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rosemary-writes · 3 years

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I can’t, I’m so sorry

(David x Female!Reader)

AN: this story is basically me just ranting about my experience over the past two weeks. It’s very hard going through the grief process and I wanted to share my experience through my writing. This story is kind of a self insert but I still like it

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, losing a loved one, grief, mourning, crying, unhealthy habits, recollection of memories, soft!David, maybe out of character David, general sadness, mentions of a cemetery, vampire powers.

Word count: 3.8k

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO ANY OF THE ABOVE WARNINGS

“I like to pretend that you ran away, that you’re living on an island and have a garden and a dog and that your brothers drop by to bring you groceries and books and that you are very happy and free.” - S.C. Pacheco

It happened so quickly. No one saw it coming, but then again, does anyone ever really see death coming?

You were preparing for finals. It was the last two weeks of your first year at college and you had been studying non stop. You were going to end this year with a bang and have a great extended summer without worry in your head.

Then, the phone call happened. It was so unexpected. Dad called and asked if you were alone. Thankfully, your psychology class was on a five minute break and you were out in the hallway. Dad immediately said that he didn’t know how to break it to you gently so he was just going to say it. Following his statement, he told you how your great grandmother had a stroke and she had about a day to a month to live. The hallway stood still and the chatter of classrooms ceased into nothing.

Tears had welled up in your eyes and began to flow down your face. Nothing stopped them as your dad kept telling you about everything that happened. Your grandparents, uncles, aunts, and even your mom went to the hospital to see her. It was a two hour drive. Your dad had said that your mother was going to bring you home when all of your classes were done, for the day, so you could be in an area of comfort. The only reason he said that was because the history of your mental health wasn't the best at all. The previous two weeks were spent being in bed because the stress of school began to weigh heavily in your chest.

The weight in your chest had lessened over the past few days but the news of your great grandmother brought it back. Your face was red as the tears kept flowing from your eyes. Dad said he loved you before letting you hang up. Your whimpers and scattered breathing echoed in the hallway. Hot tears dripped from your chin and onto your sweater as you ran into the bathroom. Thankfully it was empty and you were able to let out your cries. The yellow lights flickered as you fell to your knees. She was your only great grandmother and she loved you greatly. Everyone told you that you were special because you were her eldest great granddaughter. The passing quote in your head practically made you scream out in confusion and upset.

Many minutes passed before your psychology teacher burst into the bathroom. She found you on the floor, face wet with tears. Immediately she came to your side and began shushing you while wrapping her arms around you. The only words you could cry out were “She’s dying and I’m not there.” After that, the day fuzzed into nothing. Your close friend had to come and get you for your other classes. She told your teachers how you were leaving early in the week because your great grandmother was dying. Thankfully, your teachers understood and gave you extensions on every assignment that was late.

Later in the evening, your mother came to get you. The car ride was very quiet and so was the weekend. It was spent with you occasionally crying while listening to your family plan her funeral. It was also spent with you remembering your childhood in her house.

The smells and sounds lingered in your mind constantly. Sometimes you’d hear the ghost of her grandfather clock when you couldn’t sleep.

Sadly, you couldn’t sleep most days. A week came and went and you were in the start of your finals week. It was three days filled with exams. Tuesday was the first day of exams. Thankfully, there was only one exam. When class was over, your teacher asked to speak with you. She gave you an enormous hug and told you that you passed her class. With tears forming in your eyes she told you that your great grandmother would be very proud. After that, she wished you the best in life and you went back to your dorm with your close friend.

As if on cue, your phone rang. When you picked it up you immediately could tell it was your dad. He told you that your great grandmother passed in her sleep early that morning. You knew this news was coming but no amount of preparation could prepare you to hear that. Tears fell from your eyes as he told you to get through the next few days before moving out and coming home. You both said, “I love you.” before hanging up.

Later that night, you cried until the sun gently arose over the tall evergreen trees. The next few days were spent in a daze. Your friends comforted you and told you that they’d always be there for you as you cried and wanted to go home. You took your exams and packed up your room and left the college. You were so happy to leave with your mother and go home for the summer. However, the shadow of grief clung to your skirt the entire time, even as the evening turned into night and then stretched into morning.

With sad eyes, you had looked into the mirror as you applied your makeup and got dressed for her funeral. The dress you wore was long sleeved and it just about touched the ground. You sighed. It was going to be a long drive through the flat farmland to get to the town of your childhood. When your family got to the old cemetery, your father told you that it was a beautiful day for her to be laid to rest.

And it was. It really was. The sun was shining, there were no clouds, and the gentle breeze turned your warm tears cold. Birds and butterflies fluttered around the graves and danced with each other. Even as the priest recited the carefully picked words, you thought of how it was a beautiful day. When he was done speaking, your mother held you as you cried. She let go when she began to cry uncontrollably. Your younger cousins came to your side and wept with you as you walked amongst your sleeping ancestors and extended family.

At the end of the funeral, you tearfully kissed her headstone goodbye and whispered to your great grandfather that you know they're happy now, laying side by side. When you got into the car to go back to Santa Carla, you cried until you dozed off under the warm afternoon sun.

Before you had left for the whole ordeal, you called David and told him about everything that had happened. He knew that your great grandmother had a stroke and that your whole family was stricken with grief. He also knew that you had never experienced grief or the process of mourning. So, he made a promise that when you came back he would stay by your side. You gave a huff into the payphone as he told you that he would do anything to ease the process. Before hanging up, you asked if it would be okay if you could stay at the cave for a couple of days. He told you yes and that he loved you before hanging up.

When your family finally got back to the house, you immediately fled to your room. Your parents didn’t want to bother you so they left you alone. They didn’t know that you were going to spend a few days at the cave. Infact, they didn’t know you were dating David. Your parents just thought he was a college friend.

Grabbing a bag, you began shoving clothes into it. You grabbed a few necessities and put those in there as well. When you figured you had everything, you heard David's bike outside. However, before you left, you noticed your great grandmother's ring on your dresser. It was given to you on your sixteenth birthday. It was an heirloom that was passed down from your great grandmother. When she first saw you wearing it, she had complimented how you reminded her of her younger self. While looking at the ring, your hand flew to the pearl choker that was resting around your neck. They were hers as well.

You grabbed the ring and slipped it on your ring finger before leaving. Your parents must’ve gone to bed because the house was dark and their bedroom door was shut. In the kitchen, you pulled out a notepad and wrote down that you were going to be with friends for a few days.

You left your house and noticed David was at the end of your driveway. He had a cigarette in his mouth and he was looking at your neighbors house.

“David.” you called gently. His head whipped towards you and a smirk appeared on his lips. His fingers came up and took the cigarette from his lips. When you walked to him, he gently pulled you close and gave you a quick kiss. When you pulled away, his hand came up to your cheek. You looked up at him in the moonlight and could see that his face was laced with concern as his eyes studied your face.

“Hop on kitten, let’s go to the cave.” he said, as his hand fell from your face. You got on behind him and when you wrapped your arms around him he began to drive through the night. Usually, you would be happy and laughing with David as he drove erratically to get you excited. He loved hearing you shout as he would go over hills but tonight was quiet. Of course he knew why. You were grieving and he wasn’t expecting you to do any of that. When you asked to stay at the cave, he was honestly surprised.

However, part of you felt like you needed to shout and laugh. You had mentally prepared for her death for a week and now it was hours after the funeral. Part of you begged to be left alone with your ever changing mind and the other part wanted to be with David in his arms as you two laughed and talked trash about the people of Santa Carla.

Instead, your face was resting against his back as he drove to the cave. The night was clear and the moon was bright. In the serenity of the night you closed your eyes. Your eyes were irritated at how much you had been crying and you hoped that tonight David wouldn’t see you cry. He had never seen you cry and you wanted to keep it that way. You always stayed happy and energetic around him. Sometimes you could hear David whisper that he loved your spark when he thought you were asleep. He didn’t know that your great grandmother repeated the same thing many years ago.

You sighed as you felt David’s bike slow to a stop. Opening your eyes, you saw that the both of you were at one of the entrances to the cave. He parked his bike next to the three others and turned it off. Carefully, you unwrapped your arms from him as he got off. As you got off, David offered his hand and you took it. When you stood next to him, hand in hand, he kissed your forehead. You smiled at the affection and he led you down into the cave.

“I know you won’t mind but, me and the guys are going to go feed when you get inside. I’ll change my clothes before coming back” David said, as he led you through the tunnel. You hummed and looked ahead at the gentle glowing light ahead. In the main area of the cave you could hear the noises of the other boys. David’s grip on your hand tightened as you came to the steep slope that led to the main area. The first time he brought you here, you slipped going down. You smiled at the cherished memory as you carefully walked down. Thankfully, this time you made it to the bottom.

“Hey David, hey Scoob” Marko said, looking up as you and David walked into the main area of the cave. You scoffed as David let go of your hand.

“How many times do I have to tell you to not call me that?” you asked, as David walked over towards the others. Marko gave you a teasing smile as Paul came from god knows where. Dwayne followed after him and the two joined the others.

“Anyways, I think you guys should get a move on. I can tell you’re antsy.” you said. David was breathing a bit more heavily than usual and you knew that was his body telling him to eat. Without word, the boys turned and walked away to one of the many exits. As the others ascended into the night, David turned to look at you. It was his way of saying goodbye but you also knew he was asking a question.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” you said, grabbing your bag. Without speaking, he too turned away and followed the others.

You sighed as you watched him leave. It wasn’t your first time alone in the cave. Sometimes, they would go out and feed while you slept and you’d wake up in an empty nest. But, right now, you needed to be alone to just breathe. So, you went down one of the hallways to your little sanctuary. Months ago, you found a little safe haven in the depths of the cave. It was your little room and it was filled with things you found and liked. As you walked down the dim path, you could see the curtains in the doorway. Carefully, when you stood in front of them, you pushed them aside and stepped into the little safe haven. It was dark, but thankfully you had candles in different places around the room. Setting your stuff down on the bed, you grabbed your lighter from your dress pocket. You carefully lit the candles and adjusted them to keep from scorching other objects.

