#they’re like kids who turn on the playstation the second mom leaves

[gumdefense]

They truly got the aai trio dynamics down to a point

Edit: this post is months old but I can’t believe I forgot, here’s a direct link to the plays (with subtitles provided by Rayne :D, edgeworthlez, Grace rivalsforlife, and PinkPurpleBlus)

#i especially love the “mr edgeworth took leave so we can have fun” #they’re like kids who turn on the playstation the second mom leaves #ace attorney #aa stage plays #aai #miles edgeworth #dick gumshoe #kay faraday #not described #general my post tag #and in case the part where gumshoe is explaining the village’s history is confusing: it’s how he gets in narrator mode to entertain Kay #(and how he looks like he 100% knew mentioning a treasure would get a reaction out of her) #normally (in other plays) when he explains a case or smth he kind of just tells it matter-of-factly

[kpophours]

Game Over (M)

➵ SF9: Hwiyoung x fem. reader / one shot / fluff, smut / REQUESTED

➵ warnings: explicit mentions of sex (oral: giving/receiving), slight cursing, jealous behavior 

➵ word count: 3.5k

You’re on your way home, when it starts raining.

Well, raining might be a bit of an… understatement.

It’s more of a heavy storm - even opening an umbrella proves to be an impossible task as it’s simply too windy. Flashes of lightning illuminate the sky from time to time, quickly followed by the ear splitting sound of thunder. The weather feels almost apocalyptic and it only takes a few seconds before you are completely drenched, teeth chattering, whole body trembling from the cold. Thankfully, you’re not too far from your boyfriend’s dorm and decide to quickly seek shelter in the apartment he shares with his other members.

Thankfully, someone is actually home tonight and instantly buzzes you inside. Rowoon is the one to open the front door, wearing a bright red apron and holding a wooden cooking spoon in one hand. When he takes in your completely drenched appearance, his smile instantly dies on his lips. “Oh no, what happened to you?!”, he asks in a worried voice, quickly pulling you inside and helping you take off your soaked jacket and boots. 

“S-storm.”, you answer, teeth chattering badly and he softly cups your cold face between his warm hands, looking you over in a critical manner. “You need a hot shower and some spicy food to warm you up.”, he finally decides, his tone of voice strict enough that you don’t dare to contradict him. He pulls you with him into the living room, where Dawon, Inseong, Youngbin and Jaeyoon are already assembled. They’re completely immersed in a playstation game, eyes glued to the tv screen in front of them - Jaeyoon is currently sitting on the floor, trying to master the Mario Kart rainbow road, cheered on by the other three. You wave at them, cheeks heating when they stare at your soaked, almost pathetic state. 

“Got caught in the storm?”, Inseong finally asks and lifts one eyebrow. You roll your eyes at him. “N- now I finally know w-why they call you t-the brain of the g-group.”, you retort, teeth still chattering badly. He just smiles at you, tilting his head. “Hwi isn’t here yet - he’s still at the studio, helping Zuho with a new song.”, he then says and you simply shrug. “T-that’s okay.”, you say, wrapping both arms around your body, “I-i just c-came by b-because your d-dorm was closer t-than my f-flat.”

Before Inseong can say anything else, Rowoon is back, shoving some sweatpants, socks and a big soft jumper into your arms. “Hot shower, now!”, he dictates and basically pushes you towards the bathroom, making the others chuckle at his mom mode.

Inside the small, white tiled bathroom, you quickly peel off your wet, soggy clothes, hopping into the shower. The hot water instantly helps wonders and you moan when you finally feel the coldness leave your body. You enjoy the hot shower for some time before stepping into the steamy bathroom again, toweling yourself dry and putting on the soft, clean smelling clothes Rowoon gave you earlier. They must belong to one of the members - but not to Hwiyoung, otherwise you’d probably recognize them. After quickly blow-drying your hair, you join the others in the living room again. 

Rowoon stands by the stove, stirring something on top of it and humming quietly, absorbed in his work. He smiles and shoots you a quick wink, letting you know that dinner will hopefully be finished in less than an hour. Dawon pulls you over to the sofa and squishes you between his and Inseong’s bodies. “Feeling better?!”, the latter one asks, softly smiling at you before he suddenly yells at Jaeyoon to watch out for a banana on the road. You just nod, silently watching how Jaeyoon tries to save himself. Dawon beside you leans back and casually places his arm on the backrest behind you. “Zuho just texted, he and Hwi will be here soon.”, he lets you know and you smile, happy that you’ll soon be back in your boyfriend’s arms. 

Suddenly, Jaeyoon screams in frustration and just seconds later, he sails over the edge of the rainbow road, losing the game. Dawon giggles when he sees you jump at the loud noise, patting your head affectionately. Suddenly, Jaeyoon turns around and presses the game controller into your hand. “Come on, Y/N, now it’s your turn!”, he says enthusiastically, leaning back against your legs and grinning brightly at you, both dimples showing. You groan, beginning to pout slightly. “You guys know I absolutely suck at video games!”, you complain, but the older men won’t take no for an answer. Finally, you comply and try to master the rainbow road. 

The first time, you already fail in the span of mere seconds, almost immediately sailing over the edge and losing the game. You try to ignore the laughter of the others, now determined to try again and do better this time. After you almost immediately die again, Dawon seems to have had enough - he slides both arms around you, placing both hands over yours to help you with the controller. “See, now you have to press down here - yeah, exactly like that! Well done.”, he says, resting his chin on your shoulder, continuing to explain when to press which button to attack, to avoid sailing over the edge or to use extra speed. Thanks to his help, you master the first round, laughing gleefully and getting a bit more daring, now completely absorbed in the game as well. 

You don’t even notice the front door opening, neither do you hear Zuho and Hwiyoung’s voices when they enter the dorm. Only when you hear your name being said in slight disbelief, do you look up. Hwiyoung stares at you, lips pressed into a tight line. “Oh oh. Game over, I guess.”, Inseong beside you whispers, but you ignore him and smile at your boyfriend, opening your mouth to greet him, but Dawon basically shouts at you to pay attention to the game. You quickly look back at the screen and only barely manage to keep your character from sailing over the edge of the road. You squeal in delight when you manage to salvage the situation in the last second, giggling together with Dawon. 

After finishing the game, you look back at Hwiyoung - but he’s not in the living room anymore. Confused, you give the controller back to Jaeyoon, pull out of Dawon’s arms and stand up. “Hwi is in his room, I think.”, Youngbin says when he sees your questioning expression, his face looking rather tight. You frown at his weird behavior, but think nothing of it, quickly crossing the hallway towards the room Hwiyoung shares with Taeyang. When you enter, you see your boyfriend sitting on his desk, shuffling through some papers, back turned towards you. 

You tiptoe towards him and slide both arms around him, nuzzling your nose against his neck. Almost instantly, his whole body tenses and he freezes. You press a soft kiss on his cheek. “Hi. I missed you.”, you murmur against his skin, deeply inhaling his familiar scent. “Missed me? Didn’t seem like it.”, Hwiyoung answers, voice venomous. You draw back, confusion written all over your face. “What do you mean?”, you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. He finally stands up and turns around to face you, lips curling into a sarcastic smile. “Well, you looked quite cozy in Dawon’s arms. Are those his clothes you’re wearing, too?”

You raise one eyebrow in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”, you say, shaking your head at his childish jealousy. He just looks at you, eyes hard. Exasperated, you throw both hands in the air. “That’s ridiculous! I don’t even know which member these clothes belong to-”

At this, Hwiyoung snorts. “Well, now I feel much better.”, he says bitingly and you narrow your eyes at him. “I only came here because it was storming like crazy outside and I was closer to your dorm than to my flat. Rowoon made me take a hot shower because I was completely soaked and frozen, he’s the one who gave me these clothes.”, you explain, pinching the bridge of your nose, “There’s no need to be jealous! It’s just…. clothes, after all.”

“Just clothes, yeah. It’s not like you were in Dawon’s arms when I came home, right?”, Hwiyoung retorts, crossing both arms over his chest now, too. “You cannot be serious!”, you say in a slightly raised voice, frustration etched on your face, “Dawon is like… like an older brother! All the other members are like brothers to me, you know that! You have literally no reason to be jealous of any of them!”

You stare at one another, no one willing to back down yet. Finally, you take a step towards him, cupping his face between your hands. “Hwi, you know that I love only you, right? I will never think of the others in… in such a way. I also never have! I’ve only ever had eyes for you.”, you murmur, gently caressing his cheek and he finally softens.

“I- I know… it’s just… we haven’t seen each other in days and then I come home and see you in Dawon’s arms. That’s just… I don’t know. It just hit me.”, he answers, voice hushed, eyes lowering to the ground. You take another step towards him and slide both arms around him, gently pressing his body against yours. He hugs you back then, burying his face in your hair and inhaling deeply.

“You smell like Taeyang.”, he murmurs and you giggle. “Probably because I used his shampoo, it’s the nicest one you guys have in the shower.”  Hwiyoung chuckles and draws back a bit, dark eyes roaming your face. “I’m sorry.”, he finally says, voice full of remorse and you gently smile up at him. “It’s okay. I know you’re stressed and exhausted at the moment.”, you say and lean your face towards his, softly pressing your lips against his. He smiles into the kiss and pulls you even closer, hands slipping under your jumper to gently caress the soft skin of your waist. 

You sigh and he uses the chance to slide his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. His hands slip even higher, and he halts for a second when he notices you’re not wearing a bra. At that, he smirks and bites down on your lower lip, beginning to caress the underside of your boob, his thumb finally brushing over one nipple. You moan into his mouth and he slowly walks you backwards until your legs hit the bed behind you. He gently places you on top of it, slowly beginning to kiss down your neck, his hands still roaming the naked skin under your jumper. When you begin to squirm under his soft caresses, he draws back and looks at you, strands of his long hair falling into his face while he locks eyes with you. You smile up at him and brush his locks behind his ears. He turns his face and quickly kisses your fingers, making you giggle at his cuteness. He smiles his signature gummy smile, before diving back into kissing you almost senseless. You pull him even closer, wrapping both legs around his hips and making him groan when you press your core against his semi. He grinds against you, one hand beginning to slowly massage your boob, pinching your nipple between his fingers. 

You moan into his mouth and he pulls back, pupils blown wide and lips slightly swollen. “I- I don’t know if that’s such a good idea right now.”, he says, voice husky, “The others are in the living room after all… And I don’t know when Taeyang will be home…” You lift one eyebrow, biting down on your lower lip, and consider your options for a few seconds. “You really want to stop now?”, you finally ask, grinding your hips against his, and making him close his eyes in frustration. “Fuck it. No.”, he growls back and quickly drags your jumper upwards, baring your naked upper body to him. 

Almost instantly, his lips close around one nipple, sucking harshly. You moan at the sensation, burying both hands in his soft hair, slightly tugging on it and making him growl. He releases your now hardened nipple, just to give the same attention to the other one and you feel even more lust pool between your legs with every passing second. Finally, you begin to squirm underneath him, whining slightly. He sits back on his knees, a cocky smirk on his lips. “Impatient?”, he asks in a low voice, hands ghosting over your thighs and slipping higher, so close to where you need him the most. You nod, eyes hazy with lust and he presses a short, soft kiss against your lips. 

Then, he tugs down the sweatpants, revealing your slick core to him. He groans at the sight, licking his lips, eyes dark and almost predatory. His fingers circle your entrance, gathering some of the arousal, before he suddenly enters you with one of his long digits. You gasp at the sensation, eyes falling shut at the feeling of his finger slowly filling you. You feel rather than see his smirk, but you find you don’t even mind his slight smugness. When he adds a second finger, you mewl, quickly pressing one hand over your mouth to stifle the noise. Hwiyoung chuckles and leans closer to you, beginning to pump his fingers in and out of you. 

“Better try and stay quiet, babe, we don’t want the others to hear you, hm?”, he says and gently bites down on your lower lip, making you whimper. Then, he descends, sliding back between your legs and hooking them over his broad shoulders to get better access to your core. He looks at you one more time before licking one long stripe from your entrance to your clit, making you gasp. When his lips close around your sensitive bud and begin to suck, any coherent thoughts leave your mind. You moan under his gentle ministrations, desperately trying to stifle the noises leaving your mouth with one hand, the other fisting into the sheets underneath you. 

Hwiyoung begins to mercilessly lap through your folds, fingers steadily pumping inside you. It doesn’t take long for your legs to begin to shake and before you know it, you’re tumbling over the edge, clenching around your boyfriend’s fingers and moaning his name. Hwiyoung finally draws back with glistening lips, smirking when he takes in your blissed out expression. Without breaking eye contact, he takes his fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean, one eyebrow quirking triumphantly when you whimper at the sight. 

You grab him by his collar and pull him towards you, kissing him almost desperately and tasting yourself on his tongue. When you break apart again, you’re both breathing heavily and he smiles at you. “Good?”, he asks with a bit of irony in his voice and you roll your eyes, before nodding almost shyly. He grins and kisses you softly again. Then, you push your hands underneath his hoodie and drag it upwards. He quickly pulls it over his head and you sigh when you take in his chiseled chest and defined abs. He smiles a bit embarrassed yet proud when he sees your admiring gaze, but it quickly dies on his lips when you begin to palm him over his sweatpants. 

Hwiyoung’s eyes fall shut and he bites down on his lower lip, holding back the groans threatening to leave his mouth. You gently push him until he finally gets the message and lays down beside you, eyes still half closed when you kiss him. He groans when your hand slips under the waistband of his sweatpants. Your breath hitches when you feel that he’s not wearing any underwear and he grins at your reaction, quirking one eyebrow in a teasing manner. “Naughty.”, you murmur against his lips and slowly kiss down his neck, chest and stomach. His abdominals clench under your caresses and you smirk, finally pulling down his sweatpants and throwing them from the bed. 

You marvel at his length and girth for a second, before closing your lips over the tip of his cock, teasingly flicking your tongue over it and lapping up his pre-cum. He groans at the feeling, eyes falling completely shut again, one hand fisting into his hair. You finally take his whole length into your mouth, choking around it when it hits the back of your throat, but you keep going, running your tongue over his shaft and beginning to suck him off, hands gently massaging his balls. Your name leaves his lips like a prayer, accompanied by a few curses and breathy moans. 

Finally, he gently cups the back of your head, giving you the sign to better stop now. When you sit back on your knees, you take in his dishevelled state - the flushed cheeks, messy hair and hazy eyes. You begin to smirk but yelp in surprise when he suddenly slides both arms around your waist, pulling you on top of him and kissing you deeply. He then flips you over so you lay on your back, hovering over you and smiling down at you. 

“I love you.”, he says earnestly and you can’t help but smile at him, gently cupping his cheek. “I love you too.”, you answer just as softly and he kisses you again. When you break apart, he hurriedly rummages through his nightdrawer, quickly finding what he’s searching for - seconds later, he rolls the condom over his length. Slipping between your legs, he gently pushes them further apart, teasingly rubbing your clit with the tip of his cock - but before you can complain, he slowly sinks into you. 

You moan at the sensation of him filling you, closing your eyes and biting down on your lip to stifle any more noises. Finally, he bottoms out and lets you get used to the feeling of him being nestled deep inside you, walls clenching around his length. After a few seconds, you nod and he begins to move, pulling almost all the way out before pushing his hips back against yours again. He quickly finds his rhythm, beginning to pick up the pace and hooking one of your legs over his shoulder, wrapping the other around his hip and deepening his angle even further. You can’t help the breathy moans leaving your lips, but Hwiyoung quickly seals your mouth with his, pushing his tongue inside and stealing your remaining breath. 

When his other hand slips between your bodies to rub your clit, you quickly begin to clench around him. Before you can tumble over the edge though, he pulls out of you and turns you on your side, laying down beside you and pushing into you from behind again, your back flush to his chest. You push both hands into his hair, gently tugging on it and he groans into your ear, before gently biting down on your neck, leaving a dark love bite on the soft skin. The moans spilling from you become louder with every second, your high approaching quickly again, especially when he begins to rub circles on your clit again. His other hand suddenly presses over your mouth, trying to keep the noises at bay. “Come on, babe, I know you’re close.”, he groans into your ear, biting down on your lobe, “Come for me.” With that, he harshly snaps his hips against yours, pinching your clit between his fingers - and finally, you tumble over the edge, eyes closing while waves of pleasure make your mind hazy. You moan against his hand and Hwiyoung groans at the feeling of your walls clenching around his length. 

With a few last, harsh thrusts, he finally reaches his high as well and shudders, spilling into the condom, forehead coming to a rest on your shoulder. You’re both breathing hard, bodies tired but pleased. He gently pulls out of you, turns you around on your back again and places a soft kiss on your lips before pulling the blanket over your naked body. He then discards of the condom and pulls on his sweatpants and hoodie, quietly leaving the room to fetch a wet washcloth for you. Seconds later, he’s back and helps you clean yourself, before slipping between the covers and pulling you to his chest, both arms around you. 

You’re both silent for a few seconds, before he takes in a deep breath. “I’m sorry for being such an idiot earlier.”, he murmurs and presses a gentle kiss to your temple. You just smile tiredly and shrug. “It’s okay, Hwi. As long as you now know that you have literally zero competition.” He chuckles and nods. “I think you made that very clear.”, he answers and you grin, burying your head against his chest. Before you can say something else, you hear Rowoon’s yell: “Y/N, HWIYOUNG - DINNER’S READY!”

You groan, body way too tired and exhausted to get up and Hwiyoung chuckles at your reaction. “Come on, let’s get some food.”, he says and begins to tickle your sides, until you finally give in and get out of bed again, throwing him a dark look. “If I have sore muscles tomorrow, I’m blaming you.”, you grumble playfully and he smirks. “I’m honestly more than fine with that, babe.”

You just sigh deeply and follow him out of the room. “Of course you are.”

[masterlist] | [requests] 

#Hwiyoung fanfic #SF9 fanfic #fantasylibrary #Hwiyoung scenario #Hwiyoung imagine #Hwiyoung x reader #Hwiyoung fluff #Hwiyoung smut #Hwiyoung fic #SF9 scenario #Sf9 imagine #SF9 x reader #SF9 fluff #SF9 smut #SF9 fic #SF9 Hwiyoung fanfic #SF9 Hwiyoung imagine #SF9 Hwiyoung scenario #SF9 Hwiyoung smut #SF9 Hwiyoung fluff #SF9 Hwiyoung x reader #Kim Youngkyun

[ericsonclan]

You're My Home Part 3

Summary: Mitch wakes up to a text from Violet that makes it clear she needs somewhere to stay.

Read on A03: 

Mitch woke up to the feeling of drool seeping out of his mouth. Sitting up, he wiped his mouth off with a sleepy groan before checking his phone. Shit. Violet had left him a message at 8:04 this morning.

you home?

Violet only reached out for one reason: her dad was being an asshole drunk again.

yup come on over

Throwing his phone aside, Mitch looked down at his bare chest. The sweatpants were passable, but he should probably find a shirt. Picking up the nearest one on the floor, he sniffed it deeply before tossing it to the side. That one was too rank even for him. Finding another, he gave it a whiff, finding it passable and throwing it on. He shuffled through the cramped kitchen of his family’s trailer home, grabbing a stale bagel off the counter and chewing it placidly. There was still some coffee in the pot too. His mom must’ve made some before heading off to work; Dad wouldn’t be home for several hours either.

Stepping into their living room, Mitch found his brother Willy crouched criss-cross applesauce on the couch, engrossed in the level of Spyro he was playing. As soon as he saw Mitch though, he paused the game and threw his controller to the side, bouncing up and down in excitement.

“Mitch! You’re finally up! Can we play the game now? Please please please??”

Mitch rolled his eyes good-naturedly before ruffling Willy’s hair. “Sure, bud. Just remember: no telling Mom and Dad, OK?”

Willy nodded eagerly, his eyes even larger than normal.

Mitch knelt down to sort through their collection of old video games. Pulling out the Frogger case, he opened it to reveal the game Willy was truly asking about: Mortal Kombat. Putting the disc into their Playstation, Mitch booted up the game. “Violet might be coming over soon so you should get some pants on,”

Willy looked down at his bare legs. “I spilled milk on my PJ’s,”

Mitch noticed the crumpled pants at the foot of the couch. “Well, throw them in the room and get some other ones,”

Willy scampered off, still talking loudly from their bedroom. “Think Vi will want to play too?”

“We’ll see,” It was hard to tell how Violet would be feeling when she arrived. The boys settled in to play a round together. As they always did, Mitch chose Scorpion and Willy choose Sub-Zero.

They’d been playing for about twenty minutes when there was a knock at their door. “Door’s open!” Mitch yelled, in the midst of trying to land a fatality on Sub-Zero. Willy was getting seriously good: he’d have to step up his game if he wanted to keep winning.

Violet walked in. Wordlessly she walked across the room, plopping into the armchair and watching them play.

“Hey, watch this, Vi!” Willy exclaimed. Catching Mitch unaware, he landed a fatality of his own on Scorpion, ripping off his head and pulling out his spine. Willy cheered as Sub-Zero proudly displayed the decapitated remains.

Violet gave a small smile in Willy’s direction. “Good job,”

Mitch observed Violet cautiously, a small frown tugging at his lips. He didn’t see any bruises. That was good. Still, they could be underneath her hoodie. If that piece of shit did anything… Mitch tried to take a deep breath, slowing down his heart rate. He and Violet had had this conversation before. She didn’t want him ever doing anything, “pulling yourself into my shit” as she put it. One of these days he’d love to get his hands on the materials needed to blow up the dick’s van, but considering he had a record as a “troubled youth”, a move like that would immediately lead to the finger being pointed at Mitch. He couldn’t risk getting taken away. He wouldn’t do that to Willy.

They’d gone a few rounds without either of them pulling a fatality move. Time to fix that. Mashing the controller, Mitch got Scorpion to pull his signature move, pulling off his mask to reveal a skull underneath and incinerating Sub-Zero with his fire breath.

“Aaw, man!” Willy exclaimed, letting his controller drop to the couch.

“Can’t beat the master, kid,” Mitch grinned smugly.

“But I did! Like twice!”

“Whatever,” Mitch looked over to Violet, holding out his controller. “Wanna turn, Vi?”

Violet shrugged but stood up to take the controller.

Mitch headed back to the kitchen, trying to scope out some food. Knowing Violet, she probably hadn’t eaten since last night. Opening the fridge, Mitch was disheartened but not surprised to find nothing but the last dregs of a milk jug and some questionable lunchmeat inside. Shopping day was tomorrow. Mitch glanced back toward his bedroom, wondering for a second if he should text Louis and let him know Violet was here. But the fact Violet had texted him probably meant she wanted to keep things on the downlow. Louis coming over right now might be more than she could handle. Mitch strode back into the living room just in time to see Violet landing a fatality with Sonya. She rolled her eyes as her character stepped back, blowing a kiss that sent an ember flying over to torch her opponent.

“God, Sonya’s finishing move is so stupid,”

“Then why do you always play as her?” Mitch asked with a smirk, leaning against the wall.

Violet looked away, flustered. “Shut up,”

“I’m doing a McDonald’s run. Wanna come along?”

Violet’s ears immediately perked up at that. “Sure,”

“I wanna come!” Willy exclaimed, leaping up on the couch.

“Nah, somebody’s gotta stay and watch the house. Besides, you need to brush up on your moves so you can annihilate me when I get back,”

Willy didn’t seem quite convinced by Mitch’s words but he quickly flopped back down on the couch, starting up his own round. “I want a Happy Meal!”

“Will do,” Mitch replied, grabbing his keys before heading out the door, Violet close behind. He still had enough money from his last odd job for a treat. The two teens headed out to his beat-up car, hopping inside. They drove in silence; Mitch’s car only had a tape player and that had broken long before he received it.

It was Violet who spoke first. “He didn’t hit me.”

“And your mom?”

“He didn’t get her either. Broke a lamp though,”

“Bastard,” Mitch’s hand tightened on the wheel.

“It’s fine,”

“Vi, that is the exact fucking opposite of fine!” Mitch huffed in annoyance. He shouldn’t be snapping at her. “Is he gone now?”

“His new route starts on Tuesday. He’ll be gone for a week,” Violet stared at the dashboard, her arms crossed tightly. “My mom’s got her diner shift tonight so at least she’ll be out of his reach,”

“You’re staying with us tonight. And don’t give me any shit about it. You can crash on the couch,”

“…Thanks,” Violet’s voice was small.

Mitch turned into the McDonald’s drive through lane. “Now let’s get some fucking nuggets,”

It was about a half hour before they made it back to the trailer, walking in to find Willy still busy trying to master Mortal Kombat. They sat around the living room eating their nuggets and Happy Meal and taking turns at the controls. After about an hour more, they all decided it was time to switch to something else. At Willy’s request, they put on Dumb and Dumber. They’d all seen it at least a dozen times, but the jokes and gags still had Willy and Mitch laughing while the occasional chuckle came from Violet. Mitch noticed Violet texting as the movie went on. He wondered who it could be but didn’t pry.

Once the movie finished up, Mitch and Violet amused themselves on their phones while Willy started up Spyro again. It wasn’t long afterwards that Mr. Baker showed up, his arms full of grocery bags.

“Boys, a little help here?” he called from behind the load in his hands. All three hurried to assist him. A look of surprise crossed Mr. Baker’s face as Violet took the bag directly blocking his view.

“Oh, Violet! I wasn’t expecting you,”

“Violet’s staying the night,” Mitch declared before Violet might try to back out.

“That’s wonderful! I’ll be sure to make extra for tonight’s dinner,” Mr. Baker glanced at the side of the fridge. “Willy, looks like you’re my helper tonight,”

“What are we making, Dad?” Willy asked, looking up excitedly from the box of goldish crackers he’d begun devouring.

“Not that,” his father replied, pulling the crackers out of his son’s hands and ruffling his hair before placing the box on a higher shelf. “We’re having spaghetti and meatballs,”

“Yeah! Meatballs! Meatballs! Meatballs!” Willy chanted, searching the fridge for the newly bought ingredients.

Violet’s phone dinged. She pulled it out and answered it immediately, her brow furrowed in concentration as she typed out her response. Once she was done, she glanced up at Mitch who was sitting across from her at the couch. He’d been watching the interaction unfold. “It’s my mom,”

“She know where you are?”

“Yeah. Now she does,”

“Was she the one you were texting earlier?”

