#I started seeing the signs a couple decades ago

[foldingfittedsheets]

Mattresses, unbeknownst to many, are a lot like cars. Every year new ones roll out, they’re always tweaking and innovating and you’ll never find the same one you loved decades ago when buying a new one.

Where I sold mattresses had a three month return or exchange program for this reason. New beds take a while to break in, and they’re a big expense. Your body is used to the old one. So we made sure people were loving it. If a bed got returned we’d take it back, sanitize and clean it, then sell it again on clearance.

To sell these we always had to disclose what clearance meant to customers, and they had to sign that they knew what they were getting. (FYI, not every company is as… forthright about the used bed situation)

In clearance we had beds that were floor models, we had returns, and more rarely we had old models whose line had been discontinued. These clearance beds were always final sale, so a bed could only be sold twice.

Now, the manager at the store I was working at had realized a vital fact. Clearance beds in the warehouse didn’t sell, especially old models that salespeople weren’t familiar with. And even more especially in odd sizes, like twin extra longs. So he set up a split king on the showroom floor to exhibit clearance beds, pulling all those forgotten twin extra longs out onto the showroom.

Almost all of these were brand new discontinued models. Beds I’d never learned in training were exhumed to be displayed. The manufacturers had moved on to new lines and they’d been left behind. Why would he take such in interest in selling old stock, you might wonder? Because we made double commission on the sales margin of clearance beds, and if we’d had a bed long enough they dropped the cost in the system so it was a fucking cash cow to sell these. Even with huge discounts the commissions were wonderful so it was a win win.

When I got started I was jazzed about this program, I was so on board to sell weird old brand new beds and make a ton of money. I had a wonderful older couple come in, looking for a split king adjustable set. This was a white whale sale.

The current clearance models on the floor were a latex mattress that was brand new despite being of an age to start first grade, and a tempurpedic floor model. The couple laid down and it was like magic. They each loved the bed they’d laid down on. They wanted to buy the whole shebang.

I. Was. Thrilled. I told them about the clearance program and what that meant, and they weren’t bothered in the least. I wrote up the sale then dashed into the back, fizzing with excitement to tell my manager what I’d done.

“You sold the death bed?!” He asked in delight.

I pulled up short, my smile freezing in place. “What…?”

“Didn’t you check the notes?”

I hesitated for a long beat then slowly shook my head. You see, dear reader, all beds had a personal history. Every clearance bed had logs written up by the person who took the return, as well as warehouse crew after sanitizing. It helped us know what to expect when selling them. “Wasn’t it just a floor model? You said it was a floor model…”

He slowly shook his head. I checked the notes.

It turned out, it had been sold as a floor model. The first time. But the company had made an exception and taken it back as a return two months later. Why? Because it’s owner had passed away.

I stared at the computer in horror and my manager shrugged. “They signed the clearance form. Technically it was a floor model.”

“We know for a fact that a man died in that bed!”

“What they don’t know can’t haunt them,” he said philosophically.

The man came back a week later for more sheets, utterly delighted to tell me how well they were sleeping. I clamped my teeth down around the secret of the deathbed, choosing to let them love their new bed without the stigma. Only one person would be haunted by that deathbed, and it was me.

[withleeknow]

lost cause.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, kinda angsty idk?; unedited bc we live just to suffer, erhm i don't think there's a lot of warnings here, open to interpretation if oc is depressed 🤔; basically “it's rotten work,” “not to me. not if it’s you,” + that one scene in nobody wants this (if you’ve watched the show you’ll know what i’m talking about) word count: 0.6k listen to 🎧: risk - gracie abrams

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

“i think i’m starting to hate myself again.”

your voice is casual when you say it, indifferent, nonchalant, as if you’re merely bringing up the weather or reading from a shopping list. you’re used to it by now — the fact that it comes and goes, that if there are highs then there must be lows too. that sometimes, there are no good days, just better ones.

you know minho hasn’t fallen asleep because you still feel him playing with your hair while you lay on his chest, his index finger twisting a lock around before letting it fall over your back. he doesn’t falter, not even once. no change in his calming breathing, no sign that he’s all too surprised by your sudden announcement. you suppose he’s used to it as much as you are.

he’s quiet for a while, like the night outside the comfort of your bedroom. the weather forecast warned you of thunderstorms, but everything remained still and safe. there wasn’t even a spark of lightning to be found.

when minho finally speaks, only a simple “okay,” comes out, followed by a question. “then i’ll love you more to make up for it. how much time do you need? couple weeks?”

you shake your head. “longer,” you say.

“couple months?”

a beat of silence. another shake. “longer.”

“couple years?” he asks. no hesitation. “couple decades?”

minho can’t see you from this position, but you can hear the sound of his heart. he’s steady and secure and you’re nothing more than a fickle flame that’s always on the verge of going out.

“you can’t handle it,” you tell him. “better to quit while you’re ahead.”

it would be so easy, wouldn’t it? for him to pack up before he realizes somewhere down the line that he’s wasted his time and effort on a lost cause?

“i know what you’re doing, by the way. stop that.”

you pretend to ask, “what am i doing?”

before you know it, he’s already managed to flip the both of you over. he’s hovering over you with his forearms on either side of your head, effectively caging you in, chest to chest, and his hips pressed flush against yours.

“i told you i’m not going anywhere,” minho says, brushing some hair away from your face. “stop trying to get me to leave.”

you blink. he’s so close and oh so warm, so beautiful as he stares down at you, so patient and kind when you’re telling him that you need him to love the parts that even you can’t bring yourself to love.

your hands settle on his shoulders. “don’t blame me when you regret it.”

“i won’t regret it. not if it’s you.”

then he’s kissing you, soft and slow, and that’s when you finally hear the first roar of thunder that should’ve arrived hours ago. he kisses you like he was made for you — or you for him, you’re not really sure, but it can’t possibly matter that much.

“so?” minho prompts after he’s pulled away, “how long?”

his eyes are sparkling and you’re still a little dazed. lightheaded but you know that you’ll always love him the most, know that you’re pushing it, know that you’re asking for what many would never be willing to give. “what if i say i’ll need you for the rest of my life?”

his lips curl into a tender smile, one that he presses to your mouth once again. you taste devotion in the kiss, in the way one of his hands crosses the short distance to hold your face so delicately it makes your heart hurt.

“i’ll love you more for the rest of our lives then.”

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 30.10.2024]

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Just a decade ago, syphilis infections among infants were nearly eradicated in Canada. Yet there were warning signs the bacterial sexually transmitted infection (STI) — known for causing painless sores, organ damage, and stillborn infants — was making a comeback. First, rates started rising among adults in the early 2000s, followed by an alarming spike in congenital infections passed from mothers to their babies.  The latest federal data shows there were nearly 14,000 cases of infectious syphilis across the country in 2022, as well as 117 instances of early congenital syphilis. That's a nearly 15-fold increase from just eight nation-wide cases of syphilis reported in infants five years earlier. "When I started in clinical practice, just over 20 years ago, we'd see syphilis like every couple months," said Patrick O'Byrne, a nurse practitioner with Ottawa Public Health's sexual health clinic. "And I would say it's now daily."

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Tagging @politicsofcanada

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 29: time capsule

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Reblog if you liked it!

You couldn't believe what was on the table in front of you. The silver metal box was filled with dirt, but you could still read a label, which had once been white, with a couple of names written on it and a year beneath them. Fifteen years ago, to be exact.

Although you still received some news about Spencer Reid (from his mother, in particular), the truth was that after he left Las Vegas, your friendship was not the same. Distance was a determining factor, and also, the means of communication were not the most accessible.

Years ago, you had asked for his phone number at the hospital where his mother was staying (something unethical, but it was a favor for a friend), but you had never dared to call him. It would have been strange, for sure, so you simply decided to leave things as they were.

But now the opportunity was right there, and to be honest, you were a little curious about what your friend had hidden in that time capsule. You barely even remembered it, a sign that five more years had passed since the date you were supposed to open it, and you had only found it thanks to the gardening work you had paid for your backyard.

You thought for a long time about what you should do. Should you call him? Just leave it as it was? Open it without him? The point of those kinds of boxes was to see them with the person you had filled them with; it wouldn’t make sense.

In the end, you decided and pressed the call button for that number you had gotten so many years ago, hoping it would still be the same today. If you knew Spencer well enough, you knew he preferred to keep things the same.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hi… Am I speaking with Spencer Reid?”

“This is he, who is this?”

You stayed silent for a second, smiling unconsciously at the fact that it was your friend on the other end of the line. You didn’t even know how to start.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes! I don’t know if you remember me…” you murmured, giving a hint of your identity. You almost imagined his face lighting up on the other side.

“Of course I remember you! It’s been a long time, sorry I don’t have your number saved.”

“No problem,” you lied. You preferred to let him think you had exchanged numbers. “Are you busy? I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“I can talk. Go ahead.”

You explained the situation you were in, how while digging in your yard, the shovel had hit a metallic object with your names written on it. Spencer expressed the same nostalgia you felt about it, and that’s when you asked about the most appropriate destination for the capsule.

“I know traveling from Washington for something like that is a waste of money and time; I’m not asking you to do that, but…”

“No! I’m going to visit my mother in two weeks, so it’s perfect. If you want, we can meet during those days.”

The date was set, and the box remained on one of the shelves, waiting. You had cleaned it as much as possible to reveal its original shine, with only the slightly brown label as a remnant of having been buried for three decades.

You tried not to think too much about the dates, sure that this way time would pass more easily. So it was, because when you least expected it, the day had arrived. You tried to have everything ready to host your guest and waited for the hour of his arrival, watching television to kill time. It was already close to dusk when someone knocked on your door, making you jump up like a spring due to the anxiety you felt about seeing him.

You were not disappointed in the least when the sight before you was of a boy, a man, dressed in a formal shirt, a tie around his neck, khaki pants, and a pair of black-rimmed glasses.