When you were finished you plopped down onto the mattress that was covered in blankets and pillows. You didn’t know how long it had been since you last slept. The nights were spent with you crying until you couldn’t but by morning, you were ready to repeat the whole cycle.

It sucked. Grief wasn’t supposed to be like this. Many people told you that after a few days, everything would go back to normal. Well, you wanted the feeling to go away immediately. You hated this neverending feeling of sadness. It was like a child clinging to their mother’s skirt.

One of the worst parts of it all was the day going through your head. You couldn’t stop thinking about her funeral. Was this normal? To constantly think of the funeral? Was it also normal to cry so much? You just couldn’t understand the whole grief process at all.

Gently, you got up from the mattress and walked over to the old mirror that David found for you. The candles in the room gave your features a warm glow in the mirror. You looked at your face and how it changed. You looked different. The shadows under your eyes had darkened and your eyes looked irritated. Glancing down to the pearl choker, you felt your throat tighten. The words of the past week began to echo loudly in your head.

She wouldn’t want you to fuss over her.

Even the brightest stars have to dim.

She loved you. She loved you greatly.

Then the tears came. They came so fast that you were honestly scared by them. They fell down your face as a sob escaped your mouth.

It wasn’t fair. None of it was. The pain in your body felt amplified as you sank to the floor. The worst part of it all was you couldn’t stop thinking of her. The way she kissed your cheeks when she saw you and when you left. The way her hands gently ran through your hair as you slept in her lap as a child. How she would sneakily give you chocolates after Christmas dinner and not tell anyone. Her mischievous smile flashed in your mind and it only made you cry harder. Why, why, why? Why did she have to die?

______

From the entrance of the cave, David stood still. Your sadness had reverberated through the cave like a loud radio. He couldn’t hear you but he felt the grief. Slowly, he walked to your room. He had forgotten how grief felt. It was a horrible feeling that he never wanted to experience again. However, he wanted to comfort you the best he could. As he got closer to your room, he could hear you. He heard the rapid beating of your heart as you let your emotions out. When he stood in front of the curtain, he hesitated. Would you want him in there?

David brushed the thought aside as he remembered that it was your first time with grief. He could practically smell the confusion and anger from your tears. Quickly, he opened the curtains and stepped into your room. On the farthest side of the room, you were leaning against the wall as you were trying to catch your breath. Your face was red and wet with tears. The eyeliner you wore was smudged around your eyes and David could see where it had trailed.

When you had calmed down just a little, David cleared his throat. Immediately, you turned around and met his still face. He held no emotion as he looked at your tragic form.

“Get out.” you said, quickly wiping your face. David did not move from his spot. Instead, he walked towards you.

“David, get out! I don’t want you to see me like this!” You yelled, as you turned away to shield yourself from him. He said nothing as he came behind you and wrapped his arms around you. It was so gentle that it almost didn’t seem like David. Again, you tried to say something else but it died on your lips. Instead a whimper came out as you fell to the floor and David gently fell with you. He kept your back pressed against his chest as you kept crying.

“I-I’m sorry.” you mumbled through your tears. David’s face nuzzled your neck as you wept uncontrollably.

“It’s okay. I’m right here.” he quietly said against your skin as you kept trying to steady your breathing. After a few minutes, you had calmed down enough but tears still kept falling down your face.

David listened as your heartbeat kept getting calmer by the minute. It was a soothing sound to him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking at your face. You scoffed, “No, but I’ll live.” you mumbled quietly. David hummed at your response.

“David, I hate this.” you stated with a sniffle. He perked up at your words and listened carefully.

“I hate everything about grief, I hate the confusion, I hate the sleepless nights, I hate the crying and I-” you cut off the sentence as you tried to not go into another crying fit. Taking in a shaky breath, you continued, “And I hate that I don’t know what to do. This whole process fucking sucks.”

David sighed and kissed your cheek. “You’re still in the early stages of grief. It’s confusing and it’s scary to go through. Especially by yourself.” he explained calmly, “One of the best things you can do is try to think of all of the good things that happened in her life. I detest seeing you this way, but I know it’s something you have to go through.” he finished.

You sighed and wiped your face, “But, why does it have to hurt so damn bad?” you asked, turning to try and look at his face. David moved back so he could look you in the eye.

“It hurts because you lost someone you loved. Your mind can’t understand how life will be different without her. Eventually, you’ll understand how to live life like before and carry on again.” he replied, calmly.

His eyes fell to the pearl choker around your neck and his hands moved to take it off. You didn’t object to the feeling of his cold hands as they fumbled with the clasp. Carefully, he took it off and moved to set it somewhere else. “Lets move to the mattress, hm?” David suggested. You nodded and the two of you got up and went to lay down together on the mattress. Instead of laying next to you, David was sitting next to you.

You closed your eyes when your back hit the soft blankets. It was comforting but you didn’t want to sleep even though your body was begging for it. You were just scared of what you would dream of.

“Would you like me to take off your ring?” David asked, holding your hand up to his face. You quirked your eyebrow at him. “Why would I need to take off her ring?” you asked sitting up. David rolled his eyes, “You don’t want it to fall off while you sleep. It might get lost.” he said, meeting your gaze.

“Uh, it won’t get lost while I sleep because I’m not going to sleep.” you replied, moving your hand away from his.

David scoffed at your words, “Kitten, this isn’t up for debate. I know you haven’t slept in days and it’s not healthy for you.” he argued, moving his hands to your face.

“David, I don’t need you to tell me what to do.” You declared. He looked down at you. His eyes were serious and you could tell that he was getting annoyed with this conversation.

“You are going to sleep and I don’t care if you refuse. I’m going to do this anyways” he said, finally. Before you could answer, you slipped into a deep sleep. Your body fell back onto the mattress and David was satisfied. He didn’t like using his vampire powers on you but, he felt like this was necessary. He looked down at your hand and carefully pulled the ring off. David got up from the mattress and set the ring down next to the pearl choker. He looked down at your sleeping form and smirked before laying down next to you. Tonight, all would be well for a while.

#marko the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #david the lost boys #paul the lost boys #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys 1987 #David the lost boys x reader #david lost boys #rosemary writes

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spoookymuulders · 4 years

Text

you make my heart beat like the rain

read it on ao3 here spotify playlist for this chapter here total word count: 21,669 chapter word count: 3,231 WARNINGS: none for this chapter :)

chapter six. take me home to the place i beong (i). in which derek morgan becomes a father

There are few things in life Derek Morgan enjoys as much as his first cup of coffee in the morning. He gets up at 5:45 every morning, does his workout or goes for a run, then comes home to shower and have his coffee. Usually by the time he’s done working out, Savannah is up and puttering around the kitchen, and she has his coffee ready and waiting for him in his favorite mug.

Savannah hates said mug.

It’s not that it’s ugly, per se, it’s just.. Tacky. It’s got little starbursts on it, and a shark wearing sunglasses, and every time Derek picks it up and grins at her and recites Jaw ready for this? From the text around the shark, Savannah wants to take the mug and fling it out the window. Now, she thinks she might actually have a chance to do that. She hides the mug as soon as she’s up this morning, shoving it as far back as she possibly can in the cabinet and dropping back to the flats of her feet as she hears the front door open and Derek calls out his return.

She pokes her head out of the kitchen with a tender smile, blowing him a kiss. “Breakfast is just about ready.” She tells him, presenting her cheek when he stops and leans down to kiss it.

“Smells delicious, baby.” He says with a grin before he heads to the bathroom. Savannah watches him go and exhales quietly, scurrying around to finish breakfast as Derek starts his shower. It doesn’t take him long to clean up - it never does - and she’s pouring creamer into his coffee as he comes into the kitchen and flops at the table. She sets the new mug - this one reading good morning, handsome - in front of him and perches across from him, smiling sweetly when he squints at her.

“Where’s my mug?” He asks. Savannah shrugs nonchalantly.

“I couldn’t find it this morning. Didn’t you bring it to the store the other day?” She asks. Derek hums, sipping at his coffee.

“I thought I brought it home, but maybe it’s at the store.” He muses. Savannah hums lightly, putting her chin in her hand and watching Derek as he drinks his coffee - much too slowly, if you ask her, and if he notices her staring, he doesn’t say anything about it. In fact, he drinks slower. Savannah squints at him harder and he grins around his mug.

“Oh, just drink your coffee.” She huffs, waving a hand at him. Derek chuckles and complies, sipping his coffee slowly as he flicks through the paper. Savannah watches him closely, chewing her lip nervously. As he finishes his coffee, she leans forward anxiously, watching him lower the mug.

With the mug halfway to the table, he freezes, staring at the bottom of it, his eyes widening slowly before he looks up at Savannah again.

“Seriously?” He asks quietly. Savannah bites her lip nervously and nods slowly. Derek sets the mug down and jumps around the table, sweeping Savannah into his arms and spinning her around twice before kissing her warmly.

The mug, sitting abandoned on the table, reads You’re going to be a daddy.

****

A few days after the thunderstorm - after Callie wakes at the B&B and finds Jack in the living room and helps him make breakfast and Hotch panics momentarily because there are butterflies in his stomach and he did not give them permission to be there - is Callahan’s famous harvest fest. The whole town goes all out every year, and Callie loves it. Jack-O-Lanterns are set up throughout town with numbers posted beneath them or beside them for voting. The farmer’s market runs past two in the afternoon - usually open until five or six. Main Street is totally blocked off for the carnival, with games and rides and food galore, and there’s a dance floor set up in the middle of the town square. The whole thing lasts for a week and a half at least.