Violet shook her head. “That was Louis,”

“And I’m guessing you didn’t fill him in completely,”

Violet rolled her eyes. “You know how he gets about this stuff. He’d drive over and try to force me to stay at his mansion instead,”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“His house is creepy. Nothing but empty rooms and servants who look at me like they’re just waiting to catch me trying to steal some shit. This is better,”

Mitch snorted. “Leave it to Vi to prefer a trailer home to a mansion,”

“You know what I mean,”

Mitch looked over at Willy and his dad who were busy measuring the pasta for dinner. She wasn’t wrong. The location might be ass, but he couldn’t think of any people he’d rather be stuck with.

Mrs. Baker arrived home shortly before dinner was ready. She collapsed wearily in the armchair, her head thrown back and eyes closed. “Mitchell, be a dear and rub my feet, would you?” Mitch quickly acquiesced, giving Violet the stink eye as she smirked at him. He rubbed his mother’s feet gently. She cracked open an eye, giving him a tired smile before glancing over at the couch.

“Violet! What a nice surprise. Are you staying for dinner?”

“She’s staying the night!” Willy called from the kitchen. “We’re gonna have a sleepover!”

“That’s a nice thought dear, but it is a school day tomorrow, so you’ll be heading to bed on time,”

Mitch caught the look his parents exchanged across the room. They knew of Violet’s home life. They’d tried to intervene the first few times she’d come over late at night, calling the police and reporting her father. But without her mother’s testimony there wasn’t a case and Violet’s mother never wavered in her unwillingness to testify.

They all sat down to a family meal a few minutes later, sharing stories of their days and passing food round the table. Violet was included just as much as anyone else. Considering she’d known Mitch for over five years now she was practically family. Mitch noticed his parents’ glances his way as he handed the bread over to Violet. He was pretty sure they thought he had a crush on her, but he wasn’t going to bother correcting them. Violet wasn’t out at home yet; he wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to be. Best to leave that matter alone unless Violet saw fit to do otherwise. Willy was sent off to bed shortly after dinner. After a great deal of protest, he finally went, angrily stomping off in the same pajamas he’d worn all day. Mr. and Mrs. Baker retired to their room as well, leaving Violet and Mitch in the living room.

“Want to head to the roof?” Mitch offered.

Violet simply nodded.

In the years the Bakers had lived in the trailer park, it hadn’t taken Mitch very long to find all the good hiding places. One of the best was on the roof of their home, a small space that could just fit two people. The two of them leaned back against the plastic exterior, watching the sky thoughtfully.

“So,” Violet finally broke the silence, “Bring any hot girls up here yet?”

Mitch snorted. “I wish. How ‘bout you? Getting any action?”

Violet shook her head. “Don’t think that’ll happen anytime soon,”

“Howe High School is a damn wasteland,”

“You can say that again,”

“How about this?” Mitch asked, looking over at Violet. “Let’s make a deal: five years from now when we’re in college we’ll both have smoking hot girlfriends,”

Violet quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t think we can really plan for something like that to happen for sure when-”

“Deal?” Mitch asked, raising his fist for a fist bump.

Violet rolled her eyes good-naturedly, returning the gesture. “Deal,”

“I bet my girlfriend’s gonna be hotter than yours,” Mitch declared, laying back with a smile, his arms behind his head.

Violet scoffed. “Yeah right,”

The two lay there in silence watching the stars and only occasionally speaking, their words casual and off-handed. When it had grown truly dark, they snuck back inside. Mitch gave Violet the blanket that rested across the back of the armchair before wishing her a good-night and heading off to bed himself. It wasn’t much, but he was glad his family was able to offer Violet a place to stay whenever she might need it. He hoped she never hesitated to take them up on that offer.

Setting his alarm for the next day, Mitch rolled under his covers with a groan. He wasn’t looking forward to school tomorrow. It looked like Violet had forgotten her backpack. Knowing her dad, he’d still be asleep in the morning if they wanted to risk stopping by her house and sneaking in to grab it. They’d decided tomorrow if it was worth the risk. With that decided, Mitch sank into the comfort of his pillow and let sleep overtake him.

#twdg #twdg violet #twdg mitch #twdg willy #ericson's diner au #fanfic #violet mitch brotp

[current-mcr-news]

Casual Interactions #9: Full Transcription

John: Welcome back to the Casual Interactions podcast. We are still answering your questions.

Frank: Questions #3. This is the third episode of questions?

J: This is the third episode of questions.

Shaun: That's all we're gonna do now.

F: That's a lot, yeah. I think that's good for a while, right? Maybe we'll do every seven episodes, we'll do three episodes of questions. There's a lot of questions though! I'm shocked.

J: Well, you know what? There was about 200 questions, give or take. And I left it open for a week. I told them when there was no more questions, people still sent questions anyway.

F: Aw, late comers.

J: But it's okay because, you know, people like to break rules and I'm not mad at it.

F: Okay.

J: Sam wants to know, from Kansas, if we've ever had any supernatural encounters.

F: Wow, this is the second-

S: Supernatural.

J: People wanna know about ghosts.

F: Alright. I'm curious, man. Do we have a large ghost crowd, huh? Interesting.

S: Lot of ghosts out there, Frank.

F: Very interesting.

S: There's a lot of ghosts in here.

F: What if these questions are being sent...

S: By?

F: Canadians.

S: Oh man.

F: Wait, what was the question?

J: Have we ever had any supernatural encounters?

F: Oh. Alright, I- yeah. I think I recently talked about this on another podcast. I cheated on you guys with another podcast that was about supernatural Canadian things.

J: You weren't too good at keeping that a secret.

F: I was a venue once that was supposedly haunted and I heard some chatter, sounded like kids running around and laughing.

S: And then they probably weren't real kids.

F: They probably weren't real kids. They were fake kids.

S: Ghost children.

F: Ghost children, yes.

J: There you go.

F: That's possible. Or could have been actual kids, I don't know.

S: I would agree with Frank on that.

F: What, that they could have been- you agree that they could've been kids?

S: Yes.

F: Easily explained. Maybe they were kids.

J: I agree.

F: Hm, not so super. Have you ever had a supernatural experience, Shaun.

S: No.

F: Do you want one?

S: I think having one through you might be enough for me.

F: Really? Alright. That's all you can handle.

J: Listen. You're supernatural experience was more than enough for me. The closest thing I've had recently was one of my goddaughter's toys that lights up and plays music, I think the battery was dying and it just kinda went off on its own. And it scared the fucking shit out of me. It scared me so bad!

S: There was a story and it was my wife's grandmother, someone had died, and she was sleeping on the couch. And then she started hearing this person talking to her.

F: Your wife's sleeping-

S: No, my wife's grandmother.

F: Your wife's grandmother is sleeping.

S: Yeah. And someone had recently died and then she started hearing this person talking to her, like calling her- saying her name and stuff like that, and maybe asking if she was there. And it kept happening over and over again. She started to get freaked out. So what it ended up being was the fucking cat kept hitting the answering machine and it was a message from this person that kept playing over and over!

F: No way!

J: Holy shit!

F: But wait! But what if the cat was possessed by that spirit to hit the button?

S: Oh!

F: That's what you're missing.

J: That's a vindictive spirit, man.

F: That's the thing, yeah.

S: I mean, probably not, but.

F: I like how they still didn't listen to the message though. "No seriously, the message is very important."

J: From my grandmother, my family, I've been told, is psychically attuned.

F: Oh, to what?

J: To everything. It's a lot. So, my mom years ago gave me this jade Buddha with this little red fringe is hanging off it. It's actually hanging off my front door right now. She's like, "This will keep your house safe." And so, it's like a ward of protection I keep on my front door. Now, my mom's paranoia and anxiety has, you know, since rubbed off on me. And then plus my OCD, it's just, every night before I go to bed, I'm like, you know, touching the burners to make sure they're off, I'm rubbing the jade Buddha, making sure the door is locked like three times before I get into bed. Then I get into bed, and I go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, and I come out of the bathroom and I'm like, "Fuck, hold on," so I take the flashlight out on my phone and I shine it on the other side of the bed, make sure there's no one on the other side of my bed on the floor waiting to murder me. So that's kinda where I live now.

F: First off, here- wait. What have you done in your life that there's someone that's looking to murder you?

J: I don't know.

F: And that secretly.

J: Nothing! But that's the kind of, what's going on up top sometimes, you know?

F: But here's the thing. If they were to break in that door, you can't- there's no escaping. I've seen your apartment.

J: There's a window in there.

F: You're gonna get out that window?

J: I'm not that fat, Frank.

F: No, I'm just saying!

J: It's a small window.

F: That's what you would do? If you heard a break in, you would go out the window?

J: I'd have to try, I don't know. I don't know what I would do.

S: You should have a plan for that.

J: I do, I have like, several plans for it actually.

F: You don't have a weapon hidden?

J: I have a knife in the drawer.

F: What kind of knife?

J: Oh no, I took that out, it's in the car now. Shit!

F: Now what are you gonna do?

J: Now what am I gonna do?

F: You would have to jump out the window, go to the car, come back in-

J: I'm gonna hope I've got a good shot.

S: Then stab them.

J: I'm gonna start hurdling the remote control to my TV, the PlayStation controller.

S: You should keep coconuts by your bed.

J: Shaun, you're a genius!

S: There you go.

F: Shitballs. So you check the side of the bed.

J: Yes.

F: Because-

J: Because I have this crazy mania in my brain that thinks that someone's gonna try to murder me in my sleep.

S: I feel like, if anybody, you'd be the last person someone would want to murder.

F: I would think so too.

J: I would hope- thank you! I would hope so, but no, my little crazy brain is like, sometimes it works a little overtime.

F: Why do you think that they would break in and wait for you to go back to sleep to murder you?

J: See, I don't know.

S: So he can go to the bathroom.

J: And that's where we're getting crazy.

S: They'll let him pee first.

F: Well, you'd wanna get that out.

J: I've had many talks with myself, like, getting done taking a piss, getting in my bedroom, knowing rationally as I lock the door to my bedroom, there's double locks.

F: No!

J: Oh yeah. I have to. I have to lock the door to my room. Every place I've ever lived, the door gets locked.

F: You're kidding me!

J: Oh yeah. And so I'm about to get into bed and I have that moment, that real rational moment where it's just like, "Okay, honestly, no one's broken into your house, no one's coming to try to murder you, no one is that good of a murderer that they would've gotten in to the house through the front door that's locked, slipped past the bathroom as you're taking a piss."

F: Stealthy.

J: "Because you're not pissing that loudly, and made it into your room, and didn't bump their knees on the bed that's at the very edge of the door, and then not bumped themselves into-" because it's pitch black in there.

F: Pitch black, and then they have to lie in wait again.

J: And then they have to lie in wait again, and hold their breath until I get done, because maybe it's a poo, like I don't know. I've been out of the room for a while. So there's no way that it all would've been able to go down, but yet, I'm just like, "But if I don't check, then I'm gonna get into bed and I'm gonna- my brain's gonna run and be like, 'Well maybe you should've checked,' and I'm not gonna be able to go to sleep. So then I just check and then it's the path of least resistance.

F: They're sitting there going like, "Please go to sleep."

J: It's the path of least resistance for me.

F: "So I can murder you."

J: Yeah.

F: "I've been waiting here for 20 minutes, you didn't check, and you're still not sleeping. I can hear you're not sleeping. I've been waiting here to murder you."

J: Now, oddly enough, when I'm dating somebody and they're sleeping in the bed-

F: Do you lock the door?

J: I lock the door.

F: No!

J: I do! I lock the door, but I don't check because I feel like I would've heard them getting murdered. If that happened, then I'm cool! Like, I just lock the door.

F: It's like having a canary in the mine!

J: Exactly!

F: Holy shit! So wait, what does the person do? Like, this, you know, say it's the first night that they've slept over. This nice young lady, ample bosom, I'm sure.

J: God willing.

F: Gothy, probably has some things that she sells on Etsy.

J: Jesus Christ! You hang out with George Bungalow one time, Frank! You've already got jokes. Well no, I just sit there-

F: They wake up and the door has been locked!

J: I get it out up front and I just say, "Listen, you know, if you need to turn the light on-"

F: You should say, just once for me, just say, "Now you can't leave."

J: No! No, I would never say that to somebody! I tell them the name of the room to say to Alexa, turn the light on. And I say, "Hey, I lock the door because I have OCD about a lot of things, but you're good. Just let yourself out."

F: Oh wow!

J: Yeah.

F: I didn't know that about you.

J: You're learning new things everyday.

F: Holy shit.

J: Yeah. Apparently that was-

F: I can't wait to break in and hide behind the side of your bed later!

J: That was a really great question.

F: Holy shit.

J: Yeah. So uh, there we are. Sam from Kansas, great question. Jan wants to know, do we have a favorite meme of ourselves?

F: Yes! I found-

J: Did you really?

F: Someone sent one to me the other day.

J: Maybe it was Jan.

F: It might've been Jan.

J: That's a long way to set this one up, Jan.

S: What is it?

F: Holy shit, long con. It's fucking fantastic. I don't know who made this, or why. I don't know if it's referencing a private joke that they might have about me, but just know that it was sent to me, maybe by the person that made it, maybe not. But the private joke is so funny that it made me laugh out loud for about 20 minutes, and then I sent it to everyone I know.

S: We didn't see it.

F: Really?

J: No, you didn't send it to us.

F: That's crazy. Okay, well I saved it, and I just gotta find it.

S: You sent us the chicken nugget fucking maker.

F: What? The chicken nugget maker?

S: Yeah, isn't that what it was?

J: That's how the nuggets get made, yeah. That's what that was. That wasn't ice cream. That was terrible.

F: Oh right. Oh man. Okay. So no, this is- it's close. Where is it? Goddamnit. I wanna show it to you before I mention it, because I think it's funnier if you see it yourself. Aw man. How do you find something like that? Um...

J: Google.

S: If you sent it to someone, wouldn't it be-

F: Oh that's right, yeah. But this is like, you know-

J: Yeah but if you're on your phone, click the little i.

S: Yeah.

F: Oh yeah! Oh that's right, I could probably do that, huh? Okay, so wait, let me see. Ah, here it is. Just pass that around. It's fucking genius! I don't know why it was ever made. I know, it's so good. I mean, I do see a lot of weird things that are made with my fucking weird mug on them. This one caught me so off guard and made me laugh so hard. This is a picture of me from fucking 2001 or something, looking scraggly as fuck, in what I imagine is a supermarket or CVS feminine hygiene aisle, and the caption or the text says, "Aight babe, I'm in the pad aisle, what pussy size do you wear?"

J: Wow!

S: That's such a strange thing.

F: It's so weird!

J: It's so weird and jarring, but it's just funny.

F: It caught me really off guard.

J: So how long did it take for you to realize it was you in the picture?

F: Oh no, it was sent to me on Twitter.

S: But it's the way it's framed.

J: Someone sent it to you on Twitter?

F: It was sent to me on Twitter!

J: From a rando?

F: Yeah! Yeah. I mean, I don't know if I was like, tagged in a conversation between two other people or something like that, but I saw this fucking thing with my face on it, and I was like, "Oh jeez, what's this?" Sometimes I'll click on the @s, you know? Like, @ me, and then I'll just kinda fucking swipe it and let it just- almost like Price is Right wheel.

S: And see what it lands on.

F: And then stop it and like, look at one.

J: So I mean, you're always so great about taking pictures with fans and stuff, but maybe you don't wanna take it in the feminine hygiene aisle, so if you catch him, maybe move over to, I don't know, the school supplies or something like that.

F: I just wanna ask somebody now, "What size-," never mind, I'm never gonna say that.

S: The way that was framed was fucking hilarious.

J: My lord. Oh god, uh, Damia- I'm just reading it as as it's written, wants to know if there are any jealousy or bad vibes between any of our friends when a member left or moved?

F: Of like a band or something?

J: Yeah, means like got fired or something.

F: Oh man. You're human so sometimes that happens and it's hard to see down the line, that ultimately it's not gonna be that big a deal, but when you're in a band and you're in your teenage years or your early 20s, something like that, and you dedicate your life to something, and someone kinda like, just says, "I'm out," that's fucking earth shattering, you know? When you put all your eggs in that basket. So, sometimes you'll have some hard feelings about it but I think eventually, it dissipates.

J: Yeah, I mean, you get older, you don't care about so much stuff that felt as earth shattering in the moment.

F: Oh yeah.

J: It was just kinda like, "Why were we even mad about that?"

F: Right.

J: So, Rain from Michigan asked four questions.

F: Oh Jesus.

J: We're going to answer one.

F: Okay.

J: And the question that I'm gonna ask of Rain's four questions is, and thank god it was an easy name to pronounce this time for me, um, "If you guys could change-"

F: Is it Reign?

J: No no, it's Rain. "If you guys could change your names, what would you change them to?"

F: Oh, easy. Steve.

J: Steve. What about you, Shaun?

S: Really?! Why Steve?

F: I don't know. That's my go to alias. If I order food or if I go to a coffee shop and they ask me my name, I say Steve all the time.

J: There you go. How about you, Shaun?

S: Charles Easter.

F: I like it.

J: That's great. Dracula.

S: Dracula?

J: I just think it would be great just to go into Starbucks and they have to call me Dracula. They would wonder for days if I was fucking with them or not.

F: Do you do it?

J: No I don't do it.

F: Why not? What's holding you back?

J: I don't know. I thought about it. It works. I think I could pull off Dracula.

F: Dr. Acula.

J: Dr. Acula. Yeah.

F: Is that a band?

J: Yeah it's good. Maybe. We might be changing our name to Dracula.

F: I think you should, man. Your mom would be pissed.

J: Oh, my mom would be so mad.

F: But you would have to make her call you that too. I make my kids call me Doctor Father. Yeah, I've been trying it.

J: Which one did that land with? Who does it?

F: None of them believe that they have to call me that.

J: Really?

F: I'll say, "You should start calling me with my full actual, like you know, title." And they are like, "What?" And I'm like, "Doctor Father." They get like, "Really?" Like, I don't know if they've figured out that I'm fucking with them totally yet, or if they're like, "I think you're fucking with me, but... really?"

J: What about Miles? Has Miles gone for it?

F: He will sometimes. If I tickle him enough, he'll call me it.

J: That's his safe word, Doctor Father.

F: "Doctor Father!"

J: Jade from Texas wants to know how we deal with our daily struggles with anxiety and depression.

F: Oh god.

J: It's a heavy question, it's a good one.

S: Shake those dice, Frank.

J: You know what, it could go either way because we are recording in my apartment today, so there are mason jars filled with dice, or they could be anti-anxiety medication. Who could tell?

F: Why are there so many dice?

J: I play a lot of Dungeons and Dragons.

S: Do you need-

F: I know but at the same time?

J: So for those listening at home, I have four mason jars filled with polyhedral dice for Dungeons and Dragons and other role playing games.

F: Right.

J: Why I have so many. Well, I do collect dice. I have some really sweet dice. I have the dice made of a 10,000 year old tusk of a woolly mammoth, I have a dice made of titanium, a dice made of jet.

F: When you went into the purchase of the woolly mammoth bones-

J: Oh, I was very single. I was very single and had a lot of disposable income. It was like 250 bucks.

F: How did you know that they weren't just selling you like, I don't know, gravel?

J: Oh, I got a certificate of authenticity.

S: And shouldn't a woolly mammoth bone be in a fucking museum and not made into a-

F: Yeah! Who has access to all these bones that they're making dice out of them?

J: Well, it was a company called Artisan Dice from Texas and they make a lot of specialty dice made of a lot of weird and cool material. After the fact, after I'd spent the money and I'd ordered the dice, it's a really sweet dice, but I was like, "Yeah man, maybe this tusk should've been in a museum." But hey, too late now, I already own it. So yeah, I have some cool dice that I use regularly. My mom loves to get me Christmas presents. She does love getting me Christmas presents, and for a while, I was like, "I don't know what the hell I'd have my mom get. I don't need anything." So every year, I'd make her buy me like a pound of dice and then I would just give them away to people.

S: A pound? You can get them in pounds?

J: You can get it by the pound, yeah. Chessex makes this great pound of dice and, in the middle, they give you one complete set. Otherwise, it's all random mixed up dice. And so I kind of just- my mom had all these mason jars. Also, I dated a lot of crafty women, so there was plenty of mason jars lying around. And so I just filled them up, and it's a nice decoration.

F: "So I can keep my own urine."

J: Yeah, keeping my own piss in a jar. That's what the other mason jars are for.

F: That's awesome though. Do you know how many you have?

J: No, I have no idea because I give them away to people. Like if someone forgets some dice, here's some dice. I run a monthly Dungeons and Dragons night at this bar called Pet Shop in Jersey City.

F: I love that bar.

J: Yeah, it's awesome. Great vegetarian food. I highly recommend you try the buffalo cauliflower.

F: Fucking amazing.

J: Amazing.

F: You wanna fart all night.

J: All night, forget it, yeah. It's not date food, for sure. So yeah, I put packs of dice together and I just give them away to players, people come up trying DnD for the first time, I just give them a set of dice.

F: That's so cool. How many dice do you need to run one game?

J: So, playing 5th edition of Dungeons and Dragons rules, you wanna have two 20 sided dice, because you could either roll with advantage or disadvantage. And then you essentially just need one full set of dice, which is seven dice, plus an extra 20 sided die, and you're good to go. And you don't even need that extra 20 sided die, it's just more fun to roll multiple dice at the same time. It's easy and, you know, for people who-

F: So you need seven?

J: Seven dice. Most dice sets that you get come with seven dice. You get a 20 sided die, you get an 8 sided die, a 10 sided die, another 10 sided die that acts as a percentile so combined with the 10 sided die, it creates of a D100. You get a 6 sided die and you get a 12 sided die and a 4 sided die.

F: Holy shit.  

J: Yeah. And it's cool because you can get a set of dice for like, 5 or 6 bucks depending on where you get it. And then you can get them in all different colors. I'm about to back a Kickstarter of a guy who made ice cream dice. So they're all flavors of ice cream, but they're polyhedral dice, so he's got a Neapolitan, he's got an orange Creamsicle. It's fun stuff. I love dice, I collect a lot of dice, but yeah, I don't need five pounds of them, but you know, mom likes to get me presents and I don't like to say no.

F: Who are you to deny her?

J: Who am I to deny my mother buying me wonderful presents with love from her heart?

F: Made from dead woolly mammoths.

J: No, that cost me about 250 bucks, and yeah. You know, sometimes I roll it and I go, "Should've been in a museum."

F: "I shouldn't roll this."

J: I roll it anyway.

F: Where is it? Do you have it here? Is it in a special safe?

J: No, it's actually under the Yoda puppet. There is a box by a company called Wormwood.

F: I see it!

J: And in that box there is my totally sweet dice.

F: I love that Yoda has real hair.

J: That's an actual vintage puppet from the Empire Strikes Back. Not used in the movie, of course. Yeah, watch out, it's magnetic.

F: Oh Jesus.

S: Wait, it's this one?

J: Yeah, the white one. That's actually made from the tusk of a woolly mammoth.

S: This is a bone?

J: That's a bone.

S: I think they fucked you, man. That feels like plastic to me.

J: Tusks are hollow, man. It's not, it's actual. Smell it.

F: Wait, is it really? Taste it.

S: Lick it, Frank.

J: Smell it.

F: Wait, is it cracked?

J: No, that's just the grain of it.

F: Oh, it smells like mammoth to me.

S: Can you Jurassic Park that thing and make a real one?

J: Ooh, maybe.

F: You might be, I don't know.

J: Yeah.

F: It's an actual woolly mammoth bone? Genuine?

J: The tusk of a 10,000 year old woolly mammoth, yeah.

F: If you found out it was only a thousand year old woolly mammoth, would you be upset?

J: I still would've paid for it, yeah.

S: Is this one a rock? What is this one?

J: That is made from the bone of a velociraptor.

F: What?! Jesus Christ, dude!

S: Get the fuck out, really?!

J: Yeah man.

S: What are you doing? You're going to have fucking-

F: I love that! I don't have any dice, but this is the one I would have though.

S: How are you getting fucking-

F: This is small!

J: Yeah well, I mean it's-

F: Can you even use this?

J: Yeah, you can but you need to use it under light because you can hardly see the numbers on it.

F: Holy fuck, I'm too old to even read this.

J: Yeah, definitely need to wear my glasses.

F: Oh my god, this is a velociraptor’s what?

J: The bone of a velociraptor. I don't know. It was a very nondescript bone.

S: That's so crazy.

J: That is titanium, the one you're holding in your hand, Shaun.

S: I didn't know that they would sell bones like that for public consumption.

J: Yeah, I'm sure someone had to pay someone off for it.

S: I like- this one's cool. It's got some weight to it.

J: Yeah, it's made of titanium.

S: Yeah.

J: So yeah, to answer your-

S: It's made of adamantium.

J: Oh god, I wish. Forget it. Imagine trying to cut adamantium into a 20 sided die.

F: Do you feel like any of these give you better luck?

J: Oh the one you're holding right now, the titanium one, is my main one. It rolls high always. Because you wanna roll high in DnD, you always wanna put up some numbers, especially you wanna try to shoot for a natural 20. So that one always rolls pretty high. The dinosaur bone one rolls pretty good as well. The jet one, which is the black one that's in there, that rolls pretty well.

F: What's that one made of?

J: Jet.

F: Made of jet? Like, the magazine?

J: Yeah, like the magazine.

F: You ever roll Cee-lo with these?

J: No, I don't think you can roll Cee-lo with a 20 sided die.

F: You could try.

J: You could try, yeah.

S: Oh my god.

F: I got a dollar. What's that green one?

J: The green one is made from the plastic-

S: Jade.

J: -that they make the canopies for jet fighters from.

F: Jesus Christ, man!

S: Wow.

F: That's awesome!

S: What about this one? Is this wood?

J: That's wood.

S: Just plain wood? Nothing cool?

J: Just plain old wood.

S: Oh.

J: Yeah.

S: Alright.

F: Shaun's unimpressed with that one.

J: He saved the worst for last.

S: No, it's cool, man.

J: Uh, to answer your question, Jade from Texas. "Do you suffer from anxiety and depression? How do I deal with it?" I try to eat right, I try to exercise, I prioritize sleep, I talk to my therapist, and I try to make time to spend with my friends and family doing fun things like Dungeons and Dragons.

F: I like that, that's a good plan. Here's the thing. If you're, yeah, if you're doing things that make you happy, it's hard not to feel better about things, but depression's a fucker. So it'll creep in sometimes, even when you're supposed to be happy. And that's when you might need to, you know, seek the help of somebody that knows a little bit better than you do.