“Hi,” you exhaled, more surprised than you would have liked.

He was so different that if you had seen him under other circumstances, you wouldn’t have recognized him.

He greeted you the same way, and you gestured to hug him, waiting for him to reciprocate. Spencer did, and then you let him into your house, which was still the same as he remembered. You were friends in school, which meant that more than once your mother had realized that no one had come to pick him up and had offered to drive him to your house.

First, you asked him about Diana, wanting to know what her current state was, and he offered his condolences for what had happened with your parents. You talked for a while about how their lives had been during the time you were apart, drank, and ate what you had prepared until finally the much-anticipated moment arrived.

“I’m embarrassed I didn’t remember this when I’m supposed to have eidetic memory.”

“Even you can forget something sometimes,” you justified, shrugging and sitting down beside him on the couch.

You thanked the heavens that the box didn’t have a key; otherwise, you would never have discovered its contents, and you let him take the honor of opening it.

With the time capsule completely open, the air seemed to be filled with nostalgia. The first thing that appeared was a bunch of letters, some carefully folded and others hurriedly, as if they had been left at the last minute before burying the box.

You took one of the letters that had his name written in youthful, somewhat shaky handwriting. You laughed as you remembered the time when both of you had decided to write letters to the future, convinced that, in a few years, you would become completely different people.

“‘Dear future me’…” you read aloud, and Spencer covered his face, blushing.

“Please don’t read that,” he said, laughing, trying to reach for it, but you slipped away with the letter in hand.

“It’s adorable. Here you say that by this time you would already be a famous scientist.”

Spencer let out a shy laugh.

“I guess I dreamed big… although, in a way, I’ve fulfilled some of those dreams.”

After setting the letters aside, you found a small notebook full of notes and scribbles. You opened it and, to your surprise, discovered a plethora of small illustrations of everyday things you shared in those days. Drawings of the school cafeteria, the park you went to after classes, and even a cartoonish drawing of Spencer trying to solve a Rubik’s cube.

“Who drew this?” you asked, looking at an animated version of yourself with a concentrated face while studying.

“That… was me,” Spencer admitted, scratching the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I remember I was trying to draw you without you noticing in science class. It’s not my best work, clearly.”

You burst out laughing.

“It’s great! I didn’t know you had artistic talent.”

“It was easier to remember things by drawing them. Besides, you always seemed so focused, and that inspired me. Drawing you helped pass the time.”

Just below, you found a folded and somewhat worn photo. The image showed both of you at a birthday party when you were kids. You, with a funny smile and a party hat, and he, with his typical serious expression, as if he was wondering how he had ended up in the middle of a celebration.

“How did you always end up at my parties, even though you said you didn’t like them?”

Spencer shrugged, blushing a bit.

“Your mom insisted on inviting me, and well… I didn’t mind spending time with you.”

You fell silent for a second, surprised by the honesty of his words. Then you decided to leave the topic and continued checking the box.

At the bottom of the capsule, two books remained intact, covered in a fine layer of dust. One of them was Great Stories of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, which Spencer had chosen years ago, and the other was And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie, your favorite back then. You picked up Spencer's book, flipping through it carefully so as not to damage the pages.

“Why did you choose Sherlock Holmes?” you asked, not taking your eyes off the book.

Spencer smiled, somewhat nostalgically.

“For me, it represented what I wanted to be as an adult. Someone who could solve any mystery. Although I think in the end, real life is much more complicated than I thought back then.”

You nodded, and while stroking the cover of his book, you shared your reason. “I chose Agatha Christie because… I wanted my life to be exciting, like the mysteries in her stories. Something that, over time, I realized was not so realistic.”

You shared a knowing smile, as if those books told not only stories of detectives and murders but also of your own youthful aspirations.

Then you found a small plush figurine, a worn teddy bear that both of you had called Bobby. You used to take turns caring for him when one of you was sick or sad.

“This poor Bobby survived all these years,” you said, holding it between your fingers.

Spencer took the bear gently, remembering a time when he had spent difficult days at home due to his mother's health problems.

“I gave it to you when my mom was in the hospital… I didn’t know how to tell you what was happening, so I left it in your locker so you would know I needed support without saying it out loud.”

You felt a lump in your throat, remembering how you had kept Bobby beside your pillow every night until Spencer told you that his mom was better.

“I never told you, but I always understood what Bobby meant. It was as if we were talking without words.”

You continued exploring, and suddenly, you found a small box with golden edges and a rusty latch. You opened it carefully and discovered a couple of old braided string friendship bracelets, each with a small crystal charm. They were the friendship bracelets you had made together one summer, a symbol of the promise that you would always be friends, no matter the distance. You took one of the bracelets and slipped it onto your wrist.

“I remember spending hours picking the colors. Green was your favorite, right?”

“It was,” he replied, taking the other bracelet. “And you chose blue because, according to you, it matched the sky, and you always dreamed of traveling and seeing the world.”

You looked at the bracelet on your wrist, feeling a strange mix of nostalgia and joy.

“It’s funny… I feel like, by putting this on, I’m ten years old again.”

Then, beneath the bracelets, you found a small disposable camera wrapped in a plastic cover. Spencer held it in his hands, reminiscing about the times when you both tried to capture your “adventures” with the few photos you could take. You took the camera and, without thinking, aimed it at him and pressed the button, emitting a soft click, only to have a strip of photo paper eject from the slot a moment later.

“I knew you would do that,” he said, laughing. “Do you remember when we tried to take a picture of the shooting star and ended up capturing a picture of our feet by mistake?”

“That photo was a disaster! But I think I still have it somewhere,” you replied. “We always tried to take photos as if we were explorers on some important expedition.”

As you continued unpacking, you found another small book, somewhat worn with hard covers, titled “Survival Guide for School” written in marker on the cover. When you opened it, you saw a series of notes and tips you both had written, from how to “survive a history presentation” to “how to avoid the math teacher in the hallway.”

Spencer read one of the tips out loud: “Tip number five: if you sit next to the window, you have a better view to imagine you’re anywhere else.” You both looked at each other and laughed, recalling the times you sat together at the back of the classroom.

Finally, you reached the last items in the box: two lists of goals for the future. You took yours, noticing how you had listed objectives like: learning another language, traveling the world, and writing a book someday. Spencer, on his part, had listed goals that included: becoming a genius in at least three fields, finding a real mystery to solve, and marrying the most incredible girl in the world.

You frowned, looking at Spencer with curiosity.

“And who is that incredible girl you mentioned?” you asked with a playful smile.

Spencer blushed slightly, trying to maintain his composure.

“Oh, you know, someone who is a real challenge,” he replied, shrugging as if to downplay it.

“A challenge?” she retorted, leaning towards him. “Sounds exciting. Do you have her number?”

He burst out laughing, enjoying the joke. “No, I don’t have her number. But I’m sure she’s someone who laughs at my bad jokes.”

“Then that means she’s not so hard to find,” you said, smiling back. “Maybe you should talk to her more often.”

“Yeah, maybe I should. Perhaps I’ll even invite her for coffee or something,” he replied, pretending to be thoughtful.

“That sounds like a plan,” you joked. “But how can you dare to do that without knowing if she likes coffee?”

Spencer raised his hands in surrender.

“Okay! Maybe I should just stick to my goals and let the universe handle the surprises.”

“That’s the attitude,” you said, smiling conspiratorially. “But if you need advice on how to win over that incredible girl, just ask me.”

You both laughed, feeling the atmosphere fill with fun and complicity over the secret that, though unspoken, had come to light.

Spencer fell silent as he looked at the notes and memories you had unearthed. For a moment, both of you got lost in time, feeling those fifteen years of distance fade away, leaving you once again as the inseparable friends you had been in the past.

When everything was laid out on the table, you looked at each other with a smile and dared to lean towards him, causing the man to hug you gently. You both knew that, although life had taken different paths for each of you, those small objects connected you to a shared past that would always be present, a reminder of the friendship and dreams you had shared.

With a deep sigh, you began to put each object back into the box, one by one, and closed the lid carefully, as if preserving a priceless treasure. You both knew you had unearthed much more than a simple time capsule; you had unearthed a piece of yourselves, and at that moment, your paths, though temporary, had found each other again.

[trickphotography2]

'tis the damn season | Epilogue

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Julie/Cece (OC, no physical description)

Word count: 4.9k

Synopsis: After six years away from home, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was finally going to make his parents happy and surprise his family by spending Christmas in Magnolia, Texas. Introducing his pregnant fiancee to his family is a culture clash, with rural Texas meeting California influencer. Though unhappy in his relationship, Jake knows he has to buckle down and do the right thing with a baby on the way.

The last person he expected to run into was his high school sweetheart and the one that got away, Julie.

The holidays are already going to be hard enough for Julie. Her home baking business, which had started as a fun side project, exploded after a few TikToks went viral. Just when she was getting the hang of juggling her job and business, tragedy struck. Facing her first Christmas as an orphan, the last thing Julie expected was to hear that once familiar nickname - Cece.

After almost a decade apart, Jake and Julie can't help but feel that old familiar spark. Even with the realities of their lives pressing in, they can't help but wonder what might have happened if just one of them had fought for their relationship all those years ago.

Chapter 10 | Master List | Ao3

---------------------------------------

Epilogue

Jake rolled over and quickly silenced the alarm. The house was quiet, and he half expected Cece to be sleeping. She’d been exhausted over the last few weeks and took every opportunity to nap. But she was awake, thumbnail caught between her teeth as she stared at the ceiling. “C’mere, honey,” he rasped, tugging her so she rolled and rested her head on his chest. 

His parents had finally upgraded the bed in his room to a full-sized one, and Jake was surprised he missed the twin. There was a certain nostalgia for coming home and crawling into a small bed, limbs twining together to ensure no one fell off. 

Of course, back then, his parents hadn’t known that he was sneaking Cece into the room. 