Callie hops onto her bike the morning that harvest fest starts and rides through town slowly, the cool October air bracing as it pushes against her cheeks. Music floats through speakers attached to street lights as she heads for the farmer’s market, hopping off her bike and locking it up when she arrives. She stretches as she walks through, grinning when she spies a familiar head of dark hair.

“Boo!” She says as she bounces up behind Hotch and leans around him. He jumps and laughs as he turns to face her, and her heart stutters at his smile.

“Callie!” Jack crows, throwing his little arms around her waist. She laughs softly and settles her arms around his shoulders gently, rubbing his back before looking up at Hotch with a grin. Looking at the two of them beaming at him, Hotch feels his heart jump and his breath hitch and that hasn’t happened in a while.

“How are you, Callie?” He asks, shaking himself back into the present. She grins at him, crouching down when Jack tugs at her jacket and allowing him to climb onto her back before she straightens up again. Jack ignores the look his father gives him, wrapping his arms around Callie’s neck gently and nuzzling his cheek against hers.

“I’m pretty good! What are you two up to today?” She asks, bouncing Jack on her back gently.

“We’re gonna get some stuff and have lunch.” Jack says brightly. Callie nods, glancing at Hotch with a smile.

“Would you like to join us?” He asks before he can stop himself. Callie beams at him and nods again.

“I’d love to.” She says warmly. Jack wiggles and worms his way off her back, sticking himself between Callie and his father instantly and taking one of each of their hands. The three of them meander through the farmer’s market, Jack using the fact that he has two grown-ups holding onto him to leap into the air, shrieking with laughter when they swing him up and back to the grass.

“Where do you get lunch here usually?” Hotch asks, glancing over at Callie as they pause at a stall selling soaps and essential oils. Callie purchases a small bottle of lavender oil and tucks it into the canvas bag thrown over her shoulder, then looks up at Hotch with a smile.

“I usually go to the Greek stall.” She tells him. “They’re so good. But that Spanish one is really good, too - their empanadas are to die for.” Hotch hums thoughtfully, glancing down at Jack.

“What d’you think, buddy?” He asks. Jack wrinkles his nose as he thinks.

“I wanna try an empanada.” He says finally. Hotch nods and gestures for Callie to lead the way. They get their lunch and find a spot beneath a tree, all three digging into their food eagerly - it smells delicious, and it tastes even better. Jack is talking a mile a minute as they eat, Callie fully engrossed in whatever he’s telling her, but Hotch can’t take his eyes off of her.

He admires the way her nose bunches up when she laughs, how her deep red hair falls over one shoulder in a lazy braid and catches the sunlight. Her sweater slips from her shoulder and he spies the edge of a tattoo on her upper arm, and he finds himself suddenly curious to know what it is - and if she has any more. He shakes himself back into the present as Jack tugs on his sleeve.

“Sorry buddy, what was that?” He asks. Jack huffs quietly.

“Can Callie come hang out?” He repeats, looking up at his father and batting his eyes. Hotch glances at Callie as she sips her water, shrugging lightly.

“If she wants to, of course she can.” Hotch says. Callie gives him a small smile and looks down as Jack turns to her.

“I’d love to. But I’m gonna have to stop at home first to drop off the cold stuff I got today.” She says. Jack grins broadly at her and hugs her tightly, and she smiles softly, resting her cheek to his hair lightly. They gather their things and toss their garbage into a can nearby, and Jack grabs onto each of his grown-ups’ hands again, beaming like the sun. They part ways at the bike rack, Callie crouching to unlock her bike and shoving the lock into her bag. She climbs on and kicks the pedals into place before turning her bike around and heading for the street.

“Hey, Hotchner!” She shouts as she stops in front of his car. Hotch turns around, brows raised slightly. “Harvest fest starts tonight.”

“Yeah?” He calls back, closing the door once he’s sure Jack is securely in his seat.

“You want a date?”

Hotch blinks twice, then smiles.

“Sure.”

****

“I’ve never been to a harvest festival.” Zoe admits, looking up at Spencer as they wander through town. He looks down at her, his eyes almost comically wide, and she laughs softly before she continues. “I mean - back home, right around Halloween, they had this thing they’d do where a bunch of people from town would carve pumpkins and they’d light them and people could walk through there, but that was about it.”

“You’re in for such a treat!” Spencer says, beaming down at her. “The harvest fest here in Callahan is amazing - best I’ve ever seen.”

“And you’ve seen a lot, have you?” Zoe asks with a giggle. Spencer nods seriously and Zoe raises a brow. “For real?”

“For real.” He tells her, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Harvest festivals and Halloween are two of my favorite things.”

“What happens at the harvest festival?” She asks. Spencer hums, tipping his head up to the sky for a moment as he thinks, and Zoe admires the way the afternoon sunlight catches in the hazel of his eyes.

“A whole bunch of things.” Spencer says eagerly, turning his gaze back to her and beaming. “It runs from the eleventh through Halloween! There’s a carnival, all of the shops in town do something fun - Miller’s Books always has steamed cider and stuff like that for free during harvest fest - they set up a dance floor in the middle of town square. Oh, there’s a corn maze, too!”

“Oh, now corn mazes I can do.” Zoe says seriously. Spencer raises a brow and Zoe nods. “JJ and I grew up in rural Pennsylvania, the only thing we had to do for fun was find our way out of cornfields.” As Zoe launches into a story about getting lost in a cornfield overnight with JJ and another friend she calls Kate, Spencer watches her with a small smile. He never would’ve guessed when he first saw her at the flower shop that she’s so.. Animated.

She uses her hands when she talks, and she’s open and bright and silly and warm and she makes Spencer’s heart flutter. And he’s not entirely sure what to make of that, but he finds that doesn’t mind it. Nobody’s made his heart flutter like this since-

He shakes the name out of his head. He’s happy. In this moment, walking side-by-side with Zoe in the crisp fall air as they near the bookshop, he is happy, and he refuses to let anything bring his mood down. He doesn’t realize that Zoe has stopped talking until she tugs on his sleeve gently, bringing him out of his thoughts.

“You okay?” She asks softly. Spencer shakes himself a little, giving her a small smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” He promises. Zoe hums like she doesn’t quite believe him, but he hops forward and opens the door to the bookshop before she can ask anymore questions. As Zoe slips in, her eyes widen while she looks around. Alex greets them with a smile as her old shop dog, Kevin, comes plodding out from behind the counter and snuffles around Zoe’s legs. She crouches down immediately, letting him sniff her hands for a moment before scratching under his chin.

Spencer isn’t sure how much time they spend in the shop, but he enjoys watching Zoe look around with wide, excited eyes. He loses track of her for a while, wandering around on his own and selecting a few volumes to add to his collection before he goes to look for her. He finds her curled up in an armchair beside a window, flipping through a book slowly, her eyes glued to the pages. He approaches and perches on the bench beside the chair, smiling gently when she looks up.

“What’d you find?” He asks. Zoe holds up the book, grinning.

“A signed first edition of The Haunting of Hill House.” She says eagerly. Spencer smiles, tipping his head.

“I haven’t read that one.” He muses. Zoe gasps softly, scooting closer to him and holding out the book so he can read the blurb on the back cover. “It sounds good!”

“It’s one of my favorites.” She tells him. “Did you know Shirley Jackson wrote six novels, two memoirs, and over 200 short stories throughout her career? She was born in California but went to school in New York, and she and her husband moved to Vermont in 1945.” Spencer blinks twice, then smiles - usually he’s the one infodumping, and his friends are telling him he’s talking too much, so it’s refreshing to hear someone else chatter on and on about something. Zoe is still talking and she blushes, snapping her mouth shut and muttering an apology.

“No, no, don’t stop!” Spencer says quickly, leaning forward. Zoe eyes him skeptically and he smiles. “Seriously, tell me more. I didn’t know any of this stuff.”

When they leave the bookshop half an hour later, Spencer has learned more about Shirley Jackson than he ever thought he’d know, and he’s smiling bigger than he has in a long time.

****

Callie arrives at the B&B half an hour later to find Jack and Hotch sitting on the porch, fully engrossed in what looks to be a thrilling game of Go Fish. She leaves her bike at the bottom of the stairs, grinning at the boys with a smile as she comes up the stairs and perches beside Jack, who crawls into her lap instantly.

“Who’s winning?” She asks, resting her chin on his little head as he settles.

“Daddy.” Jack says with a huff. Hotch laughs softly and Callie grins, dipping her head to peer at Jack’s cards.

“Not for much longer.” Callie tells him. Jack looks up and squints when Callie smiles. “You’ve got me on your team now, kiddo.”

“Oh, we’re playing on teams now, are we?” Hotch asks from across the pile of cards. Callie laughs brightly and Jack nods eagerly. “Well that’s not fair, I don’t have anyone on my team!”

“There’s only one of me, man.” Callie says, sticking her tongue out. Hotch laughs again and shakes his head fondly, peering over his own cards.

“Do you have any sixes?” He asks. Jack squints at his cards, then shakes his head.

“Go fish.”

They play a few more rounds of Go Fish, Jack cheering eagerly each time he wins and Hotch smiling indulgently before glancing at his watch.

“Harvest fest is about to start. Should we go?” He asks. Jack nods eagerly, wiggling out of Callie’s lap and sprinting inside to find a sweater. Callie watches him go with a small smile and scoots forward to help Hotch clean up the cards. “He really likes you.” Hotch says suddenly, and Callie glances up as she taps a few cards together, a small smile touching her lips.

“As a school official, I’m not supposed to have favorites. But he’s definitely my favorite.” She says conspiratorially. Hotch chuckles and nods, his heart swelling a little at the admission. “Seriously, Hotch, he’s a great kid.”

Hotch feels his cheeks flush, but Jack reappears before he can say anything, jumping up and down eagerly and asking repeatedly if they can go yet. They finish cleaning up the cards quickly and Hotch tosses them onto the bureau just inside the front door, then follows Callie and Jack down the steps and to the car. Jack chatters eagerly as they drive along, Callie engaging easily and happily with him and Hotch listening with a small smile.

