Coach looks like a scary dude, but he’s actually a big
softie. He has a really intimidating resting bitch face, and a more
intimidating murder face, but he would rather eat shit than say shit.
Coach is hella passive aggressive. If you mess with him he’ll
be all like, “Wah, I was always taught to turn the other cheek. Hate the sin,
love the sinner.” But then he’ll blind copy your boss and forward your emails
if he feels like you’re being rude. Or he’ll hand out invitations to a cookout
to everyone except you.
And it’s really interesting because Suzanne Bittle is the opposite.
She is small and very sweet, but if you mess with her she ascends through
passive aggressive and straight into aggressive-aggressive. Like, in high
school Bitty had a lot of trouble with this one teacher. Not the subject material,
but the teacher. Bitty would ask for help or clarification and the teacher
would basically do the academic equivalent of “No, fuck off and die.” And then
this teacher would “lose” Bitty’s assignments periodically, and he would grade
Bitty’s tests way harder than anyone else’s.
Prompt, if the feeling takes you... road trip, car breaks down, somehow the conversation turns to death. As fluffy (it's possible!) or as angsty as you like, and about whoever's death you feel like.
Leaving or Waiting
Season 5 - Post Chinga || MSR || PG || tw: death
They’re too far back to hear the crunch of folding metal, too far away to help in any way other than by pulling half on to the central reservation to let the fire crew and the ambulance through. They’re too far away to know what has happened, but too close to escape and as the traffic builds behind them, ranks of cars leaning in to find out the ending, Mulder tunes the radio to a local news station.
They don’t talk, not even as people start to get out of the vehicles around them and turn to each other to try and comprehend the tragedy that has brought them together. Mulder methodically shells sunflower seeds into the cup holder and Scully stares straight ahead, the blankness of her expression masking her thoughts which dance from darkness to mundanity in the stillness.
Minutes pass and their car is an island of calm in a sea of people; they perfected the art of comfortable silences on a rural highway in New Jersey, back when chasing the Jersey Devil was the closest they’d gotten to running for their lives. Today though there’s a distortion to it, a sense that they are waiting for something significant to happen before they will speak, though neither of them had planned to say anything of importance when they’d got into the car.
It happens thirteen minutes after the traffic stops.
“It is with great sadness that we at KATC Radio must inform you that the driver and the passenger of the overturned car on route twelve have both been pronounced dead at the scene. The crash appears to have been accidental, most likely due to loss of control and there are no other casualties. Police have told us that the victims were an elderly couple, known in the local community, their loved ones have been informed. We’d like to express our deepest sympathy to all affected and will bring you regular updates on the efforts to clear the road for traf-’
Mulder slaps the radio off hard enough that the plastic cracks.
‘Because the state of the road is clearly the important thing here.’
Shy away, shy away,
Run away, terrified child
Donald’s chatty. Dean sits rigidly in a nonthreatening slouch
in the passenger seat of the cab, looking out the window at the boring view off
I-81. Donald’s got an easy gig, driving his rig from Harrisonburg down to
Knoxville, and he’s told Dean at length about his kids, his wife, his church,
his years on the road. “Yessir,” Donald’s saying, now, while Dean breathes
steadily and watches Tennessee blur greenly past them. “Driving’s not the most
exciting work in the world, that’s for sure, but it’s a good payin’ job and I
got union benefits, so it could be a helluva lot worse, you know?”
“Yeah,” Dean says. Donald hasn’t seemed to care much about
the lack of response. He rolls on, talking about—shit, Dean doesn’t even know,
something about dental. A sharp throb pulses out from his forearm. He grips it
as unobtrusively as he can, his eyes shuddering closed. God, Benny. Stop. The
ache’s a constant worry, Benny’s self all locked up inside him and his skin
feeling like it’s stretched further than it’s meant to go. It—really hurts,
worse than most things Dean’s felt, but it’s a debt that he owes. He’s going to
A highway sign flicks past. Sixty miles to Knoxville, and
then he can get out of this awful truck, away from Donald’s chatter and the
talk radio mumbling along underneath that. It’s… loud. He’s not used to it, not
He blinks away tiredness. He hasn’t felt right, sleeping.
Not yet. He’s got a job to do, first. After he held up that couple of kids back
in Maine, there was the car to steal, and he drove that until it ran out of
gas, and then he walked six miles to the nearest convenience store and cleaned
up as best he could in the bathroom, and then it was hitching, trying to look
normal, nonthreatening. Remembering that sleep was something necessary, not
just a luxury whenever he and Benny caught a break—hunger something that had be
addressed, not a constant distant gnawing that had to be ignored in favor of
the fight. He caught a catnap in a quiet little patch of woods outside
Allentown, and there’s been the granola bars he’s been parceling out from what
he stole from those kids. They taste like cardboard, but his stomach doesn’t
feel like it’s up to much more.
“Son? You with me?”
He starts, but at least he doesn’t pull his knife. He’s been
holding onto his arm too tightly and he releases it, deliberate and easy, and
over the spreading pulse of pain he says, “Yeah,” again. His voice sounds like
he’s been gargling glass.
“I was just askin’,” says Donald, still looking out at the
highway. They’re in a string of semis, all going about ten under the speed
limit. Dean’s been trying to ignore that, so he won’t scream. “I was wondering,
where’d you serve.”
Dean looks straight at him, shocked into it. “What?”
Donald doesn’t turn, just shrugs and checks his mirrors.
He’s paunchy and bearded, and he doesn’t look much at all like Bobby but they
could be in a line-up together. He tugs on his used-to-be-black trucker cap.
“Just wondering. 1st Armored down out of Fort Bliss, myself.
Recognize the look.”