Pressing his lips to the crown of her head, Jake gently pulled her nail from her mouth and rested her hand on his chest. “You sleep at all?” he asked. 

“Maybe an hour. Your snoring kept me up.” Her gentle teasing made him feel slightly better. 

“Shoulda kicked me.”

“I did.” Her head bounced on his chest when he chuckled, her cold fingers twirling in his chest hair. “We should get moving before your parents get up.” 

“Alright,” he grunted, glancing at the time and seeing they’d have to get up soon for chores. “First thing first, though.” He brushed the hair from her face when she hummed, turning so her chin rested on his pec. “Merry Christmas, Cupcake.” 

“Merry Christmas, Farm Boy.” Jake smiled tiredly when she moved closer and kissed him. Curling his hand around her cheek, he kissed the tip of her nose before pecking her lips again. 

“No matter what,” he said when she started to pull away. “Everything’s gonna be okay.” In the dim light, he could see tears welling in her eyes and kissed her again. 

“Promise?”

“Promise.” With a nod, she climbed over him and stepped onto the cold floor, her arms wrapping tightly around herself. The temperature had been dropping steadily overnight, and when he tugged back the curtains, Jake wasn’t surprised to see that a couple of inches of snow had fallen with no sign of stopping. The rustling of a plastic bag had him flicking back the covers. “What me to come with you?”

“No, not for this part. I’ll… I’ll be back in a minute.” 

“Alright. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” The floorboards creaked as Cece tiptoed out of the room, and Jake collapsed onto the bed. Sleep tugged at him, but he refused to let his eyes close. 

A few minutes later, Cece crept back into the room and pushed the door shut, leaning back against it. “All good?” 

“Pretty hard to screw up peeing on a stick,” she replied, tapping the capped white sticks against her thigh. They’d had to drive two towns over to buy them, using the guise of last-minute Christmas shopping.

Even after being gone from Magnolia for two years, they knew the gossip mill would love nothing more than to talk about Jake and Julie Seresin buying pregnancy tests. 

While Cece was slightly panicking about possibly having a baby, Jake secretly hoped they had a little one on the way. They had been moving slowly, carefully rebuilding their relationship, and now that they were married, he was ready for the next steps. 

After deciding to move to San Diego, it took Cece another two months to get everything wrapped up. Reluctant to sell the house, she’d decided to rent it out and make the decision later. Many of their marathon video calls involved her cleaning the house. It hurt to watch her cry while sorting through her parents' things, trying to decide what to keep and what to donate. Complicating things was her decision to rent a room with someone rather than have her own space, further limiting what she could keep. As much as Jake assured her that they would have plenty of room between the farm and his own place, she wanted to make sure she did things on her own terms. She’d even turned down his offer to rent her a storage locker but later decided to get one and pay for it herself. 

From the night she’d told him about the move, Cece was determined to do everything on her terms. Including them getting back together. “We’re gonna date,” she’d told him. “I know my Farm Boy, but I need to find out who Hangman is.” 

So they’d taken it slow. His offer to fly out and drive back with her had been kindly declined, as Cece wanted to do the two-day drive solo. Instead, Jake was at her apartment when she drove in from Magnolia, pulling a trailer behind her SUV. He met her roommate, someone Cece had met while working at the hotel, and helped her unpack. While waiting for her business to grow, she returned to working at the hotel as an assistant pastry chef.

But Jake made sure she knew his intentions. Not a day went by when Cece didn’t hear “I can’t wait to marry you” or “When we’re married…” 

Between their work schedules, it was hard to find time together. It was torture, knowing that she was so close - in the same damn city - without being able to spend every minute together and waking up without her in his arms every morning. The first time he’d grumbled about it, Cece had kissed him before reminding him that she was trying to establish herself in a new place, and that took time. So he tried to be patient. He kept an overnight bag in his truck to stay at her place and invited her to stay at his whenever she wanted. His spare apartment key was quickly handed over. And when she started baking again, he offered to go with her on deliveries. 

Throughout it all, Cece kept posting. She was careful not to catch him on camera, scouring her videos for glimpses of him before posting. Her followers peppered her with questions about their relationship, but she didn’t respond. But one of her fans commented on her video, outing them when they spotted him behind the wheel when Cece dropped off an order. 

It wasn’t all work, though. While Cece wanted to explore her new home and find her own spots with the help of friends she made at work, Jake introduced her to some of his. He brought her to some of his favorite restaurants and haunts. And, instead of sitting at home on those nights alone, he forced himself to go out with the Daggers, repairing the friendships he’d neglected while with his ex. He still battled moments of jealousy when they left him in the office to fly. When he was forced to stay at his desk or listen to the cocky new recruits in his lectures without being a part of the team to humble them in the air. Slowly, he was allowed to join them in the gym, and their teasing of how weak he was after taking months off was all the encouragement he needed to push harder.

When the flight surgeon finally cleared him to fly, Cece was his first call. It took all of his willpower not to drop to his knees and propose again when he came home to find her there, having let herself in with the key he’d given her. Leaning against the wall, he watched her dance around his kitchen, headphones in as she cooked his favorite meal. Sneaking up behind her, he glanced at a plate of cookies decorated to look like his jet and his gold wings on the island. She jumped when he wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her from the stove and removing one of her headphones. He ducked his head to press his lips to his favorite spot on the curve of her neck. Felt her relax against him when he murmured against her skin, “Hey, baby.” 

“Hey, Hangman,” she replied, resting her hand on his arm and letting her head fall back onto his shoulder. Jake chuckled, running the tip of his tongue over her pulse point and enjoying her shaky inhale.

“It’s Farm Boy to you, Cupcake.” The music started again when he put her headphones on, and he chuckled at hearing a twangy song about a woman approaching a cowboy in a bar. After glancing at the stove to ensure nothing would burn, Jake took another step back and turned her, guiding one arm over his shoulder and holding the other, hips pressing together as he led her in a quick two-step. Cece laughed, eyes sparkling as she sang along.

“Excuse me, you look like you love me. You look like you want me to want you to come on home. And baby, I don't blame you for lookin' me up and down across this room. I'm drunk and I'm ready to leave, and you look like you love me.” 

After dinner, Cece met the Daggers for a celebratory drink at the Hard Deck. She was nervous, and Jake fought against her taking his cookies to the bar, but her kiss and promise to make him more somewhat made up for it. 

Unsurprisingly, the Daggers loved Cece. They especially loved when he’d snapped back at something Rooster had said, and she’d smacked his chest and scowled, “Be nice, Farm Boy.” 

“‘Farm Boy’?” Nat echoed.

“Nope, no one calls me that but her,” Jake said quickly, wrapping an arm around Cece’s waist and pulling her into his chest to kiss her temple. It was worth the teasing about being soft for his girl the next day because it was absolutely true.

“How long is it supposed to take?” Jake murmured as they sat on the floor beside the bed, backs against the mattress. 

“Five minutes.” His groan made her chuckle nervously. 

“That’s forever.” Cece moved the tests from where they rested on her thigh to the floor, crawling into his lap and burying her face in his neck. His hands slipped under the back of her shirt, holding her tightly. “Talk to me, baby.” 

“I’m just nervous. The store opens in a few months, and what if I can’t fill the orders because I’m huge and feel sick all the time?”

“Then we’ll deal with it. You’ve got staff that’ll help.” And she did. Along with a friend from the hotel, Cece was finally taking the plunge and opening her bakery, with her friend also using the space as a coffee shop. Her home bakery company grew quickly - especially after word got around that she offered a discount for first responders, military, and veterans - so much so that Cece had to become more selective with her orders. 

The last year had been a whirlwind. With both of their rental leases ending, Jake and Cece had agreed to move in together and had started looking at houses to buy rather than rent. Keeping her business in mind, they’d tried to find a big kitchen before deciding to find a fixer-upper and renovate. 

And, after a long, tearful discussion, Cece decided to sell her house in Magnolia. The couple renting it had let her know they were interested in buying, especially with their growing family. So they went home for a week to sign the papers, and Jake felt helpless when Cece sobbed after driving away from the house for the last time.

But that evening, when they’d gone out for a horse ride after dinner and ended up under his favorite tree to watch the sunset, she’d told him it was the right thing to do - her daddy had encouraged her to sell it, and, as much as she wanted to hold onto her childhood home, she knew that she couldn’t move back into that house again. The likelihood of her ever moving back to Magnolia became slimmer with every day she spent in California. 

Jake had been absentmindedly playing with her fingers as she talked, his thumb grazing her ring finger. “Hey, Farm Boy?” she sighed, lifting her head from his shoulder. He hummed, turning to brush his lips to her temple. “Wanna get married while we’re home?” 

Few things surprised him, but her proposal was one of them. Jake just stared at her for a long moment, mouth opening and closing without uttering a word. Finally, he choked out, “I don’t have your ring.” Smiling, Cece reached into the neck of her shirt and pulled out the chain, revealing her old engagement ring. 

“I have it. And yours is in my suitcase.” 

“Honey…I… I…” Shaking his head, Jake scrambled to his feet and pulled Cece up. She laughed when he spun her, fingers quickly undoing the necklace clasp and lifting the chain over her head. Sliding the ring into his palm, he spun her back around and sank to one knee, holding her left hand in his. “I thought I’d have more time to figure out what I wanted to say - ”

“We can wait,�� Cece grinned, gently pulling her hand away. Jake tightened his grip, not allowing her to move an inch.

“Not a chance, Cupcake. Just gimme…gimme one second.” Staring up at her, he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, blinking away tears. Her smile softened, and she lifted her free hand to run her fingers through his hair. His eyes fluttered closed as he leaned into her touch. “I love you, Julie Louise,” he rasped. 

Movement forced his eyes open, and Jake watched as Cece knelt before him, cupping his cheek and drawing him closer. Her lips brushed his before curving into a smile. “Yes.” Tears clung to her lashes, her chin wobbling before she cleared her throat. “I don’t need a fancy speech or promises. We did that before. Just promise me I’ll have you forever.”