J: Yeah.

F: And sometimes, you know, medication is helpful. I've had good reactions and terrible fucking reactions, so you gotta do that shit with the utmost care.

J: Professionals.

F: Seriously.

J: That's why they get paid the big bucks.

F: Hey, so here's a question from Frank in New Jersey. So alright, we've talked about the ghost thing twice, right? Because not everyone gets to be a ghost, right? What necessitates that and could animals be ghosts? Are there caveman ghosts? Are there velociraptor? Like, do you think that maybe you'll be haunted by a 5,000 year old woolly mammoth for his fucking bone die, that you've taken and you have? He doesn't feel complete somewhere.

J: Great question, Frank from New Jersey. So I think that a lot of it has to do with, you need to be a sentient being. You need to have some kind of like... Like, I love animals but I don't know that an animal is going to have that moment where he or she feels like they left something undone in the world. Like, they need to stick around until they find that bone that they buried somewhere. I think that ghosts and the paranormal is really tied into deep emotion, whether it's like a joyful emotion, or an emotion that, like, real trauma. And that's why you have malevolent spirits or you know, just your friendly ghosts that are just kinda doofing around because they just wanna hang out still.

F: Alright. Do you feel like, say like, you know, at what point in evolution did that occur? So like, cavemen? Cro-Magnon?

J: I think once you got past the Cro-Magnon times, I think once people started having motivations for things other than just-

F: Survival.

J: Making fire and survival. Like, when there was things that could be left undone rather than just, "Oh, gotta invent the wheel today." I think that's kinda where we're at.

F: So, when people got selfish and started- Like, when do you think the first, like I guess, murder took place? Because I feel like that, the motivation behind jealousy and things of that, start to kinda tie in with the realization of things other than just survival, or you know, wanting things that you can't have, or wanting other people that you can't have, and things of that nature, like, kind of playing into.

J: So I'm gonna go with, because I think that's great, I'm gonna go with I think when it hits the point where you can be consciously committing any of what we consider the seven deadly sins. If you were just kind of, something just happened, like it is what it is. Like, you know, you're killing someone to survive, but when you're like, "Okay."

F: Animal based.

J: When things go from animal based to premeditated, then I think that's kinda when OG ghosts would happen.

F: Okay. So, what is the oldest ghost ever reported? Do we know?

J: I don't know.

F: Is it probably Victorian, or something like that?

S: Mhm.

F: Mmmhm.

J: I think if you're gonna go Biblical, it would probably be like Cain and Abel.

S: Oh, right.

F: Mhm.

S: Bible ghosts.

F: Bible ghosts! I like that.

J: Yeah. I mean, I think if you're looking at Cain and Abel's premeditated murder, so I would probably say something along those lines. That's as far back as I can think.

F: Alright.

J: For those listening at home, I'm like 14 seasons into Supernatural, so I've got some thoughts.

F: Please report in the oldest known ghost.

J: Yeah, if you're listening to this and you can figure out what would be the original ghost sighting, definitely tweet it out to us, because we are now very curious about this. But we're not gonna actually do any work or research on our own.

F: No, yeah, definitely not doing that.

J: No, we don't like homework. Alright so, we got one more question before we wrap this episode up. And I think- I'm gonna slaughter this name. Citlali.

F: That was good. I think that's how you do it.

J: They actually put it in here phonetically for me, and it said, "Lolly pop, I know it's weird." From Nevada wants to know, "Frank, what is your favorite line from one of your songs?"

F: Oh Jesus. Oh man.

S: I could tell you my favorite part of one of Frank's songs.

J: Do it.

F: Oh please.

S: The end of... Crap, what's the name of that fucking- hold on. I'm not gonna ask you even though you're right here.

F: Okay. I won't tell you either.

S: Oh, the second song, Veins on-

F: Oh!

S: The end of that song where it's just like that driving. I'm always like, "Why isn't there more of that?" You know what I mean?

F: Yeah. Just give a little bit, now you have to play it again.

S: A little more, yeah. No, I think that's one of my favorite parts of one of Frank's songs.

F: Oh, I like that part too. Thank you. That's cool. There are song lines in that that I think are killer. I feel like sometimes you'll write things and you'll be like, "Oh, that shit's snarky." I like that a lot. I like when shit stings a bit, you know?

J: Yeah, I agree.

F: I don't know. There's some too, there's some killer lines from the Pencey record that Hambone wrote that I like a lot. Like, "See you around sometime on the 6th of never." That line always got to me, I like that line a lot. I think the whole thing of 8th Grade.

J: Yeah, because that was emotional for me. That was like-

F: That was a cool song.

J: You know, that was, you know, about being bullied and stuff. I like, so for me, the best lyrics I think I wrote, I wrote when I was doing Brine and Bastards. I mean, I like Prayer For A Homesick Sailor, I like the lyrics I wrote for Last Call, and for Fear and Loathing in New Jersey. It was something I came up with, stuff that I came up with. I think for me the best lyrics that I wrote were the most personal stuff that I wrote, even though I don't know that the time I think I was writing personal stuff. Because I mean, Brine and Bastards are dressed up like pirates. So I was thinking I'm writing about being a pirate, but you know, I'm writing about being a bar fly and my favorite bar's closing. So there was that. Of your songs, Frank, I love She's the Prettiest Girl at the Party With a Mean Right Hook.

F: Oh.

J: I think that's one of the best songs you've ever written.

F: Thanks, man.

J: You know, soup to nuts it's like, perfectly arranged, perfect lyrics, they're great.

F: Thanks, man. That's a fun one because it's like, I like how every chorus you get another line. It's almost like a slow reveal on that song. And that was a song that I thought I hadn't really heard before, of like being in love in a troubled romance. Sometimes people write these love songs about these things that are like, "Oh, everything's perfect, everything's great," because you know, you make each other feel really great and all these things, but sometimes there's troubling things about relationships and the way that sometimes, you're in a relationship with somebody that doesn't always say things that make you feel good, you know what I mean? But that doesn't discount the realness or the gravity of the relationship.

J: Yeah.

F: So I think that was like a song where I was like, "Oh well I've never really heard a song like this about a non-conventional relationship."

J: Yeah, it's awesome and I love it and I look forward to more Frank Iero music.

F: Oh man.

J: Oh, look at that.

F: Dude, 14 songs coming soon.

S: When is that coming out? By the time this episode airs, it should be out, right?

F: I guess so, right? Yeah. End of May.

J: Alright so, by the time this episode drops, Frank's new album Barriers will be in stores, it will be online. Go out and buy this album. It is the best thing he's ever done. And with that said, Frank is also gonna be on tour so if he's coming to your area, definitely go check out Frank Iero and the Future Violents. You are not gonna regret it and you're not gonna wanna miss this show. Now, all that said, this is gonna end up being the season finale of Casual Interactions. Shaun, Frank, and I all have crazy summers ahead of us and it's gonna be very hard for us to get together and record some new episodes, so that's kinda the bad news. The good news is that we're gonna be back in the fall with new episodes, some new segments, and some surprises that you're all gonna love a whole lot. So thank you all so very much for tuning in. We really appreciate all the feedback that we get, we appreciate all the tweets, we appreciated all the questions. And we're gonna leave you with one last question. We saved the best for last. Here we go. So it's a three part question, actually, and I think it's worth it because it starts off. It's Savvy from Tennessee.

F: Savvy.

S: Ooh.

F: I like that.

J: "How many of you have tattoos?" I can answer all of us. "What are your favorite tattoos?"  which is something we should answer, then, "Any crazy tattoo stories?"

S: Oh god.

F: Oh man! We talked about this before.

S: Yeah, we just talked about it.

F: Alright, go ahead.

J: Do you have a favorite tattoo, Frank?

F: I mean, I have ones that mean a lot. Like I have portraits of my grandmothers that have passed away, and my grandfather. So those are some of my favorites. I feel like even the ones that maybe I look at and I'm like, "Oof, that's not done really well," still mean a lot and still have, because like, I remember the moment in time when I got it, or where I got it, or who I was with, or who did it. And I feel like, you know like, I don't have many regrets about getting tattooed. I think, I don't know if I have a hierarchy of which ones I like the best or anything like that. I think if I could go back in time, I would maybe worry about placement more.

J: Right.

F: Just because I'm slowly but surely running out of space.

J: You are almost out of space.

S: Yeah.

F: Yeah, I'm running out of convenient space. Nothing feels good anymore.

J: No.

F: So, um, yeah. That's a rough thing, but there's definitely artists out there that I really would love to get tattooed by. I feel like now, it's gotten to this point where it's like a collection of different art and artists out there, different tattoo artists that I really love.

J: How about you, Shaun? You have a favorite tattoo?

S: I think mine is probably the big fucking buffalo head.

F: I like that a lot. That's Shawn Dillon, right?

S: His name is Esteban.

F: Oh, very nice.

J: So you name the buffalo but not the coconut.

S: I named the coconut.

F: Yeah, Shitball.

S: I name everything.

F: Where were you?

J: I was laughing too hard. Yeah, the buffalo looks great. My favorite tattoo is a Shawn Dillon tattoo he did on my forearm. It is based off an old Bastille Halloween decoration. The decoration was two skeletons playing instruments. This one is just a skeleton playing a bass guitar with some bats and a very orange moon, which I love.

F: You held that color really well.

J: I don't go out in the sun very much. That's my secret. Don't go in the sun.

F: Get the sun tattooed but don't go in it.

J: Don't go in it, yeah. So my crazy tattoo story is that when I was 22, 23?

F: No, really?

J: Yeah, I was probably 22 or 23. We were still doing Pencey so I was probably 22, 23. I was a dinner with a guy I knew and the girl he was dating, and her friend was there, and she was a tattoo artist. And we started joking around about getting tattoos and he was like, "You know what you should do, Hambone?" Because Jenna Jameson was big at the time, she was an adult film actress from many many moons ago. He was like, "You should get the same tattoo she has on her ass that says Heartbreaker with two broken hearts." And we were fully in the bag at this point. Don't make decisions like this when you're drunk, folks.

F: Oh no, definitely do.

J: Don't do it. And I'm like, "Yeah of course I'll do it, I'll do it." So the one girl I was at the table with was like, "I'm a tattoo artist, I'm an apprentice, sometimes I get the shop to myself. If you come down, I'll just do it for you for free." And I was like, "Yeah sure, I'll do anything... once, whatever."

S: "I'll do anything."

J: Is it free? Fuck it, let's do it. So, months go by and I get a phone call from this gal and she's like, "Oh hey, the tattoo shop, I have it to myself. You wanna come down and get the Heartbreaker on your ass?" And I was just like, "Alright, it's too funny not to." So I call Frank and Shaun, and I'm like, "Hey guys," told them the story, "do you guys wanna come?"

F: "Definitely."

J: "This could be funny." So we get down there and this gal has got the whole tattoo shop to herself and we go into the back room. And the way the tattoo shop is set up, the front of the shop has the cases with all the piercing jewelry and whatever, and some flash, and the back is where all the tattoos happen. And there was like this little Western door.

F: Saloon door.

J: Saloon doors that go from the front to the back. So we go through the saloon door, you hear the familiar click clack click clack click clack of the saloon doors. Similar to the kind of saloon doors that they would have in West Coast Video in the porno section so they'd always know if someone went back there and was looking at the porno.

F: Oh, is that what they're there for?

J: I kinda figured that's what it was. I sussed it out later. I'm like, "Of all the doors you could've put, why would you do that?"

F: You could have beads.

J: They could've have beads. But beads don't make that sound that just inspires shame.

F: I feel like if you got beads, you're ashamed. You should be ashamed if you've got beads.

J: So we go in the back and she gets all set up, and Frank and Shaun are there, and I'm there. We're all just trying to control our laughter because I'm about to get Heartbreaker tattooed on my right ass cheek. And either Frank or Shaun, I can't remember which one.

F: I can't remember either.

S: I don't know.

J: But someone was like, "No, you need to get Hambreaker because your nickname is Hambone. It'll be funnier." So of course I went with it.

F: It's definitely funnier.

J: It still holds up. It still holds up because you know, I have to get face down on the tattoo table, we take my pants down, and she's like shaking it. She has to shave the area so she's gotta shave my ass, and she's like, "I don't know about this."

F: I feel like you don't have a hairy ass, really.

J: I didn't, but you still have to shave the area anyway.

F: Oh yes, yes you do.

J: So Shaun steps up and takes the razor. Shaun shaved my right ass cheek.

S: I don't remember that.

J: That's what friends are for.

F: I don't remember that either.

J: And so she puts the stencil down and she starts tattooing, and as she starts tattooing, she starts giggling a little bit. I'm like, "What?" And she's like, "I've never done letters before!" And here she is tattooing letters on my ass, and I'm like, "Oh my god. What did I get myself into?" And as she's going, I'm like, "Oh, you have the place to yourself," and she's like, "Yeah yeah. My boss lets me give tattoos because I'm an apprentice. He trusts me to do it." And all the sudden he comes walking through the door, and he is this gigantic, burly biker dude. He's wearing leather chaps and he's got a cowboy hat on and a leather vest and a polo tie. And I mean, I know it specifically because I looked up and it's first thing I saw. Him come walking in, I hear the click clack click clack click clack of-

F: Maybe that's why there's saloon doors.

J: The saloon doors. No, but they were there, and he comes walking through and he goes, "Ugh, I've seen this before." And he turns around and he walks away, and I'm like, "What does he mean?" She's like, "Oh, he's been to prison," I'm like, "Oh my god." Then she's giggling again and I'm like, "What is it?" She's like, "I'm doing color for the first time!" And I'm like, "Oh my god." I mean, this is almost 20 years ago. This gal has turned into a world class tattoo artist, so you never know who's tattooing you, who they're gonna turn into one day. At that point, it was the first time she had done letters and had done color, and to the day, I still have the word Hambreaker with two broken hearts tattooed on my right ass cheek.

F: Did it hold up though?

J: It's faded a little bit. I might go back and have her touch it up for my 40th birthday, and also get your name put on the other cheek.

S: And that's where we end it.

J: Yeah, I think that's a good point to go home. So yeah.

F: That is a good one.

J: That's my crazy tattoo story. Make sure you're smart before you get tattoos and you find the right artist, and also think about it, because it's gonna be on your ass or you arm for a very long time. So for Frank and Shaun, I'm John "Hambone" McGuire.-

F: You're gonna have that ass forever.

J: Until we meet again, hold on to your friends.

#frank iero #shaun simon #hambone #casual interactions #9 #casual interactions 9 #full transcription

[tigrin]

Happy Creek Day! \o.o/ Uhh I’m still working on getting permission to post my yaoi art, but in the meantime, I thought I’d share a random scene from the Creek fanfic I’ve been working on for the past year... sorry, it’s kind of long... for context, I wrote this a long time before “Put It Down”, so the fanfic is based off the premise that Tweek and Craig are initially faking their relationship for the town. Tweek finds the constant acting annoying and wants to at least be friends. I’m not sure when or if I’m going to finish the fanfic. :( 

3.

Tweek stared down at his own fidgety reflection in the black screen. He tapped the button at the bottom of the phone and the screen glowed back to life, a set of numbers staring back at him. His finger hovered over the green call button. It was shaking so badly that when he went to press the button, it hit the 0 key instead. In a frantic attempt to erase it, he erased the whole set.

"Aaahh! Breathe, Tweek, breathe," he said, and took a few exaggerated puffs. “It’s just a… it’s just a call… nothing to worry about.” But he did worry, and just typing each number back in one at a time felt like taking steps towards a cliff.

“Let’s go over this one more time,” he muttered to himself. He sat up a little straighter, holding his empty hand to his ear. “’Hi, Craig. It’s me, Tweek,’” he droned. “’I was wondering if you wanted to go see a movie on Saturday? … What, you’d love to? Great! What about the 8 o’clock showing? Okay, I’ll see you then!’” He fumbled with the invisible phone and let out a strained sigh.

Glancing down at the real phone felt a bit like peering over the edge. He pulled it towards him and his finger hovered again over the call button. There was a growing whistle like a boiling tea kettle, and he realized the sound was coming out of his own mouth. He swallowed and the sound cut off in a yelp as he jabbed the call button and slapped the phone to his ear.

As he listened to each two second brrrrrrt of the ringing tone and prepared himself for the voice mail message, he realized he hadn’t actually rehearsed what he was going to say on a voice mail. He ripped the phone away from his ear and was about to hang up when he heard the tone cut off on the other end, and a low, tiny voice saying “Hello?”

He snapped the phone back to his ear. “H-hello?”

“Hey.”

“HiCraigit’smeTweek.”

“I already know it’s you, dumbass.”

“R-right…”

“So, what’s up?”

“Uh… not much… what’s, uh, what’s up with you?”

“Studying. Dad says if I fail another test I’m grounded.” There was a slamming noise in the background not unlike a book hitting a wall. “Ugh, I’m so fucking bored.”

Tweek tried to think of something witty or clever to say in response. A minute went by.

“You gonna talk or what?” Craig said.

“Oh! Um, sorry…”

“What’d you call for, anyway?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah!” Tweek sat up a little straighter again. “I was, uh…I was wondering if… you… if you…”

“Spit it out.”

“IwaswonderingifyouwantedtogoseeamovieonSaturday?”

“… a movie? Like, a date?”

“Agh! No no no, just a movie…”

“Just the two of us?”

“Uh, yeah…”

“So, a date.”

“No, just, uh… just two friends… seeing a movie…”

“… uh huh.”

“So, do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Want to go?”

“On a date?”

“N-no!”

“What movie?”

“Huh?”

“What movie is it?”

“Oh, uh, it’s the new Marvel movie…”

“Sweet.”

“So, you want to go?”

“Yea- oh, wait, God dammit. Saturday? I can’t.”

Tweek felt his stomach sink a bit and he slumped over. “Why not?”

“My parents are going out and they’re making me watch my little sister while they’re gone.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, sorry. Maybe later?”

“Yeah… well, thanks anyway… I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”

“Yeah…”

“Well… bye,” Tweek said, and started to pull the phone from his ear.

“B- hey uh, wait a second!” Craig said, and Tweek clutched the phone back to his ear.

“Huh?” But Craig didn’t respond; Tweek heard a muffled thud, the yaw of a door, and the thumping of footsteps getting softer. He waited, his heart hammering in his chest.

The footsteps were getting louder again, and the speaker crackled and fuzzed. “Yeah, Tweek? You there?” Craig said.

“I’m here!” Tweek said, though it came out more as a squeak.

“I asked my dad if you could come hang out with me while I’m babysitting and he said that was okay.”

Tweek nearly dropped the phone. “Hang out? With you?”

“It’s not as cool but I guess we could watch movies here or something. Yeah, we could order a pizza and watch movies all night! Hey, ask your dad if you could stay over.”

Tweek really did drop the phone. “S-stay over?” he said after he managed to get ahold of it again.

“Yeah. Come on. If you don’t come over I just have to watch my sister and study all night. I’ll die. I’ll die of boredom.”

“Uh… okay. Yeah, I’ll ask.”

“Sweet. Then it’s a date.”

The phone clattered to the ground and the call dropped.

“Why are you wearing that mask?”

Tweek looked down at a girl’s eyes peering suspiciously at him, her tiny hands framing her pigtailed face as they gripped the arm of the sofa.

Tweek tugged at the white mask stretched over his nose and mouth. “Huh? This?” he said in a muffled voice. “It’s for-”

The little girl’s arms strained to prop her up, and Tweek leaned back as her face shot towards his. “You know, you look like a girl,” she said.

Tweek fell backwards on the couch. One of the elastic bands holding the mask folded his ear and popped free. Tweek scrambled to push himself back up, the mask dangling from one ear. The little girl glowered back at him, leaning on the arm of the couch and kicking her legs. “Y-yeah, well, so do you!” he said, voice trembling.

“Stupid! I am a girl!”

“Hey!” a voice snapped. They both looked up at Craig, standing at the top of the stairs with one hand on the railing and the other clutching a juice box. “Are you picking on my friend?”

The girl turned to face Craig, half sitting, half leaning against the couch. “You mean your girlfriend?”

Craig tossed the empty juice box aside and threw himself down the stairs. The girl shot off with a screech before he could even round the landing. She peered around the corner of the kitchen doorway, and when she met Craig’s eyes, she flipped him the middle finger.

A tall woman with long blonde hair patted the top of the girl’s head as she emerged from the kitchen, hoisting her purse onto her shoulder. Her dress flowed around her ankles and the click of her heels became muffled as she stepped onto the carpet of the living room. “You kids get along while we’re gone, okay?” she said.

Behind her, a tall man with balding red hair adjusted his tie, sparing a glance for Craig. “I left you some money in the kitchen, son.”

“Sweet,” Craig said.

Craig’s mother leaned down to hug her daughter and plant a kiss on Craig’s cheek. Craig’s eyes darted to Tweek and he scrubbed his cheek with the back of his hand. “Don’t stay up too late!” she said.

“We won’t.” Tweek looked over to see Craig crossing his fingers behind his back.

As they passed by on the way to the front door, Craig’s mother stopped to look down at Tweek. “Are you not feeling well, Tweek?” she asked, pointing at the mask still hanging from one ear.

Tweek hurried to pull it back over his face. “Oh, no, I’m fine, this-”

“Come on, Laura, don’t fuss over him. Boy says he’s fine. We’re going to be late,” Craig’s father said, and with a final round of goodbyes, the door shut and the little girl ran to lock it.

Tweek turned to see Craig walking out of the kitchen, thumbing through a small stack of $20 bills. “We could buy like fifty pizzas with this, what’s he thinking…” Craig grumbled.

The girl ran over and made a swipe for the money. “I want my own pizza!” she said.

Craig held the bills high over her head. “You can’t eat a whole pizza, stupid.”

She kicked him in the leg. “You’re stupid!”

Craig rubbed his leg and glared at her. “Do that again and you won’t get any pizza! I’ll tell Mom!”

She stuck her tongue out at him and dashed away, vaulting up the stairs two at a time. “Get me a cheese pizza!” she called over her shoulder.

“’Please’!” Craig called back.

“Please!” she yelled, and a door slammed.

Craig sighed and shot Tweek an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that… hold on, I gotta order the pizza… what do you want?”

“Uh, whatever you want is fine…”

Craig raised an eyebrow. “A meat lover’s pizza with extra cheese?”

“Um, sure…”

Craig pulled his phone out of his pocket and wandered off, leaving Tweek alone to glance around the combined living/dining space, at the aging TV set with a cracked frame, the dining room table stacked with bills and catalogues. Upstairs, the muted bass of the newest Lorde album pulsed the walls.

“Okay, says it’s going to be about thirty minutes,” Craig said, flipping the phone back into his pocket, and Tweek nearly jumped off the couch. Craig raised an eyebrow, leaned forward to snap one of the bands holding the mask around Tweek’s ear. “Hey, what’s this for?”

“Um, when I asked my dad if I could come spend the night, he said it was fine, but I had to ‘wear protection’… uh, I’m not sure if you have a cold or something, but… this sort of mask is supposed to be good if… if you want to avoid germs…”

Tweek trailed off, staring at Craig, who had gone rigid with his hand still in the air. Craig’s face seemed to drain of all color, then rapidly flush into a brilliant shade of scarlet. All at once he turned aside and burst into laughter.

“Hahahaha! Take that off, you idiot,” Craig said, reaching to tug the mask off Tweek’s face. A rush of cool, dry air filled Tweek’s nose and prickled the perspiration on his chin. Craig ignored the baffled look on Tweek’s face and went over to the TV to grab the Playstation controller, still chuckling. “Hey, so I was thinking, I’ll pick something to watch, and you’ll pick something, and then I’ll pick something, blah blah blah until we both fall asleep or die.”

“O-okay.”

Craig turned the TV on, looked back at Tweek and smiled. “So, have you ever seen Alien?”

Somewhere around the third Alien movie, Tweek started to really regret the deal he’d made with Craig. Craig had sat back with polite disinterest through Cars, nodded off during The Good Dinosaur, and fell asleep almost immediately after Alien 3 started. Tweek shook through the entirety of Alien, frequently ran away to puke during Aliens, and now sat with his legs pulled up to his chest, peeking through his fingers. The glow of the TV screen flickered in and out over the pizza boxes strewn across the floor, an empty liter of Coke tipped onto its side, a pile of greasy napkins. Tweek’s knees were brushed with blonde hairs he’d absently ripped out of his head while trying to distract himself. Somewhere over the shrieks of the rapidly dying movie characters (Tweek snapped his fingers shut) he heard the ticking of a clock. He wondered what time it was. Beyond the prickle of fear and an ache in his scalp, exhaustion pulled at him. He was shoved up against the arm of the couch, because Craig had stretched out in his sleep. One arm dangled over the edge of the couch, still clutching the Playstation remote; the other was curled up next to his head, propped up at an uncomfortable angle on a pillow. His socked feet were inches from Tweek’s thighs, and Tweek eyed them warily as Craig twitched in his sleep.

He had no idea what to do. He’d agreed to trade off movies, so he didn’t want to shut it off, but Craig wasn’t even watching! And after all, they had watched two movies each. Fair was fair. But Craig had the remote, and he didn’t think he could get to it without waking Craig up, and he didn’t want to do that. What if he startled Craig awake, and Craig hit him? What if Craig got angry that he turned the movie off? What if… what if Craig didn’t wake up at all? What if he was dead? What if that twitch earlier was rigor mortis? Tweek stared intently at Craig, feeling his heart clench with dread. He almost passed out then and there when he couldn’t immediately see if Craig was breathing; it was a dark scene in the movie again, and in the dark Tweek couldn’t see the tell-tale rise and fall of Craig’s chest. There was only one way to know for sure.

Tweek slid off the couch, careful to keep his hands over his eyes until he could turn his back to the TV screen. He shuffled closer to Craig on his knees, so that his eyes were nearly level with Craig’s chest. He strained to see, but it was still too dark. Was Craig breathing? Were his eyes just playing tricks on him? He thought he saw Craig’s chest move, but wait – maybe – maybe it wasn’t Craig breathing at all. Maybe it was… as he stared, the fabric started to rip apart, and an alien burst out in a spray of dark blood.

Tweek yelped and fell back into the array of pizza boxes. A cold pepperoni slapped his face and he shrieked, clawing at his cheeks. Someone in the movie behind him was screaming. He tried to get up but he slipped on the empty liter of Coke and sprawled face-first into Craig’s chest, and the air burst out of Craig’s lungs with a loud oof.

