#I shouldn’t have to go through metal detectors to get inside my school

[lunaeclipse1057-ao3]

Today is 9/11, a day where I feel there will be at least one school shooting in America.

Stay safe.

[thelovers-thedreamers-and-me]

Your...mom smuggled a gun into the airport?

thanks to both of you for your concern and it is less bad than it sounds, i promise! it was an accident and nothing happened!

the story: okay, so my grandma died a few years ago, very sad, and mom was the executor of her will, so it fell on her, among other things, to clear out the house grandma had lived in for the past 55 years, alone for the past 25, and not cleared shit out of. it was a long process with a lot of surprises- i only managed to make it down there for a weekend because of school, but when i was cleaning out her craft room, i found grandpa’s old doctor bag with half-century-old vials of morphine just, like, hanging out there on a shelf in between bins of half started cross stitches. that was the vibe.

one of the surprises was in grandma’s secondary craft room closet. my mom found an old metal lockbox. she spent some time trying to open it, and eventually managed to pry the hatch with both locks holding it closed. inside were like 12 not very valuable stamps and a coin with lady di’s face on it. underneath that was an unlocked, unsecured cigar box, which had 2 guns nobody had ever mentioned in it.

now, my mom, being a good, upstanding canadian who did not know anyone with their handgun license, called the police, and got a nice young fellow at the local constabulary. their conversation, as described by my sister who heard mom’s end went like this. “hello, is this the police? good. i have some guns.... no, no, these aren’t guns i should have. they’re my mother’s. should i bring them into the station? [loud noise from the other end of the phone] no? okay, well, you can come pick them up, then.” after that, the same young guy came to get the guns to get them looked at.

one of the guns, which was apparently my grandfather’s from the war or something, was one that apparently we shouldn’t have had, and neither should have grandma, and given that it had never been registered, neither should grandpa. so the cops kept that one. but the other gun, a very wee and tiny older one that is called a muff pistol, a phrase that came up in conversation several times with my mother without me making any dick jokes, by the way, give me credit, was old enough that it counted as an antique and “most likely won’t work anyway” so mom was allowed to take it home. so she shows up at the police station, and heads down to the evidence room, and the lady working there takes it out of the little evidence baggie, and hands it back to mom.

my mother says “so, can i just...... take this out in my hand like this?”

she says “oh, you probably shouldn’t. here, put it in your purse” and wraps it up in a bit of paper towel for her. mom dutifully puts it in her large, bacpack-style purse, and heads out to her car, and runs a few more errands after that. 

when she gets home, she does not remember all the errands she ran. perhaps if the gun was less tiny, it would have weighed her down more, or if it wasn’t wrapped in paper towel she would have seen it and not just thought “oh, purse napkin”. neither of these things happen.

flash forward a few weeks (WEEKS) when it’s christmas time! my ex and i were alternating years that we’d go back to our respective homes for christmas, even though mine was way chiller and a nicer place to be on the whole, and this was a blessed year that we got to see my family! now, i grew up in newfoundland, and one thing about that island is that people coming back home? big thing. huge thing. a hot 20% of the media from that place involves someone moving away for work or getting to finally come back home. so this week before christmas in the airport, while people (including my mother [who was carrying her purse]) were waiting for our delayed flight to come in, the energy was high. usually, they don’t let people into the baggage area to wait for people they’re picking up because airport security or whatever, but apparently sometimes at christmas the security guards just say “aw, alright! go see your family!” and let the crowd into the secured area.

so my mom is one of the sea of people wandering in past the metal detector to go see her family! it beeps when she goes through, and she says “oh, it must be something in my bag,” and the guy working it laughs and goes “haha, probably, go on through!”

she gets to meet us, big hugs all around, metal detector beeps again as we head out and the guy working it goes “merry christmas!” and it isn’t until a few days after that, we’re driving to boxing day dinner at my (still alive, non-secret-gun-hoarding) grandpa’s when my mom swerves the car suddenly as she realizes and goes “oh my GOD, i still have the GUN!” sure enough, i check, there it is, nestled in the bottom of her purse that she carries with her everywhere she goes!

so that’s how my mom inadvertently concealed carried a gun everywhere for almost a month and didn’t get arrested for smuggling weapons into the airport because of a christmas miracle

[delciastudies]

A memoir of a successful student A short story [delciastudies]

Not too long ago I found myself in a strange situation. Baffled, a perceived situation like Gogol; they are rare but they happen, right? Like Gautier in Pompeii. Donʼt be fooled — let me start from the beginning.

Friday morning, jittered from the excessive amounts of caffeine consumption, anticipating the coming hours. More so, reveling in my state of time, which counted to the moments before I entered the doors, signed some administrative paperwork, placed my keys and coffee in a locker and soon found my way to my spot in the back corner.

Jealous by the amount of time I had in the illusion passing before my eyes while driving to Santa Maria. If here I am, it was just my body and my car I would just be idle, burning up time. How strange it feels having time while driving. An allusion like Faulkner, by this time Iʼm getting out of my car and already going in but still 20 miles away— angry at myself for not studying more. Why didn't I study more? Remember high school? Remember then? Itʼs the same thing. Do I have time to finish my coffee?

I had just enough gas to make it to Santa Maria, driving with the Princeton GRE Crash Course in my lap, as if I planned on studying more — more ironic that if I were to study and drive surely it would be a crash course.

Arriving in Santa Maria was shocking but to no surprise; a small strange place somewhere in California like Barstow or does Primm count? Technically not; I make a drive through Primm too often. I canʼt believe I just spent $5 on a white chocolate mocha with soy milk.

Do I remember how to cross multiply? Why does grad school need to know if I can calculate the degree of a trapezoid yet I think I know how to do that? Priding myself in a 31 ACT score as if writing my thesis embodies hundreds of multiple choice questions and a pop-up calculator. I need to start my research!

There I was, finding parking, realizing I didn't drink my coffee fast enough but I better go inside and study. Why am I taking this again?

I made my way to the top floor door-on-the-left office, with green walls and green seats which I sat in not knowing what to do waiting to check in and standing at the check in desk but no one is there, I should sit and drink my coffee and study. Who takes the GRE anymore anyway? Iʼm an anthropology major, is this necessary?

The other students said sheʼs coming back, still too much coffee getting cold and I feel nauseous anyway so Iʼll feel less bad if I leave it in my locker rather than throwing it away. Right?

160 minutes and 7 sections scored — no big deal, I have a timer and pop-up calculator. Iʼve done this before. Have I though?

She finally came back and gave me a green key and then I left my coffee and crash course behind while I went through a metal detector and answered questions.

Soon I entered the notorious room like it was something I had seen before, sat down and acquainted myself with my screen and mouse. Raise your hand if you have questions. Do you know how to cross multiply too?

The GRE: the Graduate Record Examination, founded for the Advancement of Teaching— I thought I was doing research in grad school so I sure hope through this I become enlightened to the the modes of teaching between the surface area of a circle and an annotated bibliography.

I have more time but itʼs useless now, no point in doodling or taking my time putting in my information. Half an hour seems nice until you realize youʼll have the next 7 half hours.

Click start to my future.

My first project was two writing prompts: straightforward and arguable yet convincing, still not a prospectus but I feel like my mind is a thesaurus until I get to the fill-in-the-blank. Fill-in-the-blank the next 30 minutes of words I have never read before in my life and I even have a minor in linguistics, should I raise my hand and ask them if this is necessary? I have entire databases of information through my library access but memorizing unused words is a thing now.

My true self, sheʼs chatty. Sheʼs chatty like the way I write and the way I think. Getting things done but why does my environment feel so strange and Iʼm too in my head — is this normal? When in the past several decades did someone come onto the idea that it was such a good plan, eventually accepted on a national and institutional level to put 20-year-olds in a silent room designated cuticle staring at a computer screen as if these assessments really were the thing we needed?

They gave me the option to wear noise-cancelling headphones but sometimes the lull of noises were nice; the girl next to me tapping her pencil eraser — people still use those? — lots of typing, lots of obsolete desktop computer mouses clicking like water torture but so not historic; millennials could recognize that sound anywhere.

I had already completed 90 minutes, 90 minutes of feeling like I really must have no what idea what Iʼm doing and now its quantitative reasoning and thatʼs kind of ironic, if I think of this as a disassociated lull then can we conclude the sleep of quantitative reason produces monsters?

Numbers blurred together like words on the screen and the brightness and clicking mouses, lulled enough necessary to put myself through this arduous and nonsensical exam in a square cubicle and sometimes hearing one of the office people peering behind my shoulder as if I was watching something I shouldn't be. Maybe theyʼre right.

Numb from the strained thinking— had I already gone through two quantitative reasonings? Or two verbal reasonings and a quantitative reasoning? Iʼm close to done? Do I want to send my scores to schools? Absolutely not — why would I send a score when I donʼt even know what it is yet? How much do I have to pay for score sovereignty?

I canʼt believe Iʼm 21 and here taking the GRE; this was my dream right? Iʼm achieving my goals right? This is the right stepping stone to the next phase of my life, right? Who put a stepping stone here?

Why does it feel like Iʼve taken more than 2 sections of verbal reasoning? I raised my hand how do I figure out how many sections I have left?— you have 20 minutes left of this section, it will tell you what sectionʼs next after you complete this one.

Completed, 10 minute break. Finally. What do I do for 10 minutes? Sit in silence and listen to the mouses and the eraser tapping? I think Iʼll just keep going. I thought I was offered a break already?

Argument Essay - please respond to the prompt with a strong argument, right? I already wrote this, I know how to write this because Iʼve already written this. Why is my test not over?

Delusional from the coffee or the quantitative reasoning Iʼm not sure, but was writing not the first section? Has it not been more than a half hour?

I rubbed my eyes and doodled on my papers which just moments ago were filled with numbers and outlines and now I have 3 blank pieces of scratch paper.

I closed my eyes for a short moment and there I was again looking at the prompt and I got a 5.5 on writing so not too shabby.

Your timer has run out and the module will automatically move on to the next section in 30 seconds, or click next to continue now. I hear typing so other people must be on the writing portion too, should I look around? Why is no one else leaving?

Like drones, endless. I thought Iʼd go to sleep in peace that night, prospects of graduate programs Iʼve dreamt of, but I opened my eyes and I still had 20 minutes to go and she said after this section it would tell me which one is next. Who is telling me this?

[veridium]

heartbreak warfare

WELCOME TO MORE QUEER PAIN 

Hope ya’ll are ready for some shit. Because I brought the shit. Heaping dose, because I have had a wonderful day and feel all mushy. Enjoy!

part one // last episode

-- The man was a no-good blond bastard with too much wool in his wardrobe and clumsy taste in flowers. White carnations represent pure love, and he had the audacity to come around with a fist of them. He should have crawled up the stairs on his knees if he wanted to present pure love. Yelling at him made Olivia feel close to the goddess Medusa in levels of vindicated fury, though she was inconvenienced by the lack of hair snakes.

Despite her almighty and supernatural ire, Ellinor granting him entry is something she disagrees with but ultimately respects: her best friend is tired, and deserves to feel loved, and maybe the one silver lining is that there isn’t much else Cullen Rutherfudger can mess up more. Maybe if they get it together she won’t have to peel her up off the floor next weekend. Damn, had their standards for a good Saturday crashed down below sea level.

But, she will be keeping a close eye on him. A very close, and scathing, eye. To be fair, the man shows up and tows the line when he has fucked up; which is more than she can say for who she once thought of as a potential suitor as Sunday passes with no word. Potential suitor. Ugh, that kind of working only happens when you’ve paid attention to someone who’s a rhetorical romantic. Too much attention.

Monday comes, and is mundane. She keeps a low profile, and attends classes with little fuss; her Professor asks how she is doing because of her silence in class discussion, and she gives an excuse about getting over a head cold. Yeah, right. Besides lecture and a short shift at the gym, she goes back home to continue being reclusive. She does not cross paths with Ellinor much, though she fields the almost hourly texts asking her how she is, where she is, and if she needs anything. Ellinor is doing that innocent thing all friends do when they find themselves luckier in personal exploits than their loved ones: sympathy that is all-too-easily swallowed as pity when you’ve been kicked down one-too-many times.

Tuesday also comes and goes. Classes and a midterm exam, one she completes with confidence; cold war history is interesting enough. It helped that she had someone, for a brief time, to rant about it and dissect things. During the free response portion she uses a word Cassandra did during one of their debates: “pejorative.” How the hell she knew that word was whatever.

Then, Wednesday. Even though it’s only been a few days, when she wakes up to Ellinor’s voice it feels like it’s been a century since the last time she’s heard it.

“Liv, release the hostage oreos.” Oh, great. Long time no see, and she’s come into her room just to attack her for her life choices.

Olivia growls and hides away, bastard red velvet oreos in her clutches. “Bite me.”

“Liv. Come on,” Ellinor’s standing by her bed, hands on her hips like a fed up soccer mom trying to get her kid up for school. “You haven’t been responding to my texts and you don’t answer the door. I worried you ate yourself into a coma. I keep hearing the Scientist on repeat through your door. I think I can play the piano part off of just memory alone.”

“Good, maybe Cullen would enjoy another concert.”

“Olivia!”

She gives in and rolls over, tossing the oreos to her without looking. “Fine! Have at ‘em.” Ellinor misses and they fall onto the floor with a sharp, plastic crack. The worst part though is the thought that comes immediately after they crash: Cassandra would have caught it.

She groans again and tosses her comforter over her head. “What time is it? My alarm hasn’t gone off.”

“I caught it as it went off, bitch,” Ellinor grumbles. The sound of her picking up the oreos and tossing them to the table. She cares. I shouldn’t be so mean. She cares.

“Oh. Hm.”

“Seriously, are you alright? You haven’t dropped off the radar with me since that time you shaved half your eyebrows off at the Homecoming after party, remember?”

Oh, Jesus. How could she forget. “Mm. I’m fine. I’ve just been swamped with homework.”

“You? Olivia Sinclair, swamped by homework?” Ellinor’s voice veers farther away, towards the door. “Shit, the rapture must be upon us.”

“Give me a break, please. What are you doing up so early anyway? You don’t have class until…” that was a silly question. There could only be one reason she would be up and about like this. A week ago, it would have been the promise of coffee by Olivia. Now, it’s the promise of someone else’s coffee. Blond roast. Bleh.

“...Uh,” Ellinor chuckles nervously, “Nothing. I’m just hanging out. If you’d rather be left alone, I can go back to--”

“Don’t lay an egg, Ellinor.” Olivia gripes, stretching her toes. “You can say you’re up for him. I’m not a widow. Have fun, whatever it is you heteros do at the crack of dawn besides milking cows and...I don’t know, watching TLC or something.”

Silence. Ellinor sighs, and opens the door. “Okay, Olivia.” Dammit, she feels bad. Ellinor shouldn’t be feeling bad. She deserves to be happy, and she deserves a best friend who would support her being happy. Olivia flips over to lay face down and continue loathing herself. Every bone in her body wants to snarl and hide from everything good and cheery. Soon, Cassandra won’t be the only one steering clear of her, if she keeps this up.

Just outside her shut door, she hears a deeper voice. A deeper, calmer voice. Then Ellinor’s more opinionated tone. She says something bossy -- sounding like ‘I’m gonna kill your roommate for this, I hope you know.’ A sigh immediately responds. Typical. Cullen better have prepared himself to be with a woman who didn’t pull any punches, who could fight her own fights...and sometimes, fights that belong to her friends who have grown too tired of it all.

All she can do is wonder what it’ll take to feel okay again. It is one thing to say you’re hard to love, and make people miserable. It’s another to have someone confirm it so unapologetically.

--

Wednesday is as repetitive in the first half as Monday was: the same lectures, and then eventually a couple hours in the TA office waiting for nothing and no one to show up for assistance while she grades Blackboard responses to the week’s study question.

She’s in the thick of it when an email notification pops up on her laptop. Her women’s history 305 Professor, saying they’re switching texts for next week’s discussions. They’re going to study Heloise, a 11th century French nun and scholar. Great, fantastic, except none of their texts are about her. The Professor kindly asks they search for the suggested reading online or in the library. Olivia would be completely okay with digging up the text online if her laptop hadn’t just been salvaged from a virus stemming for the last time she did so.

Besides, the library was a reliable source. Why not do something she’s good at, and dig?

With a half hour left in her office hours she takes the liberty to stroll down to the main campus library. The book in particular is old so it should be in the stocks. When she goes to a computer and checks the catalog, she finds one copy is still available; her class’s rush to obtain it free hasn’t nosed her out completely just yet.

The Dewey decimal number takes her to a shelf on the fourth floor, but after 20 minutes of searching she uncovers nothing. No book, no Heloise. Defeated, she stands alone in the aisle and looks around one last time. It should be here, there’s no reason it shouldn’t. It said so in the database.

Climbing down to the main floor, she takes the issue up with the work study student manning the checkout desk.

“I’m sorry,” she says after looking it up on her own computer, “it’s been incorrectly logged. It happens.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“We have a couple satellite locations in town where our reserves are loaned long-term; sometimes their books are kept under our organized log when it’s with them.”

“So...so it is here. In town, right?”

“Oh, yeah, it should be. It’s just at one of our outsourced places.”

She asks if she can check them out still, and to her relief, the answer is yes. The kind woman writes down the address and name of the place for her, so that she can find it for herself once and for all. Handing it to her with a nice-enough smile, she sees her off.

Olivia makes it through the metal detectors before checking the piece of paper with pencil writing.

‘203 Northeast Lillian Way.’ Why is that so familiar? Shit. No, no, no, no. She rips her phone out and starts scrolling feverishly with her thumb through the old and taboo messages between her and she-who-still-shall-not-be-named. Lo and behold, it’s the worst possible outcome: the Church library. Of course, they would demand premium on books about a French Nun. How poetic.

She stands outside the library for a few minutes and deliberates her choices. With any luck, Cassandra is elsewhere -- it’s mid-afternoon, she probably has practice, or volunteer hours, or class. She tries, but she can’t remember for sure what her Tues/Thurs routine is. It’s been that long, or it’s been that hard to have her in her life. Regardless, she needs the book, and if she can get a hold of it she can make a photocopy and give it back with no harm done. It takes her a while, but she convinces herself to make a break for it: pulling out her keys from her bag and heading straight for the blue parking lot where her trusty car is awaiting.

All the same, she can’t help but curse her luck.

--

The drive to the Church would make her emotional if she had any emotions left to give. Days of alternating between crying, eating junk food, denial, and good ol’-fashioned anger have jaded her. At this point, she would dare the fates that be to make her days. The point between her pulling into the parking lot, turning her car off, and walking inside is all a surreal blur. Once she would have rather walked on a chain-link fence edge barefoot than set foot in a House of God, and now it’s twice in one month’s time.

Walking down the center aisle of the hall isn’t the same without Cassandra there to burst open a door on the other side. The stained glass isn’t as colorful, and the bread bowls aren’t as interesting. Still, thankfully, she finds herself left alone like before: no one to pretend they care about her soul, or ask if she’s been saved. The whole place feels like a ghost town, actually -- an odd thing for 4:30 in the afternoon on a weekday. But who is she to judge? The Pope?

A right, then a left, then up stairs. She logs it all in her head. There’s so much more room in the hallway with just her. Too much room. Eventually, she finds the double-doors. One cocked open, with a wooden stopper wedged underneath it. She hesitates to show herself: she’s not as modest as she was when she first came around, black high-waisted shorts with tights on under, with a black short-sleeve v-neck tucked in. Heels, because, of course -- and they clank on the wood floor.

But she does go in. Brave enough, finally, after a couple breaths: and she’s vindicated for doing so. No one’s in. No school kids hiding out, no Missionary interns studying away. No Cassandra, either, skulking or pacing with a book in her hands contemplating the secrets of the universe. Fabulous, she can pull out the paper in her pocket with the decimal system number, find the damn book, and be out like a thief in the night. The mischievous fates have been thwarted, so it seems. If she ignores the sinking feeling in her stomach and feet, being back where Cassandra first surprised, she can be on with her day.

Coming towards the standalone shelves rowed together, she studies the note she made for herself. The first shelf is way too early in the alphabet, so she comes around to the middle and peeks down the first section. Nothing and no one, and still in the C’s-E’s. She needs J.

Then, the sound of paper rubbing against itself. Like a page being turned. She freezes, takes a breath, and approaches the corner of the second aisle.

God, please, no, anyone but--but it’s her.

Her shoes are hitting the ground too hard for her presence to be a secret, and she knows well enough. She stops, and a heel grades against the wood grain. Cassandra -- dressed in black leggings and a sweatshirt, over-sized, and the most casual she’s ever seen her styled -- is sitting cross-legged on the floor. Up against the stacks, with several books piled around her. One open in her hands, kept in her lap. At the noise of Olivia’s footfalls she looks up. Not expecting her, clearly, her eyes go wide and she jerks up to her feet in the blink of an eye. Agile enough to do so without stumbling all over herself, but not confident enough to stand all tall and proud. Not like she did in the gallery.

Olivia steps back, and she can feel her face sour. She crinkles the paper in her hand, and it bends beneath a fist. She doesn’t respond, only glares with steeled hopelessness.

Cassandra closes the book in her hands. “W-what are you doing here?”

“I came for a book.” Iced, and disdainful.

Her face strains a bit, and she adjusts. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” she rolls her bottom lip and holds her ground. “That is all.” It’s crushing her slowly, the priorities: yell at her, say sorry again, cry, beg. Too many needs and too many wants. She takes a page out of Cassandra’s metaphorical book and holds it all in under a guise of self-sufficient introversion. 

“I...okay. D-do you need--”

“No. I know how to work a library.”

“...Alright.” She accepts it, and nods. Olivia sucks on her teeth. They both try to get on with whatever it is they were up to before they were aware of each other’s presence: Cassandra, sitting back down on the ground, and Olivia investigating the far end of the shelf. She tracks down the J’s, but there’s no book in sight. Again. First, twice, and thrice she checks the row where it should be. A couple minutes have passed, and she’s left standing there with no reward to her risk.

She lets out a sigh through puckered lips.

“What are you looking for?” Cassandra’s voice, clear and calm.

She keeps her eyes on the shelf, clinging to the paper. “I don’t need your help.”