“I promise,” he breathed. After slipping the ring back onto her finger, Jake tugged her into his lap and kissed her hard, slowly lowering her onto the ground. 

Plans came together quickly. Given that he was in the military, they were able to waive the 72-hour waiting period. But what they imagined as a trip to the county clerk's office was derailed when word of their engagement spread across Magnolia like wildfire. Jake and Cece couldn’t go into town without someone stopping and congratulating them on finally working things out. Even Betty Roberts offered them her blessing, saying that Julie’s parents were surely working some magic upstairs to get them back together again.

Cece had only smiled graciously at that, her fingers squeezing Jake’s hard enough that he had to keep himself from flinching. 

Mama and Lucy spearheaded throwing the wedding together in three days. Determined to make sure that they were celebrated appropriately, the two women quickly promised Cece that the only thing she needed to worry about was finding her dress and baking the cake when she tried to stop the fuss. Jake, meanwhile, was roped into renting a hall in town for a small reception after he was stopped a few too many times by firefighters who had worked with Cece’s daddy, none too subtly implying that he needed to do right by Cece and it’s what her daddy would have wanted. 

But the biggest surprise was when Ally and Will missed family dinner the Friday night before the wedding. Mama and Pops had gone upstairs to try and get Tyler down for bed, leaving Jake and Cece alone to finish their wedding cake. Jake was more of a hindrance than a help as he crowded into her space and continuously snuck tastes of the frosting and cake shavings. It was just past eleven when lights flashed in the yard, followed by loud voices. Distracted by licking the frosting from Cece’s neck as she piped thin strands of frosting and figured out where she’d put flowers in the morning, he didn’t hear it until she pushed him away and went to investigate. “Jake,” she breathed, eyes wide when she turned away from the window to look back at him. “Go get the door.”

His parents stood on the stairs, barely suppressed smiles on their faces. Flicking on the porch light, Jake opened the door and felt his jaw drop when he saw the Dagger squad piling out of a fleet of cars. “Didn’t think you were gonna get married without us, did you?” Coyote laughed, pulling him into a hug.

Which was why, after a morning of watching the idiots struggle with basic chores and almost getting kicked by the cows, Jake drove the truck out to his tree with his buddies in the bed. They set up chairs while Cece and the women worked on the hall. Once everything was set up, Jake retreated to Will’s house to shower and change while Cece got ready at the main house. Rather than wear his uniform, Jake pressed his button-up shirt and jeans before cleaning his boots. The casual clothes earned him some teasing from his friends as they put on their dress whites, but he didn’t care. They would die in the Texas heat in all that Navy Twill while he married the girl of his dreams. 

The ceremony was short, and Jake would be hard-pressed to remember their vows. But the image of Cece walking up the makeshift aisle on Pop’s arm, a bouquet of grocery-store flowers in her hand, and wearing a simple white sundress with her own pair of boots was something he’d never forget. The judge, a friend of her daddy’s, was happy to give up his Saturday afternoon to officiate. Other than a goodnatured jab - “I now - finally - pronounce you man and wife” - there was no comment on how long it had taken them to get to this moment. 

While everyone else picked up the chairs, Jake and Cece escaped. They had a stop to make on their way to the reception - they needed to pay their respects to her parents. The cemetery was just outside town, and after laying flowers on their grave, Jake sat and pulled Cece into his lap. “I wish they were here today,” she said softly.

“Me too. Your mama would have been gloating along with mine.” 

“Daddy would’ve asked me if I wanted to make a quick getaway.” When he squeezed her sides, she giggled before kissing him. “I woulda turned him down.”

“Good. Cause I woulda come after you, Mrs. Seresin.” Cece scrunched her nose.

“I’m gonna have to get used to that. Makes me think your Mama’s around.” 

“That right, Mrs. Seresin?” Jake smirked, pressing his lips to the curve of her neck. “I can work with that.”

After another few minutes, Cece pushed to her feet and reached down to help him up. “We should get going. They can’t start the party without us.” Jake let her lead him to the rental car, turning and making a silent promise to her parents that he’d take care of her. 

“That’s gotta be five minutes,” Jake murmured. Cece tensed, refusing to lift her head from his shoulder. “Want me to look?” At her continued silence, he sighed. “Honey.”

“I know.” Slowly, she lifted her head, tears glistening on her cheeks. Cupping her face, he ran his thumbs under her eyes and guided her forehead to rest against his. 

“We’re gonna be okay, no matter what.” 

“I know. I just... I wish my Mama and Daddy were here.” His arms wrapped around her waist, crushing her to his chest. “It feels… different this time.” 

His heart swooped as his stomach dropped. Jake hated that Cece had gone through two pregnancy scares without him and knew that she missed her parents at significant moments. But the idea that this time was different made him feel a little hope that their family of two might grow in a few months. “I know, baby. I wish they were here, too.” And as much as he was itching to pick up those tests, he was happy to wait until his wife was ready. 

Eventually, she pulled away and wiped at her face. “Alright.” Crawling off his lap, Cece flicked on the bedside lamp and settled beside Jake. Reaching over him, she grabbed both pregnancy tests and handed him one with the results face down. “On the count of three?” At his nod, she took a deep breath. “One… two… three.”

Pregnant

Jake grinned. He turned and looked at the test in her hand, showing she was pregnant. Tears streamed down her face, and she brought a hand up to stifle a sob. “Julie, we’re gonna have a baby.” Nodding, she flung herself into his arms and cried. “Hey,” he cooed, rubbing her back. “We’re gonna be okay, honey. I promise.” 

“I-I’m happy, I s-wear,” she gasped. Pulling away, Cece smiled down at his blinding grin. “We’re g-gonna be p-parents.” 

“You’re gonna be a mama.” The words made her gasp, and Jake managed to get them back into bed, holding her tightly as she sobbed. “It’s alright, honey.” And as much as he wanted to touch her stomach, to feel where their little one was growing, Jake didn’t want to push it. So he held his wife - the mother of his child - until her tears turned into hiccups. When the alarm went off the second time, he reluctantly let her go and tapped the phone to silence it. Cece sniffled, tucking herself closer to him. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?” 

“‘M okay… tired.” Nodding, he brushed a kiss to her forehead and squeezed her tightly.

“Why don’t you take it easy this morning? Sleep in for a bit.”

“Gotta make breakfast.” Even as she said it, her eyes remained closed. 

“Mama can put the casserole in, and you made the scones last night. Relax. Take care of yourself and our little one.” A hint of a smile tugged at her mouth, and Jake felt himself relax at the sight. When her hand drifted down to rest on her stomach lightly, he took that as permission to do the same. 

“‘M scared but ‘m happy,” she whispered again. 

“Me too.” Slowly, her eyes opened and met his, and he couldn’t help but grin. “Best Christmas present ever.” A tired smile graced her lips, and she shook her head. 

“Can we keep it just between us for now?” 

“Yeah,” he agreed quickly, as much as he wanted to shout the news from the rooftop.

Getting Cece to stay in bed only took a little more convincing. Jake felt her eyes on him as he dressed, and he climbed back in to kiss her, one hand resting on her stomach. Only the sound of his parents' footsteps in the hall and the call to “get a move on, son” forced him out of the room.

Even the bite of the cold and the sting of snowflakes pelting his face couldn’t dampen Jake’s happiness. And as soon as the last cow was put back into the barn to shelter from the snow, he was hurrying back inside to check on Cece. He found her in the living room, Tyler sleeping curled on her chest as she dozed on the couch. The sight of the toddler in his wife’s arms, his towhead tucked under her chin and his thumb in his mouth, made him ache. “Ally said she’d help Mama if I watched him,” she said softly. 

“I’m surprised he’s still sleeping and didn’t check to see if S-A-N-T-A came,” he chuckled, glancing over at the presents stacked under the tree. But she pushed against his chest and wrinkled her nose when he leaned down to kiss her.

“Would you…uh… mind showering first?” Laughing, he kissed his fingertips before pressing them to her forehead.

“Gonna get you under the mistletoe for a do-over, Cupcake.”

“Count on it, Farm Boy,” she smirked. “Once you don’t smell like a cow.” 

Less than an hour later, they stood in the kitchen, Cece leaning back against Jake as he leaned against the counter. She held their shared plate of French toast casserole and the orange cranberry scones while his arm wrapped around her waist, thumb tucked into her sweatpants and lightly pressing against her stomach. Jake watched Will and Ally at the table, trying to get Ty to eat breakfast now that he’d spotted the presents. Every time the kid looked toward the living room, his brother cupped his cheek and blew a raspberry, turning his head back to his mother. Tyler shrieked with laughter, face a mess of syrup and half-eaten bread, while Ally huffed and tried not to smile.

Jake thought that could be them in a year, pulling his wife closer. 

As soon as Pops came downstairs from his shower, he clapped his hands. “Whose ready for presents?” he boomed. Tyler squealed, throwing up his dirty hands toward his grandpop, who scooped him out of his chair. Mama quickly cleaned Tyler’s hands and face, wiping some syrup from Pops’ face as well. 

Jake and Cece sat on the couch, watching Tyler open his gifts as they sipped their coffee. They made the appropriate noises with each gift as the adults unwrapped theirs.

When it came time for them, Jake was surprised when Mama handed them each a light package and told them to open them at the same time. At first, he was confused about why she would have knitted him a light blue sweater until he realized it was a little blanket. Cece had a pink one, her wide eyes flitting to meet his. The blankets were pretty and clearly took a lot of time to make. “Getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you?” Jake asked, forcing a laugh. 

Mama just shrugged and gave them a knowing smile. “Had a dream a couple of months ago. Pops and I were visiting you in California with Julie’s folks, and her mama and I were getting ready for a first birthday party.” 