There was no blood, no alien, just a smudge of marinara sauce on Craig’s white shirt. Tweek clutched at his shirt in relief and started to sob.

“Alien! Burst from your chest! Thought you were dead!” Tweek warbled out between sobs.

“What? Wha…” Craig groaned, gasping for breath. He squinted at the television, looked back down at Tweek. “Fuhhhhh, what time is it…?”

“You weren’t breathing!” Tweek continued to wail.

“Dude, Tweek, calm down. It’s just a movie.”

Tweek buried his face in Craig’s chest. He tried to say more but it just came out as a muffled whining sound vibrating through Craig’s stomach. There was a beep and the sound of the movie dropped away. Now there was just the slight wheeze of Craig’s breathing and Tweek’s own sniffling. Something touched the top of Tweek’s head and he nearly jumped out of his skin, but it was just Craig’s hand, free from the Playstation remote.

“Shit, what did you do? You got a little bald spot here,” Craig said, parting the hair at the top of Tweek’s head.

Tweek’s nose was starting to drip. For a moment, he thought of using Craig’s shirt, but he smeared it across the back of his hand instead. Tears were still falling thick and fast down his cheeks, and he scrubbed at them, mixing the tears and snot together until he was just a goopy mess.

Craig sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He watched Tweek for a moment, looked around, fished one of the less greasy napkins off the floor and tossed it to Tweek. When Tweek didn’t immediately pick it up, he pressed it right in Tweek’s face. “Alright, alright, stop already. I’m fine, see? Fine,” Craig said.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Tweek whimpered, trying to mop up his arm.

“No, I shouldn’t have made you watch those movies. Shoulda known you’d go all psycho about it.” Craig pulled his phone out from behind one of the couch cushions, and a bright blue glow illuminated his face. “Shit, it’s like 3 AM, where the hell are my parents?”

Tweek sat back on his feet, still rubbing his cheeks. “You got any coffee?” Tweek asked.

Craig looked up sharply. “Coffee?”

“Yeah. It h-helps me calm down.”

“Coffee?”

“Y… yeah.”

Craig sighed. “I think my dad has some of the instant stuff if that’s okay.”

“Yeah.”

Craig got up, scratching the back of his head as he kicked away the pizza boxes and lumbered towards the kitchen. Tweek squinted at the sudden flood of light bursting from the kitchen. There was the beeping and hum of a microwave and Tweek pulled himself shakily to his feet. He stepped into the kitchen, eyes stinging a bit. The kitchen tile felt refreshingly cool under his bare feet, and a chill prickled up his spine, making him feel a little more awake. Craig was leaning against the counter holding a large canister of instant coffee, his lips moving wordlessly as he read the instructions on the back. The microwave beeped and he ripped the door open, snatching a steaming mug of water out and setting it on the counter. He spooned some of the coffee powder into the mug and swirled it around a bit, the spoon ringing against the porcelain sides. As Tweek approached, he thrust it into Tweek’s hands.

“Thanks,” Tweek said, feeling the heat of the mug starting to warm the inside of his palms, steam rising into his face. His nose started to drip again.

Craig wrenched open the refrigerator door, grabbed a half gallon of milk, and kicked the door closed. Tweek watched in mute fascination as Craig popped the top open and started to drink straight out of the carton. His palms were burning now, and he nearly dropped the mug as he scrambled to change his grip to the handle.

Craig glanced at him and looked away, wiping a milk mustache from his upper lip. “Sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay,” Tweek said, sipping at the coffee. It was kind of watery, but warm, and he felt it burn all the way down his throat and spread warmth around his insides. He started to shake just a little bit less.

“No, I mean, sorry about… um, I guess it wasn’t a very good date,” Craig said, and his face glowed red above the milk carton.

Tweek almost choked on the weak coffee. “N-no! It was fun! Really!” Only kind of a lie.

Craig closed the milk carton and put it back in the refrigerator (Tweek’s eyes grew wide at this), and turned back with a sigh. “Maybe next time we can get outta here and actually do something fun.”

Tweek took a long sip of the coffee, swallowing hard. “Yeah, maybe.”

Craig hit Tweek’s shoulder on the way past. “You going to be able to sleep after drinking that?”

Tweek turned and followed Craig back into the dark living room. “Why not?”

Craig snorted but didn’t respond. He stomped up the stairs, Tweek following some distance behind, carefully balancing the mug. He turned the corner to Craig’s room and nearly dropped it when he saw that Craig was half naked, his pants around his ankles and his shirt tangled around his head. Craig tossed the shirt aside and shook the pants off his ankles. “Bring a change of clothes?” Craig asked, rummaging through one of the drawers in his dresser. He pulled out an oversized shirt, sniffed it, shrugged, and started to pull it on.

Realizing he was staring, Tweek blinked rapidly and set the mug down before any damage happened. “Oh, um… in my bag… I think I left it downstairs,” Tweek mumbled, and he practically fled the room.

He groped around in the dark living room, the furniture creating sinister shapes around him. He finally found the backpack behind the couch, and he pulled it out absentmindedly. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he sat on the edge of the couch for a moment trying to catch his breath. Clutching the backpack, he turned and started to make his way back up the stairs, stubbing his toes a few times. He walked past Craig’s room to the bathroom, pulling on his pajamas and brushing his teeth, getting more toothpaste on his shirt than in his mouth.

When he got back, Craig was lying in bed under the covers, playing with his phone. Laid out on the floor next to the bed was an adult sleeping bag and a pillow with a pastel print on it.

“Will you hit the lights?” Craig asked, and Tweek reached for the light switch and flicked it, shutting the lamp off and plunging the room into darkness. He set his backpack aside and held his arms out like a zombie in a half crouch as he searched for the sleeping bag. His toes brushed the vinyl exterior of the bag and he crawled inside. He stared up at the black expanse of the ceiling, his eyes adjusting slowly to the dark. The pillow smelled faintly of dust and cedar.

Craig set his phone on the nightstand and rolled onto his side. “Night,” he said.

“Night,” Tweek replied, but he was wide awake, still staring at the ceiling. The distant clicks and hums of the refrigerator, the creaks of the house settling, the muffled sound of a car passing by outside, all seemed loud and eerie and unfamiliar. He stared at a pattern on the ceiling and the pattern morphed into an alien. He pulled the bag up to his nose and whimpered. He remembered the alien bursting from Craig’s chest. The ripping fabric. The blood. He glanced up at the bed above him. He had to check.

The sleeping bag rustled as he slid out to his knees and peered over the edge of the bed at Craig. It was too dark to tell again. Tweek pulled himself up, and reached a tentative hand for Craig’s chest.

“What,” Craig grumbled.

Tweek ripped his hand back. “I… I was…”

Craig sighed and sat up, scooting away from the edge. “Fine. Get in.”

“Huh?!”

“It’s late. I’m tired. And I can’t deal with this right now. Just get in.”

“O-okay.” Tweek climbed up onto the bed and shimmied under the covers next to Craig. This close, Tweek could easily hear the air pushing in and out of Craig’s nose as Craig gave a final irritated sigh and rolled over with his back to Tweek. For a while Tweek just watched the gentle rise and fall of his side, until it settled into a slower, softer rhythm. He sidled a little closer to Craig’s back, and when Craig didn’t respond, he moved just a little bit closer, until he could feel the heat radiating off Craig’s back. His heart was pounding again and he wasn’t sure why. He hugged his arms to his chest and curled up a bit, closing his eyes and listening to Craig’s breathing, letting himself relax just a bit knowing that Craig was here, that he was okay.

Just as he was about to drift off to sleep, something hit him in the head. Tweek blinked, startled, and grabbed the thing off his forehead: it was the white face mask. He looked up and Craig was smirking at him over his shoulder. Face burning, Tweek tossed it aside and tried to settle his head on Craig’s pillow. He fell asleep with his fingers clutching the back of Craig’s shirt.

#writing #fanfiction #south park #creek

[fmddevin]

step away from time: daein meets california.

scenario: daein realizes just how far away his parents seem nowadays. word count: 1,657 wooh !! notes: well this is a v important moment but not edited or written well so don’t read it. i had this in mind for a while, but waited until the deadline to actually write it - yay.

it seems like ages since daein’s seen his parents.

as detached as he pretend to be, he never thought he’d be the guy to say he hadn’t seen his parents in years. but really...how long had it been? he didn’t even know anymore. july. it had to have been july, that was the last time he toured to the us. it’s crazy to him, that the same people who saw him grow up every day of his childhood are seeming farther and farther away as the times he sees them through a screen begins to outnumber the times he sees him for real. it’s okay, he figures. plenty of his other idol friends haven’t seen their parents in three, four years. some even more. some don’t even have parents, and he knows that he’s granted a luxury not everyone can have.

but lately, he hasn’t been feeling so lucky. 

the truth is, he misses his mom. he misses his dad. he misses his house in florida, his room’s crumbling posters, and even that old playstation his parents would threaten to throw out whenever he got in trouble. because as dumb as he could be there, florida was always going to be home. 

he thinks his mom can tell. he doesn’t want to worry her - she’ll definitely try booking a ticket to see him - but he can’t hide everything. chuseok was just around the corner, and while all his friends are making plans with families he’s holed up in his apartment. it was only a three day week, and daein was so exhausted from concerts that by the time he managed to get there he would pass out, only to wake up and have to fly back to korea. so, as a completely terrible substitute, he spends the september holiday talking to a phone about his future schedules.

“hey - i’ve missed you. like...a lot.” english still sounds weird on his lips, when he speaks it to his parents. because it’s not the korean he’s forced himself into using everyday, and isn’t the “cool english” he’s persuaded into speaking on variety shows. it’s just...him - the same daein from all those years back, deep down.

“my baby,” his mom calls to the screen, and he almost freezes in shock. it’s been forever since she called him that. “is everything okay? do we need to come visit? you look so down….”

he’s not looking at them now, but through the corner of his eyes he sees his father inching farther into the camera.his mom’s holding the phone, bringing it closer to her face. shit. they were worried now, he had to find a way out.

“what if i-”

“oh, manager’s here. said he just pulled up. impulse stuff, you know.”

“but dae-”

click. and that’s the end of that...at least, for a little while. by the beginning of october, impulse is us bound, and though he’s not going to his home state, it’s nice to be back in america for a while. just after wrapping up filming for the today show he’s at the hotel, when his mother calls him in a frenzy.”

“hello, mom?”

“daein! oh my gosh, he picked up - honey, come to the phone, daein’s here! daein, why didn’t you tell me you’d be on tv? you’re on american tv! how - are you in america right now?”

well, maybe that’s something he should’ve mentioned. he hadn’t bothered, not wanting to get his family’s hopes up. he wouldn’t be able to visit home, and he’d rather not have his mom to urge all their family in california to pay for concert tickets just to embarrass him. he probably should’ve thought of something like this happening, but here he is, baffled as ever and holding the phone away from his mouth. looking up, he notices the rerun of their interview playing, his face plastered on the screen, almost mocking him.

“oh….right.” lame answer, daein.

“i can’t believe you didn’t tell us! there’s hardly any chances for me to see you….why didn’t you tell me? daein, i would’ve booked a flight right away. you know what? we’re going. pull up flights, honey.” he hears his dad murmur something in the background, and the familiar groan of the family computer turning on. i should buy them a new one, he thinks. it’s long overdue. but he doesn’t have time to process that because he realizes - his parents are coming.

“wait a minute, mom. what? that’s impossible, tickets already went on sale weeks ago and-”

“daein,” he hears the stern voice repeat, and in that moment he knows better than to say anything else. “we’re going. if i say i’m gonna visit my son on his tour, i’m going to see him. it could be like a little belated chuseok celebration, all three of us. remember when we celebrated together? ah, it was fun. honey, pull up the tour dates.” 

it goes on like this for another hour, until between the protests and bickering his parents have managed to book a flight for october 15, the day before the last concert. they’d meet with him in california, catch up on his free day, then go watch the concert. and as much as he’d spoke against it, daein was ecstatic. after all, he’s like a little kid deep down. he misses his mom and dad, plain and simple. he’s going to see his mom and dad - in the flesh. for real,

maybe it’s what keeps him going during the keep spinning tour, because that’s just what he’s doing. he’s on this constant upward spiral, all the performances leading up to that last one where his parents will  be in the audience, cheering him on. he’ll be happy for once, and things will be grea-

“hello?” it’s october 15th, and he’s beaming bright as he looks at his reflection in the mirror. hell, he’s even dressed up for this. his mom probably knows through all the videos that his wardrobe’s just tshirts, but he refuses to risk a lecture and see his parent’s looking so plain after so long.  so he’s got on a button-up, jeans, and converse on in the middle of october. he feels like he’s in florida again, dressing for the summer in the middle of fall. but he looks good, and all that’s been on his mind the past week was seeing his parents.

“daein?” something’s wrong. he knows it. his mom’s tone is worried, and sad, all at the same time. he can’t help but think of the worst, turning the volume up on hie phone and demanding to know what happened.

“everything’s okay, but….the doctor’s think your father had a bad asthma attack. i didn’t want to worry you about it, you know he gets these a lot, but he moves on. i don’t know why, but he’s still having trouble. they think they’re going to have to admit him for the night, which means we’ll miss our fli-”

“shit,” he hisses, his knuckles dropping to the marble counter with a thud. it’s the first time  he’s cursed in front of his parents, and he knows his mom must be lecturing him, but all he hears is static. fuck. why did it always have to be him? why’d these things only happen to his family, it seemed like? his mom’s going on and on about the procedure, but all daein can think of is that his father’s sick on the other side of the country and there’s nothing he can do about it. his mom keeps going, until she realizes there’s no response on the other end.

“baby? are you there, daein?”

he can feel the hot tears of disappointment collecting, and for once, he lets them run.

“i - i heard you, mom. tell dad i love him, and hope everything goes good, okay?”

he doesn’t want to be a burden.

“...baby, are you sure you’re okay? i can come by myself, if you want. you’re father’s just not in shape to-”

“oh yeah,” he continues, as if he can’t hear her. anything to get his mind off the disappointment, anything but this. he hasn’t felt this way in a long time, but it actually feels like he’s getting a piece of his heart ripped out. “i forgot.  i’ll send you the money for the flight and the hospital bills. just send me how much everything is okay?”

now she’s the one that’s silent, and he hates that he feels too bad to tell her it’s okay. to not feel guilty. that these things happen. but really, he’s feeling anything but understanding.

“baby...are you gonna be okay?”

“i - please, mom. i’ll talk to you later. i love you.” 

he sees one tear fall down over his phone screen. then, another one. and the third following right after. control your breathing. calm down. wipe your tears. the little bit of rationality daein has left is telling him it’s all alright, but his heaving chest and shuddered breaths are saying otherwise.

it isn’t fair. the asthma, the concert, the distance, none of it. he has to go through the last show, thanking fans and giving fake smiles while his parents wound up at the hospital hours before the concert. he doesn’t know when he’s going to see his parent’s next, and he doesn’t want to figure it out, either. because the more he thinks about it, the older they seem to become, the farther they are, the farther he is. it’s all he can think about, from mic check to the encore that shut the stadium down.

but the second he’s off stage, he’s checking the weather in korea and calling his friends to make plans for when he’s back in seoul. because if he can’t see his family, he doesn’t want to see the us at all. 

what’s the point of working so hard to move up, when you leave so much behind?

#( & development. ) #asthma tw #i mean?? idk if that tags used but to be safe! #i think that's it tho! #tldr; daeins parents say they're going to his concert daein's dad has asthma attack daeins parents cant make it...daein gets super sad

[textsfromumbridge]

Accidental Break-In (E/e)

How do you accidentally break into the wrong apartment? Well, for Eponine Thenardier, it definitely involves a lot of alcohol and a friend with a similar apartment one building down. 

For @hihiyas

....

Her head hurts. 

With the amount of alcohol she’d been mainlining the night before that should not have been such a surprise. Basically, it’s karma. Drinking is a terrible way to deal with her problems, and she should not be indulging in it this much – that is what Marius would say. Actually, that is what Marius will say when he sees her on his couch for the third time this week. And it’s only Thursday – or Friday morning by now.  

Fuck, she is so going to have to face Best Friend Wrath again. 

She pulls the blanket over her head and ponders how Marius managed to find the time between work and dates with his new girlfriend (the girl she still has not met, damn it) to buy a new blanket. This one is way less scratchy than the old one. 

As the sound of feet hitting the floor reaches her sensitive ears, she takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to decrease the chances of puking all over her best friend – again – before she even gets to explain or apologize. And knowing Marius as well as she does (over ten years of friendship will do that to you), she will have to do both. 

“Nice upgrade on the blanket, dude,” she speaks from underneath said blanket. “I mean, this one has a way lower scratch factor. I approve. Also, before you see anything else that will mentally scar you, I’m not wearing pants. Again. I think R puked on them last night because they really fucking stink. Don’t worry, I’m wearing a shirt. Yours, of course, because mine was… well… fucking gross.” 

The shirt is fucking fancy, but her best friend is a fancy lawyer now, so she is only happy that he finally managed to upgrade his wardrobe to match his profession. Gone are the sweaters his grandma made – fugly as they are – and Marius has moved up in the world, to some stylish three-piece suits. She couldn’t find his college band shirts either – which was much more disappointing – so she had to sleep in a crisp white blouse. But at least it’s soft and it smells vaguely of fabric softener. 

Really, the new girlfriend has left Marius almost unrecognizable. 

“Is it safe for me to come out?” she asks, still hiding under the blanket. “Please don’t hate me too much! I promise to quit drinking so much. I swear on my mother’s life. I hate my mom, I know, but I really don’t want her dead. So, I swear!”

Still there is no response from Marius. And even though her best friend is an awkward little shit, he is not usually so quiet, even on a Friday morning. Something is wrong. 

So she peeks, dropping the blanket from her face inch by inch, hoping that she has not interrupted some kind of sexy interlude between Marius and his special lady friend – because she does not want to see that freckled ass again. 

“What the fuck?” she makes her own head hurt with that screech. 

The man staring down at her, holding a baseball bat in his nicely muscled arms – JFC, focus Éponine – is most definitely not her best friend. He is not wearing the ugly flannel pajamas Marius always wears to bed, and he doesn’t have those adorable freckles that almost match Marius’ slightly ginger hair. This guy is taller than her best friend, with slightly wavy blond hair kept in a short ponytail at the base of his neck. His eyes are narrowed, so she can’t really tell what color they are. He looks furious with her. 

“My head hurts,” she groans, gently sitting up. “I don’t know where Marius is, but I’m sure he’s around. Or you can leave a message. I’m going back to sleep.” 

She pulls at the blanket again, only to stop when her bleary eyes catch sight of something that she certainly did not notice when she climbed the fire escape last night: there is a gorgeous cabinet where the TV should be. It’s all vintage looking and she has got to ask Marius where he got the damn thing. 

Only, not a single place of furniture in the apartment looks familiar. The couch is much more comfortable – and probably much more expensive – and she is clutching the softest blanket that has ever touched her skin. There are bookcases everywhere, made of dark wood, and some of the cases are in the exact spot where Marius keeps his stupid PlayStation – even though she beats him every time, he still likes to play. 

He would never get rid of that damn thing, not for any girlfriend. 

Well fuck. 

“I broke into the wrong apartment, didn’t I?” she wants to facepalm badly. 

How did that even happen? Sure, she was pretty damn drunk, but she cannot have been drunk enough to enter the wrong apartment. She knows the route to Marius’ place by heart, and the window was slightly open as usual. Keys are too complicated when she’s drunk, because she has ruined many a key or a lock with drunken stupidity. It’s why Marius refuses to give her a new one until she gets her life together. 

“Who are you?” the blond guy is still gripping the bat tightly. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know Marius Pontmercy?” she avoids the topic. “Cuz I really thought this was his place.” 

Giving her name to a stranger is a bad idea, but this stranger could get her into a lot of trouble, seeing as she basically broke into his apartment and helped herself to some of his stuff – she is wearing his seriously high-quality shirt, and nothing else. It is making her feel kinda sexy, to be honest, and that is not a feeling she usually relates to hung-over mornings. But her legs are bare and tanned as she slips them from underneath the soft blanket – and she watches this stranger get more and more flustered as she reveals more and more skin. 

She’s got some kickass legs, so she’s gotta flaunt them – not just to distract the cutie from filing charges, but also because she doesn’t often get to feel this sexy. The urge to vomit has pretty much passed, so she has no problems standing up, facing the stranger with what she hopes is a sultry smile on her face. 

“But I really like this a lot better than facing an angry best friend,” she grins. 

With a final peck to his cheek, she is out the door, holding her stinking clothes at a distance, hoping to figure out how she ended up at the stranger’s apartment. And trying to figure out how she can ‘accidentally’ end up there again. 

e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e

Her drinking habits have improved a little after that night – ‘cause she’s sure the next stranger won’t be so nice about it. She kinda wants to keep her record as clean as it’s gonna get, so anymore accidental break-ins would not be a good idea. 

Seriously, if she’s ever gonna finish up grad school (so fucking expensive), she’ll have to stay on the right side of the law. Seriously, no one is gonna trust her with kids if her record gets any worse than it already is. Some minor infractions from her wild teenage kicks aside, she’s being doing pretty well. She shouldn’t fuck that up. 

So she only goes out drinking on weekends now, and she takes either Marius or his new girlfriend – who knew he was dating her old foster sister? – with her as a chaperone, to make sure she gets home safe and doesn’t flash any more strangers her panties. 

Though she doubts that apartment guy minded all that much. 

She was wearing her good panties and everything; the ones without tears or holes in them, the ones that make her skin look tan and gorgeous. So if he did get an eyeful when she hightailed it the hell out of there…. Well, she committed a stupid crime, but she did look gorgeous when making her escape. At least there’s that. 

Really, she’s been waiting for the cops to arrive at her place every day now, and it’s been about a week without so much as a word. No flashing lights or angry beat cops, no hostile knocks on the door – at least not from anyone looking for her. Her roommate has managed to piss off some sorority girls, which was entertaining for a little while. 

Since they’re both grad students, they should not be involved in this petty shit. But it’s just so fucking entertaining. 

So it’s with a bounce in her step that she walks into the seriously boring office building that happens to house the law firm Marius works for. Sure, in a few years she might work in a boring office of her own, but there’d better be some really fucking awesome decorations to make things bearable. 

There’s a ridiculous amount of security present, but they don’t make her feel a damn bit safer about Marius’ employment at a firm that has a reputation for taking on controversial cases. She sneaks past all the men with ease, making a note to tell Marius that the lobby is totally not safe. At all – because let’s be real, if a retired petty thief can sneak past these people, dangerous people can do so as well. 

On her way upstairs, she takes a flying leap into a mostly empty elevator of which the doors are about to close. She makes it just in time, landing against a hard surface that feels surprisingly like a man’s chest. 

Her good day just turned into a great one. 

“Thanks for catching me,” she grins before extricating herself. 

“It’s you!” the man in question speaks. 

She looks up – well fuck! It is the guy from last month, the one whose apartment she broke into during her quest to get drunk every single night of the week. That epic quest had to be discontinued after that night – because breaking and entering is bad, mmkay? 

“Shit,” she is eloquent as usual. 

This kind of coincidence is ridiculous? What even are the odds of running into him a second time, especially a second time when looking for Marius? She is sure one of Marius’ brainiac friends could calculate that for her. But that’s so not the point, because right now she just really needs an exit plan. 

Getting arrested again would be really bad – it would ruin the excellent streak she’s been on since she started being a good girl in senior year of high school. 

“Please don’t have me arrested,” she decides to just come out with it. 

They are the only two people in the elevator, and she only has about seven floors to convince him. And since this elevator is shooting up way too fast, that does not leave her with that much time to get persuasive. 

“It was an accident,” she tells him, hands moving frantically. “Your apartment is like, exactly where my friend’s is, only one building to the left. Total drunken accident!” 

With one eye on the doors, she tries to guess just how much time she has left before she can make her escape. Ten seconds? Fifteen? Maybe twenty if she is really unlucky and other people need to join them in awkwardness. 

When the elevator finally stops on the right floor, she jumps out, trying not to trip over her own feet as she makes her escape. 

Guess this is the last time she’ll pick up Marius at work. 

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Supposedly the guest lecturer is this brilliant mind who graduated from high school at age 16 and managed to get through college and law school so fast that he’s one of the best and the brightest in the law world before his thirtieth birthday. Nobody is telling her his exact age, but he should not be that much older than the students. 

And while she hopes the class is actually interesting, she mostly just hopes that the guy is hot. She needs someone else to think about other than the guy whose apartment she broke into – she should not still be thinking about how hot he was and about his shirt that is still hiding in her closet. 

Yeah, she might actually keep that, like the pathetic weirdo she is. 

Anyway, so, this guest lecture. She doesn’t technically have to be here, but she figures her presence might appease the professor – because she’s been a bit absent in classes lately. She blames the guy she burgled. The shirt totally counts as stealing. 

That just makes it worse. Great. 

“Welcome everyone,” the professor wears a smug grin. “I want to introduce Gabriel Enjolras, graduate of this very university and now a prominent lawyer at Chandler, Finn, and Smith. He will be speaking today on his experience with family law.” 

She looks up just in time to see familiar eyes boring into hers – of course it’s the same guy she was just thinking about. Of course she actually accidentally broke into the apartment of a sort of famous lawyer. Well, fuck. 

There goes her career. 

“Thank you for having me, professor Mendez,” he has to acknowledge their leader. “I know that the details of law might not be to your particular interest in this class, but I will try to focus on the cases that be most relevant to you as a class.” 

Now she has to remain focused on this lecture – because she really is interested in family law – while hoping she can escape immediately after this class. And at the same time, she has to try not to be too obvious about her drooling over his stupid physique that she should not be focusing on. 

Seriously, somehow she noticed his looks that first time, and apparently her drunken/hung-over memory is much better than she ever imagined it to be, because she has been unable to get him out of her head ever since that moment. The wavy hair, still in a ponytail. The eyes that might be gray or blue depending on the light. 

He is still the same and she can’t stop staring like a stupid, naïve high school girl.  

Maybe she should just get all the staring done while she still can – she doubts that the police officers he is undoubtedly sending her way after this will be as visually appealing as he is. Shit, she is so totally fucked, and not in the good way. 