And for the first time in a long time, he feels something like hope blossoming in his chest.

****

They go back to Zoe’s apartment, because it’s closer than the ranch and they have every intention of going to harvest fest after spending some time winding down from their afternoon. Zoe makes them each a cup of tea, and when she comes back into the room, Spencer is perched on the arm of the couch, his fingers running down the pages of her new copy of Hill House.

“What’re you doing?” She asks.

“Reading.” He says simply, not bothering to look up. Zoe raises her brows and sets the teacups down before reaching over and plucking the book out of his hands. “Hey!”

“This is another one you have to read slow, Spence.” She says, plopping into her usual spot at the end of the couch. Spencer raises a brow. “Otherwise you miss all the subtle stuff in it.”

“I don’t miss things in books.” He says, wrinkling his nose a little. Zoe wrinkles her nose back and hugs the book to her chest as Spencer slides from the arm to the seat.

“But you don’t get the full experience if you read it too fast.”

Spencer hums, considering this - he’s always enjoyed reading, but he did enjoy it more as a child when his mother would read out loud to him. “I guess that makes sense.” He muses. Zoe grins, and he can practically see a lightbulb appear above her head.

“C’mere.” She says, gesturing for him to move closer. He does so, raising a brow as she flips the book to the first page and pats her lap. He watches her for a moment, then lays down, his head resting in her lap as she clears her throat. “No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream.” She recites, “Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut;’ silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.”

Her voice is soft as she reads, and soothing. Spencer watches her, watches the way her lips form the words, the way her eyes flit across the pages. He closes his eyes as her free hand begins to card through his hair slowly, and slowly her voice fades away as sleep overtakes him. She isn’t far behind him, dog-earing the page in the book and setting it aside before shifting to get more comfortable, careful not to jostle Spencer. He snuffles and shifts in his sleep and Zoe shushes him gently, brushing her fingers over his forehead slowly as he settles again.

They have every intention of going to opening night of harvest fest. They sleep soundly on Zoe’s couch instead.

#mine*#tiny town au #au: electric love #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x oc #aaron hotchner x oc #derek morgan #savannah morgan #derek morgan x savannah morgan

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actuallylorelaigilmore · 6 years

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the word is out about the town, to lift a glass and don't look down

Christmas fluff!! During "Silent Night, Deadly Night," Alice runs into FP at the Whyte Wyrm. Afterwards, they each receive an unexpected gift.

FP x Alice, Riverdale. Also on AO3.

He’s paused at the bar, talking to the Serpent that helps out when Hog Eye’s off for the night. Topaz, he thinks, her eyes the golden color of gemstones. He doesn’t know her that well; the kids who join keep getting younger and younger. But she’s taken Jug under her wing and FP is grateful for that.

“Can I get you anything?” She looks up from wiping down the bar, and he shakes his head.

“No, thanks.”

He hears her all the way from the other side of the Whyte Wyrm. It’s like the sound of her cuts through the static of the crowd between where he stands and where Alice Cooper is, dressed like somebody who got lost on her way home from the PTA.

“I gotta…” FP leaves his sentence unfinished, missing the knowing smirk on Toni’s face as he’s drawn to the drop-off spot for holiday donations.

She looked so different the last time she was here--or she looked the same, and the way she’s dressed now is really what counts as different. He can’t tell anymore, with Alice, which is the real her and which was a lie. But she looked great at his retirement party.

Now she’s buttoned back up and carrying two big gift bags in green and red.

What’s the classic line? He steps closer. Of all the bars in this town, here she is in his? Something like that. He’d be able to recite it word-for-word if he wasn’t already catching a hint of her perfume.

“Alice Cooper.” He enjoys the way she whips around, startled by him despite being on his turf. Serves her right.

“FP. How are you?”

Strange thing is, she sounds like she means it. It occurs to him that the last time he saw her, he was throwing his second chance away. No wonder she's wary.

“I’m fine. Snakes don’t stay down for long.”

Alice rolls her eyes. She was a Serpent too, but it was FP who became so enamored with snake imagery that he started confusing the gang insignia with the creature itself. What a silly quirk to have survived the years between them.

“What are you doing here?”

“Toys for Tots.” She lifts the bags and shakes them a little. “Toys.”

“Ah.” It’s not much of an explanation. He's certain the Northside has toy drives of its own, along with school supply collections and fundraisers she could donate to. Why here?

“I felt like...doing something,” she says when he keeps staring. “Giving back. I remembered we always did this. Decided to see if it was still happening, and here you are.”

“Here I am.”

And here you are, he thinks, dragging his eyes away from hers long enough to scan her thin pink blouse and skirt under a heavy winter coat. “Come with me. Oh, give those to Sweet Pea,” he adds as an afterthought.

“What? Where are we--” They are almost to the bar, his hand on the small of her back, before she relaxes.

“What’s your poison?”

“I still have to make dinner,” she says with a hint of sigh in her voice. “I’ll just have some wine.”

“The wine here sucks,” Toni tells her firmly. “Nobody drinks it, so they won’t let me bring in better. Please, if you care about your tastebuds, order anything else.”

“Okay…”

FP leans in. “She’ll have two shots of strawberry vodka with a chaser of that lemonade you fixed up fresh this afternoon.”

“Gotcha. Be right back.”

“I can’t believe you remember that.” Alice stares at him.

“There’s a lot I remember.” He takes the liberty of tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. She's in his den, after all. Normal rules feel suspended here. “Why Toys for Tots, huh? We do it every Christmas. I’ve never seen you.”

“I have my reasons. And we have the money.” She shrugs. “Why not?”

“Until my party, you hadn’t set foot here since...before you got married. Is this gonna become a habit? Not complaining,” he adds. “Just wondering.”

“That was a one-time occurrence. I don't exactly belong here anymore. But, ‘tis the season.”

She pokes his chest with a perfectly manicured nail. “Where’s your holiday spirit, FP? You should be happy.”

“About what? I hate the holidays.”

“I know you used to. You’re a father now. You’re no longer that kid whose dad refused to put up a tree."

“Yeah, I know. I try to make it special for Jug. I do. But he’s growing up--he doesn’t want Santa stories and snow angels anymore.”

“Some traditions we grow out of,” Alice agrees, with a parent’s sorrow. “But some grow along with us. Don’t stop trying, FP. Your kids will always be your kids, if you let them.”

“Wow, somebody’s philosophical.”

“No, somebody’s impatient. Where’s my drink?” Alice turns away from him, drumming her fingers on the bar until she spots Toni.

“Sorry, Tall Boy wouldn’t wait his turn. You know how he gets,” she tells FP. “Here’s your shots and chasers.”

Alice narrows her eyes when the girl sets down the shot glasses and only gives one to her. The other is in front of FP. Wasn’t he done drinking?

“I never said I would share,” she protests, reaching across him to grab it.

“It’s a free drink, Alice. Stop complaining.” FP tosses his back, following it with the chaser. Alice smiles at the way his mouth twists around the tartness of the lemonade.

“I don’t know how you can stand that berry stuff,” he says as Alice drinks hers in half the time. She pats her mouth with the napkin in front of her and grins.

“It’s disgusting.”

FP’s laugh fills the space between them. It does more to warm her than the liquor.

“Hey, I didn’t order it! You did.”

“Because it used to be your favorite.”

“I also used to watch The Breakfast Club every week for a year. I was a dumb kid.”

“You were never dumb. But wow, you had crap taste.”

“In alcohol, yes. I’m happy to say my tastes have matured.”

“Also in music,” he argues. “That song you played about a hundred times. You wore out the tape deck in your old car. What was it called again?”

“'Hungry Eyes?' It was in Dirty Dancing! FP Jones, that is a classic song.”

“That song drives me nuts. I still know all the words, and not by choice.”

“I’ll never understand how you could live in that trailer and be such a snob.”

“Well, you grew up in the ugliest house on the block, and look at you.”

She glares at him. “I can still punch you without breaking a nail, you know.”

“Meant it as a compliment, Alice. You’re gorgeous, always have been. Questionable taste, in music and movies and alcohol. In people. But too pretty for words.”

“You certainly seem to have plenty tonight.”

“Vodka went to my head.”

Her lips quirk. “You’re not that much of a lightweight. But we’ll pretend I believe you. I have to go, FP. Thanks for the terrible drink on the house. Good luck on the toy drive.”

“Stay warm,” he says, the closest he can get to goodbye. That almost felt like old times. They’ve never looked more different, but something was the same. Something is still there.

“Hey, Toni.”

“You want another?”

“God, no. The woman you fixed the shot for just now?”

“Yeah, Betty’s mom.”

He glances at her, surprised.

“I used to read the Register. She’s not exactly low-key.”

“Right. I wonder...does she look like the type who might have a record player?”

“I don’t know.” She thinks it over. “I mean, her husband owns a newspaper. She might’ve gone digital. But if she does have one, I’m guessing it’s quality.”

She could have questioned him in return, about Mrs. Cooper or his sudden interest in vinyl. Toni was curious about all the undercurrents that ran through the Southside and Northside High and everywhere in between, but she didn’t ask about them. She learned more by listening and letting others do what most people did naturally: tell strangers all their secrets.

FP grabs his coat and pauses by the Meals on Wheel section to make sure the arrangements are coming together. “I’ll be back soon,” he tells Tall Boy on his way out. His bike takes him to Greendale and back with no problems--an unnecessary precaution, probably. It's not like he's doing anything wrong.

But Riverdale is full of nosy idiots.

****

Alice hears the doorbell ring, and waits for Betty’s footfalls on the stairs as she brushes flour off her hands. Eventually she sighs and goes to answer the door herself. She’s busy in the kitchen; couldn’t Elizabeth have at least come downstairs?

There are carolers on her doorstep, one of the traditions she loves about Riverdale that she had no idea existed outside of Christmas movies until she joined Hal on the Northside.