“Got somethin’ to share with the family?” Will asked, his eyes darting between the two. He and Ally had been gifted a blanket a couple of months before letting the family know Tyler was on the way - and, unbeknownst to them, another baby blanket was sitting under the tree, waiting to be unwrapped. 

“Nope,” Cece croaked before clearing her throat and blinking back tears. The idea of her Mama and Daddy being at a party for their baby made it hard to speak. “Nothing yet. And besides, as pretty as this one is, you know we’d end up using this one.” Reaching out, she lightly stroked the blue blanket - after all, everyone knew the Seresins had boys. There hadn’t been a girl in generations.

“You never know - the odds are 50/50,” Ally quipped. “Maybe Mama’s hedging her bets.”

“Maybe,” Mama smirked. 

Seven short months later, Jake smiled down at his son while walking around the hospital room. Just a few hours old, he looked like a grumpy little man, nose scrunched like his mama’s. He looked so tiny in his arms, and Jake swallowed hard.

A grunting noise made him turn in time to see Cece reaching into the bassinet. She grimaced slightly at the movement, and he quickly strode over. “Here, take him. I’ll get her.” 

“I can do it,” she huffed. 

“Lemme take care of my girls.” Shaking her head, Cece relaxed back against the pillows and held her son, sighing when he started to root against her breast. “Looks like he’s hungry.” 

“I’m sure she will be in a second.” 

“Well, Daddy’ll distract her while you take care of brother,” Jake grinned, lifting his daughter from the bassinet. She’d gotten her pink hat off while sleeping, revealing wispy hair that looked just like her mama’s. Unable to stop himself, he pulled his phone from his back pocket and snapped a picture of his little girl - it probably looked just like the other fifty he’d taken of her in the last couple of hours, but it didn’t matter. 

Despite his best attempts, she started crying and wouldn’t be soothed by her daddy cooing at her. Jake carried her back to Cece. “He’s not done yet,” she said, glancing between the babies. Her free breast ached at the sound of her daughter’s screeching, and milk beaded on her nipple. Too tired to figure out the logistics of feeding the twins alone, they called for a nurse who helped Cece get the babies situated on a nursing pillow. Once both babies were latched, she quietly slipped out of the room.

“Damn,” Jake breathed, carefully sitting on the bed next to her, afraid to jostle anyone. 

“Make one joke about cows, I dare you,” Cece said, dropping her head back onto the pillows and fighting the urge to shift away from the uncomfortable tugging sensation in her breasts. 

“Never crossed my mind,” he assured her. Dropping his arm across her shoulders, Jake leaned over to kiss his wife. “I love you so damn much, Cupcake,” he murmured against her lips. 

“Love you too, Farm Boy.” 

For just this moment, Jake was able to ignore his buzzing phone demanding updates. He didn’t hear the voices in the hallway or worry that they’d left the house a mess when Cece had woken him in the middle of the night when her water broke. That he needed to make sure his paternity leave was submitted. That they needed to make sure her business partner knew her maternity leave was officially started. 

All that mattered to Jake was that his whole world was safe in his arms.

His perfect family of four.

And that was enough.

---------------------------------------

Author's Note: This chapter was very bittersweet to write. I didn't expect for this fic to take so long to write, but I've loved every moment of it - from the brainstorming with May after seeing set picks from Twisters, to actually writing, to seeing your reactions to it.

There are parts that I didn't get to include, like Pops giving Jake and Cece the part of the property with his tree, so they'd always have roots in Magnolia. And Jake and Cece coming home with the twins over the summer to help paint the house when they're a bit older, and four Seresin kiddos chasing fireflies in the field (Ally and Will had another boy). I didn't include the names for the twins, but their middle names are Cece's parents.

As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read my story. I appreciate you so much. And I'm always happy to revisit these two if you ever want to see more of them.

Read Epilogue II

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[al-the-remix]

don't think I saw Climbing up You Walls but I am so intrigued

I just realized i really fucked up that typing, it's supposed to say "Climbing Up Your Walls" lol, but still, this one is about Tommy's house being in a permanent state of renovation--he's too busy--he has years to make decisions--he doesn't know what he likes--he's too specific--and then in swoops Buck with just enough construction experience not to be a nuisance when lending a hand and applies his foolproof Clipboard Treatment to helping Tommy get his act together (and it becomes their house along the way). Also, there's some mild angst from Tommy's side as he wonders if Buck's feeling as serious as Tommy is this soon into their relationship (Buck's impulsivity makes him nervous).

“See what I mean?” Evan had his hands on his hips, surveying the impact zone that is the central room of Tommy’s 1920s Californian bungalow.  Tommy had tried to tidy up…he really had. But half way through trying to decide if he should take the sawhorses out from the middle of his living room and push the old coffee table back last night Tommy had decided his efforts were futile. He was better off letting Evan get an honest look at what he was signing up for. “It’s not that bad…”  “Evan.” “What? It’s not!” He held his hands up in defence, the tips of his ears glowing siren red.  Tommy just shook his head. “You’re not that good of a liar, babe.” “Seriously,” Evan walked up to one of his more recent projects and examined it, a side table Tommy had begun to re-stain then had to bring back inside during a freak storm…a month ago.  “I was worried it would be more of a hoarding situation or something but besides all the sawdust and power tools, this place is pretty neat.” Tommy glanced sidelong at the stack of tile boxes he’s been using as a side table for upwards of two years. “That’s very generous of you.” “When did you buy this place?” Tommy signed and sat down on the arm of the couch, knowing there’d be a big dust stain on his ass when he stood and not caring. “2008, I never really spent any of my money when I was in the army and spent most of my two weeks between deployments couch-surfing. I got some money from selling my grandfather’s place after he died, but it wasn’t much.” Evan frowned. “So you’ve had this place for almost two decades, it’s hard to believe you haven't done anything to it. ” “Okay, I did all the major stuff.” Tommy started listing stuff off on his fingers as Evan listened intently. “There was some siding that needed replacing, a few windows, and I spent a whole summer re-insulating and re-shingling the roof. The plumbing is updated. The guts are solid. And I spent about the rest of my savings at the time on the garage… It’s more the cosmetics that aren’t my strong suit. “I want to keep the character of the place but there are some things that just need to be updated. And the more I dig, the more issues I find and then I never actually get around to making things look nice.” Tommy shrugs, feeling like maybe he said a little too much. “I guess because it was just me here and I don't really mind living with patchy drywall and holes in the walls.” Evan only looked more enthused. “Look, we can work with this. I've done a bunch of odd jobs over the years, including construction. And I've got two hands. I can help."  Suddenly Evan’s grin dimmed, and Tommy watched as he visibly reeled himself back in, shoving his hands in his pockets and scuffing the toe of his boot against the drop sheet that had been doubling as an area rug. "If you want, of course, I don't want to overstep.” We. No matter what, it was always “we” with Evan. It didn’t matter how fresh this relationship was, Evan had a way of making Tommy feel like no matter what, he wasn't in it alone, whether the “it” in question was couples pickle-ball on Sundays or unpacking decades worth of emotional baggage.  It was an unexpected, yet pleasant feeling Tommy was still trying to get used to. He wanted to trust it with his whole body, lie down in it and let it slowly creep over his face like warm bathwater. He wanted to trust Evan. “You could never,” Tommy assured. “I’d love your help.” The smile Evan gave him lit up his whole face, breathing life into something small and dim nestled in the hollow of Tommy’s chest.  Evan clapped his hands together, already onto the next thing. “Okay, so first I think we start–”

[heartsmadeofbooks]

[New Story]: Through Crooked Aim.

Hi everyone! Hope you're all doing great.

I wanted to share with you the preview of my upcoming Klaine fic, Through Crooked Aim, which will start next week, Thursday December 12th.

This is a story that I've wanted to write for a while now, and I'm excited to finally get to share it with you all. I hope to see you next week for the first chapter.

Hope you like this little snippet. Story is beta'd by @christinejaneanderson and the picture for the preview was made by @nerdishedits.

See you on the 12th for a new adventure!

The sun was hinting its presence in the horizon as the car took the last turn. The radio was playing softly in the background, the weather man of the usual show he listened to as he got his day started predicting a lovely April day, Spring in full swing, perhaps a bit chillier as the night returned to cover Lima, Ohio. But until then, it would be a warm, beautiful day – it made Kurt smile as he parked the car in his usual spot.

The diner looked good. They had given the exterior a new coat of paint just last month. The only thing that showed just how long it had been there was the sign on the roof, the one Kurt refused to change because it had been picked by his father, many, many years ago: the second m on Hummel’s was dimmer than the other letters. Kurt knew it could be easily fixed or replaced, but he refused to. Sometimes it was okay to choose history over esthetics.

And there was so, so much history here.

Hummel’s had been around for decades. It was the go-to diner for most of the residents of Lima, founded by his own father when he was barely out of high school. It had had a bumpy start – Kurt had heard the story ever since he could remember, how his father had turned years of savings and some money he’d gotten from his family after graduation, into his livelihood. It had been hard at first, doing everything himself because he couldn’t afford to hire any help, a few friends popping over here and there to help flip pancakes or make small repairs as Burt did everything else. Eventually, though, it began to grow, and Burt had enough money for new furniture, for a better grill, for a couple of waitresses. The business grew, and there had been plenty of sweat, tears and sleepless nights invested in it until it did. But Burt Hummel had been a proud man, and when things got hard, he worked harder, until he beat all the odds that had been against him.

“I didn’t have many choices after high school,” Burt had told his son on more than one occasion. “I knew I had to start my own business – I wasn’t exactly book smart, I’ve never been. For a while I entertained playing football in college, but then I got hurt during my senior year in high school so that was out. My dad owned a garage back then, and I thought about following in his footsteps, but there was enough competition in town that my dad was already struggling and going to work with him would have been a terrible idea. It was also probably a terrible idea to open my own diner – I didn’t even know how to cook, for god’s sake. I don’t even know where I got the idea to begin with. But I just knew I wanted my own business. And we all used to drive all the way to Kenton or even Dayton on the weekends for a good dating spot. There was nowhere decent to have a meal with your friends or your girlfriend here. I know you still call Lima a small town, but it certainly was small back then…”

For a younger Kurt, who dreamed of big cities filled with skyscrapers, Lima was certainly small – small-minded, too. He couldn’t imagine anything smaller than that.