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When she finds him in her favorite chair at her favorite coffee shop, she is seriously fucking tempted to back away slowly and just go on without her desperately needed dose of caffeine. Seriously, if he hasn’t had her arrested yet, she can’t keep tempting him to do so by showing up everywhere he is. 

Not that she is doing that on purpose, but karma is a fucking bitch, and she has clearly pissed off that bitch one too many times. 

But really, if she has to deal with an all-nighter for that fucking paper she should have gotten started on days ago, she is going to need that coffee. And this is the only place around that actually has decent coffee for a decent price. 

So she might just have to face the beast. 

“Funny running into you here,” she decides to just walk up to him and get the awkward encounter over with. “Enjolras, was it?” 

She does have the advantage of knowing his name when he does not know hers. Sure, giving him custody over the shirt would be going too far – it is just so damn comfy – but she is going to at least try to be nice to him. 

“Éponine,” he acknowledges her and she tries not to look too flabbergasted. 

It is taking everything for her to keep her mouth shut and not ask him just how he knows her name. As far as she knows, they are complete strangers. Heck, the only reason she knows his stupid name is because he is semi-famous in his field. There are no such honors attached to her name, so it makes absolutely no sense for him to know anything about her other than her terrible drinking habits. 

“Well, I think we’ve moved past mere coincidence at this point,” she waves at ‘Chetta behind the counter, trying to keep things light and pleasant. “Once is awkward, two is a coincidence, and three is a pattern. We’re at accidental meeting number four.” 

Maybe they should just talk things through, get the awkwardness – and inevitable arrest – out of the way. Because if things keep going like this, next week she is going to find him in her dorm room, talking to her roommate like they’re old friends. That is how Bizarro World her life has gotten since she first met him. 

“I doubt this will be the last one,” Enjolras looks her in the eye ever so briefly before looking away again. “I do work at the same firm as your friend Marius. I assume our paths are bound to cross again because of him.” 

She can be civil if he is too – well, shit, not that civil is the right word here. 

“I promise not to have you arrested,” he adds, and she takes a relieved breath. 

“That’s all I ask of you,” she awkwardly quips. 

Because he damn well discombobulates her, she is off like a shot, snagging her coffee from ‘Chetta and tossing a crumpled bill at her friend that hopefully covers at least some of her outstanding bills. No time to talk, no time to even look at her friend or that damn guy again before she is out the door and on her way. 

Dwelling on how he flusters her would just be a bad idea. It’s not just the threat of arrest that was hanging over her head until now, it’s just how she can never be composed around him. 

Well, clearly she’ll have to learn, because karma still has a bone to pick with her. 

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Azelma’s clunker stands out a bit in the midst of the drive-in, but they’re paying that no mind. And why would they, when Casablanca was about to start on the biggest screen they’d ever been able to watch it on? 

Of course, the minute the lame previews start and her attention starts to drift, she spots a familiar figure a few cars over. His blonde hair is still in that ponytail, and he is dressed a little too formally for a night spent watching a movie in his car. 

He’s everywhere she is, so why not here? 

“I told Courf to meet me here,” Azelma is so very late to mention. “You won’t mind entertaining his friend, right? If he’s super boring, you can always ignore him to watch the movie.” 

Ever since Azelma and Courfeyrac (what even is his first name?) started getting serious, she’s been bailing on sister time for her damn boyfriend. Really, Eponine should have known when Azelma agreed to the outing without concern for a night spent away from her boyfriend – because she wasn’t going to be apart from him. 

“Fine,” she huffs. 

At least she’ll always have Paris. 

“His name is Gabriel something,” Azelma continues. 

Seriously? Does karma hate her that much? Is that still a thing? Does she really have to run into him everywhere? 

Not that she doesn’t want to see him – she is very appreciative of the visual he presents – but to be forced to see him and have it be so awkward every single time is not really her idea of fun. Somehow she always comes across as such a complete mess when he’s around, and he seems all too put together. For once, she’d like to see him on her terms, when she’s ready for him. 

She’s sure she can make his jaw drop a time or two, leave him discombobulated for once – she can be pretty and funny and impressive. Well, for twice maybe, because she did leave him kind of stunned and in awe when she ran out of his apartment half naked. Maybe nudity is what it takes to surprise him. 

“Courf, baby,” Azelma is already all over him – no surprise there. 

Gabriel Enjolras is trying really hard to avoid getting in the way of the way too amorous reunion. Luckily for him, Azelma and Courfeyrac appear to be heading in the direction of his car. Only, that does leave Enjolras with Eponine. 

“We meet again,” she grins.  

“So we do,” he is not a man of many words right now. 

Well, she can deal with that. She climbs back into Azelma’s car, motioning for him to follow – she doesn’t want to miss the movie. 

“This does explain why Courfeyrac suddenly wanted to see Casablanca,” he mutters as he climbs into the passenger seat. 

He has to slide the seat backwards quite a bit, and she is trying not to be too obvious about how she’s eyeing him. He’s just so tall, and he’s looking handsome, and if they’d met any other way, she might have tried to make something out of it. But not even the great Eponine Thenardier can make burglary into a meet-cute, right? 

“If you’re saying you hate this movie, I’ll kick you out of this car,” she warns. 

She is not even joking much. 

“I could never hate a true classic,” he quickly replies. 

“Good,” she grins. “And I promise not to steal anything this time.” 

Why not make a joke out of it? He already said he wouldn’t report her, so it’s time to let it be an inside joke instead of a source of anxiety. 

“Sounds like a plan,” he’s smiling too. 

And then they’re quiet, listening to the movie and trying to pretend they aren’t looking at each other. She’s sneakier about it than he is, but even the great Eponine Thenardier gets caught sometimes. 

If they keep getting thrown in each other’s paths, why not enjoy it? 

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It’s been a whole week since the drive-in, and she hasn’t seen him. She hasn’t accidentally run into him at the coffee shop again, she hasn’t been by to visit Marius at his office, and clearly the universe is sick of throwing them at each other. And that sucks, because it chooses to quit just when she actually wants to run into him. 

She had a great time at the drive-in. He didn’t try to talk through the movie, and he snuck back to Courfeyrac’s car to get them some snacks that technically weren’t quite allowed. When she teased him about her being a bad influence on him, he went with it, displaying a sense of humor she hadn’t seen much more than a glimpse of before. She was intrigued, even more so than before. So here she is, standing in front of his door on a Friday night, hoping he’ll actually be home. Actually, she is pretty sure he will be home, but she is just unsure if he will want to see her again. He didn’t ask for her number after the movie, so clearly he isn’t interested in her the way she is in him. 

Ugh, this feeling is so disappointing for a badass such as herself, but she is going to power through it. 

The doorbell sounds, and she waits for a response, awkwardly holding the newly washed shirt. She hates that she has to return it, but if he’s not interested, it might be for the best. It would be too awkward to have a random shirt belonging to him at her house, especially if their paths crossed again in the future. They probably will, knowing how the universe likes to mess with her.

“Eponine,” Enjolras is smiling when he opens the door. 

“Gabriel,” she has to grin in return. “I came by to bring back your shirt.” 

Or, actually, she is using that shirt as a damn good excuse. Hopefully he’ll see right through her and appreciate the effort. Ugh, she is so beyond wishful thinking, but he’s making her. 

“It probably looks better on you,” he says. 

And then he blushes, making her think that he really did not mean to let that slip. It’s a very good sign, and the blush is actually working for him. 

“Do you want to come in?” Enjolras recovers quickly. 

She walks in without another word – because did he really think that she was going to say no to that? 

When she walks back out the next morning, she is wearing the shirt. 

At least this time she didn’t have to sleep on the couch.

#enjonine #enjolras x eponine #you are my revolution #my stories #hihiyas #suck it haters #I'm spite writing

[somanydestiel]

Apartment 5B

Prompt: Having just moved into a new apartment, Dan is worried that his piano playing is bothering his new neighbors until a note slips under his door requesting a song. (Taken from @phanfic)

Tags: Pianist!Dan, celebrity!Dan, parent!Phan, youtuber!Phil, dad!Phil, angst//WARNING Death mention

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Moving to London is a big change for Dan; he’s lived in a small town his whole life, but he recently got a record deal and was told by the label to come to the capital. Dan knows he’s a good singer, but he still doesn’t think he’s that good. Now that he’s moved in, though, he has a week to write and present his first song to the producer. The man's name is Tyler Oakley, an eccentric from the United States who backed some of their biggest musicians. He’s a little afraid that playing his music at all hours will wake the neighbors, but Dan’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it. So Dan finds himself at sitting in front his piano at eleven every night with tea and his notebooks open. He has lyrics written, and now he’s writing an accompaniment and making a tune. He stays up until three in the morning making a first draft and promptly falls asleep.

He spends all day the next day, and the day after that making music, carefully ensuring he doesn’t lose his voice but pouring everything he has into the music. On the fourth day, he takes a break from singing and playing to finish some paperwork and emails for the online job he still has as a back-up plan. At about noon, Dan’s about to go out grocery shopping so he can cook instead of eating out, when he notices a note that appears to have been pushed through his mail slot.

I like your voice. Do you know “Hey There Delilah?” I know it’s an American song and not really a piano song but if you do could you maybe play it for me? I understand if not but if you do I’ll be eternally grateful.

-The single dad in 5B who thinks you’re cute

Dan smiles and immediately returns to his piano, looking up the song on youtube and getting the sheet music. After about ten minutes, he thinks he knows the melody for his voice, so he prints the music and starts playing. It’s a cute song, and Dan finds himself getting lost in it. He plays it three times to make sure he’s got it right, and then finally leaves to get his groceries.

When he gets home, Dan sees a plate of cookies with saran wrap over them with a note on them. It holds nothing more than a smiley face and a crookedly written 5B. It must be from the single Dad’s kid(s). Smiling, Dan brings the cookies inside and sets them on his counter while he puts away his groceries away.  After trying a cookie and thinking about his life choices, Dan writes a note of his own and sends it next door.

Ten minutes give him a response, and three hours find Dan’s doorbell ringing while he’s standing at the stove, cooking.

“Just a minute,” he yells, and sets down his spatula to run to the door. Opening it reveals a man just a bit shorter than Dan with bright blue eyes, dark hair, and a brilliant smile. Clinging to his leg is a little boy with a mop of curly brown hair and green eyes.

“Phil and PJ, right?” Dan asks.

Phil puts his hand out to shake Dan’s with a slight giggle. “Yeah. Dan?”

“The one and only. Come on, dinner’s almost ready.”

Their notes had been names and questions of if PJ and Phil like stir fry, which was met with a resounding yes. Dan plates the meal and asks what everyone wants to drink. PJ is overjoyed to drink soda, while Dan and Phil both stick with Ribena. Over the course of dinner, Dan learns that Phil’s a youtuber, PJ’s in the first grade and turning seven in a month, and that they both like anime, baking, and gaming. Dan also tells them that he does some legal work for a friend for money, and that he’s recently got a record deal. After dinner Dan shows PJ the playstation while he and Phil both wind up doing dishes.

“I’m getting us a playstation for his birthday. He loves all games, and all we have is the old original Wii because I haven’t been able to get him anything else,” Phil says, drying off one of the plates Dan hands him. “Thank you for dinner, by the way.”

“It’s not a problem. Figure I should be nice to my cute neighbors, yeah?

Dan thinks he imagines the blush on Phil’s cheeks at the comment. “So, your record deal- singing or piano?”

“Both. Videos- vlog or gaming?”

“Vlog, mostly.”

Their conversation flows easily between what games they like, education, TV shows, movies, and everything in between long after the dishes are done, until Dan asks a question he shouldn’t: “Where’s PJ’s mom?”

“She died in childbirth,” Phil says quietly, and looks at Dan with a sad smile. “She was really pretty, with this dark, curly hair, bright green eyes, and she was so smart and she had this laugh that could light up a room. It was her or PJ, and she chose PJ.”

“I’m sorry,” is all Dan can manage to say, pulling Phil into a hug out of instinct. Sure, they’ve known each other less than a day, and it should be weird, but it isn’t. Dan’s arms seem to fit perfectly around Phil’s waist, and his chin falls on top of Phil’s hair perfectly. They stay that way for a moment until PJ barrels into the kitchen and they jump apart like teenagers caught making out.

“I’m tired,” PJ complains, pulling on Phil’s shirt in annoyance. A glance at the time confirms that it is, in fact, about eight in the evening, when PJ obviously is used to going to be much earlier.

Phil scoops PJ up off the floor and balances him on one hip with half a smile.

“I was wondering if maybe Friday night, you wanted to do dinner, just the two of us?” It takes a moment for Dan to formulate a response, which makes the smile drop off of Phil’s face. “I misread this, I’m sorry, I’ll just-”

“No, that sounds great, actually. How does six sound?”

“Six sounds great, I’ll get a babysitter for PJ.”

That dinner was Wednesday, and Dan finds himself working harder on the song he’s been drafting about love. It was supposed to be about the love between a child and a mother anyways, but it’s become a child and a father because Dan can’t stop thinking about Phil. Maybe the date will go well, maybe it won’t, but he’s proud of his music and excited to present it to Tyler tomorrow. For now though, Dan’s deciding whether to wear his moth button down, his dark red one, or the grey one. He settles on the dark red because he likes the way it fits him best. He pairs it with black skinny jeans, converse, and straightens his hair. Humming to himself, Dan shoves his wallet and keys into his pocket and scrolls through his phone, waiting for six o’clock to arrive.

He walks to apartment 5B and rings the doorbell at 5:59, and the door is opened almost immediately, revealing Phil in a light turquoise button-up that makes his eyes pop, and the same dark skinny jeans as Dan. They share a quick laugh, and then leave after Phil bids his goodbyes to PJ. As much as he hates to admit it, Dan doesn’t know the city too well, so he asks Phil to choose a restaurant. Eyes twinkling, Phil says it won’t be fancy, but it’ll be fun.

This is how they wind up eating in a cozy diner that plays smooth jazz and serves strange burgers. The waitress accidentally spills Phil’s coffee and he jumps to help. Both of them tip her heavily because she was obviously exhausted after a long shift. They argue over who should pay (Phil wins) and then wind up walking to a book shop because neither want to go home yet. Dan likes to read, sure, but he’s not a huge book nerd, although he decides it might have to change as he watches Phil excitedly run his fingers over the spines of the Stephen King novels.

Time flies by until it’s two years later, Dan’s gotten a platinum record, and he’s been going steady with Phil. They haven’t moved in together, but it’s right around the corner, and Phil’s been thinking of proposing. He tells Dan on a Thursday night after sex in his bed in apartment 5B.

“I want to marry you,” Phil says, hand lazily carding through Dan’s curly hair. “I can’t imagine life without you, and let me tell you, neither can PJ.”

“Phil,” Dan says quietly.

“I mean it. PJ asked me this morning if he can call you dad.”

“Phil.”

“I know that money’s kinda tight but we could do it. I’ll buy an engagement ring and propose to you properly, and we can get married and-”

“Phil, I won’t be here in a week.”

Phil shoots straight up in bed, staring at Dan with wide eyes. “What?”

“It’s- Tyler planned a tour for me, and I’m supposed to leave in six days. It’s all over the UK and it’s for three months and he wants to do a European tour too.” Dan grabs Phil’s hands and plays with his fingers. “I get to live my dream, but I’ll be gone. He wanted me to go on tour six months ago but you didn’t want me to go, so I stayed.”

“It’s summer, I’ll come with you, and I’ll bring PJ and we can-”

Biting his lip, Dan turns on the lamp so he can properly look at Phil. “That’s the thing, love, he doesn’t want anyone to know about you. Says part of my appeal is being young and available and most of my fanbase are girls, girls who need me to be straight and unattached.”

“Dan, I told you last time, I don’t want you to leave without me and PJ.”

“Phil, this is my dream, and Tyler’s giving me an opportunity. I can’t turn this down again.”

“You can’t, or you won’t?” Phil snaps. “What about us, Dan? You’re barely around as it is, I need you, and so does PJ-”

“Enough about PJ! He’s not my fucking kid!”

That was too far, and Dan knows it the second it comes out of his mouth.

“Get out,” Phil says, standing up and grabbing Dan’s clothes, throwing them back at him.

“Baby-”

“Don’t ‘baby’ me,” growls Phil. “Get the fuck out of my flat. Go on your fucking tour.”

“I will.”

Dan hurriedly pulls on his clothes and walks out, across the hall to his own flat. It’s cold and empty of Phil’s bright knick knacks and PJ’s toys, because all of his memories are with Phil, and they’re sitting in his room, untouched since Dan spends the night at Phil’s or in the living room more often than he doesn’t. In the corner of the room, Dan’s piano mocks him. He stalks over to it and starts writing, singing, filling the flat with the sound of his voice.

He works until he leaves for the tour, never once going to see Phil or messaging him, even though his heart is aching. Phil doesn’t want to see him, anyways, or at least Dan thinks Phil doesn’t want to see him. So Dan goes on tour, he’s gone for three months, and never gets so much as a vague tweet from Phil.

When Dan finally gets home at the end of summer, he picks up a bouquet of flowers from the florist and goes straight to apartment 5B, knocking on the door, even with his luggage still trailing behind him. The door opens to Phil, who throws his arms around Dan. “I missed you,” he whispers, pulling back and trying in vain to hide the tears on his cheeks. “I wasn’t sure you’d come back.”

“I’ll always come back,” Dan assures, and gives Phil the flowers. The night is spent with apologies and excitement and PJ talking Dan’s ear off. Before bed, Dan and Phil make love, and fall asleep curled around each other.

Things are great for eight months, Dan and Phil repairing their relationship and working hard. Dan goes to PJ’s graduation from Fifth Grade and cries with Phil. Then he’s asked to go on a talk show, and Tyler tells him not to mention Phil, which leads to another big fight.

“Are you ashamed of me or something?”

“No, Phil, of course not, but my career-” Dan argues.

Phil shakes his head. “Right, your career. I forgot, you’re married to the record label.”

“Really, Phil? I was at PJ’s graduation, I came to your and his birthday, I’m here when ever you need me.”

“You’re here when I need you?” Phil laughs. “During your last tour, my mother died, and you weren’t there. PJ wouldn’t leave his room and demanded to see you, and you weren’t there. I was falling to pieces, and you weren’t there.

“You need to choose Dan. What’s more important, us or singing?”

“That’s not fair,” Dan says, voice wavering. “If you love me, you won’t ask me to choose.”

“If you love me, you’ll choose me.”

“...”

“Dan, please,” Phil begs. “I know money’ll be tight, but I can find you a new job, we can make it work. I love you, please. Remember how we met? Remember how you sang for me and PJ and I baked you cookies and we had dinner together and… Dan?”

Dan’s pulling his coat on. “I’m going on that show, and I’ll say what I want. In a month, I’m leaving on a worldwide tour. I’ll be gone for a year.”

“Is this what you’re choosing?”

“This is what I’ve dreamed of my whole life, Phil,” Dan says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“If you walk out that door don’t you dare come back into my life, Daniel James Howell.”

Taking a deep breath, Dan grabs Phil’s waist and kisses him slowly. Then, while Phil’s eyes are still shut, he opens the door in apartment 5B and leaves.

Things get hectic for Dan, but he carries a picture of him and Phil with him wherever he goes, heart aching. Before Phil blocks him on twitter, he sees all the tweets about Phil going back to college, and little updates about PJ’s life, his heart panging with greif. He chose wrong, but it’s too late. Dan throws himself into making every show perfect, and then at the last one, he tacks a song onto the end of his playlist, and asks for a piano.

“Now, I know that this song isn’t meant for piano,” Dan says into his mic, exhausted but trying to keep going for Phil. “But playing it on the piano was how I met the love of my life, a single parent with a little boy who lived in apartment 5B, and they mean the world to me. Obviously, the love of my life isn’t named Delilah, and doesn’t live in New York City, but this is what I can do. I chose singing, I chose this stage, over my two favorite people, and I doubt that this song will mean I’m forgiven, but I have to try. So, uh, I’m going to sing and play a cover of ‘Hey There Delilah’ by the Plain White Tees.”

The crowd is hectic, there’s so much screaming, so many questions of who this mystery girl could possibly be, and Dan ignores the sounds and the social media storm brewing. He doesn’t focus on anything but his voice, the keys, and how much he misses Phil. He doesn’t know it, but one of Phil’s friends tells him to tune into the live feed of Dan’s show. Just as Phil does, the camera zooms in on Dan’s face to capture the tears on his cheeks.

“A thousand miles seems pretty far, but they’ve got planes and trains and cars- I’d walk to you if I had no other way.”

Then Dan fucks up and changes the words.

“Phil, I can promise you that by the time when we get through, the world will never ever be the same…” he stops playing piano and everyone is silently watching. “And I’m to blame…”

While Dan finishes the song, trying to hold back sobs, Phil angrily shuts the computer down and calls a baby sitter. As soon as she arrives, Phil runs out of the flat.

Afterward, Tyler pulls Dan offstage to yell at him, his phone is blowing up and the audience hasn’t stopped screaming and tweeting since the song ended. By the time Dan gets back to his hotel, #FindPhilfrom5B is trending worldwide, as is #DantheFag. He fucked up, big time, and Dan curls up in his steamy bathroom shower to cry. When he gets out, Tyler is pacing, on the phone, obviously very angry.

“Goddammit, I gave you stardom, and this is all I asked you not to do! What the fuck were you thinking, Dan? I don’t think I can fix this!”

“I don’t care.”

Tyler tilts his head to the side. “Excuse me? You don’t care?”

“I don’t. I miss Phil, I wish I hadn’t come on this tour, I could be at home with Phil right now.”

Three weeks later, Dan goes back to his flat, and before he can talk himself down, he knocks on the door to Apartment 5B. A young woman with blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail answers it with a smile. “Can I help you?”

“Does- does Phil still live here?” Dan asks hesitantly.

“I don’t know anyone named Phil.”

She slams the door in Dan’s face, and he’s left to go back to his empty flat. His piano and everything in his room mocks him. He gave everything up for someone who doesn’t love him anymore. Dan grabs a bottle of wine and takes a drink straight from the bottle. For three hours, he sits at the dining room table, drinking, and drowning in his own sorrow. He passes out there, and doesn’t wake up until mid afternoon the next day, mouth tasting like cotton and a crick in his neck. At first, Dan wants to take another drink, but the bottle is empty, making him groan, and get up in search of aspirin for the hangover covering him like a wet blanket. He passes by his door, and sees a note on the floor in front of the mail slot. With shaking fingers, he reaches down and picks it up, carefully unfolding it. Come to think of it, Dan might have seen it last night but it didn’t register with him because of how upset he was.

I don’t live in 5B anymore, just so you know. I don’t have the same phone number either, and I’m still so fucking mad at you. If you want to talk, come over anytime. PJ’s staying with his Uncle right now, so he won’t know if anything goes south.

-The single dad who you cut out of your life.

At the bottom of the note is an address, and a hint of a smile twitches on his face. Dan puts the note on his nightstand and goes back to bed to sleep off his hangover.

The next day, Dan gets up, makes sure he looks presentable, and gets on the metro, keeping his head down. He shows up at Phil’s house with no flowers, no chocolate, nothing but an apology on the tip of his tongue. Before Dan knocks, Phil opens the door. His hair is messy and unkempt, glasses crooked, stubble unshaved and dark bags under his eyes.

“You look like hell,” Phil says, stepping out of the doorway to let Dan in.

“So do you.”

Phil doesn’t laugh, just walks to the lounge, which is brightly decorated, but feels fake.

“I’m going to talk first, and you’re going to listen, okay?” Dan nods. “Good. God fucking dammit, Dan, I gave you everything. You were the first boyfriend or girlfriend I had after PJ’s mom, and I loved you so much. You made me happy again, and even PJ saw it. He loved you too, he started calling you Dad instead of Dan and he asked me why you didn’t come to his eleventh birthday when you promised you would. He stopped asking where you were when you didn’t come to my birthday or Christmas and I had to tell my son that you left me. He asked if you were ever coming back and I had to tell him that I didn’t know and PJ had to comfort me as I cried. He made straight A’s all the time and learned the piano and played sports and tried to be perfect because he wanted you to come home and say you were proud of him.

“You chose stages and glamour over us and you left me alone, heartbroken, and didn’t once look back. Then, after a year of not talking, you pull a stunt like that at your show and I’m supposed to just forgive you? Kiss and makeup? You put me through hell, Dan, and I’m not going to let you do it again. I want to forgive you, but why should I? I’m not going to put PJ and myself through that again every time you jet off on a tour to perform for your adoring fans who can’t know about me!

“Did you know that for a month, I set a third plate at every meal out of habit? PJ made you tea every night for two. I still find your clothes mixed with mine. I changed my number and blocked you on social media so you wouldn’t call because I knew I’d do something stupid like take you back, and then I heard you were home in your same old flat, and I didn’t know what I was doing until I pushed that paper through the door. Dan, let me ask you something.”

“Anything,” Dan whispers.

“I know I shouldn’t have asked you to choose, it was a shitty thing to do, but I need to know before I can even begin to think of forgiving you; if I made you choose between me and your career right now, what would you choose?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Phil stares Dan in the eyes, fists clenched at his sides. “Yes it does.”

Dan reaches for Phil’s hands and winces when he flinches away from Dan’s touch. “It doesn’t matter because I’ve already chosen.”

“And?”

“I chose you. I know I messed up, but let me make it better,” Dan pleads.

“We’re starting over,” Phil eventually says, after a long pause where neither of them speak. “I’m giving you a second chance, but we’re starting from the beginning.”

“Does that mean I get to take you on another first date?” Dan asks.

“Yes. If it goes well, maybe you’ll get a second.”

“And a tenth.”

“Maybe eleventh,” Phil adds, coming closer to Dan and sticking his hands in Dan’s back pockets to pull him closer. “I hear twelve is when you get laid. Or is it thirteen?”

Dan laughs at that. “Is it inappropriate to kiss you before the first date?”

He doesn’t give Phil a chance to answer because Dan’s lips are on his, warm, familiar and comforting.

Things are tough for a long time, and Dan still hasn’t seen PJ. Both Dan and Phil decided they weren’t going to tell him until they knew for sure that it would be okay. Dan's started giving piano lessons for a living, and his apartment slowly feels like home again, not just where he sleeps when he can't be with Phil. Their relationship is tame, and both like it that way. When they decide to tell PJ, who’s twelve now, it’s because Phil asked Dan to move into their flat, and they make arrangements to meet Dan at an ice cream parlor after PJ’s school gets out. It's been half an hour, and Dan isn't there.