The Riverdale Children’s Choir sings a spirited, if slightly off-key, “Carol of the Bells.” After that, it’s “We Wish You A Merry Christmas” and then “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” By the end, her lonely mood has perked up a bit. The group of kids and parents moves to the next door.

Maybe they’d like some of the cookies she’s been making all day, Alice thinks, before a glint at the edge of her porch catches her eye.

The flat package is wrapped in metallic gold and crinkles when she picks it up. For Alice is all the tag says. If her memory hasn’t failed her, though, she knows that handwriting.

What would he be doing getting her a gift?

She closes the front door, tiny carolers forgotten, and sits heavily on her couch. Betty is doing who knows what in her room; Hal is out. No time like the present...for a present, Alice decides.

Even as a child, she was a fastidious unwrapper. Gifts were so rare in her house, so precious, that she relished them. She hung on to the paper for years, turning it into something new or laying it flat in a box, tucked away in wait for a life where she could take such things for granted.

She wants for nothing now, but the box has only gotten bigger, and the treasure trove of glittering bows and ribbons and glossy paper offers her the holiday spirit year-round.

On really bad days, Alice dives into that box, running her fingers over the twirled ribbons and remembering where each piece of carefully preserved wrapping came from.

FP was there for a lot of that--for the worst of it. There’s no way his choice of paper isn’t deliberate. He brought her shimmering gold, the color he always told her looked best on her. Though her world has been falling apart for months, that makes her smile.

Pressing the tape against the white side of the paper as she goes along, Alice painstakingly peels back the gold until she can see what’s inside.

A laugh bursts out of her, and she rushes to cover her mouth like she can take it back. There is no sane way to explain this gift to Betty...the circumstances, or receiving it at all. But it's perfect.

Untying her apron and leaving it on the couch, Alice takes her surprise to Hal’s study. He shouldn’t be home for hours. And since she no longer really owns records, it’s where they keep his father’s player.

Not that Hal listens to them much, either. He likes the idea of being the kind of man who does. Status and how things look matter more to him than the truth; despite her choice to marry him, they are nothing alike in that way.

Alice slides the shrink-wrapped vinyl out of the gold paper, and sets it down on Hal’s desk. She runs her fingertips along the cover of the LP. There’s Johnny, and there’s Baby. She’d been such a romantic back then, in a desperate secret way she showed only to the first boy who loved her back. How many times had she made FP watch Dirty Dancing?

It had to be at least a dozen, the poor guy. And he wasn’t wrong, she’d played this song in her car over and over, until the tape snapped inside the cassette.

It was playing when they got lost in the rain during what was supposed to be a romantic picnic. It was playing when he quirked that smile of his and ran his hand up under her shirt the first time, when they steamed up the backseat.

FP even played it once, when she found out she might not graduate because of her arrest and they would be putting her on community service on the Northside to expose her to more ‘positive influences’--like the Northside wasn't full of pompous jerks who bullied her friends.

She couldn’t stop crying, her face buried in his jacket while they sat in the cab of his dad’s truck...and then "Hungry Eyes" started playing.

“I bought a copy,” FP told her, kissing her damp cheeks. “In case of emergency. Close your eyes, Al. It’s gonna be okay.”

It wouldn’t be okay, in actuality. Everything was about to change--but neither of them knew that at the time. Her lashes dried, his varsity jacket left the imprint of an R on her cheek, and she laced her fingers through his. She let her favorite song and her boyfriend's warmth make it disappear for a while.

Now, Alice puts the record on. She closes her eyes and curls up on the small sofa in the corner, feet tucked underneath her, clad in fuzzy socks. The music washes it all away.

It’s 1992. She’s splitting her time between school and the local biker bar, because her home isn’t safe or happy. But she has FP. That matters more than everything else.

Her relationship is a little like her favorite movie, when she thinks about it. He’s a roughneck like Johnny, with a soft side. She’s never fit in her family, like Baby. And FP isn’t really the school dance type, but he likes to put the radio on in his trailer when they’re alone and slow dance with her on the frayed carpet.

She spends the next hour locked in her husband’s study, the record taking her back to a life before there were Black Hoods and teenage pregnancies and broken hearts. She’s just a girl who loves a boy, and he’s murmuring along to her favorite song.

Alice hopes he likes his surprise as much as she likes hers.

****

“Hey,” FP calls out to Hog Eye behind the bar as he surveys the donations table. “I thought the sorting was done.”

“It is. Everyone got the toys and meals packed up and ready for distribution, all of it. Finished this morning.”

“Then what’s this?”

FP waves a box in the air. It's wrapped in forest green paper with little white trees. Hog Eye shrugs and goes back to tending bar.

“Sweet Pea found it with the donations. Apparently it’s for you.”

“Huh.”

He turns it over and spies the card tucked under a silver bow. Typed out instead of handwritten, it reads, Merry Christmas, FP. From your Secret Santa.

The Serpents don’t do Secret Santa. Their money goes to holiday donations and taking care of their members the rest of the year. Plus it’s such a spoiled rich sort of idea, buying gifts for someone and not even signing your name.

Which is exactly what he did, leaving that surprise for Alice, he reminds himself. So maybe he should just open the thing.

It takes him three seconds to remove the paper. He’s never been the patient type when he gets presents; if it could get taken away any minute, you better enjoy it while you can.

Wrong Men & Notorious Women: A Criterion Collection, the cover says in black and white. Apparently Santa thinks he needs to own more old movies. Who…

He remembers the way Alice’s eyes flashed at him across her dinner table last year and smiles. Before she went for the jugular on Homecoming night, she seemed surprised to learn he still loved movies. She looked, for just a second, like she’d seen a ghost.

The ghost of Christmas Past, FP thinks, turning the DVD set over in his hands. It’s Hitchcock. Got some good stuff. Not that he’d expect anything less from Alice Cooper.

As thank yous go, it’s a good one.

Then he freezes, still holding his gift.

“Boss?”

“Yeah, Hog Eye?”

“Need a drink? You look strange.”

“I’m fine, Hog. Thanks.”

If Sweet Pea found this mixed in with the donations, then she brought it that night. She brought it before he left hers on her porch.

FP isn’t sure what that means, but he knows it means something.

He used to speak the language of Alice fluently; now he can only guess that this is much an apology as a surprise.

Trying to tear him to shreds in front of his son and her husband and daughter? Pure Alice Cooper. No hesitation, no mercy.

Giving him movies for Christmas, when he mentioned being a movie buff right before their pleasant dinner went off the rails? When she hadn’t given him anything in the twenty Christmases before?

That was vintage Alice Smith. The girl he knew would pull stunts like this, flipping from angry to apologetic, from demands to tears.

He could never quite keep up, but he had loved the ride.

The reckless part of FP that always wanted another five drinks considered giving her a call. He could pick up the phone, thank her for the movies, extend an invitation to watch one in case she was ever bored and lonely.

He knows damn well it wouldn’t end there, if it started. There’s no version of that phone call that ends good.

“I’m goin’ home,” he tells everyone and no one in the Whyte Wyrm, and he tucks the box set inside his jacket for safekeeping.

Jughead’s pissed at him for taking the Serpents back, but maybe he can get his sullen kid to watch The Lady Vanishes with him tonight. Wasn’t that Alice’s advice, to keep trying?

'Tis the season, FP thinks with a grin as snow hits him on his way out the door.

If he’s ever going to catch a break...or a miracle...it might as well be on Christmas Eve.

#falice #riverdale #fp x alice #alice x fp #snakeparents #riverdale fic #riverdale fanfic #riverdale fanfiction #falice fic #falice fanfic #falice fanfiction #alice x fp fic #alice x fp fanfic #fp x alice fic #fp x alice fanfic #my fic

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geekprincess26 · 6 years

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The Year of Zero: Chapter 1

June 17, 908 AC

“Sansa!” Catelyn Stark’s voice drifted over the banisters lining the basement stairs and through the crack under the firmly closed door of her eldest daughter’s bedroom. “Come and set the dinner table, please.”

Twelve-year-old Sansa squeezed her eyes shut and sighed with frustration. It seemed but a few minutes since she’d had to set the table for lunch, and now it was dinnertime already. Really, she had only had but a few minutes to herself that afternoon. She’d had to wash the lunch dishes while her mother had ferried Bran and Rickon off to basketball practice, which would have been fine except that Arya, who’d been drying the dishes next to her, had been in a hurry to head off biking with her friends and done her job far too quickly, leaving streaks of water all over the plates. As soon as Sansa had pointed that out, Arya had begun snapping at her, and Catelyn Stark had come home to find them in a blazing row. They’d gotten to snapping each other with the dish towels, but Sansa had had the misfortune to be the only one of them her mother had actually seen in the act, so she’d gotten the harsher punishment, along with a stern admonition to act her age and be a better example to her sister.

So now she was stuck doing the dishes every night that week, and here it was only Tuesday. It was doubly unfair because Robb was supposed to have washed the lunch dishes that day, and he could always handle Arya and her fits and pranks and immaturity better than Sansa could. But Robb was at day camp for football this week, and her parents could hardly deny him the chance to improve his skills and possibly earn a place on the school varsity team that fall. He would only be a freshman, but he was tall and broad for fourteen, and Coach Cassel had told the Starks he had a real chance. So Robb had gone to camp and agreed to do the dinner dishes that week, which now fell to Sansa because he was away and Arya had gotten off on a lighter punishment yet again for yet another fight she’d started in the first place.

Sansa sighed again and willed her eyes open. She might yet get another page of Florian and Jonquil read before her mother –

“Sansa Lyarra!” Catelyn called, and Sansa flopped her feet off her bed to the floor. She grabbed her favorite bookmark, the silver one with the pretty blue ribbon that she’d won for good grades last year in school, and tucked it carefully into the pages of her favorite book. Another sigh left her lips as she mounted the stairs to the kitchen.