“Um…” she treads lightly, very lightly, “some of the shelves are disorganized, because of the students.”

Fan-fucking-tastic. She’ll never find this damn book, she’ll never do her homework, she’ll just drop out and call it good.

“I’m…” she starts, but stops when Cassandra suddenly shows up next to her, having risen to her feet without so much as a sound. She takes hold of the paper that is in a death grip in Olivia’s hands, one which she releases against her better judgement.

She raises a brow. “Hm.”

“It’s--it’s a book with copies of letters from--”

“Heloise and Abelard. I know this anthology, I had it for...um, hm. You won’t find it here, though.”

Olivia slouches, and frustration escapes her. “What? Again?!”

“No,” Cassandra shakes her head, and then turns around, “it’s over here.” Without a word, she walks away, with the presumption that Olivia will come along. An audacious presumption; if she had not come all the way across town to track down the damn thing she would have laughed and said ‘fat chance.’ Beggars can’t be choosers.

They go to the back corner, where there are rows of tall volume books that look like dictionaries. The shelf above them is where Cassandra slants onto her toes and searches. Olivia does her best to keep her eyes preoccupied elsewhere -- anywhere else, but her -- and waits patiently. Finally she falls back, pulling a book out that’s rather small and thin. But it’s weirdly pink, like the catalog image.

“Here,” she breaths, pivoting back to her and holding it out.

Olivia stares at the outstretched book, brow pressing low as she bites back more bitterness on her mind. She takes it, gripping onto the opposite diagonal corner to Cassandra’s grip.

“T-Thanks.” She spits out, holding it to her stomach. “Do you know if I have to….to do anything special to check it out from here? Or do I just take it to the main library?”

“You just take it there…” Cassandra confirms, reaching across her own stomach and clasping onto her elbow.

“Okay.” Olivia keeps her eyes to the ground, and her responses curt. “Thanks again. I’ll be going now.”

“Olivia, I’m sorry.” The words cut through the air like a chef’s knife. Eager, and quick, like it’s the last word she’ll ever get in edgewise. Olivia has turned to the side by the time she hears it, and she stops cold. The book to her belly now feels like armor she can’t live without. She can’t bare to look at her, at whatever face she’s making. It’ll be too sincere, too heartfelt.

“I really don’t want to hear it.”

“I know you don’t, but you deserve to.”

“You thought I deserved to hear a great deal of things.”

“I...I know. And…”

“What?”

“And it was unfair of me. I shouldn’t have cornered you, when you were already feeling uncomfortable. It wasn’t right.”

Olivia sucks in her gut; the words she is saying are too poignant to face with a chin tucked in shame. She looks, only to feel punished for it: Cassandra is frowning, and not the way she does by default. It is a sad one. It makes Olivia’s heart skip, and plummet at the same time.

“Y-you know, Cassandra,” she replies, her voice brittle as her throat gets thicker with tears she thought she had long run out of, “I...I just wish I knew what your secret was.”

Cassandra blinks a few times, beautiful black eyelashes fluttering. “My secret?”

“Yeah. Your secret. The one behind how you always look so undaunted and...and un-phased,” she closes her eyes to hold back tears, and cradles the book in both hands against her. “You know, Cullen talks to Ellinor, and Ellinor talks to me. I hear about how you are minding your own business, going about your day, while I cry myself to sleep or eat my body weight in Taco Bell. Every time. It hurts, but I tell myself, ‘oh, she’s just coping in her own way, she has to be as messed up as I am about this, just as torn up, just as…” she takes a shallow breath, but it does little to assuage her. “‘She has to be just as inexplicably messed up as I am.’ But even when I worried you didn’t care, or that you were indifferent, never did I think you would walk into the room and rip my heart out the way you did.”

Cassandra had become more and more engrossed in a painful kind of way, the more she talked. It wasn’t hard to understand -- it was probably the most brutally candid Olivia had ever been in her presence. Bearing her most cringe-worthy sides of her survival, for reasons she could not articulate half as well.

“So…” she sharply sniffled, “I just want to know what the secret is. What you do, what you...you tell yourself, that makes you so magically put-together. Maybe it’s the same shit you take that convinces you that I’m the one tormenting you when I…” she closes her eyes again, but a stray, small tear runs down the outside corner of her eye. That is enough for her. “You know, whatever. I’m...I’m not gonna…” she started to walk back, verbally and physically, expecting nothing else but her own shame.

A few steps, and then, the second twist of the knife.

“Liv, please.” Once again, she asks, and once again, Olivia stops. This time, her back is to her.

“I…” Cassandra takes a moment, collecting her breath by the sounds of it. “Cullen knows me, but he doesn’t know...me. He sees me coming and going, but he doesn’t know what happens while I’m getting by. If he did, he’d tell Ellinor--or, probably you, more like--that from the moment you first spoke to me I haven’t been able to get your voice out of my head. I’ve never been good with sentimentality, much as I appreciate it. But when I’m...when I’m around you it feels like I don’t have to worry. If anything’s been a secret, it’s been that.”

The sensation of hugging her in this room is still fresh. The way her arms wrapped around her waist, the way her breath felt against her neck. The briefness of it, and wishing it could last. But nothing lasts. Head high as much as she could pretend, she swallows stiff and keeps her eyes on the door for just a beat longer. Then, she faces her again. And Cassandra, she...her red eyes, her slightly red, tired eyes. It’s horrible.

“If you were so crazy about me, then why didn’t you kiss me? I was all yours, I was--”

“Because I didn’t want it to be like that.”

“...You…”

Cassandra sighs tersely, rubbing the side of her face. Exasperated. “I didn’t want the first time I ever kissed you to be during a fight about you being slut-shamed and me invading your privacy, alright? Is that...is that so much to ask? That if I was going to...to let myself be with a woman, a woman like you, that that kind of thing would be a little more special?!”

“I would have agreed, if you would have just talked to me! About anything!” Olivia shifted, now head-on with her. “You said you knew what you wanted, Cassandra, but that’s just it. You knew. I may have had my hopes and...and you may have been right about me having more of a clue than I admitted, but a clue is not consent. It isn’t a consensus. When you rejected me, I felt like an ass! Like I had taken advantage of you in some way.”

“Something you would have known wasn’t the case if you would have just stayed and listened to me! I was trying to tell you!”

“Trying?!”

“Yes! Or have you forgotten how hard it was to say out loud to the first girl you ever liked that you had feelings for her, and you were terrified she’d walk out?!”

“I did--!” She begins to hiss back, but stops. Forgiveness was an easier visitor when it came to certain suffering. She couldn’t swing the gavel when it came to that: it was like breaking ten different rules of queer code. Ugh, dammit. “Intimidated or not, we’re adults. This isn’t a recess, or homeroom, it’s...it’s life. I don’t get it, you’re always so...just...mature, with everything else but this.”

Cassandra half-nodded, and folded her arms. “The heart of man is a labyrinth, whose windings are very difficult to be discovered.”

Olivia delayed her retort, a bit off-guard. “...Um...yeah, that is...one way of putting it.”

Cassandra’s sweetly sore, peering down at the ground. “It’s an excerpt, from one of Heloise’s letters to Abelard. It’s...it’s after one where he implores her to revoke their union for the sake of God, but she refuses.”

Who even is this woman? Some thesaurus of mankind’s broken desires, reincarnated into one toned, statuesque, androgynous body? Is she even real?

“Yeah, well...Abelard was an elitist asshole who wasn’t worth it. And you’re still pompous, I take it.”

She smirks again, but not as sadly, as her eyes meet hers again. “Maybe so, on both counts. However, he still encouraged her in her work, and her learning.”

“Yes, as a means to punish her for behavior he deemed carnal even though he was a complicit beneficiary of if, not to mention--”

“Behavior he was punished for as well, rather grotesquely, if I can recall.”

Olivia’s hold on the book loosens, and she looks down at it, before back at her. “He...yeah. I mean, it was just a little...castration. It be like that sometimes.” They stare once again, and she clamps down on her tongue. They’re both fighting back something, some kind of expression, though Olivia denies the hope that Cassandra wishes to smile as she does. That is, until they both cough up a chuckle. The first in a long time; she can hardly remember the last occasion. That hurts.

After a moment, she gathers her wits. She slides the book into her shoulder back, and gets back to the unsavory topic.

“We’ve made a mess, haven’t we.” She can’t help but smile. Cassandra could run her heart through the mud and gravel, and then say something clever, and that’d be all it takes. She’d smile.

“I’m afraid so. They must think we’re devising to kill each other,” Cassandra says, coming forward. There’s no need of explanation as to who she’s referring to. In a flash, images of a very worried Ellinor and slightly scared Cullen come to mind.

“You would deserve it.”

A wry smirk. “Oh, would I?”

“Yes, you were a dick.”

“And you were an insensitive snob.”

Olivia chokes back another laugh. “Compared to the company you keep, Cassandra, I’m a down-home piece of apple pie.”

Cassandra scoffs. “Leliana? Ugh, God,” she grins, “she only pulls that act when she’s trying to pull something. She was being an ass, but, she was just...trying to protect me. I’m sure she’ll appear out of nowhere and explain herself, so, be prepared.”

“Oh, wonderful, I crave her company,” she mocks, eyes rolling gently as she looks back towards the door. “Why doesn’t she just show up now? I’m eager for more mortifying company.”

“She knew I wanted to be left alone. She does listen, you know.”

“...Oh. Well, damn.” That was a nice thing. Boundaries, huh, who knew. She can sympathize -- Olivia also has a friend who left her alone after one too many acidic quips. Oh, Ellinor. Though she wants to, she can’t crucify the woman for wanting to put up a fight for her friend. “Look, I know it makes me an asshole every time, but, I really should be going this time around. I have things to do tonight, and I really just needed to get this….this book.” She says it, but she hates it.

She hates it even more when Cassandra frowns, and blinks her eyes away. “I understand, no, it’s alright. You can’t just stay in every room I find you in.”

“No, I can’t, hah.” But I wish I could.

“Hey, Olivia?” she says one last time. Her full name. It’s nice, without all the malice.

“Yeah?”

Her eyes brighten a little. Bravery. “I...I hope that you’ll be happy. Whatever that means for you. You deserve it.”

It’s a stab to the side, clean and direct through her ribs and into her gut. Her voice saying ‘I think you knew what I wanted,’ rings loud and clear in her mind again. Wanted. Not want, wanted. And now this. Oh no, Cassandra, please, please don’t tell me you’ve really let go.

“...Thank you, Cassandra. I...I wish the same for you.” I wish it, and I wish it’d happen with me. Be with me. Ask me to stay. This time I’ll stay, I promise. Just ask it.

“Thanks. Um, drive safe, okay?” More of those polite, detached manners. Again. No, no, no.

“Yeah, um,” Olivia swallows, “I will. See you around, maybe?”

“Yeah. I think so.” A smile. She’s smiling. Oh God, she really has accepted it. That they aren’t meant for each other. Like Heloise and Abelard: Olivia as Heloise, ranting and raving in her letters about having been consumed by amorous affection. And then there’s Abelard, pointing her away towards higher callings, wishing her the best. Fuck Abelard, and fuck this.

Olivia tries her hardest to hide it, and she manages a wide grin and wave before leaving. She makes it out the hallway, down the side aisle of the Church pews, out the door, and into her car.

Slamming the car door behind her, she sinks into her compact leather seat and bangs her head against the headrest. Cassandra is letting her go. She did at the gallery, technically, but now it hurts in a different way. A way she feels no enraged pride in, no vanity. No need for spiteful indifference. She wants to take it all back, this time.

The one thing she couldn’t say, and perhaps will always regret, is that Cassandra was right. She is right. And now, she’s giving Olivia what she wants, what she clamors for, all the time. She’s giving it rather than trying to change her. So this is what respect feels like from someone who wants to love you.

The book stays in her lap as she drives home. When she stops at every red light, she clutches where Cassandra held it. If it were all a movie, this would be where she’d drive off into the sunset after her coming-of-age tale, leaving the reckless love behind. But she wants to do anything but that.

How long will it be until she finally stops? The answer is now.

She brakes hard and pulls into a street parking spot -- one of the luckiest moments of her life. Digging in her bag on the passenger’s seat, she finds her phone. Thumbing and thumbing, until she finds her name and the message thread she could never make herself delete.

--You know what’d make me happy? Because I have a couple ideas on the subject. The first is Friday night, at 11. Stay awake, or miss out.

[southside-vixen]

Fire and Ice (Sweet Pea) 1

Chapter 1: Down the Rabbit Hole

AO3

Adrianna Rivera has just made a difficult move from Arizona to the southside of Riverdale. With the history of her life in Phoenix behind her will she be able to find a new family in the Southside Serpents? Or will a certain tall, dark, and rage inducing Serpent cause issues?

It had been 36 hours since what she had not so affectionately dubbed her “fall from grace”. Adrianna Rivera sighed as she stared out of the Greyhound window. One more mile until the exit to Riverdale, her new home for the foreseeable future.

The last day and a half had been particularly jarring. One minute she was sipping orange juice on her back porch the next an entire swat team burst through the door, dragging out her father in cuffs. The next few hours were a whirlwind of FBI questioning as well as her father’s legal team dictating all the words that shouldn’t come out of her mouth. But now it was over, and her father remained in a high security prison. No bail presented as he had been deemed a flight risk.

That’s where Riverdale came in. It was a long shot from Phoenix which she had called home for her entire 16 years of life, but it was her aunt lived. Vanessa Allen, her mother’s sister. The last time she had seen her Aunt Ness she was a 6 year old child. Hanging onto her father’s leg at her mother’s funeral, not understanding the gravity of the situation. Over time she realized her mother was never coming back, and neither was her mother’s only sister.

With her father gone she had no one else to take care of her. The state dictated that her father’s family had too much of a history with crime, so much to her surprise Ness had agreed to take her in. Thousands of miles away on the east coast in a small town she never left. Adria knew next to nothing about her aunt, or her home. All she knew was depending on her father’s lawyers she could be stuck here until she turned 18. The thought made her skin crawl.

The bus pulled in to the station and things already weren’t looking good. There was multiple graffiti tags littering the walls, and at least 2 people begging for spare change. Adria plucked her luggage from the driver’s hands with a small muttering of thanks and scoped out the scene. Soon she saw the woman from the photo her case worker had provided her. She was short, with long wavy brown hair and a smattering of freckles across her face. She couldn’t have been older than 35.

“Adrianna, hey!” she called out, waving her hand to make sure she had her attention “I’m your aunt Ness. God, last time I saw you, you had pig tails” she laughed a bit to herself. “Let me grab your bag.”

She picked up the suitcase as Adria gave her a small smile. She wanted to shower already, the long bus ride along with the bus station made her feel like her skin was covered in grime. Ness led her to a beat up Lincoln that looked like it was at least 20 years old.

“So…this is your car?” She asked, disdain obvious in her voice

Ness let out a sour chuckle “Yep, she’s mine. Not as flashy as your dad’s Mercedes if he still has it.” Ness could already tell this would be a rough transition. Her niece wasn’t the pleasant little girl she remembered. Not to say that wasn’t entirely expected. Her mother had died while she was young, and her father was never the best example. ‘Rude bastard.’ Ness thought to herself.

The car ride was silent on the way back. They pulled up to a small ranch style home nearby a trailer park. It looked like it hadn’t been washed in a couple years. Ness unloaded her niece’s bag out of the car and brought it into the door. Inside there was a small kitchen table covered in mail and some Chinese takeout boxes. The kitchen looked clean, but in a way that meals most likely hadn’t been cooked in months.

“Your room is at the end of the hall,” Ness set down her bag, “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll clean up the table and order us a pizza. You a pepperoni girl?”

“Yeah…that’s fine.” Adria was still in shock. She looked down the hall and noticed the open door at the end of the hall. She picked up her bag and threw it by the inside of the door. The room wasn’t even a quarter of the size of her old room. No en suite bathroom. No walk in closet. Just a twin sized bed, a small full sized mirror propped against a wall, a beat up dresser, and a closet that could maybe fit a half of her already diminished belongings.

She unpacked everything she could, trying to be as creative as possible. Ultimately, she was exhausted. She left half of her belongings in her suitcase and walked out as soon as she heard the delivery boy. She devoured a few slices of pizza before Ness spoke again

“I know you’ve had a long day but there’s somewhere I need to take you before you start school tomorrow” Adria had already forgotten she was set to start school so soon. A way to keep her out of trouble and under a close eye she figured.

“Where are we going” She asked

“My bar. Well, half my bar. There’s someone I want you to meet. She’s the same age as you and will be at the same school. I’ve given her the heads up that I want you looked after.” Ness sighed “Everything here might seem a bit rough around the edges. And believe me I know it’s not the posh shit you’re used to in Phoenix. It’s not all bad, you’ll get out what you put in here.” It was cliché bullshit advice and Ness knew it. Everyone Adria knew in Phoenix was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Drug kingpins dressed in suits and ties and presenting themselves as respectable businessmen in public. She would get none of that here. There was no front, Ness surrounded herself with the Southside Serpents since she was 16 and Alejandro Rivera hated her for it. It was the reason after her sister’s death she never saw her niece again.

Adria stared out the window on the ride to the White Wyrm. Nothing here was pristine, it seemed everything was marked with graffiti or trash. She found it hard to accept this as her life. The bar was busy, filled with men and women in black leather jackets. The same as her aunt wore. The Southside Serpents. Her father told her multiple times her aunt was a criminal and ran with a bike gang. She never thought she’d see it first hand

“Toni!” Ness shouted over the music “I have someone I want you to meet” She ushered Adria over to the bar

“Adrianna, this is Toni Topaz. She’s a sophomore same as you, she’ll be around to help you out on your first day at Southside High”

The girl behind the bar put down the glass she was cleaning and held out her hand with a smile

“It’s nice to meet you Adrianna” Adria took her hand and shook it

“It’s nice to meet you as well. Call me Adria.”

The two girls sized each other up in silence. Adria noticed she also had a leather jacket, and that her entire look screamed grunge. Beat up flannels, fishnets, more leather. Immediately Adria knew she didn’t belong anywhere around here. If people in this town looked anything like Toni she had a bad feeling her first day of her knew school would be worse than she anticipated.

---

Sure enough her first day of school was going about as well as she thought it would. Her Calvin Klein crop top and Lucky brand jeans stood out amongst the sea of leather and flannel. It felt like walking into a grunge concert. On top of that she had to go through the metal detector 3 different times while everyone stared, she had more difficulty getting to class than she did getting through airport security. Then there was the cherry on top of the cake. Toni Topaz as her peer mentor.

“Hey so, first class of the day is English, which you’ll have with me. After that you have Chemistry and History. I’ll have to see if anyone else lines up with that…” Toni was looking over her schedule with a fine toothed comb. According to Ness, Toni was supposed be her liaison to the younger serpents. All which were supposed to be keeping a watchful eye on her.

“From today on you’re an honorary Serpent. You’ll sit with us at lunch and we’ll keep you from being food for the Ghoulies.” She paused for a second “Possibly literally. The rumors of cannibalism are unsubstantiated but better safe than sorry.”

Adria raised an eyebrow “Awesome. Thanks.”

Classes were underwhelming. Unlike prep school no one cared if she underachieved. She could sit quietly on her phone and no one seemed to bother her, she guessed her luck had to turn around at some point.

And it did. Until lunch.

“So this is the cartel princess, huh?” Toni sat her down at a table filled with much larger boys with leather jackets. All Southside Serpents.

“Fangs. Shut up.” Toni smacked him upside the back of the head before sitting down herself. “The idiot with the mouth is Fangs, and the large one is Sweet Pea”

She wasn’t wrong. He was extremely tall even sitting down. But then again it wasn’t hard to seem large next to her slim 5’1” frame.

“The cartel princess has a name. Adria.” Adria threw her bag onto the table and took a look at the meager sandwich the school had provided

“But really.” The boy named Fangs leaned over the table “How much time is your dad doing? How many hits did he call? Is it true they string up snitches by their feet on public bridges to send a message?”

He didn’t have time to spew out more questions before Toni threw an apple at his head which he managed to dodge at the last second. She wasn’t entirely paying attention as she was noticing out of the corner of her eye that the one known as Sweet Pea was glaring daggers at her.

Keeping her mouth shut had never been Adria’s strong suit.

“So are you just going to keep staring at me or are you going to tell me why you want to stab me after we’ve just met” She fixed her eyes on Sweet Pea who looked taken aback.

“I don’t care if your Aunt’s a Serpent. We don’t need some Northsider-like outsider here. Why don’t you go cross the tracks where you belong” He scoffed

“First of all. I have no idea what any of that shit means. Second I’m here and you’re stuck with me, if you have a problem with that go take it up with the Feds.” Adria shot back her biggest shit eating grin.

“Alright. That’s enough” Toni said “Like it or not. Both of you. Adria is a part of our dysfunctional Serpent family.” The bell rang “Now if you’ll excuse us, Adria and I have gym class to get to.” The two girls got up and collected their things before leaving the cafeteria.

“God, she’s hot.” Fangs smiled

“She’s a bitch.” Sweet Pea rolled his eyes and grabbed his bag. “Sooner she’s gone the better.”

[crashdevlin]

Bottle- 16: Vision

Bottle Masterlist

Author’s Note: Originally posted to ao3 (This is an edited and improved version), I work in info from the comics (Like Hawkeye was married to Mockingbird and Red Skull had a disappointing daughter) and I took a few liberties with what the scepter could do (but not really because the Mind Stone was used to create the Twins so what I did is not that far-fetched). This is a lot more angst than I realized when I wrote it, but it’s compelling angst.

Summary: Cassandra Campbell is a Stark Industries lab tech with dubious genetics and a history with the new Director of SHIELD. She’s been working in New York since right before the Chitauri invasion. What does she have to do with Loki, and what will happen when he returns? Starts post TDW and continues to the end of AoU.

Pairing(s): Phil Coulson x OFC (Past), Loki x OFC (Non-con), Clint Barton x OFC, Steve Rogers x OFC

Word Count: 2237

Story Warnings: So many, worst (to me) are bolded. Younger woman/older man relationship,non-con, mutilation, torture, mind control, PTSD, depression, alcoholism, forced abortions, bad things (non-con) in a church, insomnia, memory manipulation, eventual consensual oral sex (female and male receiving),

Chapter Warnings: none

Cassie looked over at Tony as they started through security at NEXUS. "Thank you."