“Who’re we waiting for?” He asks, taking a bite of his third ice cream.

Under the table, Phil's texting Dan to ask where he is. “My boyfriend. He and I have to tell you something.”

“I finally get to meet this mystery man?”

“I don't know if he'll show up, at the moment. Or if he'll still be my boyfriend.” Once again, Phil feels like Dan's chosen to leave him. His heart is in two because he thought Dan would be his this time, but he has nothing, nothing but regret at his forgiveness.

PJ's about to say something else when Dan scurries into the shop, hiding his face in his hoodie.

“Dad- I mean, Dan?”

“Where the hell have you been?” Phil whisper yells, trying and failing to not make a scene.

Dan lifts his face to look Phil in the eye, revealing a bloody lip and a black eye. “I'm sorry, I don't- I don't have my wallet or my phone or anything and-” he coughs with a wince. “I'm sorry I was late.”

“Did you get mugged?” Dan nods slowly. “PJ, call the police for me. Where did this happen?”

Swaying on his feet, Dan starts to answer and then falls forward onto Phil, the back of his head sticky with blood.

“PJ,” Phil says slowly, holding Dan up to the best of his ability. “911. Now. Ambulance.”

The ambulance takes 31 minutes to arrive, during which Phil explains everything to PJ and hugs him while they both cry.

At the hospital, Dan's treated for a concussion from what they think was his head being slammed into a wall. Apparently he has bruises on his ribs too, but nothing's broken. The police never find the muggers or Dan's phone and wallet, and upon waking up, Dan apologises for the whole thing. There's a lot more crying in the hospital and a lot of talking and a lot of smiling.

Two months later find Dan and Phil engaged, and six months give them a house together in time for PJ’s 13th birthday. Another year brings marriage, tears and a honeymoon. Sitting on a beach, just the two of them, like any cliche movie. Phil offers Dan a cookie, which has a very familiar taste. It’s the same taste as the cookies that the single dad in 5B and his son cooked for Dan years ago.

It’s perfect.

#phan #phanfic #pianist!Dan #parent!Phan #PJ #somanydestiel

[roxy-davenport]

Eight Days of Winchester

Title: Eight Days of Winchester

Prompt: Jewish/Hanukkah/ For @saxxxology’s SPN Holiday Challenge

Word Count: 5,534 (Whoops)

Warnings: None

A/N: Fluff, Young Dean, Young Reader, Young Sam. This is told in the reader’s POV. I huge thanks to my beta @dr-dean for letting me pick your brain about Hannukah. You were a very thorough and awesome beta answering every single question I had. Thank you so much.

Also on A03

Day 1

 My mom invited this guy over to dinner. She barely even knows him but I can tell she likes him already. It’s been awhile since she found someone she liked. I promised her I’d be on my best behavior. She informs me the man has two very handsome sons -- she’s seen pictures apparently. I had an eye roll so epic I think my eyes actually rolled all the way back into my skull. But I put on my favorite dress just in case she wasn’t lying. I didn’t hold out much hope. My mom insisted the boys all come over and taste some good home cooking. The man, John I think she said his name was, said he wasn’t much of a cook and so mom insisted they come over. The holidays were supposed to be family time but I couldn’t hold it against mom. If this guy made her happy, I could give him a chance.

 Mom got out the Hanukkah menorah along with the candles. I always thought the menorah looked pretty with colored candles.

 “You remember why there are eight days to Hanukah, right?”

 I rolled my eyes yet again.

 “Yep, I remember. The eight branches represent the eight nights.”

My mother grilled me every year -- as if I could ever forget. Who needs religious classes when you got mommy dearest, right?

 “In Hebrew the word “Hanukkah” means “dedication.” The name reminds us that this holiday commemorates the re-dedication of the Temple in Jerusalem after the Jewish victory over the Syrian-Greeks in 165 B.C.E. The Syrian-Greeks had seized the Jewish temple and dedicated it to the worship of the god Zeus. The Jewish people resisted being forced to worship a false god and give up what it meant to be Jewish. If anyone practiced Judaism they would be given the death penalty. So Jewish rebels, the Maccabees, retook the temple to “purify” it by burning ritual oil in the Temple for eight days. They only had a small amount of oil which could only really last for only one day but surprisingly it lasted eight days so we now we celebrate that miracle. And because of this, the menorah in synagogues must always be lit; it must always have an eternal flame. You’re better than any religious school.”

 Mom chuckled.

 “The one candle that’s higher than the rest is called the Shamash, or helper candle, and that’s the candle you use to light the others.“

 My mom looked impressed that I actually remembered everything.

 “We have to light the candles right after sunset. If they’re late we’ll have to do it without them.” I told her hoping that we wouldn’t have to celebrate Hanukkah with strangers.

 “They won’t be late. I don’t know if John has ever taken part in Hanukah before.”

 “He’s not Jewish?”

 “No he’s not Jewish, but you should have seen his face when I asked him to celebrate with us. He was practically beaming. The poor man must be so lonely. It’s a shame his wife died. He’s such a good man. And besides, dear, we’re reform Jewish. If we were orthodox dating a goy (non-Jew) couldn’t be done.”

 My mother was so happy at sharing a tradition with a man she barely knew. Maybe my mom was as lonely as this John man. Maybe they could make each other happy. She was totally head over heels for the guy even though he didn’t see her an awful lot every month. This John character kept leaving to go off on “jobs.”

 Hello! Red flag right there, mom! He’s probably in the mob or a cheat. I mean how else could you explain the long absences? Maybe he even had another family somewhere. But I wouldn’t do anything until she came to the same conclusion. I’d play nice and get to know him until then.

 A ring at the door signaled their arrival. My mom tidied up her appearance, fixing her hair and her makeup. Mom opened the door beaming at John. I stood behind her my face not giving anything away. John smiled at me as he extended his hand to me.

 “You must be Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 “It’s nice to meet you, too, John,” I answered back somewhat sweetly.

 He had a firm handshake and a very friendly maybe too friendly smile. There was movement behind him and my eyes darted to behind his back. John introduced me to his sons, Sam and Dean. One was very shy and small but sweet. He shook my hand rather nervously might I add. The other boy was older and taller and he just winked at me. I shivered at the feeling, excitement coursing through my 18-year-old body. He spelled danger. And for me, a girl who never left the small town I grew up in or got into any trouble, this boy spelled a different, more fun kind of life. That wink spoke volumes to me.

 I haven’t even kissed a guy yet much less made out with one. Dean looked very experienced to me. I gulped nervously in his presence. Dean noticed and smirked back at me. Self-righteous prick. He was infuriating and sexy all at the same time. I never liked any of the boys in school. Then again boys like Dean never attended my school.

 Mom brought out the menorah and placed it on the table along with the kosher candles. Dean and Sam were intrigued to see what was going to happen. Dean of course took this moment to get closer to me this time his eyes roving up and down my figure. I rolled my eyes at him. This boy had only one thing on the brain. He was hot yeah but come on a girl needs more than just hotness. Or does she?

 Mother and I placed the candles in their respective places in the menorah. Mom used the match to light the Shamash, the candle in the middle first. I then took that candle and lit the one next to it before placing it back in the middle. My mom recited the blessings as a way to pay respect to God and our Jewish ancestors.

 “Adonai , shehekheyanu, v’kiyamanu vehegianu lazman hazeh.”

 You and your mother both said, “Amen” at the same time. Your mother smiled at you before addressing the guests at the table motioning everyone to sit down and eat.

 I could feel his eyes on me the entire dinner. To make matters worse my mom talked about me. I hate being the center of attention. I know it’s normal for moms to want to brag about their kids but with them? Ugh. At the mention of stellar grades, all eyes were on me. I looked down at the floor, blushing profusely.

 Sam perked up at the mention of good grades. He started engaging me in conversation about literature and homework. I went from being shy to outgoing in a couple of minutes. This Sam boy made me feel comfortable. I found out he wrote stories and so did I. He told me he would make sure to bring some of his next time when he saw me. I in turn promised to hand him some of mine. I was so excited to show someone my stories and read his. You can find out a lot about a person through what they choose to write about.

 Dean didn’t miss the exchange between his brother and me. He was making grumbly sounds throughout. I just chose to ignore his rather puerile behavior. He was probably grumpy that his brother was not only talking to me but responsible for my smile.

 As if that’s my fault. Dean got really moody and quiet, picking at the food on his plate. I liked Dean, I really did. I just bonded intellectually with Sam -- no biggie.

 I tried to engage Dean in talk about books or other things. I didn’t find anything in common with him, but I wanted to. I couldn’t explain it but I felt drawn to him like a magnet.

 “Thank you, John, for coming during the holidays. It’s nice to celebrate with more than just the two of us.”

 “It’s been awhile since I celebrated the holidays myself and I’m glad my boys can get some culture in.”

 Mom smiled at John before turning to me, handing me a present. I smiled at her. Dean raised his eyebrow at me.

 “We get one of these everyday.”

 Blushing I reached out to quickly grab the gift. I felt awkward opening it in front of everyone, but my mom’s warm smile egged me on.

 “Wait, you get eight days worth of presents? Dad, can we be Jewish?”

 “Dean!” John said forcefully in a hushed voice.

 I stuck out my tongue at Dean. He in turn rolled his eyes. On top of the present I got delicious little chocolates called gelt that looked like coins wrapped in a gold foil. The main present was THE game I wanted for my Playstation 4. Sam’s eyes went wide when he saw that. Dean groaned. They left soon after that, John saying that his boys needed some sleep.

 Day 2

 The second they came, mom ran to hug John and grab the menorah. Mom placed the candles in the menorah from right to left and then lit the shamesh, the candle in the middle. I then lifted the shamesh out of the menorah and lit one candle before passing the shamesh to Dean who lit another candle. Mom showed Dean where the shamesh belonged on the menorah.

 I started to blush at the intense stare he was giving me. Mother closed her eyes and started chanting.

 “Baruch Atah adonai Eloheinu Melech Ha’olam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvitav v’tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukah. Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech Ha’olam, she’asah nisim l’avoteinu, b’yamim haheim bazman hazeh.”

 Everyone said, “Amen.”

 We all smiled and took our respective seats at the table. The more I talked with Sam, the more Dean slumped in his seat across from me. Sam and I just had so many things in common. I had no idea why Dean was being so dramatic. I didn’t like his brother like that. Sam was cute but I wanted Dean.

 “Y/N. Could you pass me the…”

 “The potato latkes? Sure Dean.”

Dean nodded, “Yeah, those.”

 “They’re really good, right?”

 “Man, I could eat these every day.” Dean confessed.

 “Wait till you try my mom’s homemade cherry blintzes. They are out of this world.”

 Dean’s face lit up at the talk of food. It was then that I learned the way to his heart. Thankfully, my mom had taught me how to cook.

 I fell into an easy conversation again with Sam but took quick glances at Dean who always smiled back at me.

 After dinner was finished, I opened my present and found another PlayStation game. This time Dean didn’t groan. Instead he watched my face light up and he smiled. He wanted to stay and talk to me but his father insisted they leave. You gave Dean half of your chocolate gelt, 5 pieces to be exact.

 “For good luck,” I told him.

 He slipped one into his mouth closing his eyes as the taste.

 “This is delicious.”

 Dean couldn’t stop smiling as he waved good-bye to me.

  Day 3

 John didn’t come today. He said he had to take the boys a few towns over to their aunt who had just given birth. Of course, I understood and my mom and I were happy for the new baby in their family. But I missed Dean. It wasn’t the same without him. I barely knew him and I missed him already.

 I lit the menorah adding another candle. I looked at the candles seeing just candles. When Dean was there, they looked like amazing lights. They made his face sparkle almost. He seemed so fascinated by the whole ritual. I was swept up in how he saw it.

 I sat there with my mom talking about school, nothing important but she noticed I was a bit apathetic. I didn’t smile like I did when Dean was there.

 I ate my chocolate by myself opening my present and smiling. It was the DVD of a movie I was dying to see. I was overjoyed and ran to my room to watch it, forgetting about Dean for the moment.

 Day 4

 I literally ran home from school smiling, only to find two place settings on the dining room table and not five. No Dean tonight, either.

 I went through the motions again lighting another candle and saying the prayer. Hannukah wasn’t as much fun without Dean.

 I was starting to get worried that maybe John had really left town not just away on a visit. He said he would be back by now. He called mom when we were having dinner and assured her that the boys would be there the next day. He sounded sure on the phone so I chose to believe it, looking forward to the possibility of seeing Dean.

 The present I got was a gorgeous silk scarf, the kind my mother said I had to be older to wear. I guess I was old enough.

 “I see the way you face lights up when he’s here. I see the way he looks at you. As much as I hate it, my baby girl is growing up.  And older girls need nice scarves, grown-up scarves. Dean is a fine boy to pick by the way.”

 I blushed and looked down at the ground. Mom smiled and kissed my forehead. I fall asleep with a smile on my face knowing that tomorrow Dean would be there.

 Day 5

 The second the door opened I looked over at Dean. He looked exhausted and he had a cut on his cheek. He was wearing long sleeves but he kept itching his arm. I glanced down when he lifted it up a bit to scratch noticing a deep cut. He followed my gaze and covered up his arm quickly. His father glared at him, which made Dean shrink. John then looked my way but I ignored the patriarch and instead hugged Dean. He was surprised by my actions before he hugged me back slowly, tentatively as if I’d run away. After a few seconds he smiled and sighed into my arms. I stepped back and looked sheepishly at him. He winked at me and whispered in my ear before walking into my apartment, “I’m fine, honey. It’s just a cut.”

He looked me up and down and I did the same.

 The two of us didn’t notice what our parents were doing or saying. We were in our own world. Dean only noticed that they were holding hands so he reached out to hold mine smiling at me. Sam cleared his throat feeling awkward. Dean tried to withdraw his hand not wanting to make his brother feel awkward but I grabbed onto his hand and wouldn’t let go. I turned to Sam and handed him one of my stories.

 “Oh man I’m so sorry I--.”

“No need to apologize, Sam. You’ll bring them when you can. I’d love to know what you think of my story. I really hope you like it.”

 “I would be happy to read it. Thanks.”

 I nodded at Sam who suddenly seemed to be more comfortable in the room. Dean smiled at me noticing the change in his brother.

 Mom lit the shamesh and you and Dean were tasked with lighting the rest of the candles. You divided up the task moving from left to right. Mom said the prayer, which always ended in a unison, “Amen.”

 The two boys ate almost all the food on the table. I stared at them confused. Didn’t their father feed them? I mean mom was a great cook but really?

 As I did every time, I gave half of my chocolate to Dean. He shook his head but I placed it in his palm and closed his fingers around it.

 “I’m Jewish, Dean. This is my thing. I get Hanukah gelt every year. There are 10 pieces here. Share it with me. Your family never gets them. Enjoy it.”

 Sam raised his eyebrows at me about to say something but Dean made a face and Sam backed away. He looked away sheepishly. Dean looked down at the chocolate in his hand and gave Sam two of his pieces. Sam’s face light up, his fingers anxiously ripping off the gold fold and putting them both into his mouth. His eyes grew wide tasting how delicious they were.

 I opened my present to find one of your favorite books, The Girl Who Owned the City.

 “You like books?”

 I looked over at Dean confused by his comment. So he doesn’t like books? Who doesn’t like books, I wondered. “This isn’t just any book Dean. This is a book about a virus that wipes out all the adults leaving children to run the world. It’s a feminist apocalypse sci-fi book. You should read it. You might like it.”

 “I’m not too big on horror or apocalyptic worlds. This world is scary enough.”

 I frown at his comment. That’s a bit dark for a 19-year-old to say. What kinds of things had he seen? Before I can ask what he meant, his father suddenly pushes Dean out of the door. I put the offhanded comment out of my mind not thinking anymore about it.

 Day 6

 We lit the menorah together before mom said the prayer.

 Dean’s eyes are on me during the whole dinner, completely distracting me and making me feel flustered. I didn’t notice the conversation John was having with my mother or how much closer they’d gotten. I do hear her laugh and it’s been so long since she even smiled.

 When I open my present I see it’s another video game I really wanted. I’m so happy and beg mom to let them stay over. Smiling she looked over at John silently begging him to say yes.

 When John nodded, the boys run up the stairs to my bedroom. I ran close behind them. I put the game in and immediately searched for multiplayer options. I handed Dean a black controller. He glanced at me like I was crazy.

 “You’re playing with us, Dean. Basically kick the bad guys asses.”

 “Oh honey, I can definitely do that. I have training in that.”

 Sam turns around and glares at his brother. Dean just shrugs. I watched the exchange completely confused.

 Reaching over Dean’s lap I place my hand on his controller. “You press this for a punch, this for a kick. This button is for a combo and this is to block.”

 Dean’s eyes glazed over at all the different buttons but once we started playing he got the hang of it, He cheered and groaned along with us. We were having so much fun we didn’t hear footsteps behind us. Mom told me that she found John just watching us. Creepy much? Mom joined in and they both watched us play games and smile. Even creepier. Thanks for telling me, mom. She even said, “When you’re a grown-up you’ll understand.” Whatever that means.

 Day 7

 Dean came to dinner dressed very nicely. I blushed when I saw him at the door. I was very happy that I had chosen a lace dress to wear.

 “I love a girl in lace,” Dean said suggestively.

 “And look at you. No more plaid lumberjack shirts but instead a leather coat and nice pants. You clean up nice, Winchester.”

 Dean blushed profusely and Sam laughed. Dean elbowed him to be quiet.

 Dean helped me light the menorah and even tried to pronounce the Hebrew words mom said.

 The second we sat down, Sam got my attention. He had a big smile on his face and a bunch of papers in his hands.

 “I just wanted to say that I love your stories, Y/N.”

 “Really?” you inquired, your eyes as wide as saucers.

 “Yeah they’re super creative. I brought mine this time.”

 “And I brought another story,” you added.

 “Awesome. I can’t wait to read it, Y/N.”

 “Same here, Sam.”

 The rest of the conversation with Sammy was about his stories. No one had ever taken an interest in your writing. I mean your mom did but she was your mom. That didn’t count. This was a boy taking an interest in you. I talked about the deeper themes in my stories and asked him about the themes in his writing.

 Dean didn’t feel jealous that I was talking to Sam. No moaning or growling from Dean’s side of the table. He simply beamed at me, happy and amazed that I could fit so well into his life.

 I watched him carefully after all the cryptic things he’d said in recent days. There was sadness in his eyes that night. I always thought it weird how I could read Dean so well. If soul mates existed maybe that would explain it. I don’t know how but I could feel guilt wafting off him in waves.

 This time I opened my small bag of gelt up and let Dean take as much as he wanted. Mom gave me my present, which I then shook trying to figure out what it was. It made a soft clicking sound.

 “A CD?”

 Mom shrugged.

 I tore open the wrapping paper and saw it was the album, Back in Black from AC/DC.

 “You love AC/DC?” Dean inquired.

 “Who doesn’t like classic rock?”

 “I’ve been trying to get Sam to enjoy more classic rock.”

 “I’d enjoy it more if you didn’t listen to it on repeat all the time.”

 Dean rolled his eyes.

 “Let’s listen to it upstairs?”

 I quickly nodded running up the stairs after him.

 “Door open kids.” Mom called out.

 “Yeah, Mom.”

 Sam took the hint and stayed downstairs. Glancing back, I saw him starting on his homework.

 The second that we got into my room I put on the album. I turned towards Dean. I was nervous so I closed my eyes and just listened to the music, letting it guide my movements. I danced in front of him occasionally opening my eyes to see Dean staring at me hungrily. He slowly walked me backwards into the wall. He put his hands on either side of my head as he looked down at me. I gulped trying to avoid eye contact. I was way too nervous for that so I stared at his chest. He carefully moved one of his hands from the wall to guide my chin up making eye contact with me.

 “Why so nervous, doll?”

 “I’ve never kissed a boy?”

 “Never? How is that possible? I would have thought boys would jump at the chance to kiss you.”

 “What school do you go to again?”

Dean chuckled. His hand slowly moved to my cheek as he caressed it. I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch.

 “That’s it, baby. Relax. I got you.”

 With my eyes still closed, I felt his face get closer and closer to mine, his forehead grazing mine. I felt his lips on my lips. Dean kissed me gently, carefully, almost reverently. He slowly moved his tongue inside my mouth cautiously playing with my tongue. My hands moved to his hair to hold him there. He took that as a sign and deepened the kiss, moving his tongue more inside my mouth. When we needed air he slowly disconnected his lips from mine. His thumb caressed my cheek. He stared into my eyes and I saw so much feeling there. He nibbled my bottom lip and my eyes fluttered closed.

 Dean and I heard a creak from the floorboards next to us. I saw him reaching into his pants to get what looked like a weapon out. Why does he have a weapon? His father cleared his throat and Dean’s hands fell suddenly to his side.

 “We gotta go, Dean.”

 Dean doesn’t argue with his father. I shivered silently at the harsh tone in which John speaks to his son. Before Dean leaves he kisses my forehead and smiles so mournfully. With several lingering glances he walked down the stairs away from me. John nodded at me and leaves quietly with the boys. I collapsed on the bed still high from that amazing kiss. If only John hadn’t interrupted us.

 Day 8

 Dean came over as usual. But everyone seemed uneasy, anxious even; their gaze never on me or my mother for too long.

 I lit the last candles for Hanukkah. Me, Dean, and mom said the Hebrew prayer.

 Dean looked at me sadly. I had no idea what was going on but with each passing second, I felt like I was dying. I could feel Dean pulling away. It was getting harder to breath.

 Moments later John shattered my world by saying that they had to move. I blinked continuously trying to blink away my tears, which Dean noticed. He looked more pained than before.

 The first decent guy to come along and make me feel amazing and then he has to leave? How cruel was fate?

 At that exact moment, the windows of my home were broken by some sort of creature. The creature was snarling at me. Mom ran away screaming. I stood my ground and started throwing things at it. Then I noticed another monster. The monster started barreling towards me. Dean acted fast tackling it to the ground. He gave the monster a hard kick making its head land painfully on the coffee table. Dean got up quickly grabbing you and ushering you into the kitchen.

 “We need silver. It’s a werewolf.”

 I didn’t ask any questions, I was beyond frightened and his voice commanded authority. I grabbed all the utensils and ran out into the living room with Dean. He threw two knives to Sam and John. I in turn threw a bunch of stuff at the monster, which distracted it. I clutched my knife focusing every ounce of strength I had into killing this werewolf. I thought about all the kids that teased me, all the bad stuff that happened, and channeled that anger. I pushed it backwards against the wall. I maneuvered under its claws and jammed the knife into its heart. It tried to scratch me as it was dying but I jumped high and rolled away from it.

 Everyone stared at me. John and Sam had already killed the other werewolf. Mom ran to me hugging and kissing me. The boys kept staring at me. I withdrew from my mother and walked over to Dean.

 “What the hell was that?” I nearly screamed at him.

 “I could ask you the same thing,” Dean answered back.

 “I take self defense classes, one. Two we lived in a very dangerous neighborhood when I grew up. So I learned how to fight at an early age. And three, I’m awesome. Thanks for noticing.”

 “Yes, you really are.” Dean said awestruck.

 Dean didn’t hesitate and grabbed the back of my head cramming his lips on mine. This wasn’t like the kiss before. This was passionate and rough. This was to show emotion, not to comfort a scared girl. I was no longer the scared, innocent, wide-eyes girl I was before. I grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him back just as passionately. My eyes fluttered open when his lips left mine.

 Dean practically growled.

 “I’m not leaving Y/N behind, dad. You saw what she did. I’m telling her and I’m not letting you out of my sight.” He said the last part to me holding my hand.

 John was about to say something when I spoke up.

 “Tell me what?”

 “Dean!” John warned.

 Ignoring his father Dean spilled the beans. “We hunt monsters. That was a werewolf. Our mom died from a monster, a demon actually and we as a family hunt monsters. We keep the world safe. And we have to leave. There’s a town two hours away. Five people have already died. It’s definitely a monster. Possibly a ghost. We can’t stay here. When dad said we were visiting our aunt that gave birth? That was a lie. We were on a ghoul hunt that took longer than anticipated.”

 “Your family hunts monsters?” It made sense. His cryptic comments; the sadness, the cuts, the gun, everything made sense now.

 “Yeah I know that’s--.”

 “Hunting monsters, saving people the family business…that’s awesome.”

 Dean was shocked.

 “And you want me to come?”

 “Yes Y/N I really do.”

 “Give me a moment. One moment.”

 I nibbled Dean’s lower lip before smiling back at him. I turn to my mom walking with her into the kitchen. She hugged me handing me a large book bag.

 “I heard everything honey. I may not like it but I know I have to let you go. You’re an adult now you can make you own decisions. I know how you feel about Dean and the way you fought. That was incredible. You weren’t afraid -- you acted decisively. I knew in that moment you would be leaving and I packed your favorite things. You are meant to go with them and save the world. John was never meant to be mine. I was meant to meet him so you could meet your beshert, the one you are fated to love, Dean. I’m terrified. It’s so dangerous but if monsters really do exist, someone has to protect people like me. You were meant for this Y/N. Go with them and know I love you always. You better call me regularly.”

 I cried as I held onto my mom. I never thought she would be so understanding. She was right, though, I belonged with the Winchesters.

 Dean was trying to stall. His father didn’t want to take me with them and they were furiously arguing. I could hear them all the way in the kitchen.

 I threw my book bag in the backseat and turned to Dean. “Thanks for stalling, Dean. Mr. Winchester, I know I’m only 18 but I choose this life and I don’t need a lecture from anyone. I am technically an adult. I planned on taking a few years off before going to college anyway. Get some life experience. I could have died from the Werewolf that must have followed you. I could have run away like my mom did and waited for you guys to swoop in, but I didn’t. We all could have died. Your sons included. But what happened? I saved everyone. And if you don’t take me, I’ll give Dean my number and go out on my own hunting monsters. Your choice.”

 “I can’t be responsible for you.”

 “You’re not, John. I’m responsible for me. I choose this life. This is my choice, come what may.”

 “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

 “So what? I go back to my normal life? Forget about Dean? Forget about how I feel? I can’t do that. You can’t ask me to do that. I finally find someone I care about and you rip us apart? I finally feel like I am meant to be somewhere and you tell me to go back to a sheltered life? Too late, Mr. Winchester. I belong here, I know how to fight and I promise you that I am making this choice. I don’t want to live an ordinary safe live and have a nine-to-five job. I want more. I want to be a hero like Dean.”