Dean looks out the window, doesn’t say anything. A mile
rolls past, endless green and trees out the window, the afternoon suffused with
golden summer light, and Donald picks up chatting again, talking about his
sergeant from back when, what a hard-ass he was, and Dean’s off the hook,
again. Funny, how often people screw that up. Sam used to say, it’s not like
people could really know the difference.
He closes his eyes, his arm pulsing again. He stole a cell
phone back in Augusta and it’s been sitting heavy in his pocket, waiting for
him to pick it up. He hasn’t been able to bring himself to make the call. He
doesn’t know why.
Back in Purgatory he’d been certain that Sammy was here,
waiting, and he’d driven himself and Benny and Cas ragged, running low and
dangerous through those dim awful woods, trying to get back. To get out, to be
where he belonged.
The radio’s squawking about something, a sale on trucks at
some local dealer. It’s grating, the salesman’s broad twangy voice needling
into Dean’s ears. He wants to throw up, for a few seconds, and then immediately
he wants to shoot the fucking radio, his hand twitching toward his hip before
he stops it and balls it into a fist against his thigh. He breathes in hard
through his nose, out slow through his mouth, over and over, and luckily
Donald’s quiet for a minute, just the goddamn stupid radio playing its awful
commercials breaking the quiet, and Dean manages to wrestle himself back under
control. He’s got a job to do, and he’s going to do it. Won’t do anyone any
good to have him assault some stupid normal truck driver and cause a four-semi
pile-up on I-85 in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee.
Behind his eyes the woods are grey and dangerous, familiar,
and he looks instead at the lush green outside the window. Humid, here. The sun’s
bright. The truck’s cab is cool with the steady hiss of A/C, not the constant
absence of any kind of real life. It’s eleven hours to where Benny said his
bones are planted, assuming Dean can catch a ride relatively soon once he
escapes from Donald. Assuming he doesn’t have to mug anyone, or hustle someone.
He doesn’t know if he can, if it comes to it. He feels like he might bite a guy’s
dick off, cut his throat, before he’d earn a ride, and then what.
Benny slips under his skin, roiling, and Dean shifts in his
seat, his muscles gone rigid and aching. Eleven hours and then the digging,
alone, assuming he even finds the damn cemetery in the first place. Maybe a day
more. He doesn’t know what’ll happen when he finally pulls open the stupid
phone. If he’ll even get an answer.
He just wants to go back. He wants his car, and he wants a
double cheeseburger, extra onions, and a cold beer, and Sam, and quiet. He
doesn’t think it’s too much to ask. He imagines making the call, Sam’s voice on
the other end. A weird tight feeling takes over his throat and his fists are
clenched too hard, fingers laced together and his knuckles grinding. Hard to
breathe, for a minute.
“Okay, I’m gonna stop over at the Pilot here in a few miles,”
Donald’s saying, over the rushing in Dean’s ears. Dean blinks, and somehow they’re
closer to town. “You need to call anyone, or you need any cash or anything?”
“No,” Dean says, after a minute. He unclenches his hands,
deliberately. “I’ve got it taken care of.”
Out of the corner of his eye he can tell Donald’s looking at
him again. He doesn’t meet it. Donald’s not going to matter, once he drops out
of the cab and gets his feet back on solid ground. It’ll be one more step completed,
and then it’s just—putting one boot in front of the other, making his way
south. Saving Benny, doing what he promised, that’s his job for now. It’s all
he can focus on. He’ll worry about the rest later.
Wetzlar in Hessen, Central Germany, is a former Free Imperial City, owing much of its fame to being the seat of the Reichskammergericht (Imperial Supreme Court) of the Holy Roman Empire. It straddles the river Lahn and lies on the German Timber-Frame Road on the north edge of the Taunus mountain range. It’s known for its old town and its medieval cathedral. Notable features include the Eisenmarkt and the steep gradients and tightly packed street layout of a medieval town. The sandstone cathedral of St. Mary was commenced in the 12th century as a Romanesque building. In the later Middle Ages the construction was continued in Gothic style. The church was never finished, as one steeple still remains uncompleted. The cathedral suffered heavy damage in WW2 from aerial bombing, but was restored in the 1950s.
March 30th - I spotted this grumpy looking cove behind the railings of the church on Scarborough Road in Pleck on my way home - I think the people of the church feed him. He’s actually a lovely, friendly boy but for some reason he really didn’t like the camera much at all.
Lovely to see the urban cat population waking up after winter and taking the air - especially older cats I’m familiar with, like this lad. There’s something delightful about an old cat, warming their bones in the spring sun, feeling the stirring of the season, dozing and surely dreaming of past triumphs.
So glad to see an old cat feel the warmth of another spring sun once more.
“We’ve gotten to experience so much already in our relationship,”
Joy-Anna, 19, says in the latest issue of PEOPLE. “Lots of church
ministries, road trips, hiking, hunting and remodeling houses together.”
Duggar and Forsyth announced they were courting
in November, but they first met more than 15 years ago when his family
moved to Arkansas and started attending the Duggars’ church. “It’s really special that I got to grow up with him and my family knows him really well,” says Joy-Anna.
And since three of her sisters — Jill, Jessa and Jinger — have already been through the courtship process (the Duggars’ extremely conservative version of dating, which bans kissing until marriage and generally limits physical contact to “side-hugs”), she’s getting plenty of advice.
“Watching my sisters go through that with their courtships sets a really good example,” says the Counting On
star. “I was able to ask them just a lot of questions and wisdom about
what they did and didn’t do and then just making it special. Showing him
how much I appreciate him, it’s been amazing. As for whether she’ll be walking down the aisle anytime soon?
“I’m not sure when the next step will come,” she admits. “You would
have to ask Austin what he’s thinking and my dad, but I’m excited to see
what God has in store for us in the next year.”