Nowadays, Kurt wouldn’t think of Hummel’s as a dating spot, but he guessed back then it had been a pretty decent option, before places like Breadstix opened when he was a teenager, or even the Lima Bean, the local coffee shop that Kurt had loved when he was still in high school. Slowly, Hummel’s had become everyone’s go-to choice for a quick breakfast before school or work, or even a dinner stop at the end of a long day. Everyone had loved Burt Hummel – he had been a bit gruff, but always decent and kind and he would always sneak an extra scoop of ice-cream on every kid’s order of waffles.

A couple of years ago, that thought had sent a pang through Kurt, ache and grief mixing to make everything in him feel tight, tight, tight. Now, it had dulled into a manageable ache, and he was able to smile whenever one of the patrons shared a memory of his father with him. He still missed him – what he wouldn’t give to get one more hug, one more piece of advice, to hear his laughter once again – but it didn’t take his breath away, as it used to.

Kurt unlocked the door and went into the diner, turning every light on as he went. First order of business, every morning, was to turn the coffee machine on, so he went straight to it on the counter and got it started before he went into the office to leave his bag. As the scent of freshly brewed coffee began to fill the empty diner, he started to take the chairs down from the tables, getting everything ready for the first few customers, who would surely be here soon.

The inside of Hummel’s had a classic American diner vibe. In recent years, Kurt had only allowed himself to change a few things in the décor, mostly those that were too worn with age. He kept all the framed photographs that filled one of the walls, though, the ones that showed the history of his family with this place. He had only added a few, marking the moment he had taken over the diner after his father got sick and eventually passed away. Now, alongside pictures of his parents in their 20s, you could find pictures of Kurt’s twin daughters sitting side by side on the counter, or of his husband, Ryan, helping to fix a leak in the kitchen sink. His chest filled with pride as he stared at them, as he did each morning – he had never imagined they would end up here, and yet now… well, he couldn’t picture himself elsewhere.

The little bell above the door twinkled as it opened. Kurt turned and smiled at Marley, the morning shift waitress, as she came in. She was already wearing the dark blue uniform, her hair pulled up in a pony tail. She was also a recent addition to Hummel’s. Kurt liked her – she was kind and quick and responsible, and she was never late. Whenever he had to hire someone new, he wondered whether his father would approve. He thought he had nailed it with Marley.

About a minute after she had arrived, the door opened again and Blaine Anderson walked in.

[poughkeepsies]

when you're gone, i come undone

Buck’s never been religious, and he sure as hell wasn’t raised with the brand of catholicism that seems to plague Bobby and Eddie’s every step, but he thinks he can understand why Bobby likes his rosary beads so much. At the very least it would give him something to do with his hands while he sits vigil at Bobby’s side, way past the time visitors who aren’t on a first-name basis with half of the hospital staff would be allowed. 

The others had left hours ago, some with kids who needed taking care of and others anticipating early shifts the next day, promising to take over from him as soon as visiting hours started. There was no shortage of people who wanted to be the one to keep watch over Bobby, but the night shift would’ve usually fallen to Athena, if she wasn’t recovering in her own room and allowed more than a couple minutes out of bed at a time to come see him. 

There was a quiet devastation clinging to her that Buck had never seen before. Maybe because before there would’ve been the safe walls of her home and the arms of her husband to cover her when she lost her unflappable mask. 

That, more than anything, makes him feel utterly helpless. As much as he had been thinking of Bobby as more of a dad to him than his own father for close to a decade, Athena was never his mom. 

After the rough patch at the start of their relationship, they’d understood each other in the way only two people who love someone as much as they both loved Bobby could. You hold half of his heart, so you’ll hold your fair share of mine, as well. Maybe that was why he’d taken one look at the longing in Athena’s eyes and promised to stay the night with Bobby. No matter his own desire to never let Bobby out of his sight again, he also wanted to protect the pieces of Bobby that were with Athena, as well. 

The only problem is that Buck has never been able to stay still for too long. He fidgets, and he bustles, and he fills silences. At the minimum, it usually earns him a dead-pan look that’s suspiciously drenched in fondness, or his name uttered in gentle scolding twinged with amusement. 

He half-expects the latter to fall from the corner of Bobby’s mouth with a single eyelid cracked open to give its best effort at the former, the way it usually happens when they’re in the bunkroom and everyone else is ready to sleep like the dead while Buck is wide-awake and wired like an electric fence. 

The image stands in such contrast to the blank slate of Bobby’s unconscious face that it does nothing to soothe his nervous fidgeting. He’s leaning so far forward, trying to summon any sort of conscious intention behind the mechanical rise and fall of Bobby’s chest and every reflexive twitch of his face, that he accidentally shifts the chair, so the bottom slides against the floor and breaks the momentary silence that only exists between the regular beeping and intercom noises that come muffled through the hospital room doors. 

Come on, Bobby. Tell me to shut up and go to bed. Tell me it’s late, and I can either close my eyes and actually try to sleep or go make some of that lavender tea we keep for this exact reason. You know you want to. Stilling so as to not miss any minute signs of Bobby’s stirring, Buck’s breath catches tight in his lungs like it used to when the fridge door would be too loud as he tried to sneak past his dad’s sleeping form in the living room armchair when he was a kid. Unlike back then, the disappointment when Bobby fails to stir is a living thing that threatens to swallow him whole. He rides the wave of devastation by opening his mouth and intentionally filling the silence, instead.

“I’m gonna say something, but you can’t get mad at me,” he says. Bobby is silent, but that’s not much different from how he’d usually react to such an opening from Buck, so he takes that as his go-head anyway. “I think this may be all my fault.”

It’s probably just his own nerves, but the air in the room settles around the words with so much  tension that it only serves to spur him on. “Not the- not the fire, obviously. I mean, I had no idea you’d even met the guy Athena thinks is responsible for it, but that’s kind of what I mean, you know? I had no idea.” 

His breath is shaky as he exhales, a tremble running up his shoulders. 

“I don’t- I don’t think I ever told you, what I saw when I was in the coma. Maybe you already guessed. Some days it’s like you seem to know what’s going on in my brain better than even I do, but it was just. It was a different world, Bobby. Daniel was still alive, so I guess I never had a reason to come to L.A. and join the academy and everything was just…wrong. Maddie was still with Doug, and Eddie never got to meet Carla so he couldn’t figure everything out fast enough to keep Chris, and Chimney…well, Chim was still Chimney but he told me that you were dead, Bobby. He told me you’d been dead for years and it was like I couldn’t breathe.” 

He kind of feels like that now, actually. His face feels hot and his eyelashes are heavy like when he’s about to cry but his eyes are dry. For the first time in years, he’s in agreement with his body’s reaction to something. If he were to start crying now, he wouldn’t ever be able to stop, and that feels too much like giving up to be acceptable. 

Deep breath, he thinks, in through his nose and pushed out from his mouth. His lips are dry. He keeps going. 

“I used to think that’s why I died, you know. Like I was supposed to learn something and that’s the only way the universe could think to get it through my thick skull, I guess.” 

“But I think I got it wrong,” he whispers, and it echoes as loud as the beeping from the heart monitor. 

“I thought it meant that I matter, you know. Like, ‘they need you as much as you need them! Don’t leave them alone!’ But I was so stupid.” So much for not crying. His day-old stubble is damp with tears. He’s been wearing these clothes for more than 24 hours at this point and he’s starting to feel overstimulated in the way he sometimes does when they’re on a busy shift and don’t have time to freshen up. It occurs to him that Bobby usually notices, like he notices most things that have the potential to bother any of them. This would be the time when he tells Buck to go ahead and take a quick shower while he reheats the food. And Buck would come back good as new, a weight lifted off his shoulders before he could even recognize it because someone cared enough about him to know him better than he did himself. 

“I’ve been so caught up in my own stuff since I came back and, God, I’ve just been so happy these past couple of months it feels like I’ve been walking around with blinders on. I didn’t even notice this thing going on with Eddie until it was too late and now he might lose Christopher. You came to talk to me after our last shift and I should’ve -  I should’ve - noticed something was wrong but all I could think about was if I had everything to go stay with Tommy. a-and then something happened with Eddie, and I honestly don’t think I spared you a single other thought that night, Bobby. I was using your recipe to make dinner for my date while your house was burning down.” 

He’s tripping over his words, like if he says them fast enough he can reach Bobby and earn his forgiveness first, before the disappointment settles in and bars the gates. 

“I should’ve remembered, Bobby. The dream showed me a world where I wasn’t there and you died, and I left it. I came back because I couldn’t live in that world. I refuse to.” Saying the words settles something in him, and he wipes the wetness from his eyes away with the flat of his palm before crossing his arms and sitting up in the chair, body once again posed like a shield between the outside world and the figure lying in the bed. 

“Look, maybe-maybe I already missed the chance the universe gave me. But you know better than anyone that I’m way better at third chances anyway.” He tries for a smile, and if he squints really hard he can almost see the muscles under Bobby’s eyes tensing the way they do when he’s about to smile, too. 

“You’ve never given up on me before, Bobby. Don’t start now.” 

The monitor’s beeping remains the only other sound in the room, but that’s okay. He’s learning to be patient. Bobby knows that, too. 

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for blocking my business partner and our mutual friends?