"What?"

"For bringing me. For not leaving me at the farm with... Nothing against her, a couple years ago I wanted what she has, but I can't... imagine just staying home and raising kids and helping with homework and..." She lost her direction as a guard ran a metal detector down her body. "The housewife thing, back when I was with Phil, that was the goal, but... it's-"

"Boring. So boring. I wouldn't want that for you. Actually, if you tried to choose that life now, Blondie, I'd tell Hydra where you are. That ain't you and I'd rather you become Junior again than go full Stepford," Tony said, crossing to the other side of security. "Steve shouldn't have tried to leave you behind. You're of better use in Korea. Of course, his bus was pretty full with your boyfriend and his girlfriend, you know."

"Nat isn't-"

"If you think they've never bumped uglies, you're deluded," Tony said, walking away as Cassie's face fell.

"That's a great strategy, Tony. Put your bodyguard into a self-conscious spiral of inadequacy. Like the gorgeous, tall, gymnast ex-wife wasn't bad enough."

"What inadequacy? You think you're something less than Romanoff?"

Cassie walked up next to him. "Yeah. How could I possibly feel like less of a woman when compared to a legit ballerina-turned-assassin-turned-spy? She's also an amazing hacker and have you seen what she wears? I'd never be able to pull off the skintight clothes and-"

"But that's not your thing," Stark interrupted, turning and grabbing her shoulder and forcing her to look up at him. "That's never been your thing. When Barton was creepin' on you through a scope from the building across the street, you weren't doing acrobatics or wearing skintight anything. You were just being you. You don't need to compete with the ex-wife, or Nat... well, maybe Nat. She's very present in his life."

"You're not helping, Tony." She sighed, deeply. "I should've just kept to the 'no dating' thing."

"Would've been the smart move," Tony agreed, walking toward a guarded area. He smiled at the guards. "Tony Stark, Cassie Campbell. We need access."

The guards nodded and moved out of the way. A blond woman walked up. "Tony. How are you?"

"I'm good. This is Cassie, my new bodyguard," Tony said, prompting a look of disbelief from the tech. "She's stronger than she looks."

"Nice to meet you."

Cassie nodded as Tony walked to a set of computers and started to type. "A hacker who's faster than Ultron? He could be anywhere. And as this is the center of everything, I'm just a guy looking for a needle in the world's biggest haystack."

"How do you find it?" the tech asked.

"Pretty simple. You bring a magnet." Cassie sighed as he began an electronic attack on the Pentagon. "Oh, I'm decrypting nuclear codes and you don't want me to." He sang. "Come and get me."

"And if this force is malevolent?" Cassie asked. "We might be-"

"Found it!" Stark interrupted, tapping furiously at the keyboards. "Now, just to... wait a second. That looks familiar. And so does..."

"What is it?"

"Not what..." he said, a new window popping up on the right screen. "Who."

"Is that..." A familiar set of orange programming came up on the screen. "Jarvis!"

"Hello, Miss Campbell."

"That's amazing. He's the one who's been holding Ultron off?"

"Of course, he was. This is Jarvis. Greatest program ever created."

"Thank you, sir."

"Let's get back to the Tower," Tony said, pulling out his tablet and uploading Jarvis to it.

**********************

Cassie walked in with Tony as Clint tried to pry the cradle open. "Anything on Nat?" Banner asked, walking up wringing his hands, worriedly.

"We haven't heard," Cassie answered.

"But she's alive, or Ultron'd be rubbing our faces in it," Tony continued, walking up to the cradle as Clint hopped off of it.

"This is sealed tight."

"We're gonna need to access the program, break it down from within," Banner said, running his hand along the top of the cradle.

"Hm. Any chance Natasha might leave you a message, outside the internet? Old-school spy stuff?" Tony asked turning to Clint.

"There's some nets I can cast. Yeah. I'll find her," Clint said, heading downstairs.

Cassie walked to the cradle, running her hand along the metal, as well. "I can work on tissue degeneration," Bruce started. "If you can fry whatever operational system Cho implanted."

"Yeah, about that," Stark started prompting Cassie and Banner to turn to him.

"No," Bruce said, backing away.

"You have to trust me." Tony stepped forward.

"Kinda don't."

"Our ally? The guy protecting the military's nuclear codes? I found him," Tony said, flicking his tablet to bring up a hologram of Jarvis' consciousness.

"Hello, Dr. Banner."

"Ultron didn't go after Jarvis 'cause he was angry. He attacked him because he was scared of what he can do. So, Jarvis went underground. Okay? Scattered, dumped his memory, but not his protocols. He didn't even know he was in there, until I pieced him together."

"So, you want me to help you put Jarvis into this thing?"

"No, of course not! I want to help you put Jarvis in this thing. Cass'll help any way she can. We can count on her." Banner shook his head while Cassie looked down at the cradle, dumbly, feeling completely out of her depth. "We're out of my field here. You know bio-organics better than anyone."

"And you just assume that Jarvis' operational matrix can beat Ultron's?"

"Jarvis has been beating him. From the inside without knowing it," Tony said, staring across the cradle at Banner.

"This is an opportunity," Cassie said, finally coming to her senses and looking up from the cradle. "We can create Ultron's perfect self."

"Without the homicidal glitches he thinks are his winning personality, exactly. We have to," Tony finished.

"I believe it's worth a go," Jarvis said.

Banner scratched his head. "I'm in a loop! I'm caught in a time loop. This is exactly where it all went wrong."

"I know, I know. I know what everyone's going to say, but they're already saying it. We're mad scientists." Tony walked up, grasping Banner's shoulder. "We're monsters, buddy. You and Cassie actually are. You gotta own it. Make a stand." Banner shook his head as Tony pressured him.

"It's not a loop, Bruce. It's the end of the line," Cassie said, looking around Tony at him.

Banner looked down, then over at the cradle. "This is a bad idea."

"Unfortunately, it's the best one we have," she said, trying to force her lips to smile, but failing.

"Okay. Let's do this. Cassie, grab those cables, we're gonna have to connect the cradle to the computer in order to upload Jarvis into the synthetic body," Banner said.

******************

"This framework is not compatible," Tony said, tapping away on the computer.

"The genetic coding tower's at 97%. You have got to upload that schematic in the next three minutes."

Cassie moved to stand in front of Bruce as Steve and the Maximoffs walked into lab. "I'm gonna say this once," Steve commanded.

"How 'bout 'nonce'?"

"Shut it down," Cap demanded.

"Nope, not gonna happen," Tony spat back.

"You don't know what you're doing," Steve said.

"And you do? She's not in your head?" Bruce gestured at the witch.

"I know you're angry," she said, walking around to Steve's side.

"Oh, we're way past that. I could choke the life out of you and never change a shade."

"I don't even have to worry about that," Cassie added.

"Banner, after everything that's happened..." Steve started.

"That's nothing compared to what's coming!" Tony shouted.

"You don't know what's in there!" Wanda shouted back.

"This isn't a game!" Rogers shouted.

"The creature..." Wanda began as her twin ran around the lab, destroying and disconnecting everything.

"No, no. Go on. You were saying?" He threw the cables on the ground and looked around the lab.

A bullet came up through the glass, causing Pietro to fall through. Wanda called his name as Cassie looked down the hole at Clint, who stepped on the mutant and smiled. "What? You didn't see that coming?"

The computer beeped at Stark, so he started tapping at the keyboard again. "I'm rerouting the upload." Steve pulled his hand back and threw his shield at the computer and Tony, who blasted him with a repulsor beam and called the rest of his suit.

Banner grabbed Wanda from behind as Cassie moved to grab Steve's shield. "Go ahead, piss me off," Banner urged as Clint ran up the stairs.

Steve jumped at Tony, intent on punching the genius, but flew backwards as another repulsor beam hit him. Tony flew backward, too, as Cassie ran for the computer. "Reroute the upload," she whispered to herself in hopes that she could figure out how to do that. She was never that great with computers. Wanda pulled herself from Banner's arms in the confusion and used her 'magic' to hit him back away from her. Cassie's eyes fell on Thor as he ran into the room and jumped on top of the cradle, calling forth a lightning bolt to hit it. Warning: Power Overload came across the screen in front of her as the upload rapidly finished. The cradle exploded open, sending Thor flying backward and everyone else to shield their eyes.

A look of awe and fear crossed everyone's faces as the red synthetic man jumped out of the cradle and looked around as he stood. He jumped at Thor, who threw him out the lab window to the living area below.  He stopped just short of the glass on the outside of the building, flying in front of it and looking out at the city. Thor followed him down, as did Cap and Cassie. Thor put a hand up to stop Steve getting closer. His skin changed from almost completely red to red and green as he turned and flew to stand next to Thor in the living room. "I'm sorry, that was... odd." Jarvis' voice came out of the android. "Thank you," He addressed Thor. As he examined the Asgardian, a yellow cape appeared behind him.

"Thor. You helped create this?" Steve asked.

"I've had a vision. A whirlpool that sucks in all hope of life and at its center is that." Thor pointed to the android's forehead.

"The gem?" Cassie asked, stepping forward.

"It's the Mind Stone, Lady Cassie. It's one of six Infinity Stones. The greatest power in the universe, unparalleled in its destructive capabilities."

"Then, why would you bring it to..."

"Because Stark is right."

"Oh, it's definitely the end times," Banner said, under his breath.

"We were supporting this, remember?" Cassie put her hand on his shoulder.

"The Avengers cannot defeat Ultron," Thor continued.

"Not alone," the android added.

"Why does your 'vision' sound like Jarvis?"

"We... we reconfigured Jarvis' matrix to create something new," Tony answered, walking toward the android.

"I think I've had my fill of new."

"Then, go back to sleep," Cassie responded, earning her a hurt look from the captain.

"You think I'm a child of Ultron," Vision said.

"You're not?"

"I'm not Ultron. I am not Jarvis. I am... I am," he concluded.

"I looked in your head... and saw annihilation," Wanda accused, walking forward.

"Look again."

Clint scoffed. "Yeah. Her seal of approval means jack to me."

"Their powers, the horrors in our heads, Ultron himself, they all came from the Mind Stone. And they're nothing compared to what it can unleash. But with it on our side..." Thor started.

"Is it?" Cassie asked.

"Are you? On our side," Steve clarified.

"I don't think it's that simple," the Vision answered.

"Well, it better get real simple, real soon." Clint threatened.

"I am on the side of life. Ultron isn't. He will end it all."

"What's he waiting for?" Tony asked.

"You."

"Where?" Bruce asked.

"Sokovia," Clint answered. "He's got Nat there, too."

"If we're wrong about you..." Bruce started, walking forward with his hands clasps. "If you're the monster that Ultron made you to be..."

"What will you do?" Vision looked around at the group. The silent 'We will kill you' vibe spoke its words. He started to pace, walking past Banner. "I don't want to kill Ultron. He's unique, and he's in pain. But that pain will roll over the Earth, so he must be destroyed. Every form he's built, every trace of his presence on the 'net. We have to act now. And not one of us can do it without the others. Maybe I am a monster." He looked down at his hands. "I don't think I'd know if I were one. I'm not what you are, and not what you intended. So, there may be no way to make you trust me. But we need to go." He turned, offering Mjolnir to Thor. The Avengers' eyes focused on the hammer and Vision's lack of strain.

"Holy shit." Cassie scoffed as Thor took the hammer and Vision walked away.

"Right," Thor said, before walking up and patting Tony's shoulder. "Well done."

"Three minutes. Get what you need," Steve ordered.

"Yes, boss," Cassie said, running for the elevator.

"You going for guns?" Clint called after her.

"I'm going for anything I can get my hands on," she called back.

KITCHEN SINK TAGS @heyitscam99 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mrs-meghan-winchester @henrymorganme @lonely-skys @allykat2108

[sweetpea-cc]

Pieces of Me (Part 2)

Summary: You are Y/N McCormick, the Northside Queen with a knack for defending yourself. Ultimately, too many warnings lead to being expelled from Riverdale High School and you transfer to Southside High where you’re immersed in a completely different life. Slowly, you become closer to Sweet Pea, along with the rest of the Southside Serpents while discovering the missing pieces of yourself.

Paring: Sweet Pea x Reader (ft. Toni Topaz) Warning: Some language,  Word Count: 1.9k+

A/N: Your last name is McCormick for reasons which will be explained later. Also, this is a slow burn miniseries. :))

(Part 1) (Part 3)

Three days later, the transfer papers were all completed and signed, and you were officially about to start your first day at Southside High. In a way, the school looked exactly as you imagined it would; practically in shambles, and it was apparent that upkeep of it wasn't a priority.

Ahead, you could see lines of students waiting to walk through metal detectors and scanners due to the violence that took place here and the collective sound of groans and laughter filled the air. You weren't blind, you know some, if not the majority of the student body, were staring at you. Understandable, really, you were what they called a "Northside Barbie," and it was apparent that you didn't belong.

Roughly fifteen minutes later, you finally set a foot inside the infamous Southside High. This school was the complete polar opposite of Riverdale in the sense that it was chaotic and no doubt its poor reputation preceded it.

"You must be Y/N, I'm Toni, your peer mentor for today." Your attention falls on a spunky girl, with dark brown hair and pink highlights. Toni appeared to have a small frame, light brown skin, and almond-shaped eyes. Suffice to say, she was beautiful, and you were slightly intimidated. You made a note of the amount of jewelry she was wearing; a broad assortment of rings, bracelets, and necklaces.

"Yeah, nice to meet you." You offered her a genuine smile as you ran your hands through your hair and began observing the life around you. Toni made a motion for you to follow her down the hall as she pointed out various things and facts according to your schedule.

"Mr. Phillips is cool I guess, you'll have the same class as me and a bunch of other serpents." Her voice seemed to fade away as you took in your surroundings. Southside was chaotic for sure, but there appeared to be a system; the serpents on one side of the school and the ghoulies on the other. Highly similar to the factions, as you liked to call them, at Riverdale- Royals, Jocks, Nerds, and dare you say it, nobodies.

"Hey, hey! Earth to Y/N!" Toni's voice suddenly registered in your head as you turned your attention towards her.

"What? Sorry, my head went to a different universe." You offer Toni a sheepish grin which she seems to gladly return.

"I was just wondering what you're doing here. No one transfers to Southside at their own will."

"Well, it was either here or Seaside, and there's no way in hell I'm driving two hours every day just to go to school."

"Why not Riverdale?"

"Oh, I got expelled. Apparently defending yourself against hormonal boys who can't keep their hands to themselves is a huge no-no. That, and writing a damning article about a teacher who is a child predator."

"Wow, props to you. Okay, uh, lunch is at twelve, and it looks like you have a free period from one to two. Everyone eats lunch at the same time so it shouldn't be too difficult for you to find it. I hope you brought something to eat because the food is not edible."

"Thanks for the warning, you've definitely made my day like five times better." Toni smiles and nods her head at you and disappears down the hall, meeting with a group of kids all sporting the same "Southside Serpents" logo. One of them, in particular, caught your attention though, he slim and very tall, and from your point of view, you spotted his double-headed serpent tattoo on his neck. His jet-black hair was loosely combed off to the side and good lord, he was handsome as hell. You

You turned away before any of them could see your face and stalk off to your first class which passed by excruciatingly slow. Thankfully, lunch rolled around quick enough, and you realize that Toni wasn't kidding about it being easy to find the cafeteria given how everyone was rushing to the same room. Upon entering, your sights almost immediately fall on the caged off sections of the lunchroom and quickly note that it was explicitly for the Serpents. Across the room, you spotted a bunch of kids sitting around lazily, and you recalled how Toni had described them to you— "Rival gang, drug dealers, street racers, rumors of cannibalism."

You definitely knew it would be best to avoid them at all costs, it was already enough that you were a hundred percent out of place. You say down at an empty table situated in the middle of the cafeteria, and there was that feeling again, all eyes on you as if they were waiting for you to make a mistake. To your left, you watched as the serpents, namely Toni, look back and forth between you and their section, it appeared that a small argument with the great serpent was currently taking place.

"Come on Sweet Pea, let her sit here. She's actually really nice, and you know the second they get, the ghoulies are going to eat her alive."

"No. She's not a serpent, she's a Northside Barbie." Toni scowled at Sweet Pea and had to fight the urge to punch him. Sure, he was right, you weren't a serpent and this section of the cafeteria was reserved for such but at the same time, sitting with them was better than sitting by yourself where you were a likely target for whatever games the ghoulies had in mind. And as if on cue, Toni watched as a ghoulie walked up to the table that you were sitting at and plop himself down beside you.

"Did Northside Barbie get lost?" his voice taunted and felt yourself physically cringe. It wasn't that he was a ghoulie that creeped you out, it was sound of his voice made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You quickly found yourself fighting the urge to send your fist into his face, with it being the first day and all.

"My sense of direction is fine, thank you." You were doing your best to keep the conversation between you and the ghoulie to a minimum, but it didn't look like he was going away anytime soon.

"You're a pretty little thing, you know that?" this time, his finger made its way over to your arm that was resting on the table, and he dragged it slowly across making you jerk your arm away so fast it was like it became Usain Bolt for a few sections.

"Don't touch me. I'm leaving." You begin to put together your lunch and stand up, preparing to walk away only for greedy fingers to wrap themselves around your forearm, yanking you back. Quickly your eyes dart over to where Toni was sitting, looking slightly worried and back to the creepy crawly ghoulie.

"Ha, I didn't say you could leave. So why don't you sit your pretty little ass back down?" You scowl to yourself, had you really just heard him correctly? What year was this? 1930's or something? With your mouth forming a straight line, you level with him and speak slowly and plainly just to ensure that he understood you.

"I'd recommend that you let go of my arm before someone gets hurt. And here's a hint, it won't be me." The ghoulie then stood up, still refusing to release his hold on your arm, a disgusting smirk plastered on his face. After tugging a few times but finding no avail, you finally decide that physical force would be necessary.

Quickly, you twist your captured arm around and clasp your hand on the ghoulie's arm, wasting no time turning it and using all of your force to pin his arm behind his back. To add insult to the injury, you swiftly kick one of his legs from underneath him causing him to lose his balance, and with your free hand, you smash his face against the table.

"Now, you have about five seconds to apologize for being a dick before I simultaneously snap your arm in two separate places." The ghoulie struggled underneath you, and you weren't going to lie, he was a lot stronger than he appeared, but nonetheless, you persisted.

"Fuck you, you bitch!" He spat, nearly wriggling free until you applied further pressure on the smalls of his wrist causing him to yell out in pain.

"One... two... three..." You counted, applying even more pressure with each count until the creep finally gave in.

"I'm sorry! Let me go!"

As quickly as you took him down, you released him with a small shove forward and move backward, creating plenty of space between the two of you.

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?" You coo like tattling big sister, crossing yours loosely over your torso.

"Psycho bitch!" The ghoulie spewed, cradling his injured arm in his other hand as walked back to his friends, a small limp present in his wide strides.

"I've been called worse." You shrug carelessly as you finish collecting your belongings when the croaky and strident voice of the school Principal called out from behind you.

"McCormick! My office, now!" You look up, scowling at no one in particular and spin around coming face-to-face with a burly man in his late fifties. Letting out a quiet sound of annoyance, you trudge towards the man and you did, you caught a side glance from the same raven-haired boy you saw this morning. Though it was completely irrelevant, his crazy height and the way he towered over everyone reminded you of a pine tree. "Hm, maybe that's his name." you joke to yourself as you walk close behind the Principal and down the oddly silent hallways.

Sitting in the Principal's office was an all too familiar sight and you were starting to think you were more trouble than you were worth. Given Southside's reputation, you were surprised that the school even had a Principal, after all, had anyone been paying attention to the system?

"Would you like to tell me why you physically assaulted another student?" Principal  Wright asked as he sat back in his chair folding his meaty hands over each other. Based on the newspaper clippings hanging on his walls about various sports teams and honorable mentions, it would appear that once upon a time, long ago, Southside High was actually a school. 'Poor man.' you thought to yourself, he had to sit back and watch his school be torn to shambles.

"I used necessary force after asking multiple times for the creep to let me go, I even as much tried to walk away like a normal person. So all in all, Principal Wright, I'm completely innocent in this narrative." You threw your hands up in surrender and cross your legs, sitting like the proper lady you were supposed to be. The man looked beyond exhausted from dealing with constant fights and standoffs and he really didn't need the stress of a prominent Northside rich girl making things any worse than they already were.

"And Mr. Bowers will be dealt with, I promise you that. However, until then, I must urge that you stay away from him and his little gang. Right now, the last thing I need is another McCormick wrecking havoc in my school like your father and uncle did." The mention of your uncle made you smile, you didn't know much about him because your father often refused to talk about; something about the memories being too painful to relive. Perhaps one day, your sleuthing skills would serve you greatly and you'd find out more about him, until then, you were stuck with the vague explanations that your dad would give you.

[aerialsquid]

Metashipping?

Title: The Men Upstairs Fandom: The LEGO Movie, The LEGO Batman Movie Pairings: Batman/Joker (…sort of), The Man Upstairs/OC Characters: Finn, The Man Upstairs, Batman, Joker, Original Male Character Tags: Meta Fic, Dating, Legos, Metafiction, Symbolism, Parenting, Fatherhood, Businessman Description: Borrowing from the meta reveal at the end of The LEGO Movie, where we find the plot to be a metaphor for a child playing with his father’s Lego sets, this offers a ship-ish look at the meta subtext behind The LEGO Batman Movie. Closet nerd Jack goes on a lukewarm date with a closet LEGO collector, and finds a Batman in dire need of a Robin…and maybe a Joker too.

"-so the main goal is increasing our audience base by 40%. Which let me tell you, is hard when we've got a 30% churn rate, but our senior initiatives team is expanding the database capabilities to-"

Jack made eye contact with the overexpensive coffee maker on the other side of Hank’s overexpensive kitchen. This was he didn't date people in the business. Why in the heck had he decided he should go on a date with someone in the business? Especially one who was just some stranger he’d met on a dating app?

Oh, right. Because he was an idiot who had a hard time saying no.