Catelyn barely spared her elder daughter a glance from the pot of stew she was stirring. Sansa thought she might be able to escape to her room for a few more minutes before dinner if she set the table quickly enough, but just as she was placing the soup spoons, she heard the familiar creak of the back door and the even more familiar voices of her father and elder brother as they stopped to remove their shoes in the back entryway.

“Hey, Sans.” Robb, hair still wet from his after-camp shower, wiggled her braid and grinned at her. “What’s up?”

No sooner had Sansa opened her mouth than Rickon burst into the kitchen to tackle his oldest brother. Robb laughed and swung Rickon upside-down, which earned him a fit of giggles from the younger boy and a “Robb, be careful with him!” from Catelyn. Sansa turned back to the table, sighed again, and finished placing the spoons.

No sooner had everyone sat down to the table than Ned Stark raised a hand to ward of the customary dinnertime chatter (less chatter and more noise, thought Sansa) about to erupt from his children’s lips.

“Before we talk about our days,” he said, “let’s go over what we’re doing tonight and tomorrow. Robb has a ball game in – ” he glanced at the clock on the wall – “about an hour, and another tomorrow night at the same time. Rickon, Bran, you’re home with Sansa; Arya, you’ll be coming with us. We’ll do the same tomorrow; Robb has another game from his rain delay last week. That should be all, right, Cat?” He turned to his wife, who kept a whiteboard calendar fastened to the refrigerator with each child’s extracurricular activities written in a different color, and she nodded.

Sansa swallowed a sip of lemonade as fast as she could. “Daddy,” she said, and Ned turned to look at her. “I’ll be at Jeyne’s tomorrow night, not at Robb’s game. Mrs. Poole will bring me home by 9:00.”

“Sansa, we need you here with Bran and Rickon,” Catelyn interjected. “The game won’t be over till after their bedtime.”

Sansa frowned. “But it’s on the calendar, Mum,” she reminded her mother. “You said I could go.”

Catelyn sighed. “Sorry, love,” she said. “We didn’t know that Robb would have his makeup game tonight when I told you that. I’ll call Mrs. Poole and tell her you can’t come.”

Sansa bit her lip. She did not want to rouse her mother’s ire twice in one day, but she hadn’t seen her best friend since last week, and they were going to paint their nails with the lovely indigo nail polish Jeyne had just gotten after seeing it in Westerosi Fashion Teen!, not to mention catching up on the latest episode of Jenny of the Oldstones.

“Muuum,” she began, but her father narrowed his eyes just a bit – not so much that he was angry, but it was still enough to silence Sansa.

“Sansa,” he admonished her. “Respect your mother, please. We need you here with Bran and Rickon.” He turned to his wife. “Maybe you can go to Jeyne’s another night if Mrs. Poole says yes.”

Sansa’s shoulders began to slump. She wanted to ask why Bran and Rickon couldn’t just have a babysitter, but she knew better than to argue. A moment later, a new plan occurred to her, and she straightened back up in her seat.

“Maybe Friday, after my dance recital?” she asked hopefully. Ned threw his wife a questioning look.

Catelyn sighed. “Oh, that’s right,” she said. “I’d thought for a moment it was next Friday instead. Robb’s got another game, so if she can take you there and then back to her house, that should work fine.”

Sansa’s eyebrows and nose wrinkled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Robb stifle a grin at what he’d called her “scrunch face” since she was a baby and he was three years old.

“I thought you and Daddy were taking me,” she said, but Catelyn shook her head.

“Rickon’s got basketball that night,” she said, “so I’ll be taking him and Bran there. Dad will take Arya to Robb’s game.”

Sansa’s shoulders dropped again. She and Jeyne were performing the Rosy Reel with Alys Karstark and Wylla Manderly on Friday, and it was a five-minute dance, representing by far the biggest role Sansa had ever taken on stage. Even Mrs. Poole, who had never been much of a one for dance, had been clucking with excitement over watching it. But Sansa knew any protest on her part would be futile, so she went back to sipping her lemonade in silence with her eyes fixed on her dinner plate.

-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-

“Then Rickon ran outside because he wouldn’t go to bed, the idiot, and I told him I’d tell Mum on him, but he said he didn’t care because I couldn’t punish him for it, anyway.”

Sansa rolled her eyes as she finished her tale and passed the nail polish brush to Jeyne, whose mother had after all agreed to Sansa’s coming to their house on Friday night instead of Wednesday. Jane rolled her eyes harder, if possible.

“Ugh,” she replied. “I’m glad I don’t have a little brother; Elna and Freya are almost bad enough for three brothers, anyway.”

Sansa grinned. Jeyne was almost always complaining about the antics of her twin six-year-old sisters.

“Better them than Arya, still,” she said, and Jeyne sighed.

“Fair point,” she replied. “At least we won’t be in school with her next year.”

“I know,” Sansa said. Her grin rose to match her friend’s. Both had graduated from Winterfell Elementary School that spring and would attend Robett P. Glover Middle School in the fall.

“So when’s your grandma taking you for new clothes?” Jeyne asked, brushing the polish gently over the smallest nail on her right foot. Sansa’s grandmother always took her and Arya to the mall to buy them each a new outfit for school at the end of each summer.

Sansa shrugged. “I don’t think she’s set it with Mum yet,” she replied, and took the brush out of Jeyne’s outstretched hand to dip it in the polish bottle.

“Well, make sure she gets you something nice, not frumpish like last year’s,” Jeyne said and reached up to grab the newest issue of Westeros Fashion Teen! from her bed. She flipped over a few pages and held it out to Sansa. “Something like this one.”

She pointed to a picture of a grinning blonde girl in a bright green choker top and a dark denim crop skirt with an artful slit lined with a swath of green and yellow plaid. Sansa frowned. Since when did Jeyne use the word frumpish? Probably since her aunt had gotten her a subscription to the magazine for her birthday earlier that year, she decided. That didn’t mean Grandma Stark would buy her an outfit like the one Jeyne had just shown her, though. She would probably say the skirt was too short. Besides, Sansa had liked last year’s outfit just fine, although perhaps she could persuade her grandmother to buy her a denim skirt in a longer length instead of her usual twill pants.

“We can’t be the idiot sixth-graders who walk into a load of eighth-graders looking like dorks,” Jeyne continued. “Or a load of boys. Lena says most of the boys in our year are hopelessly immature, but some of the seventh- and eighth-graders will treat you properly, or even ask you to the autumn dance, if you’re dressed smart and know your football teams.” She grinned as she grabbed a bottle of nail enamel dryer from the shelf behind her. “Myrcella Baratheon’s older brother Joffrey is in seventh this year, remember? I saw her the other day, and she said he just broke up with Tyene Sand.” Her voice rose with the hissing noise of the spray leaving the can. “He and his mates are all gorgeous. Just think if we each got one of them for the dance!”

Sansa would have asked whether the magazine subscription had made Jeyne get so superfluous about a load of boys, but then she had met Joffrey Baratheon before, and she did have to admit he was cute. And it would be awfully nice to get asked to the dance – maybe then she could talk Mum into getting her another new dress that way, and she’d seen the loveliest pale blue one at the mall the other day. And if a boy as popular and cute as Joffrey Baratheon asked her to the dance, maybe Eddara Tallhart and her friends would slack off calling Sansa a nerd, geek, dork, and prissy all the time.

Sansa peered down at her toenails and smiled. The nail polish looked even prettier than she’d thought. Maybe that magazine had done Jeyne some good after all.

-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-

October 17, 927 AC

Sansa wiped a stray strand of hair out of her face and opened her junk drawer for its annual cleaning. One more drawer after this, and she could drag her ancient vacuum cleaner back to the closet and call it a day. She might even eat the whole chocolate bar sitting in the refrigerator, instead of just half, both to mark the end of such an exhausting afternoon and to celebrate the fact that the twenty-year-old machine, which she’d bought back in college and had never been able to afford replacing, was still going strong. God only knew she couldn’t afford to buy a new vacuum cleaner if this one bit the dust.

She snorted at her own unintentional pun and reached to the back of the drawer. Her hand closed around an address book, two photo frames, and a tiny bottle with a smeared silver lid. Sansa put down the other items and shook it out of instinct. It was the first thing she’d done when she’d gotten her hands on Jeyne’s bottle of nail polish that Friday night after their dance recital. Less than half the contents remained, and over the years they had separated until the layer of clear liquid on top was almost as thick as its more colorful counterpart on the bottom. Sansa had nearly thrown it away any number of times, but she’d stopped trying a few years back. It was, after all, all she had left of Jeyne.

Sansa put the bottle down and reached back to empty the drawer. Ten more minutes and she could collapse into her chair and pay today’s bill, not to mention check the total, although she already knew what it would be. She’d calculated it in her head every day for a month now.

After today’s payment of 451.87 Lions, she’d have 40,553.50 Lions left to pay. If she paid the same amount – the maximum she could afford – every month, it would take 89.7459 months for her to pay it. That translated to 7.4788 years.

7.4788 years until March 31, 936.

Sansa flipped the vacuum cleaner’s power switch on. She would definitely have the whole chocolate bar tonight.

#jon x sansa #jonsa fanfiction #drama #tragedy #tw: depression #tw: mental health issues #tw: suicidal thoughts #the darkest hour is just before dawn #my writing #multi-chapter fics #fic: the year of zero

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treadmilltreats · 5 years

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A Father's day message

There are good men out there and even with all of my dating horror stories, I know there are still some great men out there and some amazing fathers.

I was blessed enough to have 3 wonderful men in my life while I was growing up. My dad, my step dad and a incredible family friend named Sam aka Big Daddy. These 3 men were the best men I've ever met, they are what real men should be. The men today need to take lessons from these men.

