains about the nuclear apocalypse -- who gives a shit about the Masquerade when the world has ended?), she offers to help with the remaining raiders to prove her good intentions, Victor accepts, and they take down the assholes together.

-->Obviously, Alice isn’t immediately “unlockable” as a companion -- she’s still got her sunlight thing, after all! She and Victor chat about it, and Victor, feeling bad, offers his assistance. Alice accepts -- she misses the sun -- and says that she’ll stay where she is for the moment (after finding a non-partially-collapsed basement to stay in) and keep raiders and monsters out while he searches for information. And so the “Here Comes The Sun” quest begins, with Victor searching for a way to counteract the sunlight curse! I’m thinking this would end up interacting with the Cabot family stuff, because I don’t think it would be hard at all to change the source of their immortality, and the artifact upon Lorenzo’s head, from something alien to something vampiric. Maybe Lorenzo’s partially possessed by the spirit of an Antediluvian, and it’s turned his blood into something close enough to vitae it can make ghouls? At any rate, Jack manages to whip something up after examining some of Alice’s blood (which, naturally, she’s kind of nervous about, but what choice does she have?), and it successfully stops her from burning up in sunlight (though she is weaker in it). A grateful Alice thanks Victor (and Jack) and agrees to travel with him to experience the Commonwealth.

-->As they go on together, they end up getting closer -- Alice likes that Victor is generally a good guy and sympathizes with the story of his lost family; Victor likes Alice’s snarky wit and strong sense of justice. As they share more details of their lives, help out the settlements, and battle monsters together, they realize they’re growing feelings for each other, and eventually get together, facing off against the Institute as a couple and parenting Synth Shaun/Chester together afterwards. (Alice jokes a lot that it took both her dying and the end of the world in general to finally get a domestic happy ending.)

-->Alice’s starting clothes would be a simple blue dress and apron with black buckled boots (the dress would naturally have a big bloody hole right over her heart when she first wakes up; she patches this after you leave her to her own devices for a bit), and she’d have the Tal’Mahe’Ra Blade (her prize from her storming of the Hallowbrook Hotel, taken from Andrei’s lair) as her standard weapon. She has a unique bite attack, being a vampire, and can still use Obfuscate (turning invisible to sneak past/sneak attack enemies) and Dementation (inflict debuffs on enemies so they’re confused and can’t shoot straight, or kill a single enemy from fear alone), though both have a cooldown so Victor can’t rely on her just spamming that to take care of every raider for him! XD Her perk would allow you to drain blood from enemy corpses (which other companions would find less disturbing than outright cannibalism, but still fairly creepy) and/or increase the healing capabilities of blood packs. I’m thinking, once romanced, she’d also have a unique variation of the “Lover’s Embrace” temporary perk, “Love Bite” -- Victor wakes up with HP not fully restored, but the XP boost is greater than “Lover’s Embrace” (+20% vs +15%).

-->Other vampiric elements of the Commonwealth would include:

A) That blood bank you can find? Those bags of blood are warm and fresh because there’s a Tremere there who has built up their power and knows some rituals for preserving the stuff. Unfortunately, they’re also very low humanity by this point, so they end up being a nasty surprise fight.

B) There’s a secret settlement of vampires that is made up of all the various fledglings you could pick from in Bloodlines, having learned to live together after the destruction of vampire society along with human when the bombs fell. The local Tremeres managed some blood sorcery that infused a mutfruit tree with human blood, so plasma fruit, a la The Sims 4, is a thing for them, and allows them to live in relative peace with their human neighbors (though they’ll happily drain anyone who attacks them). They’d probably have a quest revolving around either talking down or killing some vampire hunters who have been eying their base, and they could be persuaded to allow Jack Cabot and family to study them in exchange for vitae to help them stay in their immortal states. Also, the Malkavians openly call Victor the “Sole Survivor” and offer roundabout tips on his quests -- if he can decipher them. XD

C) This is just one that amuses me -- this universe’s Mysterious Stranger is none other than good old Caine! He’s trying to be a little more helpful to mortal and Kindred alike in the post-apocalypse, and has decided this means “showing up randomly to help people out of tight spots before vanishing again.” Alice, upon seeing him, jokes that the cabdriver thing didn’t work out, huh?

D) I’d kind of like to make stimpacks developed from vampire or ghoul blood to explain just how it is they can heal crippled limbs so fast -- the wiki didn’t provide much of an answer there! Which means anyone who uses them is at least slightly a ghoul. . .which might explain a few things about carry weight and why some enemies are so tough. (Legendaries have more vitae in their system, prompting the power-up, maybe?)

So yeah -- that’s how I’d get Bloodlines and Fallout to work together, and thus have my Malkavian!Alice and Sole Survivor!Victor be a couple in the wasteland. Because why make a crossover simple when I could make it way more complicated than it needs to be? XD Look, I just like the mental images I have of them together -- and of Alice taking out a whole army of baddies by hitting them with Voice of Bedlam to throw them into absolute chaos.

#tell me where to find shelter #fallout 4 #vampire the masquerade bloodlines #vtmb #valice #weird ass AUs #look this was probably inevitable #given the whole 'Londerland Bloodlines' fic keeping my brain at least partially in vampire land #and the fact that I just really love vampire!Alice with Victor #still this is a lot of thought for an AU #that is going to be snippets of fic at BEST #I can only novelize one RPG #and it's going to be the one with a smaller world and fewer sidequests #still I like a lot of these ideas #and the resultant mental images #'Voice of Bedlam' is the top tier Dementation ability in Bloodlines btw #it inflicts all the below levels randomly on the target and anyone near them #so you'd have people laughing or crying maniacally #people experience weird hallucinations that drop their combat abilities #people just plain old dying of fright #and people attacking each other randomly #(naturally Alice would activate it via a Hysteria scream) #she'd be the most terrifying thing in the Commonwealth #I love it :D #as does Victor XD #queued

[kingsman-bigbang]

Kingsman BigBang [2017 Masterlist]

of flowers and fireflies Author: elletromil & insanereddragon Artist: anarchycox Pairing(s)/Characters: Merwin; Harry Hart, Merlin, Eggsy Unwin, Daisy, Michelle Unwin, Original Female Character Rating: E Word Count: 43882 Warnings:  Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Character Death Summary:

“You’re trying to tell me that you’re my dog?”

“Well, yes. Though I’d rather you say familiar if you don’t mind.”

“That’s… That’s impossible. The spell didn’t work.”

–

Eggsy is a familiar. For many human lifetimes, familiars live waiting for a call from one of the populations magic users. During their time of waiting, they seek out magical sanctuaries for their kind. Eggsy and Lee are on their way to one such place when tragedy strikes, and only Eggsy makes it to his new home at the Hart estate sanctuary.

Merlin is a magic user. After the death of his family, Merlin is taken in by the Hart family on their estate. It’s there, growing up beside Harry, that he first learns of his magical abilities and struggles with growing up without the support of a magical family.

Even though their paths cross while growing up on the estate, it isn’t until many years later when Merlin performs a summoning for a familiar that they connect. A friendship grows to something more while the two learn to navigate their newly formed bond.

Art Link: link Fic Link: link

Whatever Is, Is Good Author: Deepdarkwaters Artist: Paxdracona Pairing(s)/Characters: Harry/Merlin, pre-Harry/Merlin/Eggsy, Harry, Merlin, Eggsy, Mr Pickle Rating: E Word Count: 22123 Warnings: None (unless you want to avoid Harry/Merlin/Eggsy, in which case this should be safe to read but please avoid the sequel when that happens!) Summary: Harry Hart should not be allowed within fifty feet of tiny runty puppies because he loses all reason. When he finds an abandoned teacup schnauzer searching for food in the bins, he immediately decides he’s going to be its mother and brings it home to love forever. Obviously he doesn’t stop to consider the fact that he’s out of the country more often than not so all the actual looking after is going to fall on Merlin, who has a deep disdain for people who make their dogs wear clothes and thinks anything smaller than a wolfhound is basically a pointless rodent.Meanwhile, Eggsy is floundering on probation after grassing up Dean and his thugs in return for escaping jail time for his part in all their previous criminal activity. Life is looking pretty bleak, no money and no prospects - until he meets a ridiculous eccentric couple and their amazing little dog, and is hired as its nanny.Contains deeply inappropriate use of the phrases “good boy”, “bad boy”, and “where’s your squeaky balls?”Art Link: Paxdracona’s tumblr Fic Link: Whatever Is, Is Good

Galahad and Mr. Unwin Author: missbecky Artist: harryfuckinhart Pairing(s)/Characters: Harry Hart/Eggsy Unwin. Harry Hart, Eggsy Unwin, Merlin, Chester King Rating: Gen Word Count: 29,624 Warnings:  Graphic Depictions of Violence Summary: When a mission goes tits up, Harry is forced to hand over sensitive data to a random civilian in order to keep it from falling into the wrong hands. Unfortunately he also happens to be very attracted to the young man in question. And then he learns the man’s identity – and suddenly Harry’s life will never be the same again. Art Link: harryfuckinhart’s Tumblr page Fic Link: Galahad and Mr. Unwin

As Time Moves On Author: AnnaofAza Artist: Liprouvaire Pairing(s)/Characters: Harry/Eggsy; Eggsy, Harry, Michelle, Daisy, Roxy, Merlin Rating: T Word Count: 28269 Warnings: past domestic abuse, PTSD Summary: Michelle and Harry haven’t met since eighteen years ago, but after V-Day, they’re forced to come together when the one that they love is hurt. Art Link: liprouvaire’s tumblr page Fic Link: As Time Moves On

so this is magic (in a young boy’s heart) Author: blackbeyond Artist: @roman-kun Pairing(s)/Characters: Hartwin; Harry Hart, Eggsy Unwin, Merlin, Roxy Morton, Charlie Hesketh, James (Lancelot), Alastair (Percival), Canon Harry Potter Character Cameos Rating: T Word Count: 10207  Warnings: Implied Abuse from Dean, Mild Language Summary: When Eggsy gets a letter in the mail, he doesn’t expect it to change his life. After a particularly rough introduction into the Wizarding World, Eggsy finds his world thrown upside down when he meets Roxy, Charlie, and (of course) Harry. There’s the typical struggles of trying to fit in in a brand new world as a naive and inexperienced eleven-year-old, not to mention his crush on Roxy’s cousin, Harry. No, seriously, don’t mention it.Eggsy’s pretty sure he can survive the next seven years, especially since he knows he has all the support in the world from his friends and family. He can do big things, maybe change the world. But first, Potions homework. Art Link: roman-kun’s Tumblr Fic Link: AO3 Link