“Yeah, audience segmentation’s tricky,” Jack said with as much passion as he could manage, which was the same amount of passion he raised for an extra ketchup packet at McDonalds.

“Exactly!” said his date, raising his glass of wine emphatically. “Especially when the sales demographics are changing so fast.”

Jack’s plan had been to get to the bar, have two drinks, and if the guy wasn’t done being dull by two drinks Jack would find an excuse to go wash his hair. Unfortunately, when they got to the bar a sign in the window indicated it was closed due to “Personal Issues, Don’t Ask, But It’s All Her Fault”. Jack’s date had mentioned that his own house was right up the road, and his kids were at tutoring. They could still enjoy a few glasses of fancy nineteen-whatever French wine, and they wouldn’t have to worry about overpaying for imported cheese and French bread.

And Jack was an idiot who had a hard time saying no.

Jack was considering discretely texting his BFF an SOS for GTFO support when the door opened. A kid with a frizzy, curly mop of hair and a solemn expression usually reserved for priests conducting funerals entered, one hand tugging along a younger girl and the other holding a tiny bag of bulky toys.

Hank snapped around, wine sloshing out onto the cheese platter as Jack leaned out of splatter range. “Finn? What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be with Susan!”

Finn looked up at his father with a dulled expression. “She didn’t show up.” The kid sounded as if this sort of thing was business as usual – being left behind, left out, ignored, forgotten. The younger girl took the bag of toys from his hand and wandered off into the depths of the house with it clutched tightly to her chest.

Hank rose to his feet, nearly snapping the stem of the wineglass in his hand. “And how did you get home?”

“Bus.”

“Bus? You went on the bus alone? The school just let you get on the bus alone?” Hank’s voice was rising in pitch with each sentence, heading towards a shriek. It didn’t seem to make a dent in Finn’s dulled demeanor.

“Yeah.” He gave an idle shrug.

“Oh, I am going to murder them!” Jack’s date stormed upstairs, likely to get his phone, leaving Jack forgotten next to the fancy cheese.

Jack and the kid stared at each other.

“You’re…Finn, right?”

“Mhm. He’s pretty mad,” the kid noted. He grabbed a slice of cheese with cracker and stuffed it into his mouth. “Who are you?”

“Jack. I’m a friend of your dad. We were…talking.”

“About business?”

Jack opened his mouth for a yes. Then he looked the kid in the eye as Finn stuffed grapes into his mouth, and considered the sad way that the word ‘business’ had tumbled out of his mouth. Hank had barely talked about his family life but Jack knew enough about Hank’s job to practically do it himself.

“Honestly, I hate business,” he said instead. Jack leaned over, elbows resting on his knees. “What do you like, Finn?”

Finn shrugged. “Stuff. TV shows." When it was clear Jack wasn’t going to move on to another topic, he mumbled, “Legos.”

“Oh. Cool. I love Legos.”

The sound of a very angry middle class white man tumbled back down the stairs. Hank’s exact words were muffled but the intent and emotion behind them was fairly clear.  Jack winced.

“I think your dad’s gonna be busy for a while.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think I should leave?”

“I dunno.”

Jack sucked his teeth and considered the matter. Something about the kid just made him ache. It was that look in his eyes, like this was inevitable. A kid shouldn’t feel like he was an extra load.

Jack knew that much from experience.

“Hey, Finn? You want to show me your Legos?”

“Wwwwwwow. When you said Legos, I didn’t think you meant you were running an entire Lego store out of your basement.”

“Dad collects them,” Finn said. “And builds them. He’s got all the sets. He likes to build the sets.”

Jack’s jaw hung open as he wandered the basement, staring at models of Isengard and the Sears Tower that were almost as tall as he was. The figures could have been shop models for how perfectly they were built, each Stormtrooper storming the plains of Hoth and pirate swinging across the ratlines of the Black Pearl in perfect position. “Your dad collects enough Legos to build a literal house and he had me talking about demographic segmentation?” That asshole.

Jack followed Finn around as Finn named off the sets in regimented order. The constructs were built box-picture-perfect but each had some endearing little quirk to it. Firefighters were trying to get a kitten down from the Eiffel Tower. Gremlins had invaded Hogwarts and built a crude airplane on the parapets so they could sit on its wings.

“He used to keep them to himself, but now we play together sometimes. When he’s not doing business.” Finn said the word business like it was a slur, which was something Jack could get behind.

“I love it. This is amazing. Oh my god, is that a Batman set? That’s huge!”

“That’s Arkham Asylum. It’s from a set. This is Wayne Manor, I built this one, and the Batcave one.”  Finn pointed to an immense house construct.  It was furnished with at least two dozen rooms, each with small chairs and tables or cute little plastic toilets. On the shelf below it was what was indeed the Batcave, full of at least a dozen Bat-appended vehicles.

“Have I mentioned I’m a huge Batman fan? Huge.” First crush huge, but he wasn’t going to say that in front of the nine-year-old.

“Really?” Finn gave Jack a once-over. Jack realized what an absolute square he must look like, wearing his finest business casual and looking as professionally average as possible. It made him regret everything he was doing with his life.

“You want my cred? I got cred.” Jack whipped his phone out and swiped through Facebook, back through the carefully curated archive of incredibly dull, employer-safe vacation and brunch imagery. He stopped on a specific photo and held it up, gloating.

“This was me last year at Halloween.” he said, pointing to the central figure in a generic ‘badly lit people at table in bar with beers and arms around each other but not in a sexy way’ shot. “Check out what I’m wearing.”

Finn leaned in to look at the picture, then giggled. “You have Batman pajamas?” he squeaked, one hand over his mouth.

“Batman pajamas with cowl.” More of a onesie, really. There’d been a sale at ThinkGeek.

The first real smile Jack had seen on Finn for more than a few moments began to creep to the surface. Upstairs he could still hear the faintest of yelling—if Hank was the kind of guy Jack thought he was, he’d be there a while and ask to speak to at least two managers. Jack’s eyes roamed the table until he found the airport set (with a little TSA and metal detector, wtf).

“So now I’m going to need you to show me your Batman cred. Trivia time. What if, uh….so what if there was a plane coming into Gotham city that was full of bombs, and explosives.” He leaned over to the ‘Old West Gold Mine’ set and grabbed a pile of TNT. Finn looked mildly concerned as Jack distributed the explosives around the plane like salt on pasta.

“Aaaaand it got taken over by ninjas!” Jack ran to the Samurai set and plucked up fistfuls of ninjas. Finn’s expression went from concerned to alarmed.

“You’re mixing up the sets…”

“It’s fine, I’ll put them back later.” Jack was on a roll now. He grinned eagerly, distributing the ninjas on top of the plane and walking a few of them inside. He looked over his shoulder and eyed Arkham Asylum. “They’re toys, right? What’s the point if we’re not playing with them?”

Damnit, he was going to entertain this small child if it killed him.

“—and I always come to work with a smile!!!!”

Jack grinned wide, wiggling the tiny Joker menacingly between his fingers. The little pilot cap balanced on the molded hair fell off and he quickly balanced it back on top of one tiny green spike.

Finn was silent, staring at him from the other side of the table. The little pilot figure that Jack had forced into his hand hung loose between his fingers. Jack could feel his pulse pounding in his throat. “You should be terrified,” he prompted.

Finn offered another of the apathetic shrugs that were starting to be cheese graters on Jack’s soul. “Why?”

Jack pitched his voice high again. “Because! I will be taking over the city!” he made the little Joker dance back and forth.”

“Hmmm.” Finn’s eyes roamed around the model city as he let out a noise of unclear emotion response.

“What? I mean it!” The high pitch in his voice grew higher and just a shred more desperate. He felt like someone trying frantically to start their car by turning the key again and again, each roar of the engine even more subdued and upsetting.

The moment of ‘hmmmmmmmm ‘ stretched out again, until finally Finn looked up, humor dancing in his eyes, “Batman will stop you.”

Yes!!!!

Jack blew a gleeful raspberry. “Pffft!”

“He always stops you.” Finn insisted.

“No, he doesn’t!”

“Yes, he does.”

“No he doesn’t!”

“Like that time with the two boats?

“Your dad let you watch—I mean, this is better than the two boats!” Finn was still looking up in skepticism. Jack wracked his brain, trying to yank in what little shreds of his improv classes hadn’t been violently repressed by his mind. “Tonight is going to be different! Tonight is my greatest plan yet! And trust me, Batman’s never gonna see it coming.”

“Like that time with the parade and the Prince music?”

“Hey, quiet! Your city is under attack by Gotham’s greatest criminal masterminds! Including...”

Jack scrambled for the Arkham Asylum set, ripping tiny plastic figures off their pedestals and out of their cells.

“Riddler! Scarecrow! Bane!” He snapped the characters down to the table one by one, their arms upraised in defiance of the law and common decency. “Two-Face! Catwoman! And let's not forget Clayface! Poison Ivy! Mr. Freeze! Penguin!”

Jack dove into the plastic bin of spare minifigures and started yanking out random bodies, slapping capes and hats onto scowling figures and setting them down on the table one by one.

“Crazy Quilt! Eraser! Mime! Tarantula! King Tut! Orca! Killer Moth! March Hare! Zodiac Master! Gentleman Ghost! Clock King! Calendar Man! Kite Man! Catman! Zebra-man! Annnnnnd the Condiment King!”

He paused, panting as he set the last little caped figure on the platform, tapping a tiny red bottle into its hand. A row of hastily cobbled second-stringers stretched out down the length of the table, all glaring menacingly towards the perfectly constructed cityscape.

Finn raised an eyebrow at him. “… Okay, are you making some of these up?

“Nope, they’re all real!” Jack winked. “Probably worth a Google.”

Hank came down the stairs just as Batman was delivering t-shirts to the orphanage, and stayed silent until the Batmobile slid elegantly into the Wayne Manor and Batcave sets.

“What are you doing?”

Both Finn and Hank froze, their expressions of childish guilt almost identical.

“We’ll put it back, Dad,” Finn mumbled.

“We just saved Gotham City anyway, so I think this episode’s wrapped up.” Jack sat back on his knees, disconnecting the Joker from his little balloon harness. Finn was already collecting up the ninjas and running away to quickly put them back into position.

“Well. I’m glad you have that handled,” said Hank, his expression carefully free of every emotion, including that of apathy, which on reflection was kinda impressive.

Jack rolled the airplane back to its landing pad next to its little government-empowered metal-detecting autocrats.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this? Heck, why isn’t this the first thing in your dating profile?”

“Some people think toy collecting’s a little childish.”

“Some people can suck my Loot Box Exclusive Batarang Multi-tool. Seriously. This is great.” He began stripping the plane of tiny bombs.

“Hey, Hank? Why don’t you have a Dick?”

Jack’s date stopped, jaw working as he tried to muster up a reply. Jack’s penny dropped and he rushed in with “A Dick Grayson! A Robin! Red shirt, yellow cape, green tights. Sorry. Finn says you have about fifteen different Batmans but there’s no Robins.”

Hank blinked. “Oh. I think the dog ate it. I haven’t replaced it, I haven’t been into the media tie-in sets for a while.”

“You should get one. Actually, I will buy you one if I have to.”

“Uh. Why?”

“Batman’s got all this crap but he hasn’t got a family. I had to dig the Alfred out of the back of the Wayne Manor set. Batman needs people to back him up, always has. And Robin’s his son. I mean he’s adopted, or at least the Dick Grayson one’s adopted, and they’ve got this really tight bond, and I feel like Finn would really relate to that.”

“You sure you’re not getting a little too into this?”

“It’s not me who’s getting into it. I mean, not just me.” Jack looked over his shoulder at Finn, who was cleaning up the discarded piles of Batvillains and neatly placing them back into Arkham. “It’s him. Kids work out stuff through play, and his idea of a strong person isn’t one that needs to deal with sidekicks. His Batman doesn’t need a family, and he definitely doesn’t do ships.”

“Ships?”

“Relationships. Connections. He’s not even that into the Joker and lemme tell you, every good Batman has some twisted fixation on Joker. This the kind of Batman you get in the Nolan movies where he’s emotionally stunted, not the kind that winds up opening up to people like in some of the better comics. I’m not sure that’s…”

Jack abruptly stopped the word fountain flowing from his mouth, biting down hard on his thin lip to keep the words inside. His gaze fell away as the weight of adulthood abruptly fell down on his shoulders. Here he was, a grown man with a professional job, messing around in some other guy’s basement with his Lego models like he was one of Finn’s colleagues here for pretend play and video games after elementary school, talking his head off about the significance of superheroes having sidekicks.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m a huge dork.”

“No. It’s, um.” Hank peeked over Jack’s shoulder. “Hey, Finn? We’ll clean this up, why don’t you go start your homework?”

“Okay, Dad.”

Hank lowered his voice once Finn had scrambled up the stairs. “It’s hard to get him out of his shell with other people,” he whispered. “He’s up in his head so much of the time, and he’s so shy with other kids. I’ve never seen him just click with someone like that. I’ve been trying to play with him more but I can never seem to get it right.” He reached over and readjusted the angle of the airplane, almost looking guilty for needing to do so. “I don’t think I’m on his level. I spend so much time around people hyperfocused on the profit line that I forget how to be a kid.”

“You’re saying I’m immature?”

Hank smiled. He reached out to take the Joker from Jack’s hand, and his fingers lingered a few moments longer than necessary against Jack’s skin. “I’m saying that’s not the worst thing in the world for me right now.”

[myhappyendings32]

Be Still My Past

AN: Hey everyone @unitchiefwives and I want to apologize for the delay in the update life happened, but we are back. We hope you enjoy…

Chapter 4:

Callie’s POV

Life. It’s a funny thing, one minute you’re the happiest you can be and the next minute you have sunk down to the lowest depths of turmoil. Honestly, if it wouldn’t have been for my sister Aria, life in general wouldn’t have been an option. Being there for me every step of the way led me to med school and eventually to being a surgeon. I am now a world renowned Pediatric Surgeon. Considering I am the oldest of the family, it still leaves me astonished to how I was the one being taken care of and protected.

One of the promises I made to myself and my sister was to always support and be there for her while she is following her dream. My sisters dream was to become an Assistant District Attorney (and damn she is one hell of an ADA.)  Which brings me to why I’m in the New York County Supreme Courthouse. Supporting and being there for my sister also means attending as many cases as possible. I loved watching my sister perform, she has a 96% accuracy rate to winning too her 4% rate of losing. She’s become somewhat of a legend around New York.

Today, though I am here on business. I have to testify in court for something so sad. This guys was doing things and...it’s so awful. This is always the downfall to being a peds surgeon, the part where things go wrong for some of them and I don’t mean medically.

This part always messes with me, the testifying part. The fact that I even have to do it is messed up. It bothers me how people in this world can be so cruel.

It wasn’t time for me to go just yet, I had about an hour before I had to meet Aria. I was ready for everything, all I had left to do was get my sister coffee. You’d think she’d be the one giving me the coffee since she’s so used to all of this. It’s fine though, she needs her fuel to win this case, if not for me then for the victim.

The hospital has a total of 13 different coffee carts and all of them have their own unique taste, this place… has one cart and it’s a take it or leave it situation. You either take it and count your blessings or you leave it and don’t look back. Since my shift ended less than 5 hours prior, I would say that taking the coffee is a no brainer.

Strolling up to said cart, I notice that it only has 3 types of Coffee. ‘Really that’s all they are going to supply me? This is just cruel.’ “I guess I will have a regular coffee with creamer and sugar.”

“Ma’am I’m sorry but we don’t have creamer. We do have sugar though.” The lady says, while pointing to the bowl that cradles the sugar.

You know there have been wars over coffee, because they don’t have the right flavor or it’s not made to there standards and here I am grasping to what I can find to flavor the caffeinated beverage that I adore. “Um… sugar will do I suppose.” This is not my day. I left the coffee cart assuming that this day would not be on the best or even average day.

As I was walking away, I totally forgot about Aria’s coffee so I ran back before anyone else could get in line, “Sorry, I totally forgot to order a latte for my sister.”

The lady at the cart looked a little annoyed, “Sure, what’s the name?”

“Aria.”

The barista looked shocked, “Do you mean the ADA Aria?”

I looked at her confused, “Yes?”

She opened the register and had her coworker in the back make Aria’s drink. She looked at me, “Here is the change back for your coffee, and you and your sister’s is on the house. We lover her!”

I took the change, “Umm...thanks?”

Pretty quickly she handed me the latte and I was off to court. Fun, fun, fun. I was not ready for this, and no matter how many times I tried to trick myself into thinking I was...I wasn’t. It wasn’t before too long, when I got there. I went through the normal security check and metal detector walk through, and eventually found my sister waiting in the hallway outside of the courtroom.

“Here A.” I handed her the free latte and sat on the bench next to her because my feet were killing me from these heels. I mean I have a right to feel this way, I’m used to wearing surgeon shoes which are comfy and soft, not hard and arched weird.My sister is the one that wears the stilettos and the business woman suit. So it’s no surprise that she’s pacing back and forth while rehearsing what she’s going to say and hasn’t flinched a bit from the heels.

She finally stopped pacing and and sat next to me, giving me a hug. “Hey Nerd Brain, how are you?” she said with a huge smile on her face.

“Hey, we do not use that awful nickname in public.” I said laughing. I paused for a second before continuing, “As for how I’m doing, I’m a complete mess. This kind of thing should never happen. Plus these shoes are killing me A.”

She gave me her concerned look, “You’re right, this shouldn’t be happening. The sad thing is that the world isn’t always beautiful, which I know you know as well.” She was right and we all had to keep moving forward. I looked down at the floor, “Yeah, but it still sucks!”

Nodding her head in agreement Aria grasps my hand. “I know this is difficult on you, especially since… well… you know.” She’s right, I did know what she was talking about, but talking about something so odious was not going to happen not today, not ever. I must of had a look of fear and uncertainty in my eyes, because the next thing I know she is engulfing me into a sheltered hug. “Hey, hey, hey you don’t have to talk about it. I was just suggesting that if you need to talk I’m here. That’s all hermana.” My lips start to curve into a smile. I love it when she calls me that.

“Thank you Aria, but if I am going to make it through this case, I have to be strong. I am here for little Jami, she is the one that has suffered and if I am not on my “A” game this creep could walk out free and all be damned if I am going to let that happen.” I extract my hand away from my sisters and rub them up and down my pant clad legs. “So… what about you? Are you ready?” Shaking my head at my own stupidity. ‘What am I thinking of course she is ready. She was made to be an ADA.’ “Of course your ready that was crass on my part and I am sorry.”

She chuckles at my antics and shakes her own head. She knows that she is good she doesn’t need me nor anybody else to tell her. “Callie, you need to breathe and just relax. Matthew is going to be put away no matter what either of us say. Be truthful, and from the looks at the documents that you have in your hand you have everything. Am I right?” receiving a slight nod in conformation she continues; “Than you will be fine.”

She got up and headed into the courtroom to set up. I didn’t need to be in there just yet so I sat there very still, trying to compose myself so that I wouldn’t turn into a crying mess when I walked in there. I had memorized the document in my hands and started reciting it over and over to make sure I had it locked in.

I took a big gulp and finally got the courage to head in there. It was about to start in five minutes and I didn’t want to be late. I walked up to the big and wide wooden double doors, each with a golden handle, and opened them to walk in. On the right I saw Aria sitting next to the victim and their family, explaining to them the steps and what exactly was going to happen. On the other side I saw the most evil and wretched person in my life. How does one simply hurt another person, yet alone a child. It hurts deep inside whenever I see a child who got hurt in this way, children have such a pure view on this world and if it gets ruined so quickly then their sense of a childhood vanishes.

I walked down the center aisle to the front of the seats and sat behind the victim and my sister. When I sat down, Aria looked back at me with a reassuring smile and then turned her attention back to the child and his family. I’m not much of a religious person now, but I still believe there’s a God out there because that’s how I grew up and if other parts have changed on my belief one that, the one thing that hasn’t is the fact that I pray.

Right before court started, I sat there silent in my seat and nonchalantly closed my eyes, and prayed to God that this evil man wouldn’t see the light of day so that not only that child could be free, but also for any other children that may be his future victims. When I finished my silent prayer, the judge walked in and everything started.

“All rise! The Court of the second Judicial Circuit, Criminal Division is now in session, the honorable Judge Morgan presiding.” The bailiff announces, as Judge Morgan goes to take the stand.

The Judge nods to the bailiff dressed in a police uniform and looks at us. “Everyone may be seated except for the Jury.” We all take our respectable seats. He then looks at the bailiff and says; “Ms. Olson, can you please swear in the Jury.”

The bailiff known as Ms. Olson nods a yes and turns toward the Jury. She puts her right hand up and states; “Please raise your right hand.” The jury all raise their right hand and waits for the brunette woman to continue. “Do you Solemnly swear or affirm that you will truly listen to this case and render a true verdict and a fair sentence as to this defendant?” She looks at the scumbag and gestures to him. The jury all say “I do” She then tells everyone who are still standing too be seated.

Judge Morgan looks at us with a serious look and states; “Members of the jury, your duty today will be to determine whether the defendant is guilty or not guilty based only on facts and evidence provided in this case. The prosecution has the burden of proving the guilt of the defendant beyond a reasonable doubt.  This burden remains on the prosecution through the trial. The prosecution must prove that a crime was committed and that the defendant is the person who committed the crime. However, if you are not satisfied of the defendant’s guilt to that extent, then reasonable doubt exists and the defendant must be found not guilty.” He gazes up the bailiff and then inquires; “Ms. Olson, what is today’s case?”

Ms. Olsen discloses; “Your honor, todays case is the state of “New York versus Matthew Johnson.”

“Is the prosecution ready?” Judge Morgan asks.

Johnson’s attorney stood up, “We’re ready your honor.”

Judge Morgan slammed the gavel down, “The trial is now in session.”

This was all suddenly becoming real, and if it was real then that means that I have to physically go up and somehow testify pretty soon. By this time I was mentally and emotionally ready, but I knew that when I got up there that I couldn’t look that kid in the eyes because I would break right then and there in the middle of everyone. That was definitely not on my to-do list for the day.