John groans, closing his eyes momentarily. When he opens them, they bore into you. It feels like he’s looking into your soul or something.

 I pointed to the house.

 “Go inside and speak with my mom, please. She has the right to send me with you. Please talk to her.”

 Dean grabbed his father’s arm pleading with him. “Y/N could do research. Only research. No hunting. She stays back. I will make sure of that. You, me, and Sammy go hunting.”

 I nodded agreeing with Dean. I would do anything to go with them.

 John looked between the two of us and then walked over to the house. John was in the kitchen for an hour arguing with mom while Dean and I were making out in the backseat of the car. Sam sat as far away from us as possible.

 By the time John came back, he sighed heavily looking back at the two of you. You stopped mid kiss looking back at him.

 “Well, looks like you’re an honorary Winchester Y/N. Call me John.”

 “Well John, my mom’s one stubborn lady when she decides something and so am I.”

 “I can see that.”

 “But you’re doing research. Dean will train you but no hunting until you can outsmart him and he’s been hunting since he was a child so that’s a tall order. No arguments or I’ll turn this car around. “

 “You’ll receive no arguments from me.”

 And just like I sped off to my new life as a hunter finally feeling like I belonged.

 Tagging

Forevers: @purgatoan, @killerofthesouth, @charliebradbury1104, @chaos-and-the-calm67, @chelsea072498, @everday-supernatural-af, @kalliravennee, @toogardenenthusiast, @winchesterprincessbride, @one-shots-supernatural, @take-me-tonirvana, @hellsmother, @ellen-reincarnated1967, @faegal04, @deals-with-demons, @mamaredd123, @atc74, @hamartiamacguffin

Dean Folks from my list: @ellen-reincarnated1967, @chaos-and-the-calm67, @buckymetallicstump, @faith-in-dean, @bennyyh, @ruprecht0420 @supernatural-jackles, @jesspfly, @webcricket

@aprofoundbondwithdean, @thing-you-do-with-that-thing, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @dr-dean, @nichelle-my-belle, @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid, @thegreatficmaster, @salvachester, @blushingsamgirl, @bkwrm523, @whispersandwhiskerburn, @lipstickandwhiskey, @impala-dreamer, @samsgoddess, @frenchybell, @scorpiongirl1, @for-the-love-of-dean, @cici0507, @fiveleaf, @deansleather, @curliesallovertheplace, @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname, @waywardjoy, @imadeangirl-butimsamcurious, @kayteonline, @supernatural-jackles, @idreamofhazel, @wevegotworktodo, @ilovedean-spn2 , @quiddy-writes, @wi-deangirl77, @deantbh, @mysaintsasinner, @chelsea-winchester, @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki, @fandommaniacx, @teamfreewillimagines, @deanwinchesterforpromqueen, @castieltrash1, @supernaturallyobsessed, @memariana91, @writingbeautifulmen, @captain-princess-rose, @plaidstiel-wormstache, @idreamofhazel, @revwinchester, @supermoonpanda, @ageekchiclife, @i-dont-know-how-to-write, @vintagevalentinexx, @ohwritever, @ruinedbydestiel, @winchester-writes, @mysupernaturalfics, @thinkwritexpress, @sammit-janet @bowtiesandapplepie, @itsemmyb, @ezauraemmaline, @matteson-crazed, @castielspahdehrah, @charliesbackbitches, @crzcorgi, @gryffindorable713, @deerlululucy, @walkingencyclopediaoffandom, @MrsJohnSmith, @manawhaat, @growleytria, @thegleegeneration, @samtomydeanwinchester, @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki, @i-never-said-a-pilot, @thewinchestielboys, @supermoonpanda, @sis-tafics, @amaranthinecastiel, @kittenofdoomage, @samanddeanwinchester67, @prettyxwickedxthings, @ferferelli @lilyoflothlorien, @myfand0msandm0re, @olitzisbae, @iridianuniverse, @the-morning-star-falls,  @shortandlongstories, @strange-inhumanity, @ackleslaugh @noisilyyoungpuppy, @fangirling-instead-of-working, @eyes-of-a-disney-princess, @chrisatplay, @kayteonline, @spnsimpleman, @faith-in-dean, @gimmethepieandnoonegetshurt, @for-the-love-of-dean, @mamaimpala, @winchesterfiesta, @zanthiasplace, @sleep-silent-angel, @pada-ackles-reads, @thing-you-do-with-that-thing, @gadreelsforbiddenfruit, @trenchcoats-and-bees, @curliesallovertheplace, @jencharlan, @not-so-natural-spn, @skybinx-blog, @thebunkerismyhome, @feelmyroarrrr, @beachy2014, @fandom-book-nerd, @tia58, @@sams-little-toy, @sunriserose1023, @saving-things-hunting-family, @winchesterswoonathon, @jotink78, @lucifer-in-leather,  @babypieandwhiskey, @howmanytuesdaysdidyouhave, @supernatural-jackles, @avasmommy224, @angelwingsandsupernaturalthings, @mysaintsasinner, @chelsea-winchester, @spn-fan-girl-173, @besslincoln-bruh, @wheresthekillswitch, @shelovesallthethings @maraisabellegrey, @notnaturalanahi

#dean x reader #fluffy dean #dean #dean winchester #dean fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #dean fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #fluffy dean winchester #dean x reader fanfic #dean x reader fanfiction #supernatural #spn #supernatural oneshot #spn oneshot #holiday dean #supernatural holiday #spn holiday #holiday dean winchester #hannukah #hannukah dean #hannukah dean winchester #john winchester #john #john winchester fanfic #john winchester fanfiction #reader insert #supernatural reader insert #spn reader insert #sam winchester

[samanthasroberts]

5 Things You Grew Up With (Your Kids Will Think Are Insane)

At this very moment you are living in the future that your ten-year-old self was pretty sure was going to be up to its nuts in robot butlers and cyber ham. Unless you’re ten right now in which case what the fuck? Your parents let you read this? I could literally start talking about dildos at any moment. I hope you go to them with any confusing questions you may have so they can assure you I’m not real and there’s no reason to take anything I say seriously. That aside, you’re also living in a time when today’s ten-year-old will have no idea what you went through to get to this point. Just look at all this non-dildo stuff that has been lost to history.

5

Phones Used To Buzz Into Your Earhole When Nobody Was On The Line

You have a phone, right? There’s a good chance you’re reading this on your phone. There’s a better chance you use your phone as a phone far less than you use it as a device to type and read making it kind of bizarre they bother to call it a phone when that’s probably third down the list of things it does. No one calls a cat a “sand shitter,” even though that happens more than you use your phone as a phone. But pooping in sandboxes aside, remember dial tones?

You probably haven’t considered this in a while, and if you still have a landline phone, maybe you still have a dial tone? I wouldn’t know, I don’t have a landline phone. But I know I don’t have a dial tone and legit haven’t heard one in years. Now imagine the kid born after 2010 who while vaguely aware of the concept of phones that have squiggly, pig-tail wires attached to them would have no idea why the damn thing drills a ceaseless robo-fart into your ear every time you pick it up. If a kid picks up a phone today and hears a dial tone, they’re going to assume it’s busted. Like bad busted, too, because it’s never made that sound before.

In days of yore when everything had to be plugged into something, the dial tone was a friendly reminder that your phone worked, because there was literally no other way to know your phone was working. It didn’t do anything. There wasn’t anything to look at or charges to adjust or battery life to keep an eye on. It was an ugly-ass lunch box with a plastic half brick you pressed to your flesh. The dial tone was the phone saying “Hey friend, why don’t you give grandma a call? Also waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!”

Those days are gone now and they never need to come back. The next generation is not just going to be unaware of a dial tone, they’re going to have to Google the term because it means nothing.

4

Credits Meant The Movie Was Over

When I was a kid, nothing sucked more than watching a movie on TV and waiting for the next show to start as the damn credits rolled. Nothing. Not war or famine or Full House. You watched the credits only because you wanted to see what was on that channel next and were too lazy to leave the room or, you know, live a life. If you’d rented a video, you pressed stop as soon as that first name started to scroll up because credits were how you knew the movie was over. Did all those people work hard to make this film? Sure, but I don’t know them or anything, they don’t need me to read their names. Your parents didn’t stick around to watch the school play after your part was over, they threw their beer cans on the floor, yelled at you to get off stage, and went the hell home.

Nowadays, thanks mostly to the Marvel Cinematic Universe, if you see a film in the theater you’ll notice that just about half the room stays as still as statues when the movie ends. For any comic-book or action-type film, and even some comedies, you want to stay put because surely there’s a post-credit bit of awesome, or some sweet bloopers running through the credits. The movie isn’t over when it’s over, it’s just dribbling away like those last vexing droplets of whiz after a night enjoying gimlets at the bar.

The future is going to be rife with movies that make you five minutes later for everything you do thanks to this phenomenon. Kids are going to be expecting it all the time and they will wait, reading the names of each and every gaffer, best boy, and second-unit caterer from Quebec where they filmed all those Bigfoot-takes-a-forest-bride sequences. I showed my niece The Goonies and she asked me to turn it back on after I stopped the Blu-ray so she could see the final scene. It’s in their heads and there’s no getting it out. But also, don’t you wish there was a post-credit scene in The Goonies and it was just Corey Feldman singing “Ascension Millennium” with Chunk and Sloth? Because I wish that.

3

Phone Anxiety

There are two kinds of teenagers in the world. There’s the kind who are self-assured, know everything, and are featured in PSAs on how to be awesome — drag-racing and smoking that reefer. And then there’s the kind I was. I can’t speak to that other kid in his varsity jacket and five-o’clock shadow, which, in retrospect, might be just the memory of a few high-school sex comedies I saw in the 80s and not a real thing, but never mind that. I can speak to the gut-butt-fucking fear I felt as a 14-year-old calling the girl I liked from French class and having her mom answer the phone.

I can’t even think of the last time I called any individual and got anyone else answering the phone. If you called someone now and someone else answered, your first instinct is either their phone was stolen or they’re dead. The days of having a house phone are drawing to a close and even if you have a landline, you probably have a cell phone anyway and that’s how people call you. No high-school kid is calling their friend’s house and getting stuck chatting to Mrs. Friend’s Mom.

In a reasonable world it wouldn’t matter if you had to talk on the phone to a person’s mom for 30 seconds, but that’s not the world a teenager lives in. Getting mom or dad on the phone is psychologically on par with being caught masturbating. It’s harrowing and earth shattering in ways that are hard to account for and the children of tomorrow have no idea how lucky they are that human interaction is so limited now. You don’t have to talk to the pizza place if you don’t want to, you don’t have to go to the bank to pay your bills, and you never have to talk to that hot girl’s mom knowing full well that she knows you’ve been staring at her daughter’s exposed bra strap in the back of second period every goddamn day.

The kids of tomorrow are losing a healthy sense of fear and self-loathing that previous generations were saddled with. That illogical and fear-born sense of inadequacy that plagued you at every turn because you were sure someone was judging you, even if you didn’t know why. Now everyone’s that varsity jock just high on their own sense of unfettered phone confidence, calling people left and right and only talking to them like some kind of majestic phone barons of a future telecoms utopia.

2

Late Fees

In the realm of gaming, look at what the Go-Gurt gobblers of tomorrow are missing out on. When I was a kid, I had to go to Blockbuster to rent a new Playstation game and so help me God if I was late bringing that thing back, lest the dreaded late fee be put on my bill. Try to explain that to a kid in ten years, that there was once a time when you not only needed to go to a business to rent a piece of physical media which is probably going to not exist in a decade’s time thanks to streaming and online gaming, but my playing the game meant someone else couldn’t play it. Some poor schlub had to wait for me to bring it back and if I was late, Blockbuster charged me again because Jimmy Guntstubb was desperate to play Battletoads and I fucked up.

Basically, gaming in any practical form, for any kid whose parents weren’t rich enough to buy every new game on a whim, was a community endeavor. Everyone had a tacit agreement to work together for the joy of the game, or the whole system was fucked harder than a Fleshlight thrown into a prison yard.

There was literally no way to see gameplay outside of a commercial unless you caught an episode of Video Power with Johnny Arcade, so renting was the best way to test the waters and see if you were up to the challenge of Contra. You and every other kid had to be orderly and patient. You rented that game, you put in your time, and you took it back. Every late asshole threw the whole system into chaos.

The very idea that you couldn’t play a game or watch a movie today because the kid down the street’s parents refused to vaccinate him and now he has polio is damn near absurd. Why should someone else’s shitty punctuality affect your gaming? It shouldn’t. But dammit, it did. The struggle was real and the only defense that existed against it was Blockbsuter’s unshakable adherence to the rule of late fees, the most strict punishment and deterrent they could muster.

1

If A Game Failed, It Was Likely Your Fault For Being A Filthy Slob

Obviously technology today is a hell of a lot different than tech from the 80s, or 90s, or from about 5.27 seconds ago. Rest assured technology in 2027 is going to be full of brain-wave-activated toasters that can give you a hummer while making Pop-Tarts for you, the way Edison intended. But that doesn’t mean toasters won’t exist in the future. There is, however, a good deal of stuff kids are never going to get to see or experience. It’s not evolving or getting updated, it’s simply been rendered obsolete.

The big issue with physical media is the general maintenance and upkeep. If you had a VCR you probably remember the thrill of adjusting the tracking when your video inexplicably just started oozing down the screen and tweaking like it hadn’t had a drink since this morning. Or how about that VHS copy of Splash you watched too many times that eventually became so worn out and static-riddled it was like watching garbled porn on a cable station you didn’t get (which is another thing your kids will never know about).

Gamers went through this, too. When I bought vanilla World Of Warcraft back in the day, I think it came on five or six CDs because the idea of actually downloading the game was as silly as the idea of eating a ham sandwich with no bacon on it. If even one of those fuckers got scratched, you were screwed. Or let’s say you installed it just fine, but in the middle of a big boss fight, your mouse suddenly spazzed out, and the cursor shot up to the corner of the screen. That old style mouse had a ball and rollers in it. A little, grey ball that sucked up desk-based schmutz like a magnet. You’d have to pop the bottom of your mouse, pull the ball out, swab off the layer of dog hair, dust, and dried tears on it, then do the same for the tiny little wheels inside. That’s a lost art now, like polishing your monocle (the real way, not the euphemism for sticking Pop Rocks in your pee hole).

The point is that the game failed because you failed. You took such poor care of the components, it crapped out. Already today that can be circumvented thanks to a having a hard drive to store games, and in the near future, companies like Sony and Microsoft will just drop the idea of physical media altogether so you have one less thing to get sticky with your Mountain Dew. Because, as we all know, true gamers Do the Dew. Everything will exist in the cloud, and if a game failed, it’s not on you — it’s all them.

No more discs means no kid in the future is ever going to have that moment when they take a scratched copy of Earthworm Jim and try to rub peanut butter across the bottom of it because someone somewhere once said that will repair surface scratches … even though I’ve never actually met anyone who got that to work and it mostly left my Final Fantasy VIII smelling like a middle-schooler’s sandwich from back when middle-schoolers were allowed to have Final Fantasy VIII sandwiches.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/5-things-you-grew-up-with-your-kids-will-think-are-insane/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/05/09/5-things-you-grew-up-with-your-kids-will-think-are-insane/

[adambstingus]

5 Things You Grew Up With (Your Kids Will Think Are Insane)

At this very moment you are living in the future that your ten-year-old self was pretty sure was going to be up to its nuts in robot butlers and cyber ham. Unless you’re ten right now in which case what the fuck? Your parents let you read this? I could literally start talking about dildos at any moment. I hope you go to them with any confusing questions you may have so they can assure you I’m not real and there’s no reason to take anything I say seriously. That aside, you’re also living in a time when today’s ten-year-old will have no idea what you went through to get to this point. Just look at all this non-dildo stuff that has been lost to history.

5

Phones Used To Buzz Into Your Earhole When Nobody Was On The Line

You have a phone, right? There’s a good chance you’re reading this on your phone. There’s a better chance you use your phone as a phone far less than you use it as a device to type and read making it kind of bizarre they bother to call it a phone when that’s probably third down the list of things it does. No one calls a cat a “sand shitter,” even though that happens more than you use your phone as a phone. But pooping in sandboxes aside, remember dial tones?

You probably haven’t considered this in a while, and if you still have a landline phone, maybe you still have a dial tone? I wouldn’t know, I don’t have a landline phone. But I know I don’t have a dial tone and legit haven’t heard one in years. Now imagine the kid born after 2010 who while vaguely aware of the concept of phones that have squiggly, pig-tail wires attached to them would have no idea why the damn thing drills a ceaseless robo-fart into your ear every time you pick it up. If a kid picks up a phone today and hears a dial tone, they’re going to assume it’s busted. Like bad busted, too, because it’s never made that sound before.

In days of yore when everything had to be plugged into something, the dial tone was a friendly reminder that your phone worked, because there was literally no other way to know your phone was working. It didn’t do anything. There wasn’t anything to look at or charges to adjust or battery life to keep an eye on. It was an ugly-ass lunch box with a plastic half brick you pressed to your flesh. The dial tone was the phone saying “Hey friend, why don’t you give grandma a call? Also waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!”

Those days are gone now and they never need to come back. The next generation is not just going to be unaware of a dial tone, they’re going to have to Google the term because it means nothing.

4

Credits Meant The Movie Was Over

When I was a kid, nothing sucked more than watching a movie on TV and waiting for the next show to start as the damn credits rolled. Nothing. Not war or famine or Full House. You watched the credits only because you wanted to see what was on that channel next and were too lazy to leave the room or, you know, live a life. If you’d rented a video, you pressed stop as soon as that first name started to scroll up because credits were how you knew the movie was over. Did all those people work hard to make this film? Sure, but I don’t know them or anything, they don’t need me to read their names. Your parents didn’t stick around to watch the school play after your part was over, they threw their beer cans on the floor, yelled at you to get off stage, and went the hell home.

Nowadays, thanks mostly to the Marvel Cinematic Universe, if you see a film in the theater you’ll notice that just about half the room stays as still as statues when the movie ends. For any comic-book or action-type film, and even some comedies, you want to stay put because surely there’s a post-credit bit of awesome, or some sweet bloopers running through the credits. The movie isn’t over when it’s over, it’s just dribbling away like those last vexing droplets of whiz after a night enjoying gimlets at the bar.

The future is going to be rife with movies that make you five minutes later for everything you do thanks to this phenomenon. Kids are going to be expecting it all the time and they will wait, reading the names of each and every gaffer, best boy, and second-unit caterer from Quebec where they filmed all those Bigfoot-takes-a-forest-bride sequences. I showed my niece The Goonies and she asked me to turn it back on after I stopped the Blu-ray so she could see the final scene. It’s in their heads and there’s no getting it out. But also, don’t you wish there was a post-credit scene in The Goonies and it was just Corey Feldman singing “Ascension Millennium” with Chunk and Sloth? Because I wish that.

3

Phone Anxiety

There are two kinds of teenagers in the world. There’s the kind who are self-assured, know everything, and are featured in PSAs on how to be awesome — drag-racing and smoking that reefer. And then there’s the kind I was. I can’t speak to that other kid in his varsity jacket and five-o’clock shadow, which, in retrospect, might be just the memory of a few high-school sex comedies I saw in the 80s and not a real thing, but never mind that. I can speak to the gut-butt-fucking fear I felt as a 14-year-old calling the girl I liked from French class and having her mom answer the phone.

I can’t even think of the last time I called any individual and got anyone else answering the phone. If you called someone now and someone else answered, your first instinct is either their phone was stolen or they’re dead. The days of having a house phone are drawing to a close and even if you have a landline, you probably have a cell phone anyway and that’s how people call you. No high-school kid is calling their friend’s house and getting stuck chatting to Mrs. Friend’s Mom.

In a reasonable world it wouldn’t matter if you had to talk on the phone to a person’s mom for 30 seconds, but that’s not the world a teenager lives in. Getting mom or dad on the phone is psychologically on par with being caught masturbating. It’s harrowing and earth shattering in ways that are hard to account for and the children of tomorrow have no idea how lucky they are that human interaction is so limited now. You don’t have to talk to the pizza place if you don’t want to, you don’t have to go to the bank to pay your bills, and you never have to talk to that hot girl’s mom knowing full well that she knows you’ve been staring at her daughter’s exposed bra strap in the back of second period every goddamn day.

The kids of tomorrow are losing a healthy sense of fear and self-loathing that previous generations were saddled with. That illogical and fear-born sense of inadequacy that plagued you at every turn because you were sure someone was judging you, even if you didn’t know why. Now everyone’s that varsity jock just high on their own sense of unfettered phone confidence, calling people left and right and only talking to them like some kind of majestic phone barons of a future telecoms utopia.

2

Late Fees

In the realm of gaming, look at what the Go-Gurt gobblers of tomorrow are missing out on. When I was a kid, I had to go to Blockbuster to rent a new Playstation game and so help me God if I was late bringing that thing back, lest the dreaded late fee be put on my bill. Try to explain that to a kid in ten years, that there was once a time when you not only needed to go to a business to rent a piece of physical media which is probably going to not exist in a decade’s time thanks to streaming and online gaming, but my playing the game meant someone else couldn’t play it. Some poor schlub had to wait for me to bring it back and if I was late, Blockbuster charged me again because Jimmy Guntstubb was desperate to play Battletoads and I fucked up.

Basically, gaming in any practical form, for any kid whose parents weren’t rich enough to buy every new game on a whim, was a community endeavor. Everyone had a tacit agreement to work together for the joy of the game, or the whole system was fucked harder than a Fleshlight thrown into a prison yard.

There was literally no way to see gameplay outside of a commercial unless you caught an episode of Video Power with Johnny Arcade, so renting was the best way to test the waters and see if you were up to the challenge of Contra. You and every other kid had to be orderly and patient. You rented that game, you put in your time, and you took it back. Every late asshole threw the whole system into chaos.

The very idea that you couldn’t play a game or watch a movie today because the kid down the street’s parents refused to vaccinate him and now he has polio is damn near absurd. Why should someone else’s shitty punctuality affect your gaming? It shouldn’t. But dammit, it did. The struggle was real and the only defense that existed against it was Blockbsuter’s unshakable adherence to the rule of late fees, the most strict punishment and deterrent they could muster.

1

If A Game Failed, It Was Likely Your Fault For Being A Filthy Slob

Obviously technology today is a hell of a lot different than tech from the 80s, or 90s, or from about 5.27 seconds ago. Rest assured technology in 2027 is going to be full of brain-wave-activated toasters that can give you a hummer while making Pop-Tarts for you, the way Edison intended. But that doesn’t mean toasters won’t exist in the future. There is, however, a good deal of stuff kids are never going to get to see or experience. It’s not evolving or getting updated, it’s simply been rendered obsolete.

The big issue with physical media is the general maintenance and upkeep. If you had a VCR you probably remember the thrill of adjusting the tracking when your video inexplicably just started oozing down the screen and tweaking like it hadn’t had a drink since this morning. Or how about that VHS copy of Splash you watched too many times that eventually became so worn out and static-riddled it was like watching garbled porn on a cable station you didn’t get (which is another thing your kids will never know about).

Gamers went through this, too. When I bought vanilla World Of Warcraft back in the day, I think it came on five or six CDs because the idea of actually downloading the game was as silly as the idea of eating a ham sandwich with no bacon on it. If even one of those fuckers got scratched, you were screwed. Or let’s say you installed it just fine, but in the middle of a big boss fight, your mouse suddenly spazzed out, and the cursor shot up to the corner of the screen. That old style mouse had a ball and rollers in it. A little, grey ball that sucked up desk-based schmutz like a magnet. You’d have to pop the bottom of your mouse, pull the ball out, swab off the layer of dog hair, dust, and dried tears on it, then do the same for the tiny little wheels inside. That’s a lost art now, like polishing your monocle (the real way, not the euphemism for sticking Pop Rocks in your pee hole).

The point is that the game failed because you failed. You took such poor care of the components, it crapped out. Already today that can be circumvented thanks to a having a hard drive to store games, and in the near future, companies like Sony and Microsoft will just drop the idea of physical media altogether so you have one less thing to get sticky with your Mountain Dew. Because, as we all know, true gamers Do the Dew. Everything will exist in the cloud, and if a game failed, it’s not on you — it’s all them.

No more discs means no kid in the future is ever going to have that moment when they take a scratched copy of Earthworm Jim and try to rub peanut butter across the bottom of it because someone somewhere once said that will repair surface scratches … even though I’ve never actually met anyone who got that to work and it mostly left my Final Fantasy VIII smelling like a middle-schooler’s sandwich from back when middle-schoolers were allowed to have Final Fantasy VIII sandwiches.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/5-things-you-grew-up-with-your-kids-will-think-are-insane/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/173719664232

[allofbeercom]

5 Things You Grew Up With (Your Kids Will Think Are Insane)

At this very moment you are living in the future that your ten-year-old self was pretty sure was going to be up to its nuts in robot butlers and cyber ham. Unless you’re ten right now in which case what the fuck? Your parents let you read this? I could literally start talking about dildos at any moment. I hope you go to them with any confusing questions you may have so they can assure you I’m not real and there’s no reason to take anything I say seriously. That aside, you’re also living in a time when today’s ten-year-old will have no idea what you went through to get to this point. Just look at all this non-dildo stuff that has been lost to history.

5

Phones Used To Buzz Into Your Earhole When Nobody Was On The Line

You have a phone, right? There’s a good chance you’re reading this on your phone. There’s a better chance you use your phone as a phone far less than you use it as a device to type and read making it kind of bizarre they bother to call it a phone when that’s probably third down the list of things it does. No one calls a cat a “sand shitter,” even though that happens more than you use your phone as a phone. But pooping in sandboxes aside, remember dial tones?

You probably haven’t considered this in a while, and if you still have a landline phone, maybe you still have a dial tone? I wouldn’t know, I don’t have a landline phone. But I know I don’t have a dial tone and legit haven’t heard one in years. Now imagine the kid born after 2010 who while vaguely aware of the concept of phones that have squiggly, pig-tail wires attached to them would have no idea why the damn thing drills a ceaseless robo-fart into your ear every time you pick it up. If a kid picks up a phone today and hears a dial tone, they’re going to assume it’s busted. Like bad busted, too, because it’s never made that sound before.