Adapt and Transform Author: eatingmoonflowers Artist: sarah-the-artiste Pairing(s)/Characters: Harry Hart/Eggsy Unwin. Harry, Eggsy, Merlin, Roxy, Charlie, Daisy. Rating: T Word Count: 12889 Warnings: Very mild violence, canon typical language Summary: Harry and Eggsy have been seeing each other for almost a year, have recently moved in together, and are enjoying their own little bubble of domestic bliss. But between the old broom in the cupboard, feathers on the carpet, and the hidden safe in the wall, things are clearly not all they appear to be. In which each is keeping a monumental secret from the other, and things are beginning to slip through the cracks. Art Link: link Fic Link: link

Sorry for the Inconvenience Author: esmerod Artist: zombiisheep Pairing(s)/Characters: Hartwin, Harry Hart, Eggsy Unwin, Merlin, Roxy, Tilde Rating: M Word Count: 9995 Warnings:  No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: It’s like he told Valentine, part of him always fancied being a colourful megalomaniac. Or the story how Harry solves Kingsman’s monetary problems by becoming a Bond villain and strapping Eggsy to contraptions. A comedy, kind of. Art Link: link Fic Link: link

By The Sword and Ring Author: thenerdyindividual Artist: bouncybrittonie Pairing(s)/Characters: Hartwin, Eggsy Unwin, Harry Hart, Merlin, Roxy Morton, Charlie Hesketh Rating: M Word Count: 48,407 Warnings:  No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: The last thing Eggsy expects upon being chased out of his village, is to wake up in a nomadic village. Soon he finds himself in a world of magic as he trains to be Lord Hart’s battle mage. With war brewing on the border, he is drawn inexorably closer to evil itself. Art Link: link Fic Link: link

I’m going to get there the only way I know Author: marginaliana Artist: solarrift Pairing(s)/Characters: Harry/Eggsy, Roxy, Merlin, Gazelle, Chester King Rating: Mature Word Count: 36,124 Warnings:  canon-typical violence, unorthodox use of body parts but not in a sex way Summary: Outside the church in Kentucky, Harry realizes that the centers of aggression aren’t the only things that have awoken in his mind. The thing that’s fizzing in his veins isn’t anger. It’s power. Electric, vibrant. Magical. In another universe he might have died here. But in this universe, Harry ends up with a few more tricks up his sleeve. Valentine (literally) isn’t going to know what hit him. Art Link: cover page, page 1, page 2-3, page 4-5 Fic Link: I’m going to get there the only way I know

Death Came For Him and He Became Death Author:  anarchycox Artist: port-wind-waves Pairing(s)/Characters: merlin/eggsy; merlin, eggsy, harry, chester, roxy, percival Rating: Teen and up Word Count: 21,390 Warnings:  No warnings apply Summary: When Eggsy was a child, a man came and told him his Da was dead. He gave Eggsy a fob in case he ever needed a favour. Eggsy couldn’t figure out why his Mum never talked about the posh man. And one day he crashed a car and ended up in custody and called in that favour. And there was the posh man not looking like he aged a bit in 17 years, who had to explain a few things to Eggsy and decided to offer Eggsy a chance at a job.And Eggsy figured being a Grim Reaper sounded sort of interesting. What was he doing with his after life anyways? So now he is haunting an estate in the country, has a ghost puppy, a new best friend, and two men teaching him insane things, and he is learning that the universe is more unfathomable than he could have ever understood while alive.A retelling of Kingsman where instead of being spies they are all Grim Reapers. Art Link: 1  2 Fic Link: link

Once Upon An Avalon Author: TheSilverQueen Artist: Aomaoe Pairing(s)/Characters: Harry Hart/Eggsy Unwin, Merlin/Roxy Morton, Harry Hart, Eggsy Unwin, Merlin, Chester King, Roxanne Morton, Lee Unwin, Michelle Unwin, Richmond Valentine, Gazelle Rating: T Word Count: 28435 Summary: In the beginning, there was Camelot and Excalibur and the Round Table and Arthur Pendragon, the High King. Galahad had been proud of who he was and who he fought for and what he represented, back then.Then came the Darkness, and the whole world changed. * * * * * * Alternate summary: What if Harry Hart and Chester King were the real Galahad and Arthur of old? Art Link: Here on Aomaoe’s tumblr Fic Link: Here on TheSilverQueen’s AO3

make like stars dying Author: futuredescending Artist: Sain Pairing(s)/Characters: Roxy Morton/Gazelle; Merlin, Eggsy Unwin, Percival Rating: M Word Count: 46278 Warnings:  canon-typical violence, brief mentions of torture aftermath and implied non-con, minor character death Summary: The mission is supposed to be simple, a way to tie up loose ends in the aftermath of V-Day, but an unexpected complication puts Roxy at risk of being labelled a traitor by the very organisation to whom she’s sworn life, limb, and loyalty while forcing her to re-evaluate everything she’s ever known about herself. Art Link: link Fic Link: link

darling, so it goes Author: thatgirlwho/notbrogues Artist: meetingyourmaker Pairing(s)/Characters: Harry/Eggsy, Merlin, Roxy, Michelle, Kingsman Agents, OCs Rating: Mature Word Count: 88,584 Warnings: PTSD, alcoholism, depictions of violence, human trafficking, past child abuse Summary: Eggsy never thought he’d get married. Or that he would even consider it. He thought, if he was really lucky, maybe he’d find someone to love him; like really love him. Something kind of like the love his mum and dad had. It’s love like that. And he feels he can’t accept anything less. Art link: meetingyourmaker’s post Fic link: Ao3 post

#hartwin #merwin #merhartwin #roxelle #kingsman #kbb2017 #post: masterlist

[nitality]

Depressions

Ok fuck it. Chester Bennington, a fucking big part of my childhood passed away on 20th of July. I struggled the past few days because this is a fucking deep shock for me even tho I don’t show it. But the reason I decided to come here to my fucking blog and write my thoughts down is because I’ve been reading comments. Well, we all know where this leads. There are a lot of dumb and ignorant people out there. But man I got sick reading that literal fucking bullshit that some people write. Just imagine taking some time off of your day to just write a stupid fucking comment on a video or a post that drags the person down that just fucking died. What kind of moron are you? I’m fucking shocked and deeply disappointed. And I swear to God it aint that easy to make me this mad. Now listen, I do have some words for you ignorant fucking people out there thinking that depression and suicide is “weak” and “cowardly”. People say there or other ways out. People tend to say that depressions are just an act or some fucking thing that you can get rid off if you visit a therapist. Well, here are some news for you. It’s not something you get rid off easily. It’s an disorder. Your brain is an organ just like your lungs or your heart. And guess what it can be sick, too. It can malfunction, too. Or just to put it easily if you still don’t understand: !!YOUR BRAIN CAN ALSO STOP WORKING PROPERLY!!! Holy crap this must be mind blowing for you. And now think again. Does your heart perform properly if it has an illness? No? What a fucking surprise. Do your lungs perform properly if they malfunction? No? Huh. DO YOU SEE A PATTERN?! So does your brain!!! DEPRESSION IS AN DISORDER OF YOUR BRAIN!! I won’t describe what it feels like to have depressions. You can do your own research which would be recommended so you can finally understand that your are wrong with every point you made you insensible fucktard. Let me pick up on some of the bullshit comments I’ve continously read. “Suicide is the easiest way out” Are you kidding me? Do you really think it’s that easy to live with a voice in your head that will tell you for months or even years that you have to kill yourself to get release? Do you think it’s easy to prepare yourself for death? For the pain you will feel? Do you think it’s easy to live without a will to live? I don’t think so. THERE ARE PLENTY MORE THOUGHTS THAT WILL BRING THE REASON WHY CLOSER TO YOU. You can’t just turn off those thoughts. AND FUCK YESS YOU WOULDN’T HAVE TO PREPARE YOURSELF FOR DEATH AND PAIN IF YOU WOULDN’T WANT TO KILL YOURSELF BUT GOD DAMNIT THIS IS PART OF THE DISORDER AND UNAVOIDABLE! “There are other ways out. ” Oh no shit Sherlock?! Of course there are plenty of ways out! But think the fuck again. Try to get into the mind of a depressive person. You see only negativity, right? A lot of self hatred, right? There is no sight of cure, right? There is this loud and domestic voice in your head telling you to end your suffering.. weird huh. We slowly kill ourselves.. by bombarding our selfesteem and lowering our self worth drastically.. it just doesn’t work if you try to fist fight this huge ass wall your thoughts built in order to get away from shit.. slowly trying to escape reality and slowly cutting off every contact to the world out there.. I built this wall myself and it will be the death of me. Those people don’t see the world with the same eyes as you do. Remember this. “You left your friends and family behind.” Oh fuck no. There are so many things wrong with that. The reason people kill themselves is because they don’t want to disappoint them anymore!! They don’t wan’t to be a burden to them!! You think that’s stupid and not logical at all because family and teue friends will love you no matter what? THAT’S THE FUCKING PROBLEM WITH DEPRESSION!!!! YOU CAN’T THINK STRAIGHT, YOU WILL MAKE EVERYTHING LOOK NEGATIVE, YOU WILL ALWAYS THINK THAT THEY WILL HAVE A BETTER LIFE WITHOUT YOU!! DEPRESSION.IS.NOT.LOGICAL. So stop using this argument against them! Depression is one of the few things the human brain can’t control. It’s like a wave washing all over your. You are slowly and painfully drowning in it. HERE IS TO ALL OF YOU LEAVING THOSE KIND OF COMMENTS: Shame on you. Not only for talking bad about dead people but also not even trying to understand what those people with depression who killed themselves went trough. I strongly believe into faith. Hope it will get to you someday. I would wish you good luck with your life but man it must be hard out there for an ignorant bitch. Luck won’t help and so won’t God. And last bot not least: Sometimes I feel like we still have to talk to people as if they were children. Oh God how I wish for humanity to finally think around the corner instead of just straight forward and ignoring so many aspects that could finally open their eyes. I just sometimes wish we would put down all of our pride and have more love spreading around the world instead of hate. Maybe disorders like depressions wouldn’t happen as often then.. _____________________________________ Small disclaimer: Im mostly speaking for a lot of people I’ve dealt with. Everyone’s depression is different and has different reasons and coping mechanisms which is another point why this illness is incredibly hard and nearly impossible to cure.

#chester bennington #depression #rant

[kizzymay]

Journal Pages

There has been a lot of love on my last journal page post, so I’m going to make an effort to post them more!!

I made this page for the album release of Post Traumatic by Mike Shinoda. This was his first solo album since the death of his best friend and band mate Chester Bennington. This album is full of Mikes emotions as he is working through his feelings from his friend.