As I was sitting there, they went through the whole process of interviewing them victim and the suspect, asking questions, hearing stories, and one side trying to prove to the jury that Johnson was not guilty and the other trying to prove that he was. I knew he was guilty, I could see it in his lifeless eyes. I could tell they were lifeless too because I’ve seen a few in my line of work and his pale pretty close in comparison which is pretty scary.

They were finishing up with the interviews and started heading into the testimonies. These were rough because you could clearly tell when someone was lying and it was so hard to watch. I didn’t know exactly when I would be called but I was ready for whenever it was. I got my medical file out and made sure everything was in order for when I was called.

They’d been through about three suspects already and Aria called up the fourth one, “I’d like to bring Supervisory Special Agent Arizona Robbins of the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI to the stand to testify.”

The word agent caught my attention and I looked up to see a beautiful blonde with bright ocean blue eyes, walking up to the stand to speak. She wore a black pantsuit with a white button up blouse underneath and a pair of black boots. Some of my friends and I always wondered if all women FBI agents wear black boots or if it's just a myth, I hope i get to find out.

When she was up there, all I heard was her first sentence and then I got even more attracted to her. Her voice wasn’t what you would expect from an FBI agent. It was soft and sweet like candy canes and and gumdrops during the Christmas season. Most agents you would expect to be harsh and cold, but there was a certain light to her that made me feel safe.

Funny huh, I don’t even know her and she makes me feel like no one could ever hurt me. What is this feeling? Whatever it is, I have to talk to her somehow. Then again, me plus talking to strangers it like doesn’t really pan out well in this kind of situation. Maybe if I’d met her in a bar and we’d smiled at each other from across the bar then i’d have more confidence, but this was in a courtroom and and she was the most beautiful one in there who might I add, while having a sweet approachable side, also had a dark side I was a little bit weary of.

My thoughts left me once she left the stand to sit back down. It probably would of helped to hear what she said in terms of knowing about the case, but how could anyone think straight when she was around? I tried not to seem like a stalker but I followed to see where she sat. So I could possibly make a point to “accidentally” run into her if I had the time, but who knows.

After Supervisory Special Agent Arizona Robbins left the stands and the others took the stands I have to admit I really missed her being up there and gazing into her beautiful azure eyes. Rolling my eyes at my own pathetic thinking, I shake my thoughts away. It’s a good thing that Aria can’t see me from behind, she would for sure give me hell for it.

The session lasts for another 30 minutes and all the while I am looking between the person that is speaking at the altar and Arizona. What is this spell she has over me? The more I try to look away the harder it is too do just that.

“The court is now going to call a 30-minute recess. We will then return back at 10:20.” Judge Morgan declares. He then stands up and walks out of the back door.

Aria tells the Schmidt family to go ahead and get some fresh air. She then turns around with expressed brown eyes; “How’d I do up there? I mean I know this case is in the bag, but I still have a reputation to uphold.”

That’s when it got delicate, all I could say was a meager “You did great.” If only I could comprehend courtroom jargon, and it doesn’t help that most of the time my gaze was at the delicious blonde that has stolen my mind. Watching her made my stomach all fluttery, like hundreds of butterflies flying performing an air show, fluttery. No one in my whole being has made me feel that way.

“I forgot to ask you earlier how did work go? How many bad ass surgeries did you rock?” Being a Pediatric Surgeon I surprisingly have a lot of cases and they run sporadically throughout the day. The vilest is when I am on call, (especially when I am on call for 2 days in a row and its tied in with my scheduled day to work) which is why I have just come off a 36-hr, shift. But I love my job and I love my patients. Noticing the now glazed over look I have, she starts beckoning by waving her hand in front of my face. “Hello! Cal?” Deciding to take it one step farther by pinching me.

“OUCH ARR-IA, WHAT THE HELL?” rubbing the superior part of my arm to subside the pain, I inhale and then exhale a few times to calm myself down. “Sorry, uh, what were you saying?”

Concern evident in her eyes she puts her hand on my shoulder and inquires; “I was asking you about your job and how many kick ass surgeries you rocked?” Thinking something is troubling me she maneuvers her hand from my shoulder to my back and rubs up and down to soothe me. “Where did you go? Are you ok? I know that the case probably brought up a lot of grievous memories…” She trails off remembering my request earlier.

Not wanting to divulge in why I spaced to divulge in why I spaced out I give her a “yes, I’m fine. Just… tired I guess.” Because if I was being honest, I would have to convey that I missed most of the case and where my mind was just a second ago was on a certain B.A. So, I decided to change the subject and speak; “Hey, I am going to go and get some coffee from the coffee cart out out there, do you want anything?” Shaking her head, no and looking at me with that oh so familiar Torres glare, I smile and proceed out the courtroom. Once I open the doors to my surprise my eyes land on the woman that has been clouding the better part of my mind since I laid eyes on her.

 AN2: Too clarify Guest (Max) Reviewer we are far from done with this story and as far as getting to what happened to Callie well we assure you that it will come. Please everyone be patient. Thank You

 Thank You to all of you for your reviews, follows and favorites

[emilywatchescursedshow]

S2 E6 - No Exit

Uhoh I'm watching the recap and it's edited to be about Jo and Ellen so I guess that's what the episode is about. "You're afraid of my mother?" "I think so" still hits

No one else but me cares about this but keyboard shortcuts in the tumblr text editor do not read in dvorak. I'm in dvorak layout rn and the "B" key is coded to X but if I want to bold I do ctrl+"B" not ctrl+"N" which is the key that B is coded to. Explains why my copy/paste shortcuts have been all fucked up while I make these posts. And is just kind of interesting from the perspective of what even is the tumblr text editor??? Unknowable.

But here we are, I can't eat, I've been sleeping like shit, I have to stick around (on Long Island) until I meet with my advisor until 2:30pm and I've already read too much spn fanfic for someone who hasn't seen this show so let's keep watching shallllll we?

Blonde girl has checked the fuzes and is now getting covered in creepy goo. OOO creepy goo is oozing out of the outlet, and now there's just a guy's eye. That was kind of a strangely paced scene.

Had to rewind to get a sus on the camera work they did - a flyover shot of the roadhouse comes down to an OTS shot on Dean, a little disorienting. Don't know why the name Katie Holmes is funny and/or bitch "for Dean" but I also don't know why we're describing Jo and Ellen arguing as a "catfight" so I'm taking a lot of stuff on spec real fast with this episode.

Ellen wants Jo to go to school. "Nebraska is for Lovers." Why is a family with two children coming into a bar at 10 am.

All young blondes missing from a building uhoh is the fact that Jo is blonde going to be relevant are they going to use her as bait?

Dean Jo literally punched you in the face so hard you dropped a rifle I feel like you shouldn't be so quick to judge.

Sam picked up on the goo real fast. Dean is having a weird attitude about this episode.

Jo is here and feeling Dean up real hard to sell the "bf" thing. Got a screencap for my new profile pic lololol.

Ellen has the opposite parent syndrome to John.

Jo is having to go through Dean hazing I don't love watching this. Why are we having this Dean being an asshole.

"You think women can't do the job" no experience... what is happening right now.

I see where both characters are coming from here but I just wish Dean wasn't such a fucking jerk to her before, great way for a person to be defensive is to give them something to be defensive over.

Is this going to be like that one xfiles epsiode with the stretchy man? Is that why that one scene was paced so weirdly to focus on the screw? Bc the xfiles episode was all about unscrewing things from the inside.

Dean reaching blindly into a hole to find a piece of scalp. Gross.

Ah yes, me when I am a hot blonde lady receiving flyers for a lingerie party and have a countertop absolutely stuffed full of apples. And then I get my ankle grabbed by something in a vent and just fall over and start screaming?? I'm sorry but you need to sell the monster a little more than that. What's it going to do? pull her into the vent??

Uhoh we got another screen-cappable moment. Literally the worst sleep position in the history of the world Dean. Great job. Yeah no wonder your back hurts.

Is Dean going to have to confront the fact that Jo is very much not ok? Or are they going to keep not talking at each other until Jo inevitably gets murdered by the fans.

Uhoh Dean telling a story about his dad. The chain necklace is back. The Jacting around "I bulls-eyed every one of them.. but I don't know."

Jo is a Dean foil in this episode I guess? Or she's what Sam could have been if his mom didn't die and his dad wasn't a fucking asshole. Whatever - she's someone Dean has to bounce off of in a "self recognition" type of way. Which makes me happy their romantic "tension" hasn't really been played as such during this episode.

There's apparently "nothing wrong" with being a hunter to get close to your dad. Who is dead. From being a hunter. I hate this stupid logic.

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD. A) Sam still has his ghost broke hand in a stupid cast and B) ash sent them. a text file. a fucking. a fucking text file list. of the people executed. I love this show.

Herman Webster Mudgett the three name serial killer classic. Sam is fangirling over HH Holmes. Sam listens to my favorite murder and is a little bitch on the facebook page.

I guess we're just going to fucking destroy this apartment building that keeps leasing to blondes for some reason. "Jack squat" when you can't curse on a ghost show.

Dean's "you're inexperienced line" is ancient history at this point he just let's Jo go on by herself.

Yeah I mean, duh. They had zero plan.

Now it's time for Dean to come to the rescue. At least by now we can be confident that Jo isn't immediately dead.

"She's taking care of ... feminine business"

If John is the reason Jo's father is dead.. that would be interesting.

"There's nothing you could have done." Actually, he could have stopped her from going lmao, that seems pretty clearly like something he could have done.

Jo baby just breathe.

Oh we're having prisoner to prisoner communication.

Where did the hand come from? And he's just yanking some hair?

Me when I'm normal walking down the street with what I'm assuming is a metal detector turned EMF reader and a shovel. Time to dig.

Sam take your cast off.

Extra spiders in the hole just so you know it's creepy.

They could have like, actually used her as bait. That would have been an interesting test maybe of like, her commitment to hunting bc then she would have to deal with the fear of being in danger as something that didn't happen like, accidentally. They could have had her foil be Sam, who didn't want to be a hunter, who wanted to go to school, and now has chosen to be a hunter to be close to his dad. Why Dean??? The bottle shooting story was good but like, is that advancing his character that much? Like Dean should not capitulate to Jo's desire to be a hunter so easily, whereas that would be a much more interesting angle for Sam's character to be challenged. Whatever.

She's bait now I guess. And HH Holmes is just. Here now. And is doing an amazing performance of being completely .. uh.. trapped by salt.

H o w and whyyyyyyy?? But.. yes?? (About the cement mixer with weird rock anthem stings.) Filling that sewer with cement will take 1 million years I'm not sure they thought through this.

Is Ellen going to tell them what "that's not the first time I've heard that from a Winchester" meant? Or is she going to continue the not explaining herself routine she had with that one hunter.

Yessssss give us the dirtyy backstory Ellen.

Why are Dean and Sam being blamed for something their father did.

Okay the why still holds what the fuck??

[write-numinous]

Part two of Spideychelle HIMYM AU

* A week before MJ and Harry’s wedding *

“Yeah, I don’t think I can make it to your bachelor party, man. I’ve got... things to do.” Peter said, his phone in between his ear and his shoulder as he packed his clothes into a small duffel bag.

“Oh, cmon, Pete! What’s more important than my party? You’re my best man!” Harry shouted from the other side of the line.

Peter winced. Why couldn’t he just tell him where he was going? A little honesty wouldn’t hurt. It would lessen his guilt too.

... Or so he thought.

“Fine, I’m going to Germany to see Gwen, okay?”

“Seriously? I thought you two ended things a year ago?”

“I know, it’s just—“ Peter hesitated. “Look, man. I gotta go or I’m gonna be late. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

“Alright, take care.”

The phone call ended and Peter finished packing his bag. He honestly didn’t think seeing Gwen was the best idea, but he needed something from her and she was too stubborn to mail it back. So in sheer desperation, he took a flight to Germany to get what he had been hunting down for the past three years.

MJ’s necklace.

So how did it land on Gwen’s hands in the first place?

You see, Gwen was the first person to find out about Michelle’s love towards Peter. Though it was quite obvious from the start that there was something going on between the two back when they were just college roommates, Peter and Michelle never seemed to address the feelings they had for each other. And MJ had Harry, and Peter had Gwen. They eventually became an inseperable group of friends— along with Ned and Betty who have been high school sweethearts and are now happily married with one baby.

It seemed like MJ and Peter’s feelings slowly faded; they were more invested in their own relationship and Gwen was so sure Peter was madly in love with her.

It was only until Gwen found the necklace that she confirmed that Michelle and Peter’s feelings never actually left. She had never seen someone cry so hard over a silver pendant and for Peter to choose finding a necklace instead of spending the rest of their supposedly romantic trip with Gwen said a lot about his priorities.

It was always MJ.

But to be clear, Gwen didn’t steal the necklace. She found it in their hotel’s bathroom floor near the sink. It must have fallen while MJ was taking a shower, but she insisted that she was still wearing it at the beach.

MJ was so sure it got buried in the sand somewhere while they were sunbathing, and Peter offered to help her find it. So when Gwen came out of the bathroom and saw that MJ wasn’t back yet, she decided to find where Peter and Michelle were. It was almost midnight.

Gwen was holding the necklace in her hand, ready to return it to the rightful owner.

At the beach, Gwen saw Peter and Michelle sitting on the sand, her head on his shoulder while he had his arm draped over her thin frame.

They had spent hours searching for the necklace until they decided it was too dark to find it. They ended up just talking and MJ telling him how she felt so bad for losing something so special.

He kissed her forehead and consoled her, telling her it wasn’t the pendant that was special, it was the memory.

Gwen saw how Peter looked at Michelle that night. It was the way he would never have looked at Gwen. Like she was his shooting star.

and it hurt Gwen to keep watching them. She felt angry and stupid for not realizing it sooner, and yet she couldn’t find the strength in her to ruin their moment. Or to tell Peter that it was over. She loved him too much and she convinced herself that Peter would learn to love her more than he loved MJ.

So Gwen kept the pendant for as long as she could.

—

Three years have passed when Gwen heard the telephone ring. When she answered, she didn’t expect to be hearing Peter’s voice.

“May I speak to Gwen please?”

Her heart sank.

“Peter?”

“Gwen, I just need to ask you something real quick. I’m at the resort at Bora Bora right now and I’m looking for MJ’s necklace. Do you remember if she was wearing it at the beach?”

“Peter, what the hell?”

“Please. I need to find it.” Peter’s voice sounded so desperate and Gwen could have sworn she heard a metal detector beep from the other line.

Oh the lengths he would go through just for MJ.

“You really love her.”

“Gwen, just—“

“I have it.”

“What?”

“I have it. And if you want it, then you’ll have to come get it.” Gwen ended the call.

—

So that was how Peter ended up in a flight to Berlin.

The last time he had been there wasn’t for the Avengers. It was two years after, when Midtown had an exchange program and Peter was one of the students they selected. That was the first time he met Gwen, too.

Now, he was standing by the bridge where Gwen agreed to meet him. It was the same bridge where they had their first kiss.

“Oh don’t get nostalgic on me now.” Gwen said, creeping up behind Peter with a smile on her face.

“Gwen! Hey, uh, you look good.” Peter said, evidently nervous as he wiped his palms into his jeans.

“And you look like a mess.”

They both chuckled.

“Listen, I don’t want to argue with you, I just need—“

“The necklace. I know.”

They were both silent for a moment.

Peter couldn’t dare look up. And Gwen couldn’t help the tears streaming down her face.

“I need to hear you say it, Peter. You know it, I already know it, and I’m sure MJ’s smart enough to feel it.” Gwen was torturing herself at this point, but she needed this for closure. She needed this to get over Peter completely.

“I’m in love with her, okay? If you’re looking for the word that means caring about someone beyond all rationality and wanting them to have everything they want, no matter how much it destroys you, it’s love, and when you love someone, you just, you don’t stop, ever. Even when people roll their eyes or call you crazy. Even then. Especially then. You just… you don’t give up! Because if I could give up. if I could just, you know, take the whole world’s advice and move on and find someone else, that wouldn’t be love. That would be—that would be some other disposable thing that is not worth fighting for.”

Peter felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest. All those years of keeping it to himself, and convincing himself that it wasn’t there, he finally said it.

“And there you have it.” Gwen took Peter’s hand, dropped the necklace into his palm and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “I know she’s getting married soon, so I hope you know what you’re doing, Peter.”

And then Gwen left.

—

* On the day of the actual wedding *

Peter was at his hotel room, fixing his tie and his collar when Harry entered his room.

“Ah, if it isn’t my best man! Can we talk?”

“Yeah, of course. How are you feeling?”

“Excited. Nervous. I just love her so much, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Peter had to hide the meaning behind his words.

“Thanks for being there for me, man. I really think she’s the one. I hit the fucking jackpot!” Harry took Peter’s shoulder and shook it excitedly.

“Yeah, I- I’m happy for you two.” Peter smiled.

That’s when Peter realized he shouldn’t have given MJ the necklace. Was it too late to take it back? He had to do something.

He knew he shouldn’t be this selfish. God, he was so stupid!

“Hey, Harry? Do me a favor and take care of MJ alright?”

“Of course. I’ll see you later, man. Good talk.” Harry left and Peter was fighting a battle in his head. He decided he couldn’t risk losing both his best friend and the love of his life. So he was getting that necklace back before MJ could see.

But before Peter could open his door, MJ beat him to it. She barged inside his hotel room, her white dress hugging her shape perfectly. And she was beautiful. God, she was so beautiful.

But she was crying.

“MJ? What are you- why are you crying?”

“I can’t do it, Peter. I can’t marry Harry.”

—

* 10 minutes before the wedding *

Peter explained how he got the necklace back to a sobbing Michelle Jones. He knew there was no way out of this now, but he could still fix this somehow.

“I just know how much the necklace meant to you, but MJ, it’s your wedding day. You should be happy.” Peter lifted her chin and gave her a smile. His cute brown eyes piercing through her heart like a spear.

“So... did I get this completely wrong? You didn’t give me this back to send a message?”

“What do you mean, MJ?”

“You love me, Peter.”

“You’re getting married to my best friend.”

“I’m your fucking best friend, Peter. So I’m gonna ask this one last time: do you love me?”

In another life, he would have said something different. In another life, he would have stepped closer, cup her cheeks, and pull her in for a kiss. But this life?

“Harry loves you. That’s what you should be focusing on.” He said.

“Fuck you, Peter.”

In this life, MJ deserved better.

[welllpthisishappening]

Out of the Frying Pan (22/?)

Killian nodded, handing his own jacket to the attendant next to them before turning back towards Emma and staring at her like – what had Ruby called it? – like she was the goddamn sun. His mouth opened slowly, like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t remember the words and his eyes flashed, lingering for a moment on the very prominent necklace before drifting down to her waist and back up to her face.

Emma’s stomach tightened slightly at the look – not wholly unexpected, but absolutely uncharted territory. She’d never been looked at like that – not like she was just wanted, but like she was loved. Or something absurd.

That was absurd.

AN: I continue to love all of you and your reaction to this story and it’s pretty much keeping me sane in a very not-sane real-life. A very particular shoutout to @laurnorder who read this chapter at work without realizing what happens in this chapter. That’s the real beta MVP. 

Hanging out on Ao3 and tag’ed up from start on Tumblr. 

Mary Margaret was beside herself.

“You actually used the word boyfriend?” she said for, at least, the third time in the last hour. She’d asked the same question, at least, six times once a day, every day since Emma had told her about that conversation a week ago.

“Well, technically Ruby said it,” Emma said, sinking into the corner of the couch with a smile on her face. “But, you know, the sentiment was the same. There was a definition and some kind of discussion and it’s all really good.”

Mary Margaret turned towards her, the smile on her face disappearing when she saw where Emma was, practically screaming at the movement, eyes going wide and a jaw-dropping expression that made her wonder if maybe she’d actually sat on some small child she didn’t realize was on the couch.

“What’s your deal?” Emma asked Mary Margaret, own eyes going wide as she practically leapt back off the cushion.

“You’re going to wrinkle your dress!” Emma twisted her lips – slightly manic laugh bubbling out of her without her consent. Mary Margaret looked at her like she was crazy. “What are you laughing about?” “I can’t believe that’s what you’re worried about. I thought I’d killed something.” “You killed something on your couch?” “You were screaming like I had.” “I’m worried about your dress.” “I’m sure my dress appreciates the concern.” Mary Margaret shook her head, hand pressing into the small of her back as she stared at her expectantly. She grinned, taking a step towards Emma and reaching out to softly flatten her hand over the very obvious wrinkles caused by slumping into the corner of the living room couch. Emma felt her breath catch in throat at the movement – simple as it was – and the smile on Mary Margaret’s face seemed to settle into every ventricle in her heart.

“I’m worried about you too, you know,” Mary Margaret muttered, hand ghosting over Emma’s shoulders and the curls they’d just spent the better part of the last hour pinning into the back of her head. She’d probably set off a metal detector with the number of bobby pins stuck into her skull.

“I know you are. I’m happy though.” “Yeah?

“We made out on his couch. It was, uh, enthusiastic.” Mary Margaret blinked – and  then blinked again. “Was this before or after the boyfriend definition?” “That seems awfully middle school doesn’t it?” “Emma…” “Before. After I asked him to be on my show.”

Mary Margaret’s answering smile was so bright it probably could have served as the one traffic light in all of Storybrooke. “Maybe I don’t need to be as worried as I was.” “Because we made out on his couch?”

“Because you made out on his couch after you asked him to be on your show and before the boyfriend-girlfriend conversation and, most importantly, making out on his couch means one thing. You were in his apartment.” “He lives above The Jolly.” “Seems like a bit of a cliché.” “It is.” Mary Margaret laughed loudly, the sound shaking through her entire body. “Emma Swan has a boyfriend,” she muttered, like she almost couldn’t believe it. “You going to update your Facebook status? Oh, God! Is he coming here to pick you up? We have to take pictures. Ruth will want to see pictures.” Emma’s mouth hung open – but she wasn’t quite sure if she was more surprised or entertained. She was leaning more towards entertained. It was because she was so goddamn happy.

In the grand scheme of things, having a boyfriend for a week without any sort of complications shouldn’t seem like much of an accomplishment, but in the grand scheme of Emma Swan,  having a boyfriend for even a few hours was one of the more impressive things she’d ever done. She deserved some sort of medal or something for the last week.