First of all, I want to establish that I'm not an idiot. I don't think I'm the smartest person in the world, I didn't do very well in school, and I'm generally a bit forgetful. I've been struggling with undiagnosed mental illness and neurodivergency for my entire life. My family growing up was very anti therapy and I've only recently brought anything up to a doctor. However, I like to think I manage myself pretty well. I have my own systems for doing things, and they may be unconventional, but it works. I've come to terms with the fact that no matter what I do, I'm going to have to work a lot harder than the average person and get a lot less credit. That's just how it is. I have two jobs, one of which is at a restaurant, and the other is a business that I started with my friend. It's still fairly small and local, but I'm really proud of how far it's come.

Me and my business partner, we'll call her Shelly, have a group of friends that we hang out with from time to time. I honestly don't like them very much, but Shelly, who has been my best friend for over a decade really enjoys hanging out with them, so though I've expressed to her that I want to start seeing them less, I've stayed friends with them, both to make Shelly happy and to avoid any drama that might be caused.

Among this group of friends is someone we'll call Dianne. Dianne will insult and berate me consistently, and then insist it was a joke. Nobody has ever laughed, and I have told Dianne that I don't find any of it funny. The other members of the friend group (aside from Shelly) said that this is just how she expresses that she likes somebody, and tried to make it seem like playful banter, but the insults are incredibly one-sided (I've never said an ill word about her to any of them, and especially not to her. I'm not rude.) and she never insults anyone but me and sometimes Shelly.

Recently ( a couple months or so ago) she started taking digs at my intelligence, as I have been a few minutes late to a couple of our hangouts, and I have trouble with my left and right. I said explicitly that I don't like it when people treat me like an idiot. I tried to be polite, but I won't stand for that. Also, being late and directions are very common things for people to struggle with, so I don't understand why that insinuates that I'm at all unintelligent. She also may have gotten this idea because I don't tend to laugh at her jokes, which are mostly things like "that's what she said" and other cheap and immature sex jokes. She usually tries to brush off the fact that I don't laugh by saying I must be dumb because I don't get her jokes. I do, they're just not very clever and I clearly have a different sense of humor than her.

I just kept trying to avoid any sort of conflict, because the rest of the group makes Shelly really happy. But then it started to get worse. The whole group seemed to be influenced by these jokes, and stopped expecting me to be able to do anything. I wasn't even the designated driver anymore, even though I'm usually the obvious choice because I don't drink. Dianne told me I'd probably crash because she didn't think I could read street signs. I've driven her home multiple times (during none of which she's been sober enough to remember my driving ability) and I've never driven at all irresponsibly while any of them were in the car. The whole group, aside from Shelly, began making jokes about how I was the resident airhead. For my birthday, Dianne got me a toddler sippy cup, and a card that said "Congrats, you're 2!". Get it. Because I'm so stupid I'm basically a child. Ha ha. So funny I forgot to laugh.

The last straw for me was when Shelly sent me a business email that was like "Are you going to be able to get the books done in time?" and basically told me to make sure I wasn't lazy when it came to keeping track of the sales, even though I've never been late with that kind of stuff. I really care about our business, and I keep track of all of the financials and do our taxes. I don't have a degree or anything, I could never afford college, so I emailed Shelly back very passive-agressively about how if she doesn't think I can do it in time, she can hire a real accountant.

We met with the friendgroup the next day and I was incredibly pissed. Dianne made another dig at me, something about our business probably going under because I'm too incompetent to do anything. I snapped. In the midst of yelling at her, I said "I am not stupid. You don't get to treat me like I am." and she said "But aren't you, though?" and I stormed out. I blocked everyone, except for Shelly.

I texted Shelly and said that she could be friends with whoever she wants, but that I'm never speaking to any of them ever again. Shelly said that I was being overdramatic, and that they're all being awkward to her now because they know that we're such good friends. I apologized for putting her in a position where she felt like she was in the middle, but told her that I was not about to take any more of that treatment. I told her I'm disappointed that after all this time, she let other people dictate the way that she sees me. When her new friends call me stupid, I can let it slide off of my back, but when my best friend of over a decade starts treating me like I'm incompetent and I can't get anything done, that really hurts. She told me that I need to learn to take a joke. I blocked her too after that. We've continued having meetings and being mostly civil, but we haven't spoken outside of that, and all the friendship is gone.

I'm mostly concerned about how this situation is going to affect our business, because I have worked so hard and I'd hate to see it fail because of petty drama and insults. I'm now feeling like I made a huge mistake by blowing up. Should I have just kept quiet to protect my job and friendship?

What are these acronyms?

[boy-comics]

AND WE'LL ALL BE HERE FOREVER (SNEAK PEEK)

── .✦ pairing; jungsu x gn!reader

── .✦ summary; home is a complicated word.

── .✦ word count; ~1k

── .✦ tags; hurt/comfort, fluff, small town romance, childhood best friends to lovers, seungmom™, momsu™, the mortifying idea of being known

── .✦ a/n; i got noah kahan as my third most listened-to artist in 2024 (xh was my first hehe). i won't be able to finish this one shot until after the holiday season, so i figured i could at least post a little sneak peek! if you're reading this, i hope the holidays are kind to you this year and that you know you are worthy of love. <3

Stifled and sweaty inside your layers of winter wear, the heat in the car turned up to the max, you sit boneless in the passenger seat and wish for the summer.

"We missed you, you know," Seungmin says behind the wheel. He seems unfazed by the temperature, not a drop of sweat on his brow. "Now we'll get to hang out again like we used to."

You hum.

Everything is feverish, your thermals clinging uncomfortably to every crevice of your body. The reason the heat is still blasting is because you had told Seungmin earlier that the plane was freezing. Telling him that it's too hot now feels like an inconvenience, and you don't feel like removing your coat.

"I visited in September," you say.

Your cousin sniffs loudly, the telltale sign that he's about to start nagging. "That was three months ago," he says, "and you've called maybe twice since then." You lean against the window, closing your eyes when the cold glass sticks to the side of your head. "And you mostly slept the whole time. Plus, you completely avoided Jungsu, who didn't even know you were visiting home—"

You keep your eyes firmly closed when his name comes up. "Does he know what happened?"

"I didn't tell him …" He trails off, and your heart sinks before he even continues. "But … Auntie must've, because he confronted me about it last week. I'm sorry. You know how your mom is." His tone is softly apologetic as you exhale. "I'll be honest—he was pretty hurt you didn't tell him yourself."

You know.

That had been your plan, telling Jungsu. But the shame hasn't eased like you had hoped, and before you knew it, two weeks had passed and it currently roils in your stomach along with guilt when you think about seeing Jungsu in person now.

You just didn't want him to know you're a failure.

"Maybe this is for the best." Seungmin turns into the exit, calm despite the flurries of snow flying into the windshield. The roads have long since been salted and you think you can feel each chunk being ground to dust underneath the tires. "Think of it as a time to finally rest? All you did for the past two years was work."

"I got laid off right before the holidays, Seungmin. This isn't really a vacation."

His eyes dart over to meet yours for a split second before you look out at the snow-covered fields blurring by.

Seungmin sighs a little. His hand finds your shoulder, patting it through the winter layers.

"I know. Just trying to help."

That's all anyone in this town ever does, you think, the sounds of the heater and the rumble of the tires taking over what's left of the conversation.

—

Your childhood bedroom is the same as you left it. Well, mostly; the decade-old bedsheets have since been cleaned, and there are fresh tracks in the carpet from when your mother had vacuumed earlier today. You leave your suitcases and bags by your desk to unpack later.

"Auntie told me to stay for dinner," Seungmin tells you, falling back onto your bed and unlocking his phone. "So you'll have to put up with me for a couple more hours, at least."

"You're not gonna help with dinner?"

"I offered, but I got permission to hang with you instead."

"Suck-up," you say, and Seungmin rolls his eyes upward, poking his cheek with one finger.

You join him on the bed, taking a peek at his messages. He lets you be nosy. This is what you do best when you spend time with Seungmin—even now, you suppose, you're just a kid in grownup clothes, watching your cousin navigate life and relationships with a maturity you try your best to emulate. You envy him as much as you love him, sometimes.

While watching him catch up on his mutuals' Instagram posts, your own phone buzzes beside you. Reluctantly, you flip it over. Your mouth parts when you see the notification.

"Who is it?" Seungmin asks, eyes glued to his screen.

"Um," you slowly swipe the lock screen away. "Jungsu."

His attention turns to you fully when you admit as much. "What'd he say?"

You open your messages, a little self-conscious as Seungmin scoots closer to see the conversation. The last time you'd texted Jungsu outside of the group chat was a month ago, when you were still blissfully unaware of the upcoming layoffs and merely amused by a funny animal video that reminded you of him. The thumbnail of the cuddly, sleep-rumpled kitty is halfway visible, Jungsu's emoji-filled reply nestled right between it and the text he had sent just now.

jungsu: was your flight okay?

"Does that sound … passive aggressive to you at all?" you ask tentatively.

Seungmin squints at the message, scratching his head. "Nah, I don't think so. He's just asking."

"Okay."

you: it was fine. seungmin picked me up ^^

jungsu: good!!

jungsu: i wish i could've gone to the airport too to welcome you ㅠㅠ

you: me too haha but it's ok

"He should be off work in about an hour," Seungmin tells you, then nudges your shoulder with his own. "You want him to come over for dinner? Your choice."

The thing is, you should say yes. It should be as natural as breathing, because that's how it had been for as long as you can remember, and because Jungsu is probably still a little upset even if he doesn't say it because he doesn't want to add to your stress.

But you hesitate, and Seungmin takes it as a no.

"If it's too many people, that's—"

"No, it's okay. I don't want to leave him out," you mutter, already typing.

Like Seungmin, Jungsu will be in your life until its unspectacular end. And despite how distant you've been lately, that is still where you want him to be.

you: seungmin's staying for dinner, u wanna come over too?

[vy-canis-melodis]

Animal HRT - Two articles that changed the world.