My real dad paid 100.00 a week child support for me, back then it was like paying 1000.00 today. He paid for my braces, my camp, my school clothes, summer clothes, dance lessons and whatever else my mom needed for me. He showed up every Sunday, every school event, every recital. Him and my mom put away their differences with each other to put me first. I never heard either one of them say a bad word about the other.

My step dad taught me to fish, to fix things, to ride a bike, he helped me with my homework, he woke up in the middle of the night to rub my legs when I had growing pains.

He never treated me as a step daughter, to him I was his daughter that he shared with my dad.

Then I was blessed to have Sam, my big daddy as we called him. He was in my life as long as I can remember. He was always there to talk to, to make me laugh, he taught me to shoot pool, to read people, to believe anything was possible.

These were men of God, men of honor, men with huge hearts that weren't afraid to show love.

So it's not like I don't know what a good man looks like. I also have some great male friends in my life. Single dads, back when single dad's didn't have that name. I know hard working men, willing to help when your in a bind, I know kind and caring men who are wonderful father's, who I am proud to call friends.

I do know that a good man is hard to find but I also know it's not impossible as I've heard so many of my girlfriends have said it is. I've had and still have so many good men in my life. And I know that one day when I am not looking that I will find that good man and when I do, it will blow my mind.

So today my friends, remember there are good men out there, there are great father's that we should applaud. There are men that stand up for their children, that do the right thing even if they aren't biological. They are the role models that we look up to, to let us know that yes, there are great men out there. So thank you...for being the great men that you are.

And to my 3 wonderful men who are in heaven, I miss you more than words can say. Thank you for always being there and showing me love and teaching me what real men look like.

Happy father's day to all the amazing father's out there! We are proud of you!

"Be the change you want to see"

"And just when the caterpillar thought his life over...he turned into a beautiful butterfly"

**Coming soon my latest book:

The blessing in disguise.... revealed**

***Now available***

My book The blessing in Disguise

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reginaldbelchhuggins-blog · 7 years

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Mens et Manus

Chapter 1. Starman

Rating: T Warnings for this chapter: Self-harm; reference character death; referenced violence; past violence; mental health issues Chapters: 1, [2], [3], [4], [5], [6], [7] Ao3: [x] Summary:

Stan looks at himself in the mirror; Richie talks to his mom; Mike starts listening; Ben finds a new hobby; Eddie moves out of his mom's house; Beverly starts dating; and Bill writes his first book.

a.k.a a series of short stories based on the prompt "Tell the story of a scar"

A/N: The chapters are as listed above. This is Stan’s chapter:

Stan Uris was exactly 21 days past his 13th birthday as he woke up just after midnight, screaming. For the 12th night in a row, Rabbi Donald Uris would come into his son's room and calm him down by holding him. The first two times Stan had woken in such a startling manner, Andrea had tried, thinking a motherly figure was what he needed. She couldn't have been more wrong. The sight of her in the doorway had brought Stan to hysterical tears.

He knew it hurt her, but he couldn't stand being held in her arms when that woman was so fresh in his mind. Holding him down, latching her rows and rows of teeth into his head, her tongue leaving thick spittle as it explored his face.

He'd tell his friends in college that his first kiss left him shaking, and smile dryly, all the while remembering the feeling of It eating parts of him -- drawing his fear to the surface to slurp it up, and leave holes in his soul.

22 holes, to be precise. In two crooked rows, circling his face.

Though Stan hated lying to them, especially as his lies became more obvious, saying he fell in the bramble was still the most logical explanation for the wounds. So he was going to say it again. He was going to say it until he forgot it wasn't the truth.

After 5 minutes, Stan did not hear the bedroom door open down the hall. He did not hear his father's heavy footsteps (8-10 of them from door to door), nor his parents whispering. Asking each other if they should call a psychiatrist. There was only silence.

He burst into tears as it donned on him that his parents weren't coming that night. Or any other night again. They'd had their fill of him. He pulled his blankets up to his chest and rolled over to his side. The moon peering through the window looked far too much like dead lights in the back of a monstrous throat -- the stars resembling rows and rows of sharp little teeth -- so he flipped over and stared at the bedroom closet. Stan cried for 13 minutes exactly, and then, after his face was stinging and his eyes could produce no more tears, he stilled. It took him 11 minutes to fall back to sleep.

The next morning, at 7am sharp, Stan looked in the mirror, and saw what his father must see: not a man, not a boy, but something that could barely be considered human. All the lies he'd told over the years plain as every scar, turning his face ugly.

I ate your candy, not Richie.

I wasn't looking at your magazine.

School was great.

I made a lot of friends today.

I fell.

I'm happy.

I do believe in God.

I'm practicing my reading every day.

It's not real.

I hate you.

I'm not afraid.

I fell in the bramble.

I'm not lying.

I'm okay.

He touched each tooth mark, and recited his lies in a quiet whisper. He went right to left, up to down to up again, and when he was done, he saw his face. Not man, not boy, but teenager. With brown eyes, dirty blonde curls, and a small, pleasant smile. He tried to hold that smile long enough to get to the breakfast table, but it fell away the minute he passed the window in the hall and saw his father's black Oldsmobile sitting in the driveway.

For Donald Uris to not already be on the road to the synagogue, he was either sick or something else was going on. Stan prepared himself, somehow knowing it wasn't going to be a very pleasant breakfast.

The table was quiet, though they were both sitting there with empty plates. Donald in his pants and button up shirt, and Andrea in jeans and a tee. They looked like they'd been up all night. His mother nursed a cup of coffee with bags under her eyes, and his father had aged twenty years in 12 hours. Stan felt a pang of guilt.

You did that. You and your false truths.

There were eggs and toast, so Stan filled his plate (3 scoops of eggs, 2 pieces of toast) and tried to go into the living room to eat. Donald cleared his throat, and Stan hesitated before dutifully sitting down across from his father, his stomach turning flips as he did so. He poked at his eggs, not sure he was hungry anymore.

"So, they found the Bowers boy last night, " Donald said. He and Andrea both looked hard at Stan, so he tried not to react. He wasn't surprised to hear Henry's body had finally popped up. The well led to the sewers, which eventually would carry him to the Barrens, or the canal. It was only a matter of time. "Officer Nell informed me that he confessed to the murders right away. Butch, the Criss boy, the Huggins boy... the others." Stan wasn't hungry at all. He set his fork down, and looked at his parents. He couldn't keep the shock of hearing Henry was alive from his face, nor the thoughts from entering his mind.

How did Henry survive for 2 weeks in the sewers? What did he eat? What did he drink? Stan felt bad for him. Even if he was trying to murder Mike, Stan had seen into the dead lights, and somehow understood that Henry was just a puppet. A tool. A fool. A dancing clown, one could say, if they wanted to be punched in the throat.

"That's sad news," Stan said. It felt like he was speaking through cotton. There was something in their faces that concerned him. Suspicion. Knowledge.

They were seeing his lies unravel, but the truth inside was muddled and muddied. Still, he thrust his fists against the post, and insisted he saw no ghost. Bill be damned.

"You know they say he skinned the Huggins' boy face," Andrea said, her tone pointed. Stan swallowed a sip of water. He knew where she was going. It was wrong. Clever, but wrong. He still thought about caving in and taking the easy out, though; just agreeing with her clever little concoction. It was another lie, but one that would satisfy his parents growing unease that Stan had been accosted by more than foliage. "With that little knife of his."

Her eyes were measuring the scars, mentally comparing them to a switchblade. Stan felt them burning in her gaze, but dared not pick at them. Instead, he went for his cuticles, using his fingernails to press them down and tear them off.

"Seems to have had an obsession with faces," Donald said. His eyes bore into Stan, as if trying to see beneath the layers of his flesh and into his thoughts. "I remember when he attacked you that one winter. What was it, when you were 8? Rubbed snow in your face until--"

"Henry didn't attack me this time," Stan said. His voice was steady, even as his head buzzed with panic. "I fell and--"

"Got so scared you're still having nightmares about it? Stanley," he sighed, rubbing his eyes. "That doesn't make sense."

"Honey, we're just concerned is all," Andrea said, forcing a smile. "Butch wasn't a nice man. He did bad things to Henry. And if Henry, in turn, did bad things to you -- if he hurt you in any way -- you can tell us. You're safe here."

Stan looked away. "I'm sorry, but no. He didn't. Even if you wish he did so you could pretend you're still being persecuted." He stood up after 27 seconds of silence. Were they really letting him finish his outburst? "I remember how much fun it was when I was 8 and getting to listen to you tell people about how you were being tested. I'm sure you'd love that again, but I'm not playing along. I fell, alright? I was doing something stupid, and yes, it frightened me, because it hurt.!" His parents exchanged a glance. If Stan wanted to, he could decipher their silent conversation. But he didn't want to. He'd given them a lot to unpack, and their first thoughts were always going to be defensive, or accusatory. Let them think what they wanted, and say what they wanted. They were going to do that regardless. "I'm going to be late for school."

"Let me drive you," the Rabbi said. But Stan was already leaving. He grabbed his backpack from beside the door, his bike from the porch, and was gone before his father could protest. It took him 25 minutes to get to school, and he passed five florescent lights on the way to the bathroom, where he threw up what little remained of last night's ravioli. There were 8 and a half tiles between the stall and the sink. He counted his scars, and recited his lies, and...

Stan's brow furrowed. He leaned in, tilting his head so he could see the one, specific tooth mark. 22 scars, in 2 crooked rows, and one by itself near his temple. Small, almost unnoticeable. Unmatched. He tilted his head to the other side and confirmed there was no twin.

He leaned away from the mirror. He washed his hands. He turned to leave the bathroom. And then tiltled his head in the mirror, looking at that one scar. How could a creature that changed appearance at will overlook such a detail? How could he, Stan, have missed it all this time? In every examination of them?

Maybe it's new.

That couldn't be. Yet, he had counted them before and after the wrappings were removed. 22 scars. In two crooked rows. Not 23 with one little orphan. Where did it come from?