She hadn’t freaked out, hadn’t run away, had settled into girlfriend mode with an ease that almost made her want to do both of those things, but then Killian would look at her or help Henry with his homework at the bar at The Jolly or run his his fingers over the back of her neck and she didn’t move an inch.

Emma Swan was firmly entrenched in girlfriend.

And she was happy.

“He’s not coming here,” she said, answering Mary Margaret’s question after a few prolonged moments of introspective silence. “He can’t.” “What? Why? That’s dumb.” “That’s a very pointed opinion.” Mary Margaret shrugged. “They’re sending us both separate cars. It’s a network party, M’s.” “So?” “So,” Emma repeated forcefully, “we’re trying to be a bit under the radar on this one.” “You should have worn a different dress then.” Emma rolled her eyes, glancing down at the Ruby-provided dress she’d been instructed to wear two days before. She’d put up a very small fight – it was very red – but it fit absurdly well and there was lace on the back and the skirt was full and she liked it. She wasn’t a huge fan, however, of how it also managed to show off the necklace she never took off, silently dreading the moment she’d have to explain that to someone who was bound to ask.

Or how she’d have to explain that to Killian.

Who was bound to ask.

“You didn’t take it off,” Mary Margaret said, not needing to get any more specific. Her eyes were trained on the necklace – the small circular pendant with a swan in the middle that Emma hadn’t taken off in nearly thirteen years. Except for that eight months in prison. They don’t let you wear jewelry in prison.

Emma sighed, teeth pressing into the inside of her lip as she shrugged slightly. “I haven’t in forever.” “Someone’s going to ask.” “You already did.” “Killian will probably ask.” “Probably.” “And what’ll you tell him?” “That it’s an old necklace and I don’t take it off. That’s almost the entire truth.” Mary Margaret leveled a very specific type of stare at her, crossing her arm over her now obvious stomach. “You look like a mom,” Emma laughed.

“I am.” “Not mine.” “Let’s go back to the part of the conversation where I told you I was worried about you.” Emma laughed again, fingers ghosting over the necklace. “Have you told him about Neal? Like really told him? Everything?” “You and David and Ruby are the only ones who know that.”

“He’s going to ask, Emma.” “And I already told you what I’d say. I’ve got a plan, M’s.” A plan that she might have only just come up with that did not include discussing thirteen years worth of emotional scars and necklaces made out of stolen keychains that she now never took off to remind herself that everyone would, eventually, leave.

That was kind of macabre for a network-sponsored Christmas party.

And she certainly wasn’t going to tell him the rest about Neal. He knew the most of it – she’d rationalized this particular aspect of the plan since they’d fallen into boyfriend-girlfriend territory a week ago. He knew Neal wasn’t around. He knew Neal wouldn’t be around. He didn’t need to know that Neal had gotten her sent to jail.

No one needed to know that.

Especially not someone at the network – even if that someone was very good at making out on his living room couch. Because if one person knew then everyone could know and Emma couldn’t risk that, couldn’t bring herself to trust him like that.

Not yet.

Mary Margaret dropped into the corner of the couch Emma had leapt out of a few minutes before – not concerned with the status of her own potentially wrinkled clothes – and that mom look hadn’t left her face yet.

“You should send some pictures to Ruth before you go,” she said and Emma couldn’t stop herself from smiling at her – thankful they had dropped the subject without much of a fight. “And David and Henry. They’ll want to see.” The two of them had left hours ago – not all that interested in watching Mary Margaret curl Emma’s hair – heading uptown for some sort of uncle-nephew bonding that likely included more sugar than Emma would have allowed if they’d stayed here.

That was absolutely the reason they’d left.

“You think?” she asked.

“Come on, we’ll take it together, I know you freak out when you’re in pictures by yourself,” Mary Margaret said, pushing herself off the couch and grabbing Emma’s phone off the coffee table. “You know you’d think you’d be better at this by now after all those promotional shoots and forced commercial readings.” “I haven’t done one of those with just me in the frames in months,” Emma mumbled, sliding next to Mary Margaret and looking up into the camera in front of her.

“Seems to make under the radar a bit redundant doesn’t it?” Mary Margaret asked. “Smile.”

Emma did as instructed, heard the camera snap and Mary Margaret handed her the phone back. It didn’t look bad. In fact, it looked really good. That dress fit really well. And showed off the necklace. A lot.

“You know not many people actually know, ” Emma argued, texting out to the photo to all the predetermined numbers and recipients. “At least not at the network. Just Ruby and Regina. Oh and I guess Robin, but I don’t know if I count him as network-network. More like an extension of Regina who spends some time at the network. Everyone else thinks we’re just doing this flirting thing for the cameras.” Mary Margaret shook her head, smile pulling at the side of her mouth as the buzzer from downstairs sounded, signaling the arrival of her network-provided ride uptown. Her phone buzzed as well, vibrating in her hand with return messages, likely chock-full of appropriate you look great sentiments and, maybe, something else that made Emma’s stomach flip and wonder how well she could stick to under the radar that night.

“Remember, you don’t have to be home at any particular time tonight,” Mary Margaret said and, God, she sounded like a mom now. “Henry’s staying with us and tomorrow’s Saturday so you don’t have to worry about school. So get a lot to drink and you know...a lot of other stuff too.” “A lot of other stuff too?” Emma asked, bordering on hysterical at the expectant look on Mary Margaret’s face.

“Maybe there’s a couch at this party you can make out at.” “Mary Margaret! Under the radar. We are under the radar.”

The door buzzed again and Mary Margaret widened her eyes, but Emma’s head was spinning. “I’m just saying,” she continued, seemingly unperturbed by her suggestion. “Or, you know, you could go back to the living room couch. And the bedroom bed or whatever.” “Oh my God.” “Henry’s staying with us. You don’t have any other commitments. You used the word boyfriend!”

Emma’s eyes were practically falling out of her head and her dress would absolutely get wrinkled if she fell on the floor. She gripped the door handle tightly, twisting it quickly in her hand. “I’ve got to go,” she muttered. “I will see you tomorrow.” “Have fun!” She made it downstairs without tripping over her feet or wrinkling her dress or even letting a curl get so much as an inch out of place and slide into the backseat of the car with a quick nod towards the driver, apologizing for the wait. He hummed in agreement, closing the door shut behind her and walking back around the car to head uptown.

They must have set some kind of record – coming to a stop on 55th Street only twenty minutes after they’d pulled away from her apartment and God this building was overwhelming. There were people filing in and cars pulling up and away and Emma’s eyes fell on the door of the building – gaze landing on the way he leaned against the building, the casual certainty he just seemed to exude and the phone gripped tightly in his hand like he was waiting for some kind of response.

He was waiting for her to respond.

Because she hadn’t responded.

“We’re here Ms. Swan,” the driver said, as if she couldn’t see the entire Waldorf Astoria in front of her like some sort of enormous billboard. “There’ll be cars out front later whenever you want to leave, so you don’t have to worry about hailing a cab.”

“Yeah, yeah, thank you,” she said, swinging open the door and practically falling onto the sidewalk. That would have wrinkled her dress.

She’d barely shut the door before the car was gone and Emma fell into the line walking into the building, tugging her jacket a bit tighter in front of her. It was starting to snow. And she didn’t make it five feet before she could feel Killian’s eyes on her.

He moved down the steps – seemingly unconcerned with ice or snow or wrinkling his very well-fitting pants – the smile on his face making Emma forget about the cold almost immediately. “You should get Henry to give you some instructions in texting, Swan,” he muttered, hand slipping into hers with practiced ease. “He would have answered much quicker.” “Ah, well, I wasn’t really supposed to be texting you to begin with. That picture was mostly meant for Ruth and my brother.” “That would explain the Mary Margaret addition. I’ll admit I was slightly confused by that.” “Now you know.” He made a noise that sounded vaguely like agreement and Emma tried to pull her hand away without actually saying anything – his fingers tightened. “What are you doing?” he asked, glancing to his right to look at her speculatively.

And she might as well have been standing in a sauna for all the heat in that particular gaze.

“I thought we agreed on not parading this around.” They hadn’t really.

In fact, they hadn’t been in the same network-sponsored environment since they’d made out on her set and decided they were actually allowed to call each other boyfriend and girlfriend. Emma had mostly had this conversation with herself – worrying over the annual holiday party and what all of that meant in the hours after she’d spent smiling and laughing with him at The Jolly or texting him or that one ridiculously nice night three days ago when he’d let Eric cook the dinner service and came three blocks downtown and sat in her living room for family dinner with Mary Margaret and David.

He and David had several civil conversations that night.

They were both Yankees fans.

Emma liked that night.

And she hadn’t done a very good job of actually discussing this night with Killian.

“I don’t remember that conversation at all, love,” he said softly, voice falling into her ear and sending a chill down her spine as they walked back into the building. That felt a bit like temperature-induced whiplash. “And I tend to remember all of our conversations.” “All of them?” she repeated speculatively as he finally let go of her hand so she could slide her arms out of her jacket.

Killian nodded, handing his own jacket to the attendant next to them before turning back towards Emma and staring at her like – what had Ruby called it? – like she was the goddamn sun.  His mouth opened slowly, like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t remember the words and his eyes flashed, lingering for a moment on the very prominent necklace before drifting down to her waist and back up to her face.

Emma’s stomach tightened slightly at the look – not wholly unexpected, but absolutely uncharted territory. She’d never been looked at like that – not like she was just wanted,  but like she was loved. Or something absurd.

That was absurd.

He didn’t love her.

They’d known each other for a couple of months.

She certainly didn’t love him.

That was absurd.

She just had to keep saying it. If she kept saying it, it was probably true. Probably.

Except she knew her own face looked a bit like his – tracing across the plane of his stomach in that ridiculous crisp white dress shirt underneath a tailored tuxedo jacket and fitted pants and who knew black tie could look so good.

He looked good.

“Are the reviews in?” Killian asked, smirk returning to his face for what felt like the first time in weeks. He stuck his hand in his pocket, thumb wrapping around the belt –  fuck there was a belt too – and tilted his head slightly.

Emma shrugged, sticking out her lower lip slightly. “It’s alright,” she muttered, not even able to keep his gaze while she spoke.

He laughed softly, taking a step towards her, left hand falling on her waist without a word. And that was something too – when this all started he’d, quite literally, hidden his hand behind his back, like he was embarrassed or nervous or something, like he didn’t think he was enough for her. Over the last few weeks though, since she’d held on to his prosthetic while he told her he wasn’t some kind of goddamn hero, he’d started to move with it, letting it fall on her back or her waist or her thigh when they were sitting down.

And that meant something to her.

And, probably, to him.

Fuck.

“Just alright?” he asked, smirk full blown at this point. “I’ll admit that’s a bit disappointing.” “What were you hoping for?”

He raised one eyebrow – the movement sending a jolt of something towards Emma’s core – and tugged her closer to him, muttering in her ear. “You know I haven’t kissed you tonight,” he said softly and she was probably still standing.

She couldn’t really feel her legs though, so she wasn’t entirely certain.

“Under the radar,” Emma mumbled, like it was some sort of mantra she’d taken up for the night. She’d lost track of the number of times she’d said it.

“I don’t remember that conversation,” he argued. “And you’re hardly playing fair, Swan.” “How so?” “Have you seen this dress?” “I’m wearing it,” Emma pointed out, pulling away slightly to find him staring at her intently, eyes darkening slightly when they met hers. “Ruby picked it out. I can’t really breathe in it.” He bent his head quickly – so quick Emma didn’t even time to mutter under the radar again – brushing his lips against hers and letting his fingers move across her collarbone. “Well, love, your discomfort is a cross I’m willing to bear.” “Ass,” Emma mumbled, resting her hand on the lapel of his jacket and tugging. He rolled his head dramatically, drawing a laugh out of her.

“Remind me to thank Ruby later,” Killian said, grabbing her hand again and tugging her away from the coat check. “Come on, Swan, let me buy you a drink.” “It’s not open bar?” “That was an expression.” “Of course,” she laughed, following behind him and maybe under the radar was overrated when your boyfriend’s hand felt so good in your own.

He ordered them rum.

Because it was, apparently, going to be that kind of a night.

Emma was two drinks in when Killian practically jumped off his seat in front of the bar, holding his hand out expectantly like she’d suddenly learned the fine art of mind reading. “What?” Emma asked, drink still in her hand.

Killian rolled his eyes at her and sighed dramatically, tilting his head towards the dance floor that was, suddenly, populated by people and couples and Emma knew maybe six of them. She should talk to more people when she was at work.

“Let’s go, Swan,” he said, waggling his fingers.

“What?” she repeated and Killian just laughed at her.

“We’re going to dance.” “But,” she said, falling into arguing quickly, “the drinks.” “We’ve both had several,” Killian pointed out. “They hired an actual band,  Swan. A real band. This is fancy. I’m wearing a tux. You’re wearing that dress. Seems a shame not to take advantage of it.” Emma stared at him for a moment – she still hadn’t put the drink down – and Killian smiled softly at her, raising his eyebrows and, well, that just wasn’t playing fair. “I don’t know how to do any of that,” she said, nodding towards the couples and the dancing and the slow, instrumental music.

“That’s alright,” he countered, voice practically dripping with confidence as he grabbed the glass out of her hand put it back down on the bar. “I do.” “What?” she asked, again, practically screeching out the word as Killian grinned at her and pulled her away from the bar. “You mean you actually know how to do all of this...whatever this is?” “It’s a waltz, Swan.” “A waltz? Is it 1853?” “That’s oddly specific.” “And you can probably tell me what exactly was happening in the United States at the point too.” “Somehow I don’t think you’re interested in a history lesson.” “Just yours.” “Excuse me?” “How do you know how to waltz?” Killian shrugged, fingers still wrapped up with Emma’s as he moved her in between a pair of couples she’d never seen at the network before in her life. He pulled her hand up, resting it against his shoulder and his left hand was back on her waist like it belonged there.

“You know they have Naval events, right?” he asked, moving them with ease and Emma was convinced he was good at everything. She shrugged in response – a wholly unclassy movement for this decidedly classy event – and Killian chuckled softly, pulling her tighter against him. “They do,” he continued. “Dress whites and required dates and dancing. A frankly ridiculous amount of dancing. Not much has stuck after all of that, but, somehow this did. There’s probably some sort of psychological reasoning for that.”

They were moving and swaying and he didn’t need to get reservations to popular East Village restaurants – he was wooing her quite effectively in the middle of their network holiday party, several hundred eyes on them. “I’m probably going to step on your feet,” Emma muttered.

She felt him laugh against her – body pressed up against hers with an anchor’s-weight hold on her waist – and it felt like he’d kissed the top of her head before he spoke. “That’s alright, love,” Killian said softly. “There’s only one rule to all of this anyway. Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.” Emma couldn’t come up with a response – every witty, slightly sarcastic retort swallowed back by the sound of his voice and the feel of him against her. She nodded slowly, trying to make sure she didn’t loosen any of the several dozen pins in her head and let him keep moving them, the sound of the band drowned out by the rushing in her ears.

She absolutely wasn’t in love with him.

She just needed to keep reminding herself that.

“You two are doing a terrible job of not broadcasting this relationship,” Regina said, appearing next to them with a judgemental smile on her face and Robin’s hands wrapped around her hips.

Killian glanced at Emma – apprehension etched into his features – and she did her best to smile encouragingly back at him. He didn’t seem to believe her. “Shut up, Gina,” he mumbled as his hand moved farther up Emma’s back, landing on more appropriate co-worker territory.

“I’ve hit a nerve,” she said and Robin muttered something softly, earning a pair of rolled eyes and a sigh from his fiancée .

“You look really nice, Regina,” Emma said, turning to look at the producer’s jet-black dress and matching sky-high heels.

Regina eyes darted between Emma’s face – and almost honest smile – and Killian’s more-pointed-by-the-moment glare and shook her head, defenses coming down just a bit. “Thanks,” she said. “So do you.” “Thanks.” “Have you guys tried any of the hors d'oeuvres yet?” Robin asked – all four of them had stopped even trying to dance at this point. “They’re horrible. You know for a TV network based solely on cooking, you’d think they’d be able to pull in some good food.” Emma laughed and it shouldn’t be awkward – the four of them had plenty of perfectly normal conversations at The Jolly. Only this wasn’t The Jolly. This was the network holiday party with, apparently, shitty food and very strong drinks and Killian knew how to waltz and Emma couldn’t think.

“I’m glad you’re here though, Emma,” Regina said and that caught her by surprise. “I’ve been trying to get Killian to come to this since he started at IC. Always some excuse about dinner services and holiday rush.” “This is the first time you’ve been to this?” Emma asked, turning towards him quickly.

He shrugged, glaring at Regina again. “It never really seemed worth my time.” Emma’s let out a slightly shaky laugh, dragging her fingers down the side of her face as she shook her head slowly. “Me either.” “What?” “I’ve never gone before either,” she said. “Ruby’s always trying to get me to go to these things, mingle and network and everything and I never do it. But you mentioned it and I figured if you were going it wouldn’t be that bad. That’s why Rubes went all out on the dress, this is like, literal years of her waiting for this moment.” Killian’s laugh wasn’t quite as shaky as Emma’s had been – but it sounded a bit more like disbelief and there was that common ground  again.

“Well, that’s just disgustingly adorable, isn’t it?” Regina asked and Robin muttered something again.

“Disgusting,” Killian repeated, smiling at Emma and leaning forward to kiss her again. It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t a brush. It was hard and emotional and in front of the entire network. And she didn’t stop him or push him away. She pressed up on her heels and pushed her hands into his hair – he didn’t have bobby pins to worry about – and kissed him back.

Emma only broke away when she heard Ruby yelling her name, screaming for people to get out of her way and God help anyone who didn’t immediately heed that warning. Ruby skidded to a stop next to them, Killian’s arms back around Emma’s waist, and she nearly barreled over Robin in the process, hand landing on his shoulder so she didn’t fall over. Regina stared at her for a moment and Emma wondered if they were going to have some sort of producer standoff right in the middle of this dancefloor.

What a weird night.

“Breathe, Rubes,” Emma said and, for possibly the first time in her life, her producer did as instructed. “What’s going on?” “Were you two just making out?” Ruby asked.

“Was that why you ran across the dancefloor?” “No.” “Then I don’t have to answer that.” “We’ll come back to that,” Ruby promised. “This is more important. I just talked to Zelena about the Christmas, holiday whatever episode. She watched the cut and she fucking loved it. Like it’s all she’s been talking about since I walked in. I think it’s driving Dor insane.” Emma blinked, leaning against Killian’s side as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and held her hands out towards Ruby. “So, that means what? Exactly.” “It means she wants to air it on Sunday…” “It was always going to air on Sunday.” Ruby glared at her and Emma snapped her jaw shut quickly. “She wants to air it on Sunday at the right timeslot. Like the normal one. Ten o’clock.” “What?” “Exactly what I said. She loved the episode and the banter and the flirting. No word on how she felt about you two making out at the holiday party or after we filmed…” “After you filmed?” Regina asked, cutting Ruby off. She didn’t get a glare though. She got an understanding smile – like they were oh-so-put-upon for having to deal with Emma and Killian. “You didn’t tell me that.” “I don’t tell you everything,” Killian muttered.

“Obviously.” “We’ll talk later,” Ruby promised and Regina nodded and Robin looked like he was watching some sort of very entertaining reality TV show. “Anyway,” Ruby continued. “She wants to run it at the normal time on Sunday. So consider that kind of like a test-run. If it does well then, she’s going to think about going back to the spot once we hit January.” “You’re serious?” Emma asked, doubt clouding her voice. Killian’s arm tightened slightly and she wondered if maybe he was the one with mind-reading powers. Or maybe he just knew her well.

“Why would I lie about that?” “I don’t know, I’m just double checking.” “There is nothing to double check. I literally just got this news from Zelena two minutes ago. Hence the running and interrupting makeouts and whatnot.”

“We weren’t making out.” “You were.” “You absolutely were,” Regina added.

“I mean, a little bit,” Robin said.

And Emma was positive her face was the same color as her dress. Killian squeezed her shoulder and kissed the top of her head again, earning himself three very loud groans from the other adults still in this conversation. “You’re all children,” he hissed at them. “You want a drink, Swan?” She nodded and he turned her on the spot – the apologies from those same three adults barely audible over the still-playing band as they moved their way back to the bar.

He ordered more rum and they waited for the drinks and he couldn’t seem to stop touching her. And, Emma, suddenly, realized how much she’d missed this.

She wasn’t at a loss for love or affection in her life. She had Henry and David and Mary Margaret and they were all more than willing to dole out support and encouragement and hugs – even if her twelve-year-old grumbled about it from time to time – but this was, decidedly, different.

Her mind shouted a handful of explanations she wasn’t even remotely prepared to entertain, but Emma knew it might be even more basic than that.

Because she hadn’t been on a date ever and he hadn’t been on a date since Milah and, between the two of them, they were both a little starved for something.

And maybe both a little terrified it might disappear.

So Emma didn’t say anything. She didn’t mention under the radar again and she leaned into his hand meaningfully, relishing the way she could feel the heat of his fingers through her very fancy dress.

“You want to get out of here?” she asked, looking at him over her shoulder.

Killian’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead and the smile inched across his face slowly, making Emma’s heart stutter just a bit. “I’d like that a lot.” “Ok,” she said, taking a step away from the bar as soon as the man behind it put their drinks down on it.

“Hey,” he yelled behind them. “You don’t want these?” “All yours,” Killian answered, pulling their coat tickets out of his pocket and all but throwing them at the attendant in his determination to get them out of that building and away from 55th Street as soon as possible.

They were on the sidewalk, waiting for the next available car to pull up when he turned to look at her, eyes wide and mouth parted slightly with unspoken question. “I was thinking we could go back to your apartment,” Emma said, answering the question he hadn’t actually asked.

“Ok,” he said, hand never leaving hers as they slid into the backseat of the car.

They didn’t really talk.

Emma couldn’t really come up with anything to say.

Everything she thought up was decidedly inappropriate with a driver a few feet away from them and Killian’s fingers inching around her knee. He kept tapping his foot.