In days of yore when everything had to be plugged into something, the dial tone was a friendly reminder that your phone worked, because there was literally no other way to know your phone was working. It didn’t do anything. There wasn’t anything to look at or charges to adjust or battery life to keep an eye on. It was an ugly-ass lunch box with a plastic half brick you pressed to your flesh. The dial tone was the phone saying “Hey friend, why don’t you give grandma a call? Also waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!”

Those days are gone now and they never need to come back. The next generation is not just going to be unaware of a dial tone, they’re going to have to Google the term because it means nothing.

4

Credits Meant The Movie Was Over

When I was a kid, nothing sucked more than watching a movie on TV and waiting for the next show to start as the damn credits rolled. Nothing. Not war or famine or Full House. You watched the credits only because you wanted to see what was on that channel next and were too lazy to leave the room or, you know, live a life. If you’d rented a video, you pressed stop as soon as that first name started to scroll up because credits were how you knew the movie was over. Did all those people work hard to make this film? Sure, but I don’t know them or anything, they don’t need me to read their names. Your parents didn’t stick around to watch the school play after your part was over, they threw their beer cans on the floor, yelled at you to get off stage, and went the hell home.

Nowadays, thanks mostly to the Marvel Cinematic Universe, if you see a film in the theater you’ll notice that just about half the room stays as still as statues when the movie ends. For any comic-book or action-type film, and even some comedies, you want to stay put because surely there’s a post-credit bit of awesome, or some sweet bloopers running through the credits. The movie isn’t over when it’s over, it’s just dribbling away like those last vexing droplets of whiz after a night enjoying gimlets at the bar.

The future is going to be rife with movies that make you five minutes later for everything you do thanks to this phenomenon. Kids are going to be expecting it all the time and they will wait, reading the names of each and every gaffer, best boy, and second-unit caterer from Quebec where they filmed all those Bigfoot-takes-a-forest-bride sequences. I showed my niece The Goonies and she asked me to turn it back on after I stopped the Blu-ray so she could see the final scene. It’s in their heads and there’s no getting it out. But also, don’t you wish there was a post-credit scene in The Goonies and it was just Corey Feldman singing “Ascension Millennium” with Chunk and Sloth? Because I wish that.

3

Phone Anxiety

There are two kinds of teenagers in the world. There’s the kind who are self-assured, know everything, and are featured in PSAs on how to be awesome — drag-racing and smoking that reefer. And then there’s the kind I was. I can’t speak to that other kid in his varsity jacket and five-o’clock shadow, which, in retrospect, might be just the memory of a few high-school sex comedies I saw in the 80s and not a real thing, but never mind that. I can speak to the gut-butt-fucking fear I felt as a 14-year-old calling the girl I liked from French class and having her mom answer the phone.

I can’t even think of the last time I called any individual and got anyone else answering the phone. If you called someone now and someone else answered, your first instinct is either their phone was stolen or they’re dead. The days of having a house phone are drawing to a close and even if you have a landline, you probably have a cell phone anyway and that’s how people call you. No high-school kid is calling their friend’s house and getting stuck chatting to Mrs. Friend’s Mom.

In a reasonable world it wouldn’t matter if you had to talk on the phone to a person’s mom for 30 seconds, but that’s not the world a teenager lives in. Getting mom or dad on the phone is psychologically on par with being caught masturbating. It’s harrowing and earth shattering in ways that are hard to account for and the children of tomorrow have no idea how lucky they are that human interaction is so limited now. You don’t have to talk to the pizza place if you don’t want to, you don’t have to go to the bank to pay your bills, and you never have to talk to that hot girl’s mom knowing full well that she knows you’ve been staring at her daughter’s exposed bra strap in the back of second period every goddamn day.

The kids of tomorrow are losing a healthy sense of fear and self-loathing that previous generations were saddled with. That illogical and fear-born sense of inadequacy that plagued you at every turn because you were sure someone was judging you, even if you didn’t know why. Now everyone’s that varsity jock just high on their own sense of unfettered phone confidence, calling people left and right and only talking to them like some kind of majestic phone barons of a future telecoms utopia.

2

Late Fees

In the realm of gaming, look at what the Go-Gurt gobblers of tomorrow are missing out on. When I was a kid, I had to go to Blockbuster to rent a new Playstation game and so help me God if I was late bringing that thing back, lest the dreaded late fee be put on my bill. Try to explain that to a kid in ten years, that there was once a time when you not only needed to go to a business to rent a piece of physical media which is probably going to not exist in a decade’s time thanks to streaming and online gaming, but my playing the game meant someone else couldn’t play it. Some poor schlub had to wait for me to bring it back and if I was late, Blockbuster charged me again because Jimmy Guntstubb was desperate to play Battletoads and I fucked up.

Basically, gaming in any practical form, for any kid whose parents weren’t rich enough to buy every new game on a whim, was a community endeavor. Everyone had a tacit agreement to work together for the joy of the game, or the whole system was fucked harder than a Fleshlight thrown into a prison yard.

There was literally no way to see gameplay outside of a commercial unless you caught an episode of Video Power with Johnny Arcade, so renting was the best way to test the waters and see if you were up to the challenge of Contra. You and every other kid had to be orderly and patient. You rented that game, you put in your time, and you took it back. Every late asshole threw the whole system into chaos.

The very idea that you couldn’t play a game or watch a movie today because the kid down the street’s parents refused to vaccinate him and now he has polio is damn near absurd. Why should someone else’s shitty punctuality affect your gaming? It shouldn’t. But dammit, it did. The struggle was real and the only defense that existed against it was Blockbsuter’s unshakable adherence to the rule of late fees, the most strict punishment and deterrent they could muster.

1

If A Game Failed, It Was Likely Your Fault For Being A Filthy Slob

Obviously technology today is a hell of a lot different than tech from the 80s, or 90s, or from about 5.27 seconds ago. Rest assured technology in 2027 is going to be full of brain-wave-activated toasters that can give you a hummer while making Pop-Tarts for you, the way Edison intended. But that doesn’t mean toasters won’t exist in the future. There is, however, a good deal of stuff kids are never going to get to see or experience. It’s not evolving or getting updated, it’s simply been rendered obsolete.

The big issue with physical media is the general maintenance and upkeep. If you had a VCR you probably remember the thrill of adjusting the tracking when your video inexplicably just started oozing down the screen and tweaking like it hadn’t had a drink since this morning. Or how about that VHS copy of Splash you watched too many times that eventually became so worn out and static-riddled it was like watching garbled porn on a cable station you didn’t get (which is another thing your kids will never know about).

Gamers went through this, too. When I bought vanilla World Of Warcraft back in the day, I think it came on five or six CDs because the idea of actually downloading the game was as silly as the idea of eating a ham sandwich with no bacon on it. If even one of those fuckers got scratched, you were screwed. Or let’s say you installed it just fine, but in the middle of a big boss fight, your mouse suddenly spazzed out, and the cursor shot up to the corner of the screen. That old style mouse had a ball and rollers in it. A little, grey ball that sucked up desk-based schmutz like a magnet. You’d have to pop the bottom of your mouse, pull the ball out, swab off the layer of dog hair, dust, and dried tears on it, then do the same for the tiny little wheels inside. That’s a lost art now, like polishing your monocle (the real way, not the euphemism for sticking Pop Rocks in your pee hole).

The point is that the game failed because you failed. You took such poor care of the components, it crapped out. Already today that can be circumvented thanks to a having a hard drive to store games, and in the near future, companies like Sony and Microsoft will just drop the idea of physical media altogether so you have one less thing to get sticky with your Mountain Dew. Because, as we all know, true gamers Do the Dew. Everything will exist in the cloud, and if a game failed, it’s not on you — it’s all them.

No more discs means no kid in the future is ever going to have that moment when they take a scratched copy of Earthworm Jim and try to rub peanut butter across the bottom of it because someone somewhere once said that will repair surface scratches … even though I’ve never actually met anyone who got that to work and it mostly left my Final Fantasy VIII smelling like a middle-schooler’s sandwich from back when middle-schoolers were allowed to have Final Fantasy VIII sandwiches.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/5-things-you-grew-up-with-your-kids-will-think-are-insane/

[newstfionline]

What happens to children who survive school shootings in America?

By John Woodrow Cox and Steven Rich, Washington Post, March 21, 2018

Thirteen at Columbine. Twenty-six at Sandy Hook. Seventeen at Marjory Stoneman Douglas.

Over the past two decades, a handful of massacres that have come to define school shootings in this country are almost always remembered for the students and educators slain. Death tolls are repeated so often that the numbers and places become permanently linked.

What those figures fail to capture, though, is the collateral damage of this uniquely American crisis. Beginning with Columbine in 1999, more than 187,000 students attending at least 193 primary or secondary schools have experienced a shooting on campus during school hours, according to a year-long Washington Post analysis. This means that the number of children who have been shaken by gunfire in the places they go to learn exceeds the population of Eugene, Ore., or Fort Lauderdale, Fla.

Many are never the same.

School shootings remain extremely rare, representing a tiny fraction of the gun violence epidemic that, on average, leaves a child bleeding or dead every hour in the United States. While few of those incidents happen on campuses, the ones that do have spread fear across the country, changing the culture of education and how kids grow up.

Every day, threats send classrooms into lockdowns that can frighten students, even when they turn out to be false alarms. Thousands of schools conduct active-shooter drills in which kids as young as 4 hide in darkened closets and bathrooms from imaginary murderers.

“It’s no longer the default that going to school is going to make you feel safe,” said Bruce D. Perry, a psychiatrist and one of the country’s leading experts on childhood trauma. “Even kids who come from middle-class and upper-middle-class communities literally don’t feel safe in schools.”

Samantha Haviland understands the waves of fear created by the attacks as well as anyone.

At 16, she survived the carnage at Columbine High, a seminal moment in the evolution of modern school shootings. Now 35, she is the director of counseling for Denver’s public school system and has spent almost her entire professional life treating traumatized kids. Yet, she’s never fully escaped the effects of what happened to her on that morning in Littleton, Colo. The nightmares, always of being chased, lingered for years. Even now, the images of children walking out of schools with their hands up is too much for her to bear.

On Saturday, some of Haviland’s students, born in the years after Columbine, will participate in the Denver “March For Our Lives” to protest school gun violence. In Washington, students from Parkland, Fla.--still grieving the friends and classmates they lost last month--will lead a rally of as many as 500,000 people in the nation’s capital.

“They were born and raised in a society where mass shootings are a thing,” she said, recalling how much her community and schoolmates blamed themselves for the inexplicable attack by Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold. “These students are saying, ‘No, no--these things are happening because you all can’t figure it out.’ They’re angry, and I think that anger is appropriate. And I hope they don’t let us get away with it.”

In analyzing school shootings, The Post found an average of 10 school shootings per year since Columbine, with a low of five in 2002 and a high of 15 in 2014. Less than three months into 2018, there have been 11 shootings, already making this year among the worst on record.

At least 129 kids, educators, staff and family members have been killed in assaults during school hours, and another 255 have been injured.

Schools in at least 36 states and the District have experienced a shooting, according to The Post’s count. They happen in big cities and small towns, in affluent suburbs and rural communities. The precise circumstances in each incident differed, but what all of them had in common was the profound damage they left behind.

Javon Davies, a sixth-grader at a Birmingham middle school, came home and told his mom, Mariama, that he and his classmates had spent the day in lockdown.

Javon, who is 12, had heard about Parkland. He and a friend suspected that they, too, might die at their school, so each of the boys wrote a will.

“Mom,” the other sixth-grader wrote in print letters, “I want to give my friend Javon every thing that I own that includes the xbox and games and controllers and all that comes with it.”

In Javon’s instructions, he listed his PlayStation 4, his Xbox 360 and his dirt bike.

“I love you my whole Family you mean the most to me,” he wrote. “You gave me the clothes on my back, you fed me, and you were always by my side.”

On the morning of May 15, 2017, Gage Meche, then 7, walked into his first-grade class and hung up his blue Nike backpack, then turned around. On the floor in front of him was a gun. It had just fallen out of another boy’s bag, and when a girl Gage had known since they were toddlers picked it up, the pistol fired, discharging a .380 round that blew through his stomach, tearing into his intestines and nicking a vena cava vein, which carries blood to the heart.

The boy who’d brought the gun had found it at home, investigators say. His father, Michael Dugas, had given the weapon to his older son, who was 17. The teenager kept it in his room, loaded, unlocked and inside a bag that hung on the wall.

Soon after the shooting, Dugas was charged with two misdemeanors, eventually receiving six months in prison for his negligence.

Gage, meanwhile, endured four surgeries then had to learn to walk and eat again. Now 8, his 40-pound body hurts almost all the time, said his mother, Krista LeBleu.

The girl who accidentally shot him still struggles with guilt and post-traumatic stress. At a church camp last summer, a water-pistol fight broke out, and when she saw the plastic guns, the girl began to weep.

Gage has changed, too, his mother said. He had been so excited to flip the coin before a local football game a few months ago, but when the team rushed onto the field, someone fired a cannon. The boy’s knees buckled, and he collapsed to the grass, trembling as he curled into a ball. He still has nightmares, but he tells his parents they’re too scary to talk about. Gage is also more aggressive than before, sometimes erupting for no reason. Afterward, he can’t explain what happened.

“I don’t know why I’m so bad,” he says.

What remains for school shooting survivors? Grief, guilt and fear.

One day in 2008, Samantha Haviland sat on the floor of a school library’s back room, the lights off, the door locked. Crouched all around her were teenagers, pretending that someone with a gun was trying to murder them.

No one there knew that Haviland, then a counselor in her mid-20s, had been at Columbine nine years earlier. On that day, April 20, 1999, she had been in the cafeteria, selling chips and soda from a food cart to raise money for the golf team. Haviland, always an overachiever, had taken second place at a tournament the day before and felt so good about it that she’d worn a blue dress and high-heeled clogs to school. As hundreds of kids ate their lunches, she and three friends talked about prom, which they’d gone to the previous weekend.

Then two girls burst into the room. Someone had been shot, they screamed. Someone had a gun.

Haviland froze, but her friends grabbed her, and they fled into the back of an auditorium. Moments later, she heard four or five shots and an explosion. Everyone sprinted out as Haviland briefly paused to take off her shoes. Barefoot, she ran after them and into the hallway, and just as she reached one door, it closed in front of her. A teacher in another part of the building had pulled the fire alarm and, as she would later learn, it saved her life, because down that corridor, Harris and Klebold were slaughtering anyone they could find.

Afterward, as the shock and grief solidified her plan to become a counselor, Haviland didn’t get counseling herself. She didn’t deserve it, she thought, not when classmates had died or been maimed. Many others had suffered far more, Haviland decided. She would be okay.

But now there she was, a decade later, sitting in the darkness, practicing once again to escape what so many of her friends did not. Then she heard footsteps. Then, beneath the door, she saw the shadow of an administrator who was checking the locks. Then her chest began to throb, and her body began to quake and, suddenly, Haviland knew she wouldn’t be okay.

Researchers who study trauma still aren’t certain why people who experience it as children react in such different ways. For some, it doesn’t surface for years, making the effects harder to trace back to their origin. For others, the torment overwhelms them from the start and, in many cases, never lets go.

Karson Robinson was 6 when a teenager opened fire on the playground of his elementary school in Townville, S.C., on Sept. 28, 2016. Three days later, on his seventh birthday, he learned that his beloved friend, Jacob Hall, hadn’t survived the bullet that hit him. That’s when the guilt took hold. Karson had leaped a fence and run at the first sound of the gunfire.

Maybe, Karson thought, he could have saved Jacob, the smallest child in their class, if he hadn’t fled. At home, Karson began to explode in anger, breaking anything he could reach. Other times, he insisted that everyone hated him.

In October, before a doctor finally diagnosed the boy with PTSD, he had a party for his eighth birthday, and at the end, they released balloons into the sky for Jacob. Afterward, he walked off by himself. His mother followed, asking what was wrong.

“I should have waited for Jacob,” he told her.

Haviland thinks a lot about the thousands of children like Karson who, she contends, America has done so little to protect since Columbine. Many of Haviland’s former classmates have found success and happiness, but others have tried to ease their pain with drugs and alcohol. Some have considered killing themselves.

One high school friend sent Haviland a message online a few weeks ago, saying that, since the Las Vegas slaughter this past October, she’d been so stricken with anxiety she could barely leave her house.

A decade ago, after Haviland’s panic attack in the library, she finally got therapy and has come a long way since. She goes to movies and malls and political rallies. She has so often told her story--of hearing the shots, taking off her shoes, sprinting barefoot through the hallways--that telling it again doesn’t wreck her anymore.

She knows, though, that the trauma remains.

Three years ago, someone accidentally pressed a panic button in the school where she was working, signaling to police that a shooter was in the building. Haviland wasn’t there at the time, but she pulled up in her car just as the officers did. Then, in front of her, she saw students streaming outside, their hands in the air.

She began to sob.

#school shootings #school shooting survivors

[raelan-dreams-blog]

Take it from the top

So, I guess I should start at the beginning. No, not my life, just a little bit about me so you kinda get the picture of where I am.

I’m 21. Female. 5’2” Short.

I love to dye my hair crazy colors. (Today, I’ll be going Turquoise).

I live on the west coast, but grew up in Pennsylvania.

I wear glasses because I’m as blind as a bat without them.

I’m a gamer.

I’m married.

And that’s where most people will leave because they’ve lost interest. That’s fine, I’m just here to lay down my truth and hopefully get some guidance from readers.

So, people call me Raelan, or Rae for short. No, it isn’t my real name, but I like it better that way. It has become my online persona. I become Rae when I’m online. Very few people know me as myself, and I honestly like being able to be Raelan. You see, Raelan and I aren’t really the same person. I feel like, as Raelan, I become so much more outgoing and confident and happy and carefree than myself. I’m not restricted by real world rules and regulations because I’m not real. I’m a character that people can interact with, in a sense. Yes, I’m still ME, but I’m a me that doesn’t have to deal with the outside world. When I’m offline, I don’t exist as Raelan, and Raelan doesn’t exist outside of the internet. Raelan is like a mask I put on, but she’s also who I really wish I was in real life, at times. So, from here on out, you can call me Raelan or Rae.

I am a gigantic mess.

I wish that I knew what to do, because it honestly drives me NUTS essentially being two different people. And I know what some of you are thinking “why not be both at once?” HA. If it were that simple, I wouldn’t be here, now would I? I feel like I’m living in some kind of horrible trap inside my own head. If I do something irl, it affects Raelan and her relationships, but if I focus more on Rae, I lose out on real life and those relationships. Honestly though, I can tell you that it’s all important to me. I can’t just erase Raelan from existence and forget I was ever her. Sometimes, I wish I could just erase the past couple of years and restart them, but nobody can turn back time. And even if they could, I’d probably muck it all up again.

Irl: Married. Stay-at-Home military wife. Severely depressed. No self-esteem. Lonely as fuck all the time. Some college, but no degree. Can’t afford to go back. Doesn’t know what to even major in. Friends live on the opposite side of the country and rarely are in contact. Contact seems pointless and ends in more depressive episodes. Nothing is satisfying or interesting anymore. Life feels meaningless. Thoughts of dying and self harm are a regular occurrence, though nothing has ever been attempted.

Online: Bubbly. Flirtatious. Nice to nearly everyone. Speaks with friends daily. Has been told that her voice draws people in, whether they are seduced or charmed depends on the person, though it’s unintentional. Feels as if progress is made in each game played. Can spend days without sleeping or eating properly in order to grind. Enjoys grinding, as long as there are people for company. Has had two people fall in love with her in the past year. Loves her friends, but doesn’t know how to respond to extra affection or attention. Enjoys it, but knows that it’s wrong because irl is married. Believes in open relationships (including polyandry), but remains loyal out of obligation and guilt. Feels lost when love becomes the topic. Loves everyone. Doesn’t understand boundaries.

So, you can see that these two “people” couldn’t be more different. But they’re both me. And I don’t know where to go from where I am. Nobody knows how I feel because I don’t feel comfortable talking to anyone that I know about it, for fear of being judged or shunned. My family and friends are very traditional in most cases and don’t really understand what’s going on with me. I honestly don’t understand myself. At first, I thought I had some kind of split-personality disorder, but I’m a bit of a hypochondriac, so it could just be me overexaggerating in my own head. As much as I’d like to suppress things, I know it’d just make me miserable in the end.

Raelan really became her own person when my husband first started going underway. (A term for a short “mini-deployment” type trip. Husband is Navy, so his ship would go out for a few weeks and then return, in preparation for the upcoming deployment. The underway periods were meant as training exercises for this, or so I understand). Just before he left on his first underway, he got me a PlayStation as a sort of apology gift for having to leave me alone so soon. I started playing video games and watching a lot of Netflix in my free time (which I suddenly had a LOT of, as I was living on my own for the first time and didn’t know a single soul on this side of the country). I had a job at that point, but I didn’t work enough to keep me distracted from the loneliness that I felt, so I turned to gaming to help me cope. And for a time, it helped me turn my focus onto something else. I didn’t have to try and cry myself to sleep in our big empty bed alone if I spent all night gaming and fell asleep on our couch, or so my logic went. I quickly got into a routine. Work, bathe, eat, game, nap, repeat. I made a single friend at the job I was working at. I would occasionally drive to her house and babysit her kids for her when she had to work late. (Soon after my husband came back from his first underway, we flew home to get married, and I lost my job while I was home). Losing my job meant that I could essentially become her full-time babysitter, as she was also a navy wife and her husband worked ridiculous hours and needed to have someone to watch the kids. And the kids were wonderful. Always really well behaved and listened to me as much as they listened to their own parents. But, as is pretty standard with my life, all good things must come to an end sooner or later. My one friend would eventually move away, as her husband was getting transferred to a different base. I was back to being completely alone. At this point in time, I’d already been hired for a new job, kept it for nearly 3 months, and was let go after the first 90 days when I was no longer needed as the busy season was over (and I wasn’t officially hired until finishing the first 90 days as a “trial period”).

We had bought a house just before he left for a six month deployment to the Middle East. I was in charge of everything while he was away. I was given POA to sign for him on any official documents for our house buying process, as he was underway while the house was being prepared for escrow. Escrow ended just after he came back and we could officially sign paperwork and move in. We had all of our belongings in the house for about two weeks before he left for those months. In those six months, I nearly lost my mind. But from that time, Raelan became more real than ever. Since I had no job, no hobbies, no friends, and no drive, I sank into the internet. I was online every single day. I only left my house to buy groceries once or twice a month. I had a single visitor in that whole time span. My mother came out to visit for a few days at about the halfway point. I’m sure now that it was because my family was concerned about me, as I rarely answered phone calls and slept at odd hours, so it was nearly impossible to contact me. And I really didn’t want to talk to anyone because every single person I knew brought up the one thing I was trying to distract myself from. I hated it. I hated being alone. I hated looking outside. I hated every single second that I existed without another human in my life. I craved something, anything, that would make me feel like I didn’t want to die.

And I found that with Raelan. You see, Raelan was how I made friends. Raelan is charismatic and charming and lovable. Whether myself or Raelan, I care deeply for other people. If you become my friend, I love you. Simple as that.

So I made friends. And quickly. I learned how to get better at the games that I played, thus boosting my worth in the community. Not only did I become one of the best players on the server, I became a popular streamer for the game. I became a community moderator. I joined and formed guilds. And I learned from my friends.

But sometimes, things don’t always go according to plan. Some friends didn’t want to be “just friends”. Some wanted more. And I needed more. I became very close with one or two people. Not intentionally. I want to make it clear that I wasn’t off seducing the internet. I was just being myself. Raelan is honest all of the time, even when the truth sucks ass. And that made someone fall in love with me. And I didn’t push him away like I should have. I didn’t want to push away the one thing that kept me sane in my solitude. I was attached to that person. I loved them, in my own way. But I truly wasn’t in love with them, if that makes sense to you.

It’s hard to explain to some people, but those are two very different phrases to me. See, “I love you” is something you can say to anyone. It’s something you tell your mom when you leave for school in the morning, it’s something you tell your siblings when you drop them off at a friend’s house, it’s something you tell your pets when you leave your house for work, it’s something you tell your friends when they do something kind for you and you’re expressing your gratitude. However, the phrase “I’m in love with you” is much more heavy. This is something you say when you confess to someone, a phrase you use when you propose marriage, when you want someone to know that they mean more to you than life itself, when you have romantic feelings for someone. Love doesn’t always have to mean romance or seduction. Love can be a kiss on a child’s scratched knee, or a hug from a grandparent, or a warm home cooked meal.

So how does one distinguish the two? How do we not blur those lines? Because when those lines are crossed, shit gets complicated. REAL QUICK. And I know that’s not what I want. And I know that what I want isn’t so simple. Even though I’m married, I want to love more than one person. And I know that is supposed to be wrong. But how can loving someone be wrong? I honestly don’t know where to go from here, but I’m losing my mind keeping it bottled up. I don’t want my husband to be hurt, because I love him more than life itself. He means more to me than anyone else. But I feel like I’m missing his attention and I just exist in his life. Which I understand that I can’t be the focus of his attention all of the time. He works full time and is on a military schedule, so things can change at the drop of a hat and there’s nothing either of us can do about that. As Raelan, I get that missed focus because I’m definitely getting attention in my group of friends. Not in a weird way, but just that I’m having conversations and interacting with people who hold similar interests. At times, I feel like I let things go too far and conversations become intimate when I’m just talking to one person. I feel as though conversing one on one with someone leads to deeper talks, and more honesty between those people. Eventually, those talks led to another person falling in love with Raelan. I don’t want that love to stop. But I know I shouldn’t want that. I know it’s wrong of me to want more. But I feel like I’m missing something from being myself that I get out of being Raelan. And I honestly don’t know how to juggle being both people. I love the feeling of being the center of attention, but I can’t be that all of the time. I don’t know where to go from this point, but I know I have to change something, or I’ll go insane.

So where does the road lead me next? Honestly, I couldn’t tell ya. If I could, I would. If you want to chat and have some advice, message me here. My phone is always on and charged, so notifications are easy to see. If I don’t respond immediately, I’ve got a PlayStation controller in my hand, or I’m asleep. If you have a microphone, that’s my preferred method of contact (psn parties), but I know that isn’t always possible. I also have Discord, Twitter, twitch, youtube, kik and all kinds of other shit. Kik is a good way to get in contact with me. Feel free to chat about anything, I’m all ears.