He ran his finger along it, feeling the rough scab that had formed over it. He scratched that off, not surprised to see puckered scar tissue underneath.

He couldn't just leave it like that for everyone to see. They'd notice it, too. The one that fell out of pattern. They'd notice and stare. He didn't want them staring anymore.

Taking his thumb nail, he tried pressing into the other side of his face, but he couldn't pierce the skin. He wound up with one vividly red scar, and the other, faded and white. Drumming his fingers on the side of the sink, he made a decision. He dug through his backpack until he found his school compass.

This is fucking crazy, he thought. Then, using the sharp point, he began digging in. Making a series of small, connected dots, Stan traced the shape and angle of the rogue tooth above his other temple. Each dot brought a bead of blood, which began leaking down his face, and into the sink. By the time he was done, Stan's hands were shaking. He cleaned the wound and his face, and then checked out his work. He was feeling better, until his realized that those two didn't match the others, who sat with a pair in two crooked rows.

This is fine. They both have one little straggler. Like a captain leading his troops.

Biting his tongue, Stan got back to work. He had just finished the final faux-tooth mark when he heard a scream from behind him. Little Edgar Booth was running out of the bathroom, his shriek loud and shrill. Stan looked at himself, covered in blood, and slowly put his compass to the old scars. He could already hear his parents in his head.

You did that to yourself? Maybe you did all of them yourself. Maybe you like all this attention.

He began to pick them open, one by one. They might not be able to tell any of them were new if they were all bleeding.

#stephen king #it #it 2017 #it prompts #stanley uris #the losers club #self-harm #character study #writing #fanfic

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portlandbycalifornia · 7 years

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My Perfect Match

Portland OkCupid profiles that I have matched with an average rate of 85% copied verbatim (spelling mistakes and all) and complied to create the ultimate dream man.

My Self-Summary

Vegan INTP bike nerd. I consistently test on either side of INFJ/INTJ. Very into self-improvement, various energy healing modalities, healthy living, escaping the matrix, etc. I Love to go to festivals. Fire dancing is my favorite hobby but crafting my wearable leather art is my passion. I take care of my body. I am attracted to women that take care of their mind, body and soul. Non-monogamy is a gift that my partner and I have given each other.

I smile and encourage others in passing. I am going through a period of transformation, renewal, and brutal honesty. Finding wisdom in deeper levels and adopting a fresh perspective on my relationship with the world. I savor genuine human connection and I am resourced and ready to face whatever comes in its way. I have a vision and I need you and your vision. I need the vision to come down and be embodied here in community. I love the transformation and creating something beautiful and lasting.

I am a highly sensitive person, with extreme shifts between introvert and extrovert, who feels emotions on a grand scale and often cannot hide this with masks, barriers, or boundaries. I am a glorious mess with a lot of love to give, digging deep to find that love for myself which will provide the foundation from which I will seek balance in all that I give – to myself and to others.

I just want to let you know my hair is to my butt so if that is not your thing or you judge a book by the cover pass me by.

Let's play together!

What I’m Doing With My Life

Unraveling the mysteries of the universe. Daydreaming about getting out in the woods for a week. After ending a long term relationship last year I devoted most of my spare time to internal examination.

I have passed through eleven years of severe mental health issues that have put my life and the pursuit of my dreams and happiness on hold. I submitted to the Western Idea of Medicine – to only soothe the symptoms, and not address the root cause.

I raise happy animals and plants to feed wise and caring people. I am spreading love, happiness, and joy wherever I go. It's who I am and a big part of what I bring to this world. Learning is a hobby as well as my vocation

I'm into tribal dancing. I pray when I dancing. I do ancient dancing sacred to Mayan and Aztec. I can make shoes. I can fix cars. I garden. I'm kind of everything as I age. I see so much wisdom I have and knowledge in the seen and unseen. Being on here discredits my karma and manifestation abilities. I'm not part of sex positive not will I club up for love. I'm very serious I might add. I'm the real deal. I know medicine well. Even Latin. I'm not some rich kid. I'm actually poverty

I am wearing a couple kilts in my pictures. I enjoy wearing them, I am getting more in touch with my Irish heritage. Yes, in two of them, I am also wearing tights. They are tights for men, but still tights. They are comfortable, and nice to wear. More and more men are beginning to realize what woman have known for a very long time. Leggings, tights (and even bodysuits) are really very comfortable.

I am living everyday striving to become my most authentic self by practicing AHO. I am currently in the midst of a revolution. It is beautiful and it is heartbreaking. It is inspiring and it is painful. It is passionate and it is overwhelming. It is full of challenges, ideas, roadblocks, breakthroughs, breakdowns, searching, yearning, learning how to take care of myself for the first time ever, and attempting to find community, my own family or tribe where I can continue this journey surrounded by support and love and possibility and responsibility. The past year has been surreal and fascinating.

I run. I hide. I fall into deep pockets of introspection and isolation. I get foggy and lose track of time, and it is difficult to focus on anything that doesn't feed into this ancient evil of helplessness, hopelessness, agony, and suffering. I work at festivals like the Oregon Country Fair, Pacific Fire Gathering to name a couple.

What I am Looking For

What I am looking for? First of all, I am not a bigot, or racist, or anything, but I prefer to date within my race. Please. Also, I DO judge you by your profile pic. Shallow?...no. I just am more likely to click on your photo if you are smiling, or you have made it a point to look like you are enjoying yourself. Has nothing to do with how attractive you are. Some pictures....they could double as county jail in-processing pictures. SMILE Fer fuk sakes!!

I find that SOME of the ladies who write that they don't want to see pictures of a mans junk, who are here for a serious intentions, and not here for a quick fling are quite often the same ones who have their camera half way down their shirt, showing me how large their cleavage is, how big their breasts are etc....Frankly, I really don't want to be seeing how big your chest is, anymore than you want to be seeing my junk.

I prefer to look for someone who already has children or willing/interested in adoption, (for that is the ULTIMATE show of love) If you have kids, the younger they are better. Because yes, I want to experience all that being a father brings. Being up 2 hours after I went to sleep to change a diaper, or woo them back to sleep, or holding them after a scary dream. I yearn for the days of showing them how to do things like holding a bat catching a ball, tying their shoes, going to games, and recitals, and yes....even going so far as to play dress up. (Yes, I am cool with that, you should be too).

I believe we transfer energy by who we hang with. So No Burners please. Your weird and high. Not my kind of people.

I’m Really Good At

Getting present via: breath, tapping cortices, lips & tail (energy points), mindfulness, adrenaline, focused effort, etc. Falling apart and putting myself back together again. Spinning fire for the masses, helping others, loving you, expanding my consciousness and all I set my mind to. I’m REALLY good at talking.

The first things people usually notice about me

Perhaps it's that I emanate a god-like quality of peace, love, and understanding to everyone around me, also my eyes. Bonus points if you find something else to compliment first.

Favorite Books, Movies, Shows, Music, and Food

Science and Sanity by Alfred Korzybski Immediatism by Hakim Bey Mother of the Universe: Visions of the Goddess and Tantric Hymns of Enlightenment by Lex Hixon Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu Theory of Harmony by Arnold Schoenberg

I don’t own a tv. You shouldn’t either.

Lately I've been listening to Beats Antique, String Cheese Incident, Job To Do, Bassnectar and Blue Lotus. Music is whatever can get me moving, enrich my soul, make me cry, reminds me of something special. Right now I'm listening to a lot of 5 finger death Punch and Tool repetition, polyrhythms, heaviness, swing, bass, texture, sweetness, darkness, contrast, ambience. My own music has been an attempt to reconcile my love of the traditions springing forth from dub reggae and gay disco.

Heathy food is a big part of my life. I am a big juicer and my superfood bullet is the best purchase ever.

Six(teen) Things I Could Never Do Without

Music

Intellectual stimulation

Physical stimulation

My bike

Reflection

All my special people

Reclaiming my power to create change

Rest Laughter (especially that of children) Tears Artistic expression Human connection Surrender

Festival season

Passport

Sex

I Spend A Lot Of Time Thinking About

How to get the perfect balance in my life between all my conflicting goals and desires. Discovering how to leave a positive impact on humanity, loving life and those in it, entrepreneurial activities (in conscious business), etc.

Where I should ride on my weekend. Road or mountain bike? Probably mountain bike, but which trail and how far am I willing to drive this weekend? Should I camp somewhere?

Doing what I'm here to do, and helping others get on their journey to do the same. I've been feeling more & more tuned in to the fact that we're all perfect the way we are, going through what we're going through (we each have our own reality that may or may not make sense to each person), and could all use reminders to dial in to our divine selves even more in each moment. How can we live & be more authentic in every moment, while turning up the volume on who we really are and what we're really passionate about?

On A Typical Friday Night I am

I am into spontaneity and flow. Making homemade cashew ice "cream".Making rhythmically driven noise (pretty & noisy types). Working on a deep poem. Practicing dancing or doing Danza.

The Most Private Thing I’m Willing To Admit

I tend to Meow a lot. Usually out loud, and sometimes at inappropriate moments.

You Should Message Me If

You appreciate being present and want to discover someone to share memorable moments with. You are truly open to an abundance of possibilities. You've got more passion/drive in life than most. You choose to live life the way that makes sense to you (rather than following everything as pre-described). You've explored enough about yourself to deeply know you. You actually know the world we live in, and you're still in gratitude to be here in this time! You'd love someone to learn, grow, & live passionately with. You get that logic has its limits. You get the gist of me and my energy from this, even though there's SOOO much more to me (I am a Libra)! ;)

You work to be kind to yourself and others. You can manage your expectations and can trust me to manage mine. You don't hide from your despair and you know joy. You are strong at the broken places.

If your profile is real and you live near or in Portland. I am very busy and do not have time for games

I will NOT meet expectations of masculine behavior. I am strictly sexually submissive. You will have to pursue me and make me feel desired.

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