He was impatient.

That seemed like a good sign.

They hit another red light – two blocks away from The Jolly  – and the driver mumbled a half-hearted apology from the front seat. Emma tried to bite back a sigh.

“You know what,” Killian said quickly. “You can just let us out here. It’s fine. We’ll walk.” Impatience was a very good look on Killian Jones.

“It’s snowing,” the driver pointed out. “And we were told to take all the talent directly to their locations. I can’t just let you out.” “It’s fine,” Killian repeated, hand already on the door handle and his foot was on the side of the sidewalk before the driver could say another word, dragging Emma behind him.

“Thanks,” she said, laughing slightly as Killian pushed the door shut behind her. The light turned green and the car drove away and Emma wasn’t laughing anymore – it was difficult to do that when she was otherwise occupied. Killian’s hand cupped her jaw lightly, lips moving over hers enthusiastically and impatiently and a slew of other adjectives she’d come up with some other time. Her hands fisted the front of his jacket, tugging him closer to her again and he sighed against her mouth. “You’re awfully gung-ho,” Emma muttered, nose brushing against his as she spoke. “Well, when you suggest going back to my apartment, I’m afraid I get very single-minded, love.” “That so?”

He did something ridiculous with his eyebrows and one side of his mouth tilted up in a way that made him look so goddamn attractive she almost wished they’d stayed at the Waldorf and found some deserted closet or room or something.

Almost.

If they were going to do this – and it certainly seemed like they were going to do this – then she wanted to do it right.

She should have taken the necklace off.

“That is absolutely so,” he said, turning them down the street and all but sprinting towards the restaurant two blocks away. And if Emma thought her driver earlier had set some sort of record for getting uptown, it was nothing compared the near-sprint she and Killian exercised on their way to The Jolly.

They nearly ran over an entire group of tourists at one point, practically holding each other up in a mix of laughter and anticipation and the rather impressive amount of rum they’d managed to consume on the network’s budget.

And it was so nice Emma’s mind couldn’t keep up with how fast her pulse was racing.

Killian tugged her around the back of The Jolly, pausing more than once to press her up against the side of the building and kiss her senseless, groaning when her thigh rubbed against his and her hips rolled instinctively. He fumbled with his keys for a moment, nearly dropping them when Emma started trailing kisses along the back of his neck and she couldn’t hold back her laugh at that.

“You’re distracting me, Swan,” he said, finally finding the right key and swinging the door open. “And you’ve got to be quiet or they’re going to pull me into this service.”

Emma nodded seriously, pressing her lips together tightly and Killian’s answering smile made her bite her tongue. He kept his hand locked in hers, pulling her around the room quickly and she was thankful for the natural sounds of a restaurant kitchen to drown out the soft clack of her heels on the linoleum floor.

The door upstairs creaked slightly and Emma darted in quickly – Killian only pulling it open a fraction of an inch before yanking it shut and catching her mouth with his again. She threw her hand back against the wall to keep herself upright and Emma wasn’t sure how they actually made it up the stairs, only knew that his apartment door wasn’t locked again and silently thanked someone for that lack of obstacle.

They were a tangle of limbs and jackets and twisted buttons and Emma kicked her heels into the corner of the room – not counting on the sudden height difference making their current activity track slightly more difficult.

Killian ducked his head, bending his knees to meet Emma and he shouldn’t be this endearing or caring or whatever,  making her think all kinds of things that were absolutely absurd and completely impossible.  

He might have mumbled her name against her neck – actually calling her Emma again – but she was too focused on getting his belt off him to notice. They hadn’t actually moved out of the living room, had barely moved into the living room if they were being honest.

They’d closed the door and found themselves alone and were too focused on each other to actually realize that they hadn’t moved more than a few inches into the apartment. His hands were trailing across her spine and Emma bit her lip at the feel of it, only glancing up when she heard him groan in frustration.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Your zipper is stuck.” She laughed softly and his eyes darted to hers, hand pressing into her back slightly and making her gasp. He bent his knees again, pulling her back up to him and he kissed her while he moved them, finally making their way into the apartment and down a hallway and she would have been more impressed with this apparent show of strength if he wasn’t so ridiculously good at kissing.

And they were in a bedroom now.

And she didn’t freak out.

She didn’t run.

Or think.

She kissed him instead, tugging on the tie he still had and pulling him across the doorway and towards the bed, landing next to each other with a soft thump. He stared at her for a moment, eyes practically boring a hole in her face and Emma felt some of that kiss-induced confidence wane a little bit.

Maybe she’d thought too far ahead.

“You are so beautiful,” Killian said softly and Emma couldn’t breathe. She bit her lip – desperate to not do something stupid like start to cry or gasp – and tried to come up with a single word. She couldn’t even think of a letter.

He smiled at her – that genuine, slightly nervous one that had settled under her skin and found a way into her life and broken down all those walls she was so certain had been necessary to keep everything on some sort of preordained, professional track – and moved his hand again, tugging on the zipper of her dress.

It moved that time.

That seemed like a sign.

She pushed the fabric down, sliding her arms out of the sleeves and leaving herself in far less clothing than she had on when she walked into the bedroom – and far more clothing than Killian had on.

“We seem to be a bit one-sided here,” Emma mumbled, keeping her eyes away from Killian’s. It didn’t matter. They were very obviously otherwise occupied, trailing down her body and across her chest and her legs, fingers following and leaving goosebumps on Emma’s skin.

“What are you saying, Swan?” he chuckled, pressing kisses across her stomach as he moved so his legs were on either side of hers.

“That you’re wearing too many clothes,” she answered.

And he seemed to appreciate getting straight to the point. “You could help,” he pointed out, smirking at her and fuck his eyes were blue.

Emma nodded once, reaching up to grab the front of his dress shirt again and she started working her way down the lines of buttons, pulling the tie off as well and throwing it in the same direction her dress had landed. He worked his own belt off, flicking open the button of his pants and Emma seized an opportunity – dragging her fingers across the line of his boxers and drawing a noise out of him that might have been a groan or a sigh. She wasn’t going to get into the semantics of it.

Killian rested his weight on his forearm – the edges of his now undone shirt hitting against Emma’s stomach and making her bite her lip again – as he kicked out of his pants, pushing them off the edge of the bed with a surprising amount of force.

She was the impatient one now – hands pushing on his shoulders to try and get his shirt off and he grinned at her, eyebrows moving up and down quickly as he moved his right arm up, teeth holding onto the cuff to pull it off his arm.

She hadn’t thought of that.

And she was an idiot.

She should have remembered, should have realized it was harder for him or something,  but she hadn’t – had gotten so used to the weight of his left hand on her back and how he wasn’t nervous to touch her with it anymore that she nearly forgot it wasn’t actually part of him.

He made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat when the sleeve got caught on the top of his brace and his eyes darted back down to Emma’s with so much emotion in them that she really did almost start to cry.

She leaned up on her elbows, smiling at him and pulled the shirt off the rest of the way, fingers lingering on the top of the brace – skimming on the skin just above his wrist – and she could hear his shaky breath, eyes focused on her hand.

“It’s ok,” Emma said softly.

He bit his lip, teeth tugging slightly as he pulled his eyes away from her fingers and met her gaze. “Swan,” he sighed, but she just shook her head.

“No, don’t do that, don’t Swan me. It’s ok.”

Killian took another deep breath – less shaky this time – and nodded once. Emma pushed her fingers back in his hair, pulling his head down to meet hers without another word and they fell into each other again – respective pasts and disappointments forgotten for a few moments when they touched each other.

She rolled her hips against him when his hand dipped lower, tugging away the last remnants of her clothing and this was different.

Emma wasn't a nun – Henry had spent nights at David’s and Mary Margaret’s over the years and while she hadn’t ever really gone on a date, she certainly hadn’t delved into a life of celibacy either. This was different. And better. And so cliché , she probably would have laughed at herself if she stopped to think about it too long.

But he kept doing that thing with his fingers and muttering things in her ear and when he rested the weight of his hips against hers, Emma squeezed her eyes shut and saw stars.

He reached around her, fumbling for a moment with a drawer and a table and a few choice curse words before yanking a string of foil packets out, pulling the top one off with his teeth. “That confident, huh?” Emma teased.

Killian shot her a look and kissed her quiet before pushing the packet into her hand. “You want to do the honors, love? Unless you’d like me to impress you by tearing it open with my teeth again.” “No, that’s alright,” Emma mumbled, forcing him onto his back and straddling his hips. She grabbed one of the squares quickly and he laughed softly when she all but yanked it apart. That didn’t last long. His eyes went wide and he choked out another groan when she rolled the latex over him, hand lingering for a few moments that she enjoyed much more than she would have expected.

“Swan,” he said again, but this was an entirely different voice and an entirely different plea. And she felt loved and wanted and not nearly as overwhelmed as she expected.

That was a nice change of pace.

Killian pulled on her hips sharply, dragging her body across his and kissing her again, hand pushed in her hair despite the bobby pins. He was everywhere at once. Emma felt like she could feel him in every inch of her body – the same way he’d managed to move into every single inch of her life.

There was probably some deeper meaning to that, some profound discovery about herself and them and letting people in – but she couldn’t come up with any other words except oh fuck and just like that and her whole body felt like it was on pins and needles, eyes squeezed shut and Killian’s hand tightening around her waist when they both moved.

They didn’t say anything for what felt like years after – Killian’s fingers brushing up and down her spine again and his lips tracing some sort of nonsensical pattern across the top of her hair. She thought he’d fallen asleep, bordering close to that as well, when his voice broke through the darkness and made her jump slightly.

“Are you alright, love?” he asked softly.

Emma lifted her head up, eyebrows pulled low. “Of course, why?” It took two seconds to hit her – he wanted to make sure she didn’t run. Or tell him it was a one-time thing.  And her heart thudded loudly at the idea that maybe – just maybe – he was as nervous as she was about messing all of this up.

Killian nodded slowly, hand still moving against her skin. “Just checking.”

“I’m fine,” she promised. “Better than.” “Better than?” “You’ve been complimented enough tonight. I think you can deal with just ‘better than.’”

He nodded again, smile tugging on his lips and kissed her, pulling her against him. And Emma wasn’t about to argue with that, but then her stomach growled and her cheeks flushed and Killian laughed loudly.

“Hungry, Swan?”

“We didn’t really eat at the party.” “True.” “Preoccupied and whatnot.” “Also true,” he said, still laughing as he sat up, grabbing at least boxers before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Emma groaned at the movement and he flashed her a grin. “I’ll make you some food, love.”

He smiled at her again, holding his hand out towards her and Emma took it without a second thought, grabbing his dress shirt in the process and following him into the kitchen. He didn’t ask about the necklace and she didn’t think about it for the rest of the night.

She stayed instead.

[cleanlittlesecret]

Hello. It me. How about Kusanagi + “so what? you did it.” ?

[Note: this is set in a vaguely timed future where Yuusaku and Kusanagi have already started working with others to fight Hanoi and Yuusaku has Actually Made Friends (kinda) (if anyone commented on it he would probably deny it tbh). The joys of writing for a show still super early in its story.]

Leaning on his elbows against the guardrail, Kusanagi kept an ear on the clumsy chatter behind him as he skimmed the recent news on a tablet he’d borrowed from Yuusaku. His food truck had been parked for hours on the hill overlooking Den City, the setting sun had nested in the trees behind him to cast every shadow towards the distant buildings, and the tablet’s battery was on the verge of an unceremonious death.

It had been a pleasant surprise when Yuusaku first asked if he and his classmates Aoi and Shima could borrow the computer for the afternoon—both because it was still rare to see him spend time with people his own age outside school, and because Yuusaku never asked to do anything—but it was getting late. Kusanagi would soon need to go down into the city to set up shop for the night’s Duels, but the conversation inside the truck showed no signs of slowing, and he couldn’t bring himself to cut it short yet. Besides, Blue Angel had a Duel scheduled for that night, so surely he could trust Aoi to keep an eye on the time.

Shima’s voice was the best at squeezing through the truck’s barely open service window, especially when he was excited. “But why would they be targeting this series? It doesn’t have anything to do with that weird Cyberse stuff—” A yelp drew Kusanagi’s gaze back over his shoulder and was followed by a small, metallic ting. “Ah, crap!”

“I told you to watch it!” Aoi’s voice, low and snapping.

“You got it on the keyboard.” Yuusaku was definitely scowling.

“My bad! I’ll clean it up—”

An electric crackle sounded, and Yuusaku’s last words were a quiet, “What the—?” before a BOOM rattled the truck on its wheels. Smoke billowed through the service window’s gap, and Kusanagi winced.

Oh, yeah. He’d forgotten about that.

The window flew open under Aoi’s hands, and smoke poured around her as she stuck her head outside to cough. A second plume appeared at the truck’s back end as Shima threw the door open.

“Shima!” Aoi leaned out further to look towards the back door. It was doubtful she could make eye contact with him from that angle, but he flinched anyways. “How many times did I tell you to keep that can away from the computer?!”

“Sorry, sorry!” With two exits available, the worst of the smoke had cleared, so Shima looked back into the truck. “Fujiki, are you all right?” He frowned. “What are you doing?”

Aoi glanced back too, and when they both retreated into the truck, Kusanagi closed his borrowed tablet and approached the now wide-open window to look inside. Standing before the computer, Yuusaku pressed a paper napkin over his nose and mouth with one hand and typed on the keyboard with the other. Error messages crowded the screens, but he ignored them the same way he ignored the two people behind him as he muttered, “This doesn’t make sense…”

“What happened?” Kusanagi had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep his expression neutral as the three teenagers turned around—Shima’s face red, Aoi’s arms holding each other across her stomach, and Yuusaku’s eyes narrow above the napkin.

Aoi stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Kusanagi-san. Shima spilled a can of soda on your computer—”

“I didn’t know it would have a meltdown, okay?” Shima said. “My tablet never does this no matter what gets on it!”

Aoi turned on him. “It’s common sense to keep liquids away from computers—”

“But it shouldn’t have reacted like this.” Yuusaku lowered his napkin. “First, not even the cheapest computer out there should internally explode because a little soda got spilled on its keyboard. Second, this one was built to survive in a working food truck. Third, even with all this smoke, the smoke detector hasn’t gone off, and I know it’s working because we checked it yesterday.” His eyes flicked from Aoi to Kusanagi. “What is going on, Kusanagi-san?”

“Let me have a look.” Kusanagi set the tablet on the counter, headed around to the back door, and stepped up into the truck. Aoi and Shima moved back to clear his way to the computer, and he held down the power button as he typed on the keyboard. Working against time to remember the right combination, his actions were slow, but as soon as he finished the sequence, the smoke still pouring from underneath the keyboard stopped. The screens cleared with the air to reveal windows of information and forum debate on a new line of Dueling cards. Kusanagi turned from the computer to find three pairs of eyes staring at him.

Yuusaku raised an eyebrow. “That was a trap.”

“Kind of.” Kusanagi ignored the glare he got for that by looking at Aoi and Shima. “When we first installed this computer a few years ago, Yuusaku kept having drinks around it no matter what I said, so one day I rigged it to fake a ‘meltdown’ if anything liquid was spilled on its keyboard while in use.” A small hmph came from Yuusaku, and Kusanagi chuckled. “Well, to be fair, Yuusaku never triggered it, so I’d mostly forgotten the trap was there.”

Aoi’s eyebrows furrowed. “That…sounds like a bit much.”

“Yuusaku’s stubborn,” Kusanagi said, earning him an even more sour look from the boy in question. “It needed to be something drastic to affect him, so I was hoping a little classical conditioning would get him to stop.” He grabbed a rag from a shelf and wet it at the sink. “In any case, that soda still needs to be cleaned up before it dries—” He rung out most of the water. “—and I’m not doing it.”

Shima spoke a little too quickly. “Shouldn’t Fujiki be the one to clean it? After all, it was because of him you installed that trap—”

“So what? You did it.” Kusanagi offered him the rag, and, despite his grumbling, Shima took it. “Hurry, please. I need to set my truck up for the big Duels soon, or I won’t make any money today.”

Aoi blinked, then slipped past Kusanagi to where the school bags had been set in the space under the computer and knelt to dig out her phone. After checking the time, she relocked the screen and stood. “Kusanagi-san, can you take me home from here? I have a Duel tonight I need to get ready for.”

“We have an access point here in the truck,” Yuusaku said, but she shook her head.

“My brother won’t be happy if he comes back to our apartment to find I’ve logged in from somewhere else. He says it’s too dangerous, so I have to go home now.”

How nice it was to see someone who actually listened—well, kind of listened. The Charisma Duelist Blue Angel wouldn’t exist if Aoi obeyed all of Akira’s commands, but at least she acted considerate sometimes.

“Okay,” Kusanagi said. “Go get in the cab, and I’ll take you to your place in a minute.”

As Aoi left the back and Shima scrubbed soda from the keyboard and floor, Yuusaku grabbed the empty can, dropped it into the trash, and retrieved his tablet from the counter. He opened it and tapped on the screen, apparently returning his attention to his own matters, but when Kusanagi turned to leave, Yuusaku stopped him with a low, “Kusanagi-san.”

“What?”

“You rigged your computer like that. The one we do all our work with. The one we use to fight Hanoi.” He looked up, his eyes expectant, but Kusanagi offered a mere shrug in response.

“Maybe one day you’ll listen to me when I tell you not to do something, eh?”

Yuusaku turned away. “You also drained my tablet’s battery and used up a chunk of my data. Please stay close enough to use the truck’s Wi-Fi next time.” He closed the tablet, grabbed his bag from under the computer, and headed towards the door. “I’m walking home.”

“All right. Stay safe,” Kusanagi called as Yuusaku went out. Glancing away from the door, he noticed Shima looking around with the dirty rag in his hand and a question on his face and waved towards the sink. “Just drop it in there. I’ll take care of it later.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” After disposing of the rag, Shima grabbed his books and bolted out. “Wait up, Fujiki!”

A little smile tugging at his mouth, Kusanagi cleared the windows from the computer’s screens so he could shut it down. Yuusaku’s stubbornness may not have changed, but at least some other things had.

[mintchocolateleaves]

Cost of Freedom: (6/??)

Summary: In which there is a phone call and someone asks why. Prison!AU

[Beginning]     [Previous Chapter]     [Next Chapter]

“Hello?”

The voice is low, and feminine, with an all too familiar lilt of playfulness that Kaito has come to miss. It echoes in his ears, replaying over and over until he forces himself to speak.

“Aoko.”

Another pause, as he waits to see whether she will hang up or not. He won’t blame her if he does, will sit back and accept it - but if Hakuba told the truth during his visit… then Aoko has been waiting for this call for a while. She won’t end it so quickly.

“Kaito!” She cries, emotion overwhelming her voice before quickly turning to irritation, “you idiot, you should have called sooner!”

Kaito feels a smile worm it’s way onto his face, relief jittering through every synapse in his body. Joy bubbles up from his throat until eventually he is laughing, tears in his eyes. He’s been worried over this? Over talking to Aoko, his greatest friend?

“…Is everything okay?” Aoko asks when he stops laughing, finally succeeding in smothering his emotions, forcing himself back to one piece.

“I’m just… really glad that you picked up,” Kaito admits, leaning against the phone booth, brushing his hand up and down the phone’s cable. It’s short - probably so prisoners can’t use it as a weapon - the cable thin enough that with big enough scissors he’d be able to cut through. “And that you haven’t hung up yet.”

Aoko lets out a small laugh - it is a nervous bell-like sound as if she’s suddenly realised where he is, who he is. “Aoko still might, if all you’re going to do is laugh at her.”

“Okay, okay,” Kaito says, “I’ll quit laughing. Just… catch me up with you, how’s everything going?”

There is a pause on the other side of the phone, and the background music halts, stopping with a small shudder as Aoko presses the off button.

“Aoko was just doing her homework,” she says, “it’s difficult maths, mechanics - Aoko thinks you would enjoy it. School isn’t too chaotic, although everyone in class cannot get over the fact that you’re-”

Kaito wants to tell her that she shouldn’t falter, that she should just call him Kaitou KID and get used to the fact that they’re both the same. Wants to say that KID will always be his alter ego, that he claims it as his own with pride.

He doesn’t.

“Yeah…” He mumbles instead, hand tightening over the phone. He sighs, “how’s… my mum, is she okay?”

“Aoko’s not sure.” She breathes uncertainty, and it is sad in the same way that snow is cold. It freezes him, leaves him shuddering as he waits for any more information. “the last time Aoko saw her, she was trying to find a buyer for your house, said that she couldn’t bare staying in it.”

Kaito stops breathing. His mother wants to sell their home? She wants to throw away the last place his dad lived, throw away the memories of Kuroba Toichi that live beneath the floorboards in his own secret room?

“She can’t sell the house,” Kaito says.

Aoko sighs, “you’re mother doesn’t spend any time in Japan, and since you can’t live there anymore…”

Kaito heaves out a sigh and pushes the thought away for later. The fact that home isn’t going to be there for him when he leaves - not that he’d considered going back, that’d be a stupid place to escape to - isn’t something that he’d ever considered. What will his mother do with all of her father’s equipment?

“I get it,” Kaito says, even if he doesn’t. It shouldn’t matter if they can return there, as long as it remains a possibility. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re not mad?” Aoko asks. Knowing her, she’s sat back, frowning across at the photo of the two of them she keeps on her desk, imagining which expression he’s wearing. She’s seen them all - well, almost all, over the years so she should have a faint idea.

“A gentleman never gets man at the middle man,” Kaito grins, before falling short. Because - well, that sounds more like KID than it does Kaito. He hopes that Aoko will overlook it, glance away from it like she used to glance away from the subtle similarities between the two personalities, but she doesn’t.

Instead, there is a very audible intake of air, not quite a gasp, but not simply breathing. It’s almost as if Kaito can hear her simmering on the other side of the phone, bubbling anger ready to explode.

“Aoko-”

“I want to talk to Kaito.” Aoko whispers, her voice grave, “not to KID.”

Kaito takes a deep breath, pulls at the collar of his shirt when he feels like he’s being strangled. It doesn’t help, not when it’s his own words that are suffocating him. She knows - Aoko knows that he is both and neither. She should know he is just a canvas worn by both.