(before I begin, content warning for a fictionalised bigoted newspaper article, and disclaimer that this is all fiction)

The following is a newspaper article in a lesser-known local broadsheet. It was not particularly widely-read, except for by other journalists for big newspapers looking for a scoop of their own. Little did the author know, this was the very first article about therian HRT to release in general news, and would indirectly cause the beginning of a period of fear and trepidation for those undergoing these treatments. Which is a shame, because the original journalist seemed very progressive and accepting for the most part.

New Horizons - A deep dive into those undergoing a radical new medical procedure.

By Vanessa M.

Part 1 - The Sighting

“Vanessa”, the portly gentleman I call ‘boss’ asked to me, globules of spittle flinging themselves in my general direction, “Why is it that I saw a bleedin’ werewolf on my way to work?”

“Um? A werewolf? I don’t know, sir, why do you ask?” I balked, unsure whether this was supposed to be a test or not.

“Gah,” he sighed, putting a palm to his creased, sweaty forehead, “Me eyes don’t work like they used to, but I know it was there. I was close to ‘em. But you, you’re young and spry, so I want you to be our… investigative journalist for this one.”

I gaped for just a moment before composing myself.

“You’re putting me on a case? Thank you, sir, I’ll get right to it and get you a story!” I couldn’t hide the smile on my face.

“Ah, grand,” he said gruffly, shaking my hand, “make it a good one too. Readership isn’t great at the moment.”

“Right…” As I slinked out of the office door, I heard the flick of a lighter and a mutter.

The high street wasn’t exactly bustling this time of day as I headed down… nor was it really bustling any time of day.

Where once proud department stores stood, shuttered shops stretched far, interspersed with the odd betting shop, kebab joint, and Turkish barbers’.

I walked briskly past the few groups of drunks that were dotted along the pavements, ignoring the hollers and cat calls made not to me but to a passing car most likely - I keep my head firmly down walking through here, not wanting to attract any unsavoury attention or associate myself with it in case of patrolling police officers.

I kept my pace, slowing only to let a stray plastic bag slowly amble its way across my path, until I reached the outskirts of the town, where this so-called ‘werewolf’ was last seen.

And so, I waited. The sun continued to slowly wheel its way around the sky as I accosted random passersby with the question “excuse me, have you seen… a werewolf, or any form of furry humanoid, pass by here recently?” The most common responses were either a confused glance, a handwave and a ‘sorry’, or an attempt to pretend they hadn’t seen or heard me.

A couple of hours in, however, as I was starting to lose hope, I received a peculiar answer: a narrowing of the eyes, a pull to one side, and a low ask of, “why?... Are you a cop?”

“H-huh?” Flabbergasted, I could not speak for a moment. I had to quickly try and regain my composure. “No?” That was probably a failure.

A spark of recognition, however, flashed across the person’s eyes, and I could see he was a small but stockily built man with a slightly unkempt face, and clothing that reminded me of a scene kid from a decade ago. “Oh. Ohhhh… Are you, uh…” He proceeded to wave his hands around in what looked like a type of… gang sign? It was a bisected circle and a triangle - which I recognised from my old Classics course as a theta and delta.

I didn’t know what the modern meaning was, but… this could be my only chance to find out what’s going on. I knew I didn’t have time or the possibility to question or falter at this moment. This could be a breakthrough, and after hours of nothing I was getting desperate. So, in what was perhaps not the best idea ethically in retrospect, I just said “yes.”

And that, dear readers, is how I ended up unintentionally infiltrating the Therian Community.

Part 2 - A Community

We established a bit of a rapport after that. For the sake of privacy, I will refer to him by a fake name - Keith.

“Sorry about the intimidation earlier - she’s kind of vulnerable at the moment, and I…” Keith looked somberly to the ground, clearly an empathetic man, “I don’t want her suffering any more than she already is…”

That was the point where I started to think ‘what have I gotten myself into?’ There were a lot of questions I wanted to ask in that moment. Her? This werewolf is a person? And, suffering any more? What’s going wrong?

I asked if it would be possible to see her one day - see if I could help, perhaps. He said he’d consider it. Naturally, I gave out a fake name and my journalistic burner number. I then asked if there was a way to keep in contact outside of that, and apparently there’s a small online community which he invited me to! Jackpot.

Before I decided to go any further, I wanted to do a little research.

In brief, this ‘theta-delta’ sign is not, in fact, a gang sign, but one for ‘therians’, a community of people that identify with animals, to some extent, and would rather be an animal than a human. The kind of animal you are is known as your ‘theriotype’ or ‘kintype’. Some of them wear costumes, some role-play, and some enjoy it sexually.

I did my research, and created a fake little profile - I picked my favourite animal, the skunk, and joined. Let me tell you, I’ve never had a more friendly welcome to any group ever than I did at this one. They accepted my fake persona entirely and treated her with absolute kindness.

And there were all sorts of people here. Cats, dogs, reptiles, cows… dragons? I was surprised by how diverse this phenomenon was - a lot of them were in the LGBTQ+ community, many were from minority or disabled communities, and many were neurodiverse or even something called ‘plural’ which seemed to be similar to Dissociative Identity Disorder?

I wanted to make sure I didn’t come across as suspicious or journalist-y, and while I did record all conversations, I won’t be revealing any names or identities, as it would obviously put these people at risk. Asking questions in a more friendly banter sense, I did get some answers.

“I suppose it’s a spiritual thing for me” said one of them, a friendly fox-man, “I feel a sense of kinship with foxes. I behave like one, and I dream of them. Sometimes it feels like I’m in the wrong body - I get phantom limb in my tail, too.”

“It’s my ideal form!” Said another, a goat person, “Who’d want to be human anyway? Sounds boring!”

I later learnt that this so-called ‘werewolf’ was actually a lemur girl. But here’s the kicker. She is on a treatment program to actually turn herself into a lemur. And I’m not talking about plastic surgery that breaks your bones and transplants butt hair and makes you look like Johnny Rotten at 200% punk. I’m talking about a real treatment program that transforms her on a genetic level. There’s a clinic on the ‘dark web’ that lets you start that procedure, which is officially listed as a clinical trial of various types of skin cream. That’s where this story, this journalistic opportunity, went from a piece about a strange community of people, to perhaps the scoop of my lifetime. How has this not been reported on before?

Apparently, this clinic, run by a ‘Dr. Erian’, running semi-legally, can prescribe you a treatment plan with only a few hoops needing to be jumped through. This worried me. I’d heard horror stories about people travelling to other countries to take on cheap cosmetic surgeries with fewer hoops to jump through and things being completely botched before. And the people taking this treatment are of so many different ages, from school-children to older adults. Are they being scammed? Are they in danger?

And thus, with this line of questioning, I decided to book an appointment with this ‘Dr. Erian’. I don’t think that’s his real name, however, as the profile gathered for him doesn’t line up with any birth records I could dig up. I got an appointment surprisingly quickly, only having to wait a few days. And those days were some of the most stressful of my career, and I’ve been at crime scenes and war zones.

I had to ask myself ‘how do I get answers out of this guy?’ I got the feeling that he wouldn’t have been particularly receptive to an interview if I told him I was a journalist. Getting the information I needed but not having him kick me out, or stop talking, or worse, turn me into some kind of animal, was going to be a huge challenge, but it was what I had to do.

Before the appointment itself, Keith recontacted me to say I could meet with the lemur girl. I prepared myself for another tricky interview.

Part 3 - Face to face

A few days passed, and it was time to meet with this lemur girl, ‘Kayla’ (not her real name). The day was bright, and I brought along some pastries and snacks from the local bakery to break the ice a bit.

I walked slowly, nervously across the town to a small apartment block in an average area. Normal human people walked around; I felt their presence drilling into me like they knew I was hiding something. I stood, finger hovering by the doorbell, for what felt like hours. I was about to step foot into a whole different world, and I froze.

And then she opened the door, and I could do nought but stare. She was almost like out of a fantasy novel. Fur covered huge patches of her body, rich whites, blacks, and greys. A furred tail hung behind her, swishing left and right. No socks on, her feet were like long hands, fidgeting with the carpet fibres. I describe the bottom first, because, well, she was shorter than me by quite some margin. Hoer slightly oversized head craned up to mine, giving an expectant gaze.

“Yes?” A slightly squeaky voice asked. I stammered out a quick apology, and said Keith had told me to see her, and she softened, asking if I was the one interested in ‘the treatment’, and that she know “that wishful gaze you gave me” well. On the inside, I was confused, but I just chalked it up to nerves.

She offered me tea, and set about making it. Her face was mostly furred except for patches without on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose - now more of a short snout, ending in a wet dark point. Almost glowing, her yellow irises searched the kitchenette. Fluffy, white, round ears poked up out of her grey head-hair which was tied into a high ponytail.

Using her hands and feet, both with opposable thumbs, she climbed onto the kitchen counter, filling up the kettle with two hands and grabbing mugs dexterously with her left foot, while her tail wrapped around a cupboard handle. Her whole kitchen routine was so elegant and awe-inspiring, and she shone so brightly while doing it. You can tell when someone is so happy it radiates out into the world filling it with colour for everyone else. Her tail uncoiled as she moved and waved, coiling again to another cupboard handle to keep balance. It was breathtaking.

After the tea was done, we started to talk. I explained that I was still new to the community, that I wanted to know more about Therians, how she knew what was right for her, and about Dr. Erian and the process. I tried to come across as someone who was innocently asking these questions, and I guess either my acting skills were great, or there was more to myself than I knew.

She asked whether a skunk ‘felt right’ to me. I said I wasn’t sure, and she asked whether it was because I could be a hybrid of some sort. I wasn’t aware that was even a possibility - apparently yes! It’s not just animals and dragons; there are also hybrids, slimes, fictional species, eldritch beings, and more. Even though the numbers of people undergoing this treatment is in two digits, the variety is more than I could even imagine. I stammered out ‘maybe kangaroo?’ and we carried on.

How did you find out about yourself? I asked. And the answer she gave was very enlightening. She said, tail almost wagging, that she first saw lemurs at a zoo when she was five. She stayed with them for the