This album means so much to me, it is raw, powerful, it captures the changes in moods that mike felt.

This album came out in June, and I first spoke up about my emotional trauma in July. This album felt like a safe space for me, like Mike was singing what I needed to hear to help me carry on with my life.

August 23rd I filed a domestic abuse case against my ex boyfriend. I saw Mike live for the first time at Reading Festival on August 25th. In between his songs he spoke about how he meets a lot of fans at meet and greets and how they speak about their troubles and how the music helps them. He said on stage that we should not be ashamed of our struggles, and it was like he knew exactly what I needed to hear!

This album is so personal to me. I’m starting to work through my own PTSD and trauma. He said at Reading that Post Traumatic is all about the light after the trauma, and it really highlights the highs and lows that we experience after something dreadful has happened.

Mike Shinoda is such an inspirational man to me. Thank you for this incredible album and everything you have done for us. @mikeshinoda

#journal #journal pages #sketchbook #drawing #watercolours #mikeshinoda #mike shinoda #art #mental health #self help #therapy #ptsd #ptsd recovery #journalling #self care #abuse support #positive mental attitude #linkin park #trauma

[cajunquandary]

A Curious Case and a Boat

The Cannon Ball Series

Series Warnings: Alcohol use, implied smut, mentions of abuse, PTSD, scars, canon level violence, some torture, probably equal parts angst, fluffiness, and plot.

Series Pairing/Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam, Castiel, Crowley, Rowena various characters

A/N: This series is the brainchild of my love for Rob Benedict’s version of Dink’s Song and began as my second ever attempt at writing fanfiction. After realizing that I should probably edit it (due to the excruciatingly painful amount of errors I found), this is the third-time re-write of the story. Questions, comments, and suggestions are always welcome! Enjoy J

Part One: A Jukebox and a Lose-chester

Part Two: A Curious Case and a Boat

Summary: You’ve been living with the Winchesters and Castiel at the Bunker for over a year now. Everything is great until a case goes very wrong.

Word count: 6400

“Anything interesting in the news, Sammy?” You slung your arms around his shoulders from where you stood behind him in his favorite swivel chair.

Sam leaned his head against your arm for a moment. “Good morning. Coffee’s on.” You released him from your hold, scuffling towards the coffee pot in the library, favorite mug already in hand.

Dean entered, freshly showered and wearing nothing but his dead-guy robe.

Sam turned to him, “Actually, yeah, in Texas. There’s been freak electrical storms, mysterious deaths, and get this—a few high schoolers have been freaking out about demons among them in the town and all over social media.”

“It might be our kind of thing. Any cattle deaths? Crop failures?” You asked as the first sip of blessed warm liquid rolled through your chest, making you feel more alive.

“No, nothing like that has been reported. But this is an area of east Texas that is all forest or farmland. Some of these small towns aren’t even on a map. Who knows if they are able to even report it?”

“Or maybe,” Dean interrupted, voice still rough from sleep, “It’s just a bunch of hill-billy wackadoo church people going crazy and killing people.”

Sam scoffed. “Then what about the storms?”

Dean gave his brother his trademark ‘seriously’ face. “Uh, have you BEEN to Texas? They get more lightening than rain most of the time. Lightning is electricity. Your welcome.” Dean continued through towards the kitchen to cook breakfast.

“What’s his problem?” Sam swiveled in your direction.

“Hungover. Ain’t as young as he used to be,” You winked. Dean often teased for you being younger than Sam. The gap really wasn’t that bad, but you and Sam loved to pester Dean about it anyway.

You plodded off to the kitchen to help Dean make breakfast. He was at the sink rinsing out a pan, and you set your coffee on the island and snaked your arms around his waist, laying your head between his shoulders. He put the pan aside to be dried and turned in your arms, a smile on his face at last. He leaned in for a kiss, sweet and gentle, unlike the needy, passionate one from your rough late night escapade in the garage. You grinned and giggled at the memory, Dean pulling back from your embrace and booping your nose.

Breakfast was made quickly, you and Dean moving about the kitchen with familiar grace. Dean felt better after eating, made obvious when he cracked a joke at how tight Sam’s pants were getting.

“Well, it’s been nice having awesome home-cooked meals. You’re the perfect housewife, Dean,” Sam teased his brother back.

It was true though—as great of a cook as you were, Dean far surpassed your skills. He had a natural talent, and all you had to do was keep him company while he worked.

You sat silent, soaking the moment in. It was so domestic—none of you had ever thought this kind of peace would ever be. It was meant for civilians. No doubt, moving in with the Winchesters was the best decision you’d ever made. At first, you had your own room and only meant to stay long enough to get your own place. After a few hunts with the boys, they insisted you remain in the bunker for safety. It had become more of a home than you’d ever had before, so you were grateful to have their blessing to stay (as if you really had a choice.) You still had a room across from Dean’s, but mostly it was a closet and extra storage. You hadn’t slept in there in months.

The moment was so beautiful, you noted again, as the boys continued to banter back and forth, only ending in their typical “jerk,” “bitch,” responses.

You locked that away in your mind to hold onto during those rough hunts, the ones where the three of you had to split up and you felt exposed and alone, like all of it had been a dream. The darkness of some of the places you went reminded you of a time when you were a lot more helpless. When monsters weren’t the only things that went bump in the night. You shoved the thought from your mind.

“Well, I say we should still go check out that potential case in east Texas,” You directed at Dean.

Sam nodded, and Dean swallowed the last bit of his food. “Fine.”

After the cleaning from breakfast had been done, you showered and packed. Tossing a few shirts, jeans, sweatpants, FBI pantsuit and the basic essentials into your duffle bag, you paused before adding your truck keys. You didn’t know why, but something told you not to pack them. Knowing you would misplace them otherwise, you went out to the garage to leave them in the front seat.

Dean was out there already, making sure Baby and the weapons in the trunk were ready for the trip ahead, including a few gallons of holy water and extra paint and salt for demon traps.

You eyed the excess, Dean getting defensive. “Hey, if Sammy’s right, then there’s more than one, and they’re pretty powerful. It can’t hurt to have back up.”

You shrugged and walked away. Sam was in the kitchen packing water and a few basic provisions for the possible stake-outs ahead, his pack already by the door. You picked it up and went to retrieve Dean’s and your own from the bedroom. Everyone ended up at the Impala within minutes, ready to hit the road. Your skin tingled with excitement—you loved road trips with the Winchesters, and it had been a few weeks since your last trip.

Baby purred to life, Dean popping in a tape. “Ramble On” began to play and he turned it up until the car vibrated as you rolled out of the bunker, bound for one of your favorite states.

A couple burgers, an emergency stop at a diner that boasted Best Pie in the County, and about twelve hours later, you rolled into the small town… again. The first time, Dean was so used to driving through one-stop towns that he accidentally passed through it. A few minutes after, Sam’s GPS regained a moment of service long enough to get you back to it within minutes.

Broaddus was truly tiny. The only place to stay was on the outskirts of town, a Country Inn. It read “No Vacancy,” to which you all groaned. You were missing your truck about now. It was easy to camp out in it—comfortable even with two people. You and Dean had taken it out several times on hunts when Sam needed the Impala.

Dean turned down a side road and pulled over, turning off the car. “Welcome to the Winchester motel.” The three of you piled out of the car, more than ready to stretch your legs. The forest around you loomed tall, pitch black even in the light from the near-full moon above. It was quiet… Too quiet. Dean put his hand on your shoulder and you jumped.

“Woah, are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you,” Dean pulled you in close, the first time since before you began the trip.

“Yeah, I’m just exhausted, and these woods are giving me the creeps. I’m gonna hit the sack,” You leaned up and kissed him, wanting to prove that you were fine. You were never this jumpy, but something about this place left you deeply unsettled. As you climbed back into the rear seat of Baby, you wondered why your skin was still buzzing after all these hours. This was no longer from excitement, as you’d realized hours ago. The buzzing had slowly melded into something more akin to a fire under your skin, an itch you couldn’t scratch. Something about this was wrong, and you hated that Castiel wasn’t able to join you immediately on this case. You prayed to God that he’d get his feathery ass down here quick.

Dean came in behind you, kicking off his shoes as he shut the door. You curled against his chest as Sam crawled into the front. “I think I saw a diner just down the road. We should start there in the morning,” the younger brother suggested. Dean let out a hum in agreement. It wasn’t long before the three of you were fast asleep, light snores filling the cab.

TAP, TAP, TAP.

You jerked awake, blinking hard against the seep in your eyes. Thankfully, it was just Sam knocking on the window. He was usually up first. Heart pounding, you untangled your limbs from Dean’s and got out of the vehicle. You stretched your limbs, an occasional loud pop sounding as you greeted Sam. You changed quickly behind the cover of the Impala’s open trunk, having decided that plain clothes would probably be better received in a town like this than Fed clothes. You double checked the fake badge and open carry license in your flannel pocket, a demon-killing knife strapped to your ankle, and the loaded gun holstered on your belt. God bless Texas, you thought. It was nice to be able to open carry for a change. Your normal concealed holster rubbed sores into your side if you wore it too long. The boys finished double checking the gear bag, Sam tightening the laces on his shoes. You’d just gotten to town and it already felt like you were prepping for war. If this demon problem was really as big as Sam feared, then it would be a battle.

“Ready?” You asked. Dean slipped in the driver’s seat and jingled the keys in response.

The diner was so close, you could’ve just walked. During breakfast, you learned that your waitress’s oldest kid was one of the teens ranting about demons. “He just lost his mind. We’ve gone to that church since he was born. He and the others in his Bible study group. The other parents and I just don’t understand what’s gotten into those kids. Pastor Tim has been with the congregation for thirty years, and practically raised a few of them. Now they won’t go to church, they skip school, and three have killed themselves,” She choked, involuntary tears welling in her eyes.

“Whatever it is, ma’am, we’re going to get to the bottom of it,” Dean tried to reassure her.

“I think…” She sobbed, “I think it’s… d-r-u-g-s.” She leaned in and whispered, then sighed and went to tend to her other tables, wiping at a tear with the back of her hand.

Dean’s brows went up then pressed forward, and he mouthed “Wow.”

Sam shrugged, looking down at his half-eaten food, moving his fork aimlessly.

“Dean, these towns are very tight knit,” You recalled, thinking of the various places in Texas you’d lived before you became a hunter. “Drugs, among many other things, are completely taboo in places like this. We need to be careful. Is everything okay, Sam?”

“Oh uh, yeah. Well, no. Something doesn’t feel right here.”

“I can second that,” Dean agreed.

From the diner, you went to interview the kids of the study group. The parents all said the same thing, but the kids wouldn’t talk, like they were too afraid. Eyes wide and wandering, never making contact with you or the Winchesters. Until…

Sam and Dean were in the living room of the last person on the list, a young girl, no more than sixteen, speaking to her parents. You broke away to speak to her in the privacy of her bedroom. The girl had practically pulled you there. She closed the door behind her and made sure the window was tightly drawn. She was shaking and rubbing her arms. “What’s going on, honey?” You asked.

“We were told you’d come. We were told not to speak to you, but I’m scared. I’m so scared!” She spoke barely above a whisper and collapsed into your arms. It was slightly awkward, as she was taller than you, but you held her anyway.

“Who told you, dear?”

She pulled back. “The girl with black eyes.”

You stopped breathing and the girl sat on the edge of her bed, burying her face in her hands.

“And what about Pastor Wayne?”

“Sometimes, he has black eyes, too. He’s different, he makes us do things in study now. He—he stares at us in church a-and… He’s a demon, we all know it. He threatened to massacre the whole town if we didn’t do everything he says.” She was bawling quietly now, her thin frame racking in fear.

“Okay, don’t worry. We’re here and we aren’t going to let that happen. We handle this stuff all the time, okay?” You reassured her, even as goosebumps dispersed in waves over your skin.

“Really?”

“Yeah, just don’t tell anyone, okay? Don’t even think about it.” You gave her a sincere smile and patted her shoulder.

“Okay,” she sniveled.

You thanked the parents on your way out, meeting Sam and Dean back at the car. Heading back to the Inn, everyone was glad to see the sign was off from the night before. Dean secured the only room available—a king suite. Even if you had to rotate who got left off the bed, it was still better than being cramped in the Impala without a proper bathroom. You took turns showering and sat around the tiny table, discussing your findings from the day of interviews.

“So it’s definitely the pastor. Who is the woman though?” Sam pondered.

“The girl didn’t seem to know. But the suicides are definitely tied to this sicko.”

“Yeah, sounds like it,” Dean pitched in. “Well, let’s stake out this guy and see if our mystery woman shows. Maybe we’ll see just how many we’re up against.”

“Okay. You and Sam do that, and I’ll go talk to the coroner. Let’s meet back here after.”

“Wait, Y/N, I don’t think that’s a good idea. We should probably stick together on this one.” Sam looked worried.

“I’ll be fine, promise. I can hold my own, and besides, it’s the two of you who will be in the thick of it. Y’all promise me to be safe and not rush in—call me first, okay?” You grabbed each of their hands and squeezed.

“Alright, fine. But you call us if you even think something is off.” Dean commanded.

“Yes, sir.”

Sam smiled.

The boys dropped you off at the coroner’s office. The coroner was an attractive woman, not much older than you were. The bodies of the teenagers looked like they’d been beaten and tortured before they died. “And you said they each threw themselves off the roof of the high school? Any way they could have died from these other injuries?”

“No, the only cause of those injuries is from the fall… it’s been very hard for the town,” She looked down at them sadly.

“Were they in fights prior to their death? I understand they fell a good distance, but not all of these wounds are consistent with a fall. Look at their hands—defensive wounds. Whatever it was, they fought back, hard. All due respect, but I don’t believe these were suicides.” You flipped through her report on the latest victim again.  You looked up from the papers to ask another question about the sparse documents, but the coroner was gone. You dropped the papers and withdrew your gun loaded with demon-trapping bullets. You cleared the room, and moved to the hallway. You sent a quick prayer to Cas and planned to call the Winchesters as soon as you made it to a safe place outside, but you would never get there. The coroner came out of nowhere, slamming something cold and hard into the back of your head, knocking you to the ground, vision swimming in the crack of pain. You looked up at her through squinted eyes, reaching for the hidden knife inches from your fingertips. Before you could grasp it, her foot met your nose, and your vision went black, the last thing you heard being a muffled, “Hunters, can’t ever leave well enough alone.”

Sam and Dean sat, growing weary of watching Pastor Wayne. His eyes had flashed black, confirming the girl’s testimony. It had been hours, though, and all the pastor had done was drink a few beers and watch TV. Y/N hadn’t called, so they suspected that nothing was off. They decided to attend church in the morning to get a closer view of the situation and headed back to the Inn.

“Honey, I’m hooome!” Dean called into the room jokingly as he flipped on the light. Sam closed the door behind them.

“I’ve got dibs on the bed tonight, man,” Sam said.

Dean waved him off, walking to the restroom to greet you. He knocked on the door, and it creeked open, the light off. Dean began to panic. He flipped on the light and slammed the door all the way open, calling out your name. He continued to call for you, growing louder and more crazed as he threw open the shower curtain and running back into the room. “Sammy, she-she’s gone. Sammy, where is she? Where’s Y/N?”

Sam’s face fell, and he grabbed Dean by the shoulders to keep him from exploding. “Hey-hey, let’s go to the coroner’s office. Maybe she’s still there. We’ll find her, I promise.” Sam tried to remain calm for his brother, but panic was rising in him, too. You were never late.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let her go alone!” Dean threw the keys to Sam, knowing he couldn’t drive in this state. They made it to the morgue in record time—no more than 45 seconds. Dean jumped out before Baby had even rolled to a complete stop. He had his gun out and charged into the building, Sam shortly on his heels, watching the blind corners and behind them, his gun drawn now as well. Dean found the room, bodies still laying on the tables, the papers from the files scattered about from where you’d dropped them. There wasn’t a living soul in the entire place. Dean stopped abruptly in the final hallway, next to the back exit. There was a small puddle of blood left from the wound on your head. Sam ran into the back of him, then clenched his jaw and swallowed hard when he followed Dean’s gaze. Dean couldn’t breathe. He broke his gaze, and ran out the door, looking for any sign of where you’d gone. “Y/N!” He screamed into the still night, only his own cries echoing back to him. “Y/N! CAS! Cas we need you! Y/N needs you!”

Just in case the angel didn’t get his prayer, he dialed him quickly, throat quickly threatening to close up in fear and guilt. “C-cas, they took her. Get down here, NOW!”

Sam lowered his gun and looked to his brother. He hadn’t seen Dean this hurt in a long time.

The boys went back to the pastor’s place, kicked in the front door, ready to torture the demon until he told them where you were, but were too late. The pastor was dead, a sickening message written in his own blood on the wall above his body—follow us and she dies.

Dean collapsed to his knees. He would come for you, but he would need to be careful and stealthy about it to keep you safe. He wasn’t going to give up.

~

It had been months. Spring had turned to summer, and fall, then winter began to close in. The boys had gained a few leads in that time, but they lead to dead ends—literally. Anyone that seemed to be involved with these demons ended up six feet under pretty quickly. Even Crowley did his best to help. He didn’t owe the Winchesters anything, which he made very clear, but even he missed your sass. No one dared to berate and poke fun at the King of Hell quite like you did. Not even Dean. He secretly had every demon under his command on the lookout for you, and a price on the rogue demons’ heads. No one dared defy the King and get away with it.

~

They never let you out of the cage except for an occasional hose down or special torture session. You were weak now, months of starvation, torture, and cramped quarters depleting your muscles to a ghost of what they formerly were. The only thing that kept you sane was imagining Dean bursting through the doors and coming to your rescue. The latest preferred torture of your demonic captors was sleep deprivation however, which left you pliable, your vision fuzzy and mind in the weeds. Slowly, you began to forget the Winchesters and your life before. You remembered the last morning you spent with them in the bunker, but you couldn’t recall the conversation, or the color of their eyes. Eventually, their faces began to fade altogether, merely blurs in fleeting memories.

On the hardest nights, you sang to yourself. Like the Winchesters, the lyrics of your favorite songs began to slip, too, until you could only hum. One song though, you sang every day when you realized everything else was slipping away. You hated that it always made the demon’s laugh, that it made them happy that the song you remembered was one of pain.

You began to drift to sleep at last, but another zap from the cattle prod made you whimper and roll to the floor from your bed mat.

“Sing, little bird, I haven’t heard you today,” The demon sneered. He was still wearing the female coroner from the case back in east Texas.

You slowly sat up, getting onto your knees as you were expected, wanting to please the demon enough to let you sleep afterwards. He smirked and walked away, shouting, “Sing!”

Your voice was small and scratchy from screaming and dehydration, but you started anyway after an attempt to clear your throat. You closed your eyes and tried to remember what the Winchesters looked like, what your Dean looked like.

“If I had wings like Noah's dove

I'd fly up the river to the one I love

Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well

-

I had a man, who was long and tall

He moved his body like a cannon ball

Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well

 -

One of these days and it won't be long

You’ll call my name and I'll be gone

Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well

 -

I remember one night, a drizzling rain

Round my heart I felt an achin' pain

Fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee well”

A tear rolled down your cheek as you finished, unable to remember your family. It was in that moment that you lost hope, a cold breeze drifting in from somewhere you couldn’t see. The summer had been blistering hot, and had it not been for the harsh, fluctuating temperatures, you would’ve thought they’d drug you straight to Hell. Judging by the sweltering days and freezing nights, you were in a desert somewhere, but it’d been a long time since you felt the heat now. It was mostly just cold and colder. Before you could brace yourself, you fell forward, exhaustion taking over. Finally, the demon allowed you to fall into dreamless sleep.

~

Dean was beside himself, drinking himself stupid every night. He wouldn’t speak to Sam, Cas, Crowley, or anyone unless he had to on the rare occasion he would work a case. Even then, he was mean, short, and all shoot-first-ask-questions-later. Still, he left the questions part to Sam.

Everything was as you’d left it in the bunker. Dean refused to go into either of your rooms—not that it really mattered, since he would get too plastered to get much farther than the couch anyway. Sam had to put a cover over your truck before Dean could even go into the garage. Even Baby was suffering. Her brakes needed replacement, her belt was squealing and threatening to snap at any moment, and the air in her tires was low. Sam and Cas had to fix these things themselves. Dean had never been like this.  

~

It was a few weeks after you lost hope, an emptiness replacing the weak heartbeat in your chest, when the demon, who you’d come to call Jeremiah allowed you out. He’d hosed you down, given you fresh clothes, and even given you a brush, scissors, and a mirror to clean up your appearance a bit. You hadn’t recognized the face staring back at you. It was pale, sunken and lifeless. Your hair was darker than you could recall it being, and much longer. You chopped until it was manageable, and brushed it out of your face. You didn’t care to look at the ghost staring back at you, and abandoned the items in a corner of your cage.

Jeremiah instructed that you would be a liaison, a messenger between him and a man whose contract he held. You were to report back everything that you saw, and deliver commands. He told you that the man was very powerful and wouldn’t think much of your life, and to not piss him off. If anything happened, you were to remind the man of the hellhound waiting to drag him to his eternal fire. You nodded. He handed you a piece of paper with an address in case you got lost and gave you directions to the meeting place. You stood in the doorway, sunlight so bright you cried out and covered your eyes. When they adjusted, you walked out, legs still slightly wobbly from disuse, everything around you bleached white. The wind nearly knocked you over as you pressed on. You flipped the hood over your face to help block out some of the glare, and stuffed your hands in your pockets.

Approaching the dock, you took a moment to stare out over the lake. It was such a stark contrast of vibrant blue against the sun-bleached, barren land around it, and it sparkled incredibly, tiny waves white-capped. The moment gone, you looked back at your feet, the caliche sticking to your shoes already. For some reason, this lake was familiar to you. You couldn’t remember why.

You got in the boat, disconnected from the rickety dock, the engine spurring to life after a few tugs. The little john boat propelled forward and you steered it expertly around the underwater trees. You knew how to drive a boat? Huh.

The wind was unforgiving, going straight through your thin clothes, the cold seeping into your bones. You reached your destination after about ten minutes, pulling up to a much nicer looking doc, with huge, expensive looking boats tied to it. You cut the engine, hands expertly securing the boat to the dock with the rope.

A man in a white suit was standing there, expecting your arrival. He wore a red tie. It was very distracting. He held out his hand. Reciprocating, he caught yours and brought it to his lips, kissing it lightly in greeting, but you didn’t even feel it. “Hello. They call me El Jefe Rojo—the Red Boss. You can call me Red. And what, mija, is your name?”

Your mouth opened but you couldn’t remember. The syllables were there, but they were jumbled. “You can just call me Mija,” You said after a moment.

You’d just noticed the four men surrounding you, wearing all black and holding rifles, machetes and other various weapons strapped to their waists. “Don’t be alarmed, they are merely here to ensure that our meeting goes smoothly.”

You met Red’s eyes. They were a honey brown, wide and beautiful against his tanned skin and thick, dark locks. His accent was soothing in a way. He waggled his finger, and another man in black came forward, carrying a wrapped box. “Please send Jeremiah my thanks, and that I hope this satisfies his needs. Also, I have a gift.” A young girl was drug forward, fighting halfheartedly against her bonds. She was tossed in your boat, nearly falling overboard. She screamed into her gag upon impact, something making a sickening snap noise. Red looked at her, and she immediately quieted to a whimper. “Tell him that business has never been better, and we will surely have the rest of his request by next week.”

“Yes sir,” You replied. Somewhere in the back of your brain, you thought that you should be freaking out, looking for an exit, anything. But nothing phased you. Not the large men and their weapons, nor the man in front of you. You understood that he was meant to be intimidating, but you felt nothing. Just… emptiness and distance, like you were watching from behind a screen.

“I like you, Mija. Respect. That is hard to come by these days. I look forward to seeing you again…” He nodded and turned his back, walking away dismissively. You climbed back into the boat, without looking at the broken girl. It barely even registered on your radar. The trip back seemed faster. You reattached to the rickety dock near the storage unit that was your new home. The girl struggled to get up, and you helped support her for the walk, but did no more than that to help her. When you reached the unit, you set the girl on the floor and set the box on Jeremiah’s desk. You glanced around the fairly large unit. The demon wasn’t in. You closed the door and crawled back into your cage and curled up on your mat, watching to make sure the girl didn’t try to escape.

What must’ve been hours later, you heard the demon approaching. You sat up.

“What do you mean, ‘Crowley offered you a better deal’? No. No. I won’t have it. I’ll top that. Yeah. Yep. I’ve got it. Well, I have half of it. I’ve sent the girl for the other half already. Uh huh. Yeah she should be back… The Winchesters? Please. They haven’t found her yet and they won’t. If-If they do, I’ll kill them. And her, for good measure…”

The demon’s conversation drifted out of range again. Winchester. Crowley. It was coming back to you. Before you could close your eyes and try to imagine your family again, the demon burst into the room. You jumped.

“Good girl,” He snarled, coming to lock your cage on you again. He picked up the box off the desk and eyed the girl. “Who’s this?”

“A gift, sir. Red sends his thanks. He hopes this satisfies you and will have the rest of your request by next week.”

The demon nodded. “I will send you to collect in two days.”

You gulped. Jeremiah grabbed the girl by the broken arm, dragging her screaming from the unit and left you alone again.

Two days later, you made the same trip as promised. When you arrived, Red was not at the dock. Instead his minions were yelling at you in Spanish and brandishing their weapons at you. Glad that you understood most of what they were saying, you got on your knees and placed your hands on your head. A few minutes later, Red came out of the mansion on the hill and down the walkway. He looked pissed. His nose was bleeding from one nostril and his suit looked slightly disheveled. “I told you next week! I thought we had respect, Mija!” He spat at your name. He slapped you hard out of nowhere, but you only slightly lost your balance, hands still on your head. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been through this before.

“Jeremiah sent me, sir.” You spat blood from your mouth into the water below. “He says he needs it now.” You kept your eyes cast down as the demon had conditioned you.

Red grabbed you by your suspended arm and pulled you to your feet. “Fine. But you must wait here until I get it.” Not having released his grip, he towed you towards the mansion. He sat you down at a table in the screened-in porch and paced, making a few calls, but speaking to quickly for you to keep up in the foreign language. After a long while of screaming into the phone, he threw it across the room in a fit, slumping into the chair next to you, legs still shaking wildly. When had he drawn a revolver? It was white and silver, with a red stripe down the center, to match his suit probably. He tapped it against his shaking leg. You zoned out a few times, just watching the light waves on the lake slopping against the shoreline and boats. The names came back to you as you dazed—Crowley, Winchesters. Cassie… Castile… Castiel. Your vision narrowed, and at last you remembered their faces. Not well enough to give specific eye color, but you could remember the boys’ smiles, most importantly, Dean’s.

Red snapped your attention back to reality as he jumped to his feet. One of his men held a long, narrow, wrapped rectangular box. Red ripped it from his hands and shot the man. You flinched as the dead man fell in a heavy thud. Red practically threw the box at you. It was getting dark.

“Go. Get out, NOW!” He kicked at you, narrowly missing as you obliged and ran as fast as you could down the stairs, pathway, and dock. He chased you all the way to the boat, screaming in Spanish. As you maneuvered the boat away, you sighed. The sun had set, the last tendrils of light peeking over across the lake. You shivered in the darkness. You looked up. Stars. How long had it been since you’d seen them? You forgot how beautiful they were. You felt the flutter in your stomach, remembering how tiny you were in this universe, insignificant, and you smiled. It was the first time you’d felt something in ages.

You laughed loudly, relishing in the moment, then refocused on your journey. It was going to be harder to find your dock, now. You did though, only taking slightly longer than last time to do so. You took the odd box back to Jeremiah. As you approached the storage unit, you could hear him on the phone again and timidly slowed your step, not wanting to make him mad.

“Thanks for the heads up, we will move out as soon as she gets back. Yeah, she’s getting it but she’s been gone a while. I’ve already sent the Hellhound to take care of him. No, no you listen to me—I’m the boss now. I say when we kill the Winchesters. She’s almost ready. Yes, very complaint… Okay. Meet me there at dawn.” His conversation finished and you picked back up your pace.

“You’re late.” You rounded the corner, eyes cast down, holding out the package. “Very good. We’re leaving.”

Panic raised in you. You didn’t want to leave. Not now that you had the boat, the lake, the stars… Jeremiah threw you into the unit but didn’t bother with the cage as he slammed the door behind you. You froze in place, unsure of what to do as you heard him walking away quickly. Minutes turned to hours, and you daydreamed of your family… There was a world out there, you remembered.

Grasping onto the strength the stars had given you, you stood up and jimmied the door open after a few tries. You peered out, clearing the corners. You grabbed the can of gas by the door and ran to the dock as fast as you could, careful not to shake the gas can too much. You jumped into the boat and drove as fast and far as you could. About an hour later, the wide open lake faded behind you as it narrowed into a tall canyon. The moon was overhead now, lighting your way. You continued on until the first morning rays peaked above one side of the canyon. You slowed down and steered into an alcove. At the base of the canyon, there was brush that you used to conceal the boat, and an old cave that looked undisturbed, Native American pictures still on the walls. You let your hands glide lightly across them, then sat down, looking out over the water. You knew this place.

The memory came back to you in your sleep: Your dad smiling as a much younger version of yourself touched the walls of the cave. You looked back at his bass fishing boat, as shiny and sparkly as the crystal water beneath it, fishing poles slung lazily across one of the seats. Del Rio. The Rio Grande. Lake Amistad. The names flooded back to you, and you woke with a start, expecting to be back in that cage. To your relief, you were still in the cave, the sun beginning to set on the other side of the canyon. If you remembered correctly, the 1st and 2nd railroads of Texas were close, and just beyond them would be a boat ramp you used to put in at those years ago. You smiled, jumping back into the boat and topping off the engine with the last bit of fuel. You prayed that it would get you there.

The only problem would be getting past border patrol. There were two stations, and you had no identification. Even if you made it past them, how were you going to walk all those miles back to town? Back home? Where was home? You couldn’t remember yet.

You drove on anyway, the stars comforting you as they came out. You’d never seen so many stars—not since you were here as a child.

When you got to the ramp you’d remembered, you breathed thanks into the cool air of the canyon. You did your best to wash out the gas can until it didn’t smell like fuel. You rinsed and rinsed until your arms and back ached and threatened to give. Trying to save some of your strength, you settled with what you had, and filled the can with water from the fountain.

~

You didn’t know, but the moment you remembered Castiel’s name, he was able to locate you. Almost instantly, the boys piled into the car, a frantic Cas gripping the dashboard and cramped Sam sitting in the back. The Impala roared forth and Dean dialed Crowley.

“We’ve got a lead.”

@supernatural-jackles @jensen-jarpad @wheresthekillswitch @aseasyasdeanspie @bummblebeeblue @nothin-after-79 @docharleythegeekqueen @fangirl-writing-fiction @deathtonormalcy56

#chris writes #The Cannon Ball Series #part two #dean x reader #castiel #Sam Winchester #crowley #rowena

[potentiality-26]

Chapters: 12/12 Fandom: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin Characters: Harry Hart | Galahad, Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Merlin (Kingsman), James | Lancelot (Kingsman), Chester King | Arthur, Roxy Morton | Lancelot, Dean Baker, Michelle Unwin, Percival (Kingsman), Original Characters Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Prostitution, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Eventual Smut, Light dom/sub undertones, Light Bondage (in one scene), Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence Summary:

Harry offered the first figure that came into his head. Judging from the way the boy's eyes widened, it was far too high.

He said, “I know a place,” a little too quickly. “Let me just…” He took out his phone and fired off several texts in quick succession. “One of my stepdad’s mates works in a- a hotel real close to here.” From his stutter, Harry guessed that it wasn’t a very high class establishment- but then if Harry had wanted high class he would have sought it out himself. Somewhere where they had seen everything, where they looked the other way without question- that was what Harry needed at the moment, and his knowledge of such areas in London was unfortunately lacking.

Harry just needs somewhere to lay low and patch himself up. He isn't expecting to meet someone who fascinates him, or to run into that someone again and again.

#my fic #harry/eggsy #hartwin #kingsman

[networkingdefinition]

Pine Trees Quotes

Official Website: Pine Trees Quotes

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• A pine tree standeth lonely In the North on an upland bare; It standeth whitely shrouded With snow, and sleepeth there. It dreameth of a Palm tree Which far in the East alone, In the mournful silence standeth On its ridge of burning stone. – Heinrich Heine • Acts of creation are ordinarily reserved for gods and poets, but humbler folk may circumvent this restriction if they know how. To plant a pine, for example, one need be neither god nor poet; one need only own a shovel. – Aldo Leopold • And the needles of the pine trees, freshly washed to a deep, rich green, shimmered with droplets that blinked like clear crystals. – Billie Letts • And they beat. The women for having known them and no more, no more; the children for having been them but never again. They killed a boss so often and so completely they had to bring him back to life to pulp him one more time. Tasting hot mealcake among pine trees, they beat it away. Singing love songs to Mr. Death, they smashed his head. More than the rest, they killed the flirt whom folks called Life for leading them on. – Toni Morrison • As I go musing through this mournful land Soothed by the pine-tree’s solemn harmony, Thy well-loved image comes and walks by me. I seem to hold thee by the gentle hand And talk of things I dimly understand, That thy dear spirit set to mine may be As to an intricate lock the simple key. – John Barlas • As sunbeams stream through liberal space And nothing jostle or displace, So waved the pine-tree through my thought And fanned the dreams it never brought. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Pine', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_pine').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_pine img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Between every two pine trees there is a door leading to a new way of life. – John Muir • Between every two pines is a doorway to a new world. – John Muir • By the shores of Gitchee Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis, Dark behind it rose the forest, Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees, Rose the firs with cones upon them; Bright before it beat the water, Beat the clear and sunny water, Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water. – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling] • Can you hear the dreams crackling like a campfire? Can you hear the dreams sweeping through the pine trees and tipis? Can you hear the dreams laughing in the sawdust? Can you hear the dreams shaking just a little bit as the day grows long? Can you hear the dreams putting on a good jacket that smells of fry bread and sweet smoke? Can you hear the dreams stay up late and talk so many stories? – Sherman Alexie • Christmas can be celebrated in the school room with pine trees, tinsel and reindeers, but there must be no mention of the man whose birthday is being celebrated. One wonders how a teacher would answer if a student asked why it was called Christmas. – Ronald Reagan • Do not think I do not realise what I am doing. I am making a composition using the following elements: the winter beach; the winter moon; the ocean; the women; the pine trees; the riders; the driftwood; the shells; the shapes of darkness and the shapes of water; and the refuse. These are all inimical to my loneliness because of their indifference to it. Out of these pieces of inimical indifference, I intend to represent the desolate smile of winter which, as you must have gathered, is the smile I wear. – Angela Carter • Ever eat a pine tree? Many parts are edible. – Euell Gibbons • Every creature is better alive than dead, men and moose and pine trees, and he who understands it aright will rather preserve its life than destroy it. – Henry David Thoreau • Every summer my husband and I pack our suitcases, load our kids into the car, and drive from tense, crowded New York City to my family’s cottage in Maine. It’s on an island, with stretches of sea and sandy beaches, rocky coasts, and pine trees. We barbecue, swim, lie around, and try to do nothing. – Hope Davis • Few are altogether deaf to the preaching of pine trees. Their sermons on the mountains go to our hearts . . . – John Muir • Few are altogether deaf to the preaching of pine trees. Their sermons on the mountains go to our hearts; and if people in general could be got into the woods, even for once, to hear the trees speak for themselves, all difficulties in the way of forest preservation would vanish. – John Muir • For a hundred and fifty years, in the pasture of dead horses, roots of pine trees pushed through the pale curves of your ribs, yellow blossoms flourished above you in autumn, and in winter frost heaved your bones in the ground–old toilers, soil makers: O Roger, Mackerel, Riley, Ned, Nellie, Chester, Lady Ghost. – Donald Hall • From the pine tree, learn of the pine tree; And from the bamboo, of the bamboo – Matsuo Basho • Generally speaking, the political news, whether domestic or foreign, might be written today for the next ten years with sufficientaccuracy. Most revolutions in society have not power to interest, still less alarm us; but tell me that our rivers are drying up, or the genus pine dying out in the country, and I might attend. – Henry David Thoreau • Gently I stir a white feather fan, With open shirt sitting in a green wood. I take off my cap and hang it on a jutting stone; A wind from the pine-tree trickles on my bare head. – Li Bai • God took pattern after a pine tree and built you noble. – Zora Neale Hurston • High high in the hills , high in a pine tree bed. She’s tracing the wind with that old hand, counting the clouds with that old chant, Three geese in a flock one flew east one flew west one flew over the cuckoo’s nest – Ken Kesey • I don’t think anyone ‘finds’ joy. Rather, we cultivate it by searching for the preciousness of small things, the ordinary miracles, that strengthen our hearts so we can keep them open to what is difficult: delight in taking a shower or a slow walk that has no destination, in touching something soft, in noticing the one small, black bird who sings every morning from the top of the big old pine tree … I need to give my attention to the simple things that give me pleasure with the same fervor I have been giving it to the complex things with which I drive myself crazy. – Dawna Markova • I found everything so remote but, at the same time, familiar when I occasionally looked into the mountains, rocks, pine trees and plums depicted in old literati paintings. My innermost feeling which was awakened by the same mountains, rocks, pine trees and plums has been totally and utterly changed. Moreover, like an apparition, it hides deep down in my vessels. The very trees and rocks have become the storage of memories and emotions from various eras. Forced by the rapid change of time and perspective, I cannot help but feel urged to face up to these things once again. – Zhang Xiaogang • I frequently tramped eight or ten miles through the deepest snow to keep an appointment with a beechtree, or a yellow birch, or an old acquaintance among the pines. – Henry David Thoreau • I grew up like a lot of country boys and girls do – amongst the pine trees, dirt roads, farms, mules and people who were real. – Josh Turner • I love Tennessee, but they don’t have the pine trees and the sandy soil and the black water that I grew up around. – Josh Turner • I remember a hundred lovely lakes, and recall the fragrant breath of pine and fir and cedar and poplar trees. The trail has strung upon it, as upon a thread of silk, opalescent dawns and saffron sunsets. – Hamlin Garland • I should have liked to come across a large community of pines, which had never been invaded by the lumbering army. – Henry David Thoreau • I would say that there exists a thousand unbreakable links between each of us and everything else, and that our dignity and our chances are one. The farthest star and the mud at our feet are a family; and there is no decency or sense in honoring one thing, or a few things, and then closing the list. The pine tree, the leopard, the Platte River, and ourselves-we are at risk together, or we are on our way to a sustainable world together, we are each other’s destiny. – Mary Oliver • If I were to choose the sights, the sounds, the fragrances I most would want to see and hear and smell–among all the delights of the open world–on a final day on earth, I think I would choose these: the clear, ethereal song of a white-throated sparrow singing at dawn; the smell of pine trees in the heat of the noon; the lonely calling of Canada geese; the sight of a dragon-fly glinting in the sunshine; the voice of a hermit thrush far in a darkening woods at evening; and–most spiritual and moving of sights–the white cathedral of a cumulus cloud floating serenely in the blue of the sky. – Edwin Way Teale • If you could eat portions of pine trees, you could eliminate corn in many ways.- Homaro Cantu • If you look close … you can see that the wild critters have ‘No Trespassing’ signs tacked up on every pine tree. – Marguerite Henry • I’ll be looking for you, Will, every moment, every single moment. And when we do find each other again, we’ll cling together so tight that nothing and no one’ll ever tear us apart. Every atom of me and every atom of you… We’ll live in birds and flowers and dragonflies and pine trees and in clouds and in those little specks of light you see floating in sunbeams… And when they use our atoms to make new lives, they wont’ just be able to take one, they’ll have to take two, one of you and one of me, we’ll be joined so tight. – Philip Pullman • In a pine tree,/ A few yards from my window sill,/ A brilliant blue jay is springing up and down, up and/ down./ On a branch./ I laugh, as I see him abandon himself/ To entire delight, for he knows as well as I do/ That the branch will not break. – James Wright • In snowbound, voiceless, mountain depths, to herald spring, pine trees sound in tune. – Princess Shikishi • It is a thorough process, this war with the wilderness – breaking nature, taming the soil. feeding it on oats. The civilized man regards the pine tree as his enemy. He will fell it and let in the light, grub it up and raise wheat or rye there. It is no better than a fungus to him. – Henry David Thoreau • Late in August the lure of the mountains becomes irresistible. Seared by the everlasting sunfire, I want to see running water again, embrace a pine tree, cut my initials in the bark of an aspen, get bit by a mosquito, see a mountain bluebird, find a big blue columbine, get lost in the firs, hike above timberline, sunbathe on snow and eat some ice, climb the rocks and stand in the wind at the top of the world on the peak of Tukuhnikivats. – Edward Abbey • Learn about a pine tree from a pine tree, and about a bamboo plant from a bamboo plant. – Matsuo Basho • Life has loveliness to sell, / Music like a curve of gold, / Scent of pine trees in the rain, / Eyes that love you, arms that hold, / And for your spirit’s still delight, / Holy thoughts that star the night. – Sara Teasdale • Life has loveliness to sell, All beautiful and splendid things, Blue waves whitened on a cliff, Soaring fire that sways and sings, And children’s faces looking up, Holding wonder like a cup. Life has loveliness to sell, Music like a curve of gold, Scent of pine trees in the rain, Eyes that love you, arms that hold, And for your spirit’s still delight, Holy thoughts that star the night. Spend all you have for loveliness, Buy it and never count the cost; For one white singing hour of peace Count many a year of strife well lost, And for a breath of ecstasy Give all you have been, or could be. – Sara Teasdale • Many parts of a pine tree are edible. – Euell Gibbons • Momo listened to everyone and everything – even to the rain and the wind and the pine trees – and all of them spoke to her after their own fashion. – Michael Ende • No one can look at a pine tree in winter without knowing that spring will come again in due time. – Frank Bolles • No writing on the solitary, meditative dimensions of life can say anything that has not already been said better by the wind in the pine trees. – Thomas Merton • Nothing has ever been said about God that hasn’t already been said better by the wind in the pine trees. – Thomas Merton • One must have a mind of winter to regard the frost and the boughs of the pine trees, crusted with snow, And have been cold a long time, to behold the junipers, shagged with ice, the spruces, rough in the distant glitter of the January sun, and not to think of any misery in the sound of the wind, in the sound of a few leaves, which is the sound of the land, full of the same wind, blowing in the same bare place for the listener, who listens in the snow, and, nothing herself, beholds nothing that is not there, and the nothing that is. – Wallace Stevens • One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow – Wallace Stevens • Only yonder magnificent pine-tree… holds her unchanging beauty throughout the year, like her half-brother, the ocean, whose voice she shares; and only marks the flowing of her annual tide of life by the new verdure that yearly submerges all trace of last year’s ebb. – Thomas Wentworth Higginson • Our ordinary mind always tries to persuade us that we are nothing but acorns and that our greatest happiness will be to become bigger, fatter, shinier acorns; but that is of interest only to pigs. Our faith gives us knowledge of something better: that we can become oak trees. – E. F. Schumacher • Picture it in your mind’s nostril: you get in a cab in time to catch twin thugs named Vomit and Cologne assaulting a defenseless pine-tree air freshener. – Sloane Crosley • Pine trees with low limbs spread over fresh snow made a stronger vault for the spirit than pews and pulpits ever could. – Daniel Woodrell • Santa Claus has nothing to do with it,” the latke said. “Christmas and Hanukah are completely different things.” “But different things can often blend together,” said the pine tree. “Let me tell you a funny story about pagan rituals. – Daniel Handler • so, when I spotted a cougar stretched out on a thick pine tree branch near the park gates, I wasn’t surprised. I can’t say the same for the women clinging to the branch above the cat. she was the one screaming. The cougar-a ragged-ear old top I clled Marv-just stared at her, like he couldn’t believe anyone would be dumb to climb a tree to escape a cat. – Kelley Armstrong • Sombre thoughts and fancies often require a little real soil or substance to flourish in; they are the dark pine-trees which take root in, and frown over the rifts of the scathed and petrified heart, and are chiefly nourished by the rain of unavailing tears, and the vapors of fancy. – John Frederick Boyes • Study the teachings of the pine tree, the bamboo, and the plum blossom. The pine is evergreen, firmly rooted, and venerable. The bamboo is strong, resilient, unbreakable. The plum blossom is hardy, fragrant, and elegant. – Morihei Ueshiba • Thalia had been turned into a pine tree when she was 12. Me… well, i was doing my best not to follow her example. I had nightmares about what Poseidon might turn me into if i were ever in the verge of death—plankton, maybe. Or a floating patch of kelp. – Rick Riordan • The forests are the flag’s of Nature. They appeal to all and awaken inspiring universal feelings. Enter the forest and the boundaries of nations are forgotten. It may be that sometime an immortal pine will be the flag of a united and peaceful world. – Enos Mills • The guy who owned that island was from Oregon and he decided that he wanted to have an Oregon feeling to it, so he planted pine trees all over the place! – Christopher Atkins • The patient. The pine tree seems to listen, the fir tree to wait: and both without impatience: – they give no thought to the little people beneath them devoured by their impatience and their curiosity. – Friedrich Nietzsche • The young pines springing up in the corn-fields from year to year are to me a refreshing fact. – Henry David Thoreau • Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick. – J. R. R. Tolkien • There is a higher law affecting our relation to pines as well as to men. A pine cut down, a dead pine, is no more a pine than a dead human carcass is a man. – Henry David Thoreau • There is scarce a cave, an isolated rock, a lone pine tree or a pile of stones without supporting folklore. – John Hillaby • There was once a bundle of matches, and they were frightfully proud because of their high origin. Their family tree, that is to say the great pine tree of which they were each a little splinter, had been the giant of the forest. – Hans Christian Andersen • To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug. – Helen Keller • Who leaves the pine-tree, leaves his friend, Unnerves his strength, invites his end. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • Wilderness is not only a haven for native plants and animals but it is also a refuge from society. Its a place to go to hear the wind and little else, see the stars and the galaxies, smell the pine trees, feel the cold water, touch the sky and the ground at the same time, listen to coyotes, eat the fresh snow, walk across the desert sands, and realize why its good to go outside of the city and the suburbs. Fortunately, there is wilderness just outside the limits of the cities and the suburbs in most of the United States, especially in the West. – John Muir • Worpswede, Worpswede, I cannot get you out of my mind… Your magnificent pine trees! I call them my men–thick, gnarled, powerful, and tall–yet with the most delicate nerves and fibers in them. – Paula Modersohn-Becker • You can live for years next door to a big pine tree, honored to have so venerable a neighbor, even when it sheds needles all over your flowers or wakes you, dropping big cones onto your deck at still of night. – Denise Levertov • You know the Zen question, ‘The Bodhisattva of Great Mercy’ has a thousand hands and a thousand eyes; ‘which is the true eye?’ I could not understand this for a long time. But the other day, when I looked at the pine trees bending before the cold blasts from the mountain, I suddenly realized the meaning. You see, all the boughs, branches, twigs, and leaves simultaneously bend to the wind with tremendous vigor. – Katsuki Sekida • You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands. Instead of the thornbush will grow the pine tree, and instead of briers the myrtle will grow. This will be for the LORD’s renown, for an everlasting sign, which will not be destroyed. – Isaiah

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[equitiesstocks]

Pine Trees Quotes

Official Website: Pine Trees Quotes

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• A pine tree standeth lonely In the North on an upland bare; It standeth whitely shrouded With snow, and sleepeth there. It dreameth of a Palm tree Which far in the East alone, In the mournful silence standeth On its ridge of burning stone. – Heinrich Heine • Acts of creation are ordinarily reserved for gods and poets, but humbler folk may circumvent this restriction if they know how. To plant a pine, for example, one need be neither god nor poet; one need only own a shovel. – Aldo Leopold • And the needles of the pine trees, freshly washed to a deep, rich green, shimmered with droplets that blinked like clear crystals. – Billie Letts • And they beat. The women for having known them and no more, no more; the children for having been them but never again. They killed a boss so often and so completely they had to bring him back to life to pulp him one more time. Tasting hot mealcake among pine trees, they beat it away. Singing love songs to Mr. Death, they smashed his head. More than the rest, they killed the flirt whom folks called Life for leading them on. – Toni Morrison • As I go musing through this mournful land Soothed by the pine-tree’s solemn harmony, Thy well-loved image comes and walks by me. I seem to hold thee by the gentle hand And talk of things I dimly understand, That thy dear spirit set to mine may be As to an intricate lock the simple key. – John Barlas • As sunbeams stream through liberal space And nothing jostle or displace, So waved the pine-tree through my thought And fanned the dreams it never brought. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Pine', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_pine').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_pine img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Between every two pine trees there is a door leading to a new way of life. – John Muir • Between every two pines is a doorway to a new world. – John Muir • By the shores of Gitchee Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis, Dark behind it rose the forest, Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees, Rose the firs with cones upon them; Bright before it beat the water, Beat the clear and sunny water, Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water. – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling] • Can you hear the dreams crackling like a campfire? Can you hear the dreams sweeping through the pine trees and tipis? Can you hear the dreams laughing in the sawdust? Can you hear the dreams shaking just a little bit as the day grows long? Can you hear the dreams putting on a good jacket that smells of fry bread and sweet smoke? Can you hear the dreams stay up late and talk so many stories? – Sherman Alexie • Christmas can be celebrated in the school room with pine trees, tinsel and reindeers, but there must be no mention of the man whose birthday is being celebrated. One wonders how a teacher would answer if a student asked why it was called Christmas. – Ronald Reagan • Do not think I do not realise what I am doing. I am making a composition using the following elements: the winter beach; the winter moon; the ocean; the women; the pine trees; the riders; the driftwood; the shells; the shapes of darkness and the shapes of water; and the refuse. These are all inimical to my loneliness because of their indifference to it. Out of these pieces of inimical indifference, I intend to represent the desolate smile of winter which, as you must have gathered, is the smile I wear. – Angela Carter • Ever eat a pine tree? Many parts are edible. – Euell Gibbons • Every creature is better alive than dead, men and moose and pine trees, and he who understands it aright will rather preserve its life than destroy it. – Henry David Thoreau • Every summer my husband and I pack our suitcases, load our kids into the car, and drive from tense, crowded New York City to my family’s cottage in Maine. It’s on an island, with stretches of sea and sandy beaches, rocky coasts, and pine trees. We barbecue, swim, lie around, and try to do nothing. – Hope Davis • Few are altogether deaf to the preaching of pine trees. Their sermons on the mountains go to our hearts . . . – John Muir • Few are altogether deaf to the preaching of pine trees. Their sermons on the mountains go to our hearts; and if people in general could be got into the woods, even for once, to hear the trees speak for themselves, all difficulties in the way of forest preservation would vanish. – John Muir • For a hundred and fifty years, in the pasture of dead horses, roots of pine trees pushed through the pale curves of your ribs, yellow blossoms flourished above you in autumn, and in winter frost heaved your bones in the ground–old toilers, soil makers: O Roger, Mackerel, Riley, Ned, Nellie, Chester, Lady Ghost. – Donald Hall • From the pine tree, learn of the pine tree; And from the bamboo, of the bamboo – Matsuo Basho • Generally speaking, the political news, whether domestic or foreign, might be written today for the next ten years with sufficientaccuracy. Most revolutions in society have not power to interest, still less alarm us; but tell me that our rivers are drying up, or the genus pine dying out in the country, and I might attend. – Henry David Thoreau • Gently I stir a white feather fan, With open shirt sitting in a green wood. I take off my cap and hang it on a jutting stone; A wind from the pine-tree trickles on my bare head. – Li Bai • God took pattern after a pine tree and built you noble. – Zora Neale Hurston • High high in the hills , high in a pine tree bed. She’s tracing the wind with that old hand, counting the clouds with that old chant, Three geese in a flock one flew east one flew west one flew over the cuckoo’s nest – Ken Kesey • I don’t think anyone ‘finds’ joy. Rather, we cultivate it by searching for the preciousness of small things, the ordinary miracles, that strengthen our hearts so we can keep them open to what is difficult: delight in taking a shower or a slow walk that has no destination, in touching something soft, in noticing the one small, black bird who sings every morning from the top of the big old pine tree … I need to give my attention to the simple things that give me pleasure with the same fervor I have been giving it to the complex things with which I drive myself crazy. – Dawna Markova • I found everything so remote but, at the same time, familiar when I occasionally looked into the mountains, rocks, pine trees and plums depicted in old literati paintings. My innermost feeling which was awakened by the same mountains, rocks, pine trees and plums has been totally and utterly changed. Moreover, like an apparition, it hides deep down in my vessels. The very trees and rocks have become the storage of memories and emotions from various eras. Forced by the rapid change of time and perspective, I cannot help but feel urged to face up to these things once again. – Zhang Xiaogang • I frequently tramped eight or ten miles through the deepest snow to keep an appointment with a beechtree, or a yellow birch, or an old acquaintance among the pines. – Henry David Thoreau • I grew up like a lot of country boys and girls do – amongst the pine trees, dirt roads, farms, mules and people who were real. – Josh Turner • I love Tennessee, but they don’t have the pine trees and the sandy soil and the black water that I grew up around. – Josh Turner • I remember a hundred lovely lakes, and recall the fragrant breath of pine and fir and cedar and poplar trees. The trail has strung upon it, as upon a thread of silk, opalescent dawns and saffron sunsets. – Hamlin Garland • I should have liked to come across a large community of pines, which had never been invaded by the lumbering army. – Henry David Thoreau • I would say that there exists a thousand unbreakable links between each of us and everything else, and that our dignity and our chances are one. The farthest star and the mud at our feet are a family; and there is no decency or sense in honoring one thing, or a few things, and then closing the list. The pine tree, the leopard, the Platte River, and ourselves-we are at risk together, or we are on our way to a sustainable world together, we are each other’s destiny. – Mary Oliver • If I were to choose the sights, the sounds, the fragrances I most would want to see and hear and smell–among all the delights of the open world–on a final day on earth, I think I would choose these: the clear, ethereal song of a white-throated sparrow singing at dawn; the smell of pine trees in the heat of the noon; the lonely calling of Canada geese; the sight of a dragon-fly glinting in the sunshine; the voice of a hermit thrush far in a darkening woods at evening; and–most spiritual and moving of sights–the white cathedral of a cumulus cloud floating serenely in the blue of the sky. – Edwin Way Teale • If you could eat portions of pine trees, you could eliminate corn in many ways.- Homaro Cantu • If you look close … you can see that the wild critters have ‘No Trespassing’ signs tacked up on every pine tree. – Marguerite Henry • I’ll be looking for you, Will, every moment, every single moment. And when we do find each other again, we’ll cling together so tight that nothing and no one’ll ever tear us apart. Every atom of me and every atom of you… We’ll live in birds and flowers and dragonflies and pine trees and in clouds and in those little specks of light you see floating in sunbeams… And when they use our atoms to make new lives, they wont’ just be able to take one, they’ll have to take two, one of you and one of me, we’ll be joined so tight. – Philip Pullman • In a pine tree,/ A few yards from my window sill,/ A brilliant blue jay is springing up and down, up and/ down./ On a branch./ I laugh, as I see him abandon himself/ To entire delight, for he knows as well as I do/ That the branch will not break. – James Wright • In snowbound, voiceless, mountain depths, to herald spring, pine trees sound in tune. – Princess Shikishi • It is a thorough process, this war with the wilderness – breaking nature, taming the soil. feeding it on oats. The civilized man regards the pine tree as his enemy. He will fell it and let in the light, grub it up and raise wheat or rye there. It is no better than a fungus to him. – Henry David Thoreau • Late in August the lure of the mountains becomes irresistible. Seared by the everlasting sunfire, I want to see running water again, embrace a pine tree, cut my initials in the bark of an aspen, get bit by a mosquito, see a mountain bluebird, find a big blue columbine, get lost in the firs, hike above timberline, sunbathe on snow and eat some ice, climb the rocks and stand in the wind at the top of the world on the peak of Tukuhnikivats. – Edward Abbey • Learn about a pine tree from a pine tree, and about a bamboo plant from a bamboo plant. – Matsuo Basho • Life has loveliness to sell, / Music like a curve of gold, / Scent of pine trees in the rain, / Eyes that love you, arms that hold, / And for your spirit’s still delight, / Holy thoughts that star the night. – Sara Teasdale • Life has loveliness to sell, All beautiful and splendid things, Blue waves whitened on a cliff, Soaring fire that sways and sings, And children’s faces looking up, Holding wonder like a cup. Life has loveliness to sell, Music like a curve of gold, Scent of pine trees in the rain, Eyes that love you, arms that hold, And for your spirit’s still delight, Holy thoughts that star the night. Spend all you have for loveliness, Buy it and never count the cost; For one white singing hour of peace Count many a year of strife well lost, And for a breath of ecstasy Give all you have been, or could be. – Sara Teasdale • Many parts of a pine tree are edible. – Euell Gibbons • Momo listened to everyone and everything – even to the rain and the wind and the pine trees – and all of them spoke to her after their own fashion. – Michael Ende • No one can look at a pine tree in winter without knowing that spring will come again in due time. – Frank Bolles • No writing on the solitary, meditative dimensions of life can say anything that has not already been said better by the wind in the pine trees. – Thomas Merton • Nothing has ever been said about God that hasn’t already been said better by the wind in the pine trees. – Thomas Merton • One must have a mind of winter to regard the frost and the boughs of the pine trees, crusted with snow, And have been cold a long time, to behold the junipers, shagged with ice, the spruces, rough in the distant glitter of the January sun, and not to think of any misery in the sound of the wind, in the sound of a few leaves, which is the sound of the land, full of the same wind, blowing in the same bare place for the listener, who listens in the snow, and, nothing herself, beholds nothing that is not there, and the nothing that is. – Wallace Stevens • One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow – Wallace Stevens • Only yonder magnificent pine-tree… holds her unchanging beauty throughout the year, like her half-brother, the ocean, whose voice she shares; and only marks the flowing of her annual tide of life by the new verdure that yearly submerges all trace of last year’s ebb. – Thomas Wentworth Higginson • Our ordinary mind always tries to persuade us that we are nothing but acorns and that our greatest happiness will be to become bigger, fatter, shinier acorns; but that is of interest only to pigs. Our faith gives us knowledge of something better: that we can become oak trees. – E. F. Schumacher • Picture it in your mind’s nostril: you get in a cab in time to catch twin thugs named Vomit and Cologne assaulting a defenseless pine-tree air freshener. – Sloane Crosley • Pine trees with low limbs spread over fresh snow made a stronger vault for the spirit than pews and pulpits ever could. – Daniel Woodrell • Santa Claus has nothing to do with it,” the latke said. “Christmas and Hanukah are completely different things.” “But different things can often blend together,” said the pine tree. “Let me tell you a funny story about pagan rituals. – Daniel Handler • so, when I spotted a cougar stretched out on a thick pine tree branch near the park gates, I wasn’t surprised. I can’t say the same for the women clinging to the branch above the cat. she was the one screaming. The cougar-a ragged-ear old top I clled Marv-just stared at her, like he couldn’t believe anyone would be dumb to climb a tree to escape a cat. – Kelley Armstrong • Sombre thoughts and fancies often require a little real soil or substance to flourish in; they are the dark pine-trees which take root in, and frown over the rifts of the scathed and petrified heart, and are chiefly nourished by the rain of unavailing tears, and the vapors of fancy. – John Frederick Boyes • Study the teachings of the pine tree, the bamboo, and the plum blossom. The pine is evergreen, firmly rooted, and venerable. The bamboo is strong, resilient, unbreakable. The plum blossom is hardy, fragrant, and elegant. – Morihei Ueshiba • Thalia had been turned into a pine tree when she was 12. Me… well, i was doing my best not to follow her example. I had nightmares about what Poseidon might turn me into if i were ever in the verge of death—plankton, maybe. Or a floating patch of kelp. – Rick Riordan • The forests are the flag’s of Nature. They appeal to all and awaken inspiring universal feelings. Enter the forest and the boundaries of nations are forgotten. It may be that sometime an immortal pine will be the flag of a united and peaceful world. – Enos Mills • The guy who owned that island was from Oregon and he decided that he wanted to have an Oregon feeling to it, so he planted pine trees all over the place! – Christopher Atkins • The patient. The pine tree seems to listen, the fir tree to wait: and both without impatience: – they give no thought to the little people beneath them devoured by their impatience and their curiosity. – Friedrich Nietzsche • The young pines springing up in the corn-fields from year to year are to me a refreshing fact. – Henry David Thoreau • Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick. – J. R. R. Tolkien • There is a higher law affecting our relation to pines as well as to men. A pine cut down, a dead pine, is no more a pine than a dead human carcass is a man. – Henry David Thoreau • There is scarce a cave, an isolated rock, a lone pine tree or a pile of stones without supporting folklore. – John Hillaby • There was once a bundle of matches, and they were frightfully proud because of their high origin. Their family tree, that is to say the great pine tree of which they were each a little splinter, had been the giant of the forest. – Hans Christian Andersen • To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug. – Helen Keller • Who leaves the pine-tree, leaves his friend, Unnerves his strength, invites his end. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • Wilderness is not only a haven for native plants and animals but it is also a refuge from society. Its a place to go to hear the wind and little else, see the stars and the galaxies, smell the pine trees, feel the cold water, touch the sky and the ground at the same time, listen to coyotes, eat the fresh snow, walk across the desert sands, and realize why its good to go outside of the city and the suburbs. Fortunately, there is wilderness just outside the limits of the cities and the suburbs in most of the United States, especially in the West. – John Muir • Worpswede, Worpswede, I cannot get you out of my mind… Your magnificent pine trees! I call them my men–thick, gnarled, powerful, and tall–yet with the most delicate nerves and fibers in them. – Paula Modersohn-Becker • You can live for years next door to a big pine tree, honored to have so venerable a neighbor, even when it sheds needles all over your flowers or wakes you, dropping big cones onto your deck at still of night. – Denise Levertov • You know the Zen question, ‘The Bodhisattva of Great Mercy’ has a thousand hands and a thousand eyes; ‘which is the true eye?’ I could not understand this for a long time. But the other day, when I looked at the pine trees bending before the cold blasts from the mountain, I suddenly realized the meaning. You see, all the boughs, branches, twigs, and leaves simultaneously bend to the wind with tremendous vigor. – Katsuki Sekida • You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands. Instead of the thornbush will grow the pine tree, and instead of briers the myrtle will grow. This will be for the LORD’s renown, for an everlasting sign, which will not be destroyed. – Isaiah

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