“They’re both me Aoko.” He says, helplessness seeping into his voice, “KID and Kaito… we’re the same, I’m both of them.”

“No,” Aoko says. “They’re different. Kaito is my best friend, whereas KID is the reason behind so much pain. There’s a difference.”

“There isn’t!”

“Yes there is!” Her voice rises to a shout, leaving behind a silence and a bullet sized wound where Kaito’s sure his heart should be. “And until you learn to separate the two, Aoko doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Kaito’s voice transforms into a plea, “I can’t just separate two parts of myself. Aoko-”

Kaito grits his teeth, resists the urge to slam the phone back onto the receiver. It feels, almost as if there is something within him dying - but he doesn’t have the time to mourn it. He just needs to bury it, try to deal explain to Aoko in a way so she’d understand.

Maybe if he tells her everything-

The background noise cuts out. The line goes dead.

And Aoko is gone.

Kudo doesn’t ask him about it, even though Kaito can see that he wants to.

Another day passes, and Kaito thanks every possible god he can that he will only have to deal with 56 more days at the most before the two of them are free again.

Already he’s tired of working on laundry duty, sick of remembering to empty the lint filters every time he throws a new batch of clothes into the dryer. Sick of folding and giving out clothes to other people - he doesn’t understand why Kudo thinks this is important to help them escape.

“What are we doing here?” He sighs after he’s folded another set of blankets, placing them over to the rack where they will be given out to other prisoners. “There’s no point to this.”

Kudo grins, shaking his head. He seems a lot more relaxed than Kaito is, folding the ends of blankets with a careful precision. He says, “there’s a lot of points behind all of this. You’re just not seeing them because you’re still moping.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you again,” Kaito huffs, “just tell me why we’re doing this.”

Smirking, Kudo places his blanket down, brushes out the creases and moves to do the same with another. As he does, he glances at the thief, eyes dancing with something akin to mischief. He says, “did you know this is the place where most things get smuggled into the prison?”

Oh. Oh.

“Well… how would we get anything smuggled in, huh?” Kaito hisses. He knows that he could ask Jii for help, but he’d told the man before that they would have to go their separate ways if Kaito was ever caught. He wonders what the old man’s doing now. “I don’t have any-”

“Then aren’t you glad we’re working together?” Kudo laughs, “I’m lucky to have someone who’s able to bring stuff in for me. We place whatever we need for our escape in these blankets, smuggle it into our room and then, we’ve got we need for when we’re ready to head off.”

The idea of the ex-detective having allies in a place like this isn’t actually that strange. He has a kind of superficial charm that he expels, eyes that are far too wise and experienced to seem anything but trusting. Even knowing that he shouldn’t, Kaito wants to trust him.

“That guard you always talk to,” Kaito guesses. He’s seen them, talking to one another often. Kudo talks to other guards too, but it’s always with an air of hostility, superiority rolling off him in waves.

Kudo hesitates, waits a moment, before nodding. “Oto-san yes. It’ll take him time, but he’ll get us whatever we need. Provided he can get it past the metal detectors he has to go through when getting into work.”

“How’d you manage to get a guard in your pocket, huh?” Kaito asks. He scowls at the blanket he’s been trying to fold for over a minute, but ultimately he feels hope climbing up his spine.

“I didn’t,” Kudo says, taking the final blanket from his pile, leaning against the counter when he is finished. “He’s one of my father’s contacts.”

It is not private that Kudo Shinichi is the son of novelist Kudo Yuusaku. For as long as he can remember, Kaito has passed the man’s mystery novels every time he’s been inside a bookshop. His books are bestsellers, each one containing a plot more overwhelming than the last. He’d help solve murders with the police in the past, long before his son had started his own detective career.

Kaito had thought that the father and son duo didn’t talk. The only visitor Kudo seems to get is that one female - Ran he’d called her - so naturally Kaito had assumed…

“My father is not in a position where he can openly support me,” Kudo says, snatching the blanket from Kaito’s useless hands, “so I have Oto-san as a go between instead.”

Frowning Kaito says, “Your father wants you to escape?”

Kudo purses his lips but after a moment, he grins. “My parent’s don’t exactly believe that I killed those people.” He shrugs. “I understand that, it’s a hard thing for a lot of people to accept. That six people are dead because of me, well-”

For a split moment, Kaito hesitates. 

From what he knows, Kudo Yuusaku does not make mistakes. Is there something odd about Kudo’s case that makes his guilt unbelievable? Or is it the delusional thoughts of a father unable to believe that the son he has raised is capable of creating such a bloody scene, victims slashed and left skewered against the walls?

“Did you?”

Kudo’s eyes widen, shock erasing whatever amusement he’d been feigning. He looks away from Kaito at first, at the window, the door, anything that is not the thief before turning back. He meets his eyes, lips thin a taut smile on his face.

“Did I what?” It’s almost chilling how different his voice sounds. It’s not usual irritated response he normally throws at Kaito during the day, nor is it the argumentative tone he wears around guards and their fellow prisoners.

No, this is the voice of someone who’s swelling with resentment. Kaito takes a step back at the sudden change in Kudo’s expression, the way his brows draw together into a glower.

“Did you really kill them?” Kaito doesn’t even know why he’s asking. The way he’s reacting - isn’t this practically a confession? But would a serial killer really be angry about him bringing up his crimes, wouldn’t he be more thrilled to talk about them?

Kudo’s shoulders tense, and once again he turns away. “I’m certainly… responsible for their deaths.”

Kaito doesn’t breathe.

“But did I actually kill them?” He glance back with a self-deprecating smile, his eyes far away but his body language more welcoming than it had been previously, “well… There’s not a trace of blood on my hands.”

There is nothing Kaito can do but blink.

“Although, that’s for you to take however you want.” Kudo says, turning away. “I’m pretty sure most of the people in this joint claim they’re innocent. Actually, KID, you might be the only guilty person here.”

[crazy-crizzle-blog]

Alright- A short story by Charisma Owen (crazy-crizzle)

Alright A short story by Charisma Owen

         I wake up and immediately wish I hadn’t. My pillow is still wet with last night’s tears, and I could already feel a fresh batch coming in. I close my eyes as the tears come flooding. You would think that someone who cried so much would be able to control it, but you would be wrong.

“Abigale!” My mother calls from downstairs, “Time to get ready for school!”

I try to steady my voice as I reply, but it cracks as I say, “Yes mom.”

    “Is everything alright sweetheart, you sound a bit off.” Actually, for me, a bit of would be when I’m happy, but I don’t say that. Instead I say, “Yeah, I’m fine. I just woke up, that’s all.”

“Oh. Ok. Get ready, then!” She tells me again.

I grab my clothes, all black basically, and my makeup, again basically all black, and go to the bathroom. I turn on the shower, take off my clothes and get in. The water is too hot, but it’s ok, it just distracts from the pain I feel inside. I start to cry again, sob really, and don’t try to control it, I know my mom can’t hear me. I collapse to the shower floor, spasming with sobs. I choke back a scream and cover my face with my hands. I’m crying so hard I can barely breath. Good, I hope I suffocate so that it looks natural. I don’t think my mom could handle it if she saw me lying there surrounded by my own blood with a razor in my hand. I eventually stop crying and, unfortunately, catch my breath.

I get out of the shower and get dressed. I look into the mirror and almost start to cry again at what I see there. I’m so broken; I wear a mask everyday, but I can still see the cracks. Right now, I’m a mess, so I put on my makeup to hide my puffy red eyes and blotchy cheeks. I put all three piercings into my face. I didn’t get them because I particularly liked them, I got them because I knew it would hurt. I brush my long, red-black hair, and head downstairs.

“Good morning, love.” My mom says when she sees me.

I flash a practiced smile at her and reply, “Good morning, mom!”

“ Your breakfast is on the counter, I love you, I gotta go.!” She gives me a kiss as she sweeps out of the room.

After she leaves, I eat the food she left, not even tasting it. I go upstairs to my bedroom and grab my phone. I head back downstairs and plop on the couch. It says I have twenty DMs, so I start to scroll through them, already knowing what they are going to say.

“Nobody likes you.”

“Why don’t you just leave?”

“Whore!”

“You should just kill yourself.”

I scroll through some of them and then just power off my phone. I feel so numb. This happens everyday, so I already knew it was going to, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. I would rather feel nothing than this. That’s why death is so welcome at this point. It would just mean an end to all this hurt.

I wipe away at the tears falling down my cheeks and walk into the kitchen to check the time. I grab my phone, shove it into my backpack, put on my jacket, and walk out the door. I take out my iPod and put my earbuds. I put on my favorite band and turn the volume all the way up. Music is my favorite thing, because if I turn it up loud enough, it drowns out my thoughts, along with the rest of the world.

As I get to school, my heart sinks. I have to put away the music and face the real world. This never gets easier. I walk through the metal detectors and head towards my locker. On the outside the word “SLUT” is written in big red letters. I open the door and out falls a ton of rubbers along with a note saying “I think you need these.” I hold back tears as I start to pick them up. I try to ignore the snickering behind me, but it gets to me anyway.

The bell rings and I head to my first period class, English. I can feel the eyes on me and the whispering of harsh things in my ear as I walk past. Somebody trips me, but I don’t even bother seeing who as I start to gather my things and get up. Someone taps me on my shoulder and I turn around to see Justin Adams holding a book out to me. He used to be all I could think about before I couldn’t think about anything. I take the book from him and quickly turn away.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur, until right before lunch. I walk into my fourth period Health class and take my normal seat at the back. I’m a little late and the lesson has already started. My teacher is talking about the stages of pregnancy and I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. She goes on about how babies are only considered alive at a certain point in those nine months, and that’s why abortion is legal. She says that not everybody thinks it’s right and she would love to hear our opinions. Suddenly and hand shoots in the air and Ashely Ferguson says, “Well, I’m not speaking for myself,  but Abigale here must think it’s okay considering she was going to have one.”

           I run out of the room, wiping my cheeks as I go. Nobody was supposed to say anything, that was one of the terms of me returning to school. I grab my things from my locker and start to run towards the exit.

            “Abigale! Wait!” someone yells from behind me, but I don’t care anymore, I just keep going. I run all the way home, blinking through tears the whole way. I throw open the door and then slam it shut. I spot the glass that I left on the table and throw it at the wall in front of me. Glass rains down and I am left with little cuts all over. I slide down the wall and sit on all the glass, and there are jagged pieces surrounding me. I pick one of them up, mind clouded with pain.

            I’ve had enough. I’ve experienced more pain in my eighteen years than most people would in three lifetimes. I didn’t ask for this, why me? Why do I have to go through all this pain? I shouldn’t have to anymore. I feel something warm trickle down my arm and turn to see that I was gripping the glass so hard that I had started to bleed, and it feels good. Numb. I smile and start to cry and laugh hysterically. I realize that I sound insane, but it feels good to not be in control for once.

          I turn my hand so that my wrist is facing up, vein exposed. My breath starts to quicken as I bring the piece of glass to it and start cutting a crooked line down. Just as I see the blood start to leak out of my injured vein, I hear the door being slammed open again. I push in hard and finish dragging it through, not wanting to be stopped.

“Abigale?!” someone yells, “Abigale where- OH MY GOD!” I see Justin Adams standing in the doorway and confusion muddled with dizziness flashes through my head. “Abigale ohmygod what did you do?” he starts to cry and now I’m even more confused. Why would he be crying about me? Nobody cares about me, except for my mom. Oh no! My mom! I suddenly don’t want to die anymore, my mom can’t lose me too. A whimper escapes through my lips and my vision starts to blacken around the edges.

I feel myself being scooped up into Justin’s arms and he cups my face in his hand. “Abigale, stay with me. I need you, I can’t lose you. Please stay with me. It’s going to be okay, I’m calling for help right now. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! Yes?! Hello? Please help she going to die.” I know he says more but I’m starting to fade out. The last thing I remember is being brought outside and the sound of blaring sirens.

I wake up in an unfamiliar room to unfamiliar sounds.

“....yes, well, she has suffered some major blood loss, but she should be okay.”

“SHOULD BE? OR WILL BE BECAUSE I NEED TO KNOW.” comes the worried voice of my mother.

“Well-” begins the doctor, but I cut him off.

“Mom?” I choke out

“Abigale! Sweetheart! It’s okay, I’m here! I’m here and I’m sorry that I wasn’t before. I should have been here. I should have…” she trails off into tears. “Mom, it’s fine, I’m okay.” I assure her.

“No, you’re really not, obviously. Why didn’t you tell someone you were..hurting? We could have done something earlier than this.”

I didn’t want you to worry about me. You’re always so busy, I just didn’t want to waste your time.”

“Waste my time? Abigale, I’m never too busy for you. And you don’t think that I’m worried now?! I’m more worried now than I ever have been.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just talk to me in the future.” Future, something I thought I wouldn’t have after this.

A knock comes at the door and Justin pokes his head through the doorframe. I turn my face away, not wanting to look at him. “Is she awake?” he asks.

“Yes,” says my mother, “come on in.”

Justin walks in hesitantly and sits down next to me on the hospital bed.

“I’m just gonna go outside for a little bit, if you need anything, just text me.” my mother hurries out the door.

“Are you alright?” asks Justin. I don’t reply. I can’t even bear to look at him right now, not after what he saw. I wipe away at the tears slipping down my cheeks. He grabs my hand and holds it in both of his.

“You know you can talk to me right? I won’t hurt you.”

I think about this for a minute before replying “In all honesty, no, I’m not alright. I’m broken and cracked and scarred. I’m a mess.”

“Even your scars are beautiful.” he blurts, turning red. He goes on anyway. “Your everything is beautiful, all of you. You’re beautiful. You have this bright, amazing personality that even you can’t hide. Everything that happened to you is complete bullshit! You didn’t deserve any of it. You deserve so much better, and I’m determined to make that happen. I will be here for you always because in all honesty, I love you. And you are my reason to keep going so I’m gonna be yours.”

I’m crying, but not like before. This time, it’s different, relieving.  I turn towards him and he cups my face in his hands. He presses a soft kiss to my lips and everything else goes away. All that’s left is him and me and us, together. He pulls back and I cry on his shoulder, not holding it in for the first time.

“So what happened to you, anyway?”

So I tell him. I tell him how three years ago my dad was shot outside a convenience store for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And how a year after that I was kidnapped and raped and left outside in the freezing cold in nothing but a nightgown.

A few months later I found out that I was pregnant. I didn’t want his baby, it would be a constant reminder of what had happened to me. So my mom and I decided to put it up for adoption.

I was okay with this until about five months in, where I decided that I couldn’t do it, so we decided on an abortion. It was the easiest thing for both my mother and I.

I was confident in my decision and so the next week or so I carried on with my life until the procedure. Everything went according to plan until they laid me down on the table. I realized that I couldn’t do it, That was my baby no matter how it came about. I told the doctor I didn’t want to do it anymore and so I left and took my mother with me.

She of course supported me no matter what, so we decided that I was going to raise the baby with her help. I carried on for the next four months and the baby was born, a healthy little girl with dark hair and green eyes. I was overjoyed to have such a beautiful little girl in my life. Everything was going to be alright.

That is until the state took her away and said that I was too young to care for her. They said that I could have her back in a few months, but after that I was in a state of constant depression, so I wasn’t able to care for her anyway. And that’s why I am always upset. Which led to where I am now.

After I tell him everything I felt relieved. Not amazing but...alright.

     *A few months later*

“Hey Abigale! Wait!” Justin’s running to catch up with me and I can’t help but smile “I have a really important question to ask you!”

“What is it?”

He pulls out a small black box and bends down on one knee. I gasp and cover my mouth with my hands.

“Senior prom?” he asks and I frown at him.

He chuckles “And maybe after prom I could have forever?” he opens the box and inside waits a small gold band with a diamond sitting in the middle.

I cry and nod my head vigorously. He stands up and scoops me into his arm

    *Eight years later*

I sit amidst the chaos of three children running around. One with dark hair and green eyes, the others with light brown hair and brown eyes. Two beautiful little girls and one dapper young lad. These are my children, our children. I would have nothing instead of the life I have, I no longer hide my scars. Instead I brandish them for the world to see, for my children to see, so they know about darkness and hope.

I sigh contentedly and grab my little girl, wrapping her in a hug and breathing in the scent of her dark hair and she giggles.

“You know how much I love you right?” I ask her

She nods happily and plants a kiss on my cheek, then runs off to join her younger siblings.

Justin comes in and sits beside me, handing me a cup of tea. He pulls me in close, covering me in his warmth. “Good morning love.” he says “How are you this fine morning?”

I look around at all the love and joy in my life, my gaze finally resting on my husband, my light, and I reply. “I’m alright.”

I wrote this story to let anybody out there that’s hurting that you have people who love you and care for you ad would do anything for you. I love you and care for you, and so I want you to know that even if it doesn’t feel like it, there are people who want you to live, myself included. If you need someone to talk to, hit me up, I’m here for y’all. If you need more serious help, call the national suicide helpline 1-800-273-8255. I love all y’all, In hope you have a great day!

[me-mindfulexistence]

The “Whip It Generation” Delusion of Grandeur.

Mental Carnage- By Sheri Hockman

Sad and silent

Somber but mentally bold

Little Johnny was lost

His pain was untold.........

 Keeping to himself

Going to chatrooms to find friends

Couldn’t seem to locate any common ground

Something wasn’t right

He couldn’t pretend.......

  It’s an anger that built up inside

He couldn’t control it

To raw and getting hard to hide.......

 Classmates were pushed away

The laughter and cheer always seemed to be all around

It went through his body like nails on a chalk board

A grinding palpable sound........

 His parents felt helpless

Didn’t know what to do

They showered him in gifts

Took him to the Dr….but wasn’t sure what to construe..........

  It appeared to be depression that is what “they say”

Take this medication and “Just believe in yourself”

And it’ll go away

Your parents need to keep a closer eye

And you need to get more sleep

Little Johnny went in his room and locked the door

And quietly began to weep........

 Taking drugs and being sent for help

A darkness began to peek through

Little did anyone know

The magnitude and threat just grew.

You see, Little Johnny had decided he wanted to die….

And come hell or high water he would hurt others

He would make them suffer... make them cry

 Little Johnny transitioned all of his sadness to rage

School started calling home saying he was a problem in class

What next he thought? “Put me in a cage?”

 He wasn’t going to stand for this

“This was not right”

He wasn’t going down like this

Not without a fight

His heart was crippled

Mind was broke 

He didn’t want help

Life felt like a big joke.

 His mind began spinning with crazy visions

He binged on video games and the internet

Began to make many many irrational decisions

  Little Johnny began to devise a lethal plan

How could he end his life

But still stick it “to the man?”

 What would make this world comprehend his pain?

Something so transparent and so true

Something no one else could understand let alone begin to feel....Not me...Not you.

 Little Johnny didn’t have any friends

He was an outsider......It was him against society

The division between his mind and the “real world” just kept getting wider.

 A few tried to befriend him

Good intentions at heart

But Johnny said “Fuck off! Just wait until you see what I’m going to start”

 The students were taken back

Didn’t know quite what to think

They didn’t realize how sick Little Johnny was...

As they walked away...Little Johnny’s emotions began to sink

 The story of Little Johnny

Doesn’t have an end.....He was a lost soul

With mental illness that he couldn’t recognize or mend

 There were plenty of “signs”

Everyone could “see”

But who wants to think Little Johnny would hurt others.....like you or me

Students “walking up” could not have remedied this pending situation

Little Johnny had severe mental illness....it’s invisible

As a society….”Not understanding”…Is a great frustration

You see medical help is not so easy to attain

As some have this notion.....

Pills, counseling and management 

Are only effective if the person allows the treatment to be put into motion. 

It’s an ongoing process that requires some amount of trust

People with illness can be resistant..

Constant follow up and care is a must.

To date so much young blood has been shed

Lives have been lost

When there could have been securities in place

To at least defend at all cost.

Sitting in a classroom

Wondering if this could be the day....

Fear in the hearts of teachers and children

Contemplating what will save them...hiding or running away?

 Walking out in protest

Hoping our country starts to give a damn

Is saying “I want to be safe when I learn”

It’s NOT a stupid issue

They ponder if they’ll be the next sacrificial lamb

 The protest isn’t to take your guns

It’s not to stomp on your constitutional rights

They want to know they can attend school

And not die in gun fights.

 Bullet proof glass

Metal detectors and/or guards armed with power

Are all things to defend our children

So they don’t just have to hide, defenseless and cower

 Unarmed teachers standing at the school doors

Can’t begin to protect them 

If bullets start flying and bodies start hitting the floors.

There are people like “Little Johnny” everywhere in life

What is going to change

So people don’t continue to go through this strife?  

 The reality is…. There is never any “true safety” where ever we go

But we need to do what we can to maximize the safety in our settings 

So, we don’t end up 6ft below.

 Stop assigning blame 

For Students can’t befriend someone to PREVENT a shooting

These are protests

Not anarchy for stealing and looting!

 Support these kids….for in a few years they’ll be grown “adults”

Their opinion matters

Eventually they’ll start getting some life changing results.

#Walkup....should be a lifestyle. Don’t be a douche. Just be nice to people all the time.  It shouldn’t be a one day initiative....and the parents RANTING about how kids should just “do this”  (”Walk up”)-crack me up!  Like they were just rushing to the aid of anyone being bullied when they were kids? Give me a break!  It’s nice when your hind sight is like 5/20 and you remember your childhood with rose colored glasses (and at this point I’m feeling pretty confident most people are legally blind right now).  B/c  I don’t remember anyone jumping in front of any bullies when I was a kid.  Secondly...if your child “fears” another kid and their dark disposition, why would you tell them to ignore that and ‘walk up to them’ anyway?  The gift of fear.  The only super power we have. Our gut instinct that we TRAIN out of our children every damn day.  Stop it! Kids can be self limiting many times b/c they should be! Stop telling them to ignore their own instincts.  It’s wrong. If kids are concerned about another child they need to tell an adult. Period.  I think the “whip it” generation is slightly delusional right now.  We’re making the “tide pod” eating generation look like genius’s.  Think back and be realistic.  Parenting today has become overkill on multiple levels.  We know almost too much all the time.....Is it really a good thing?

My 1/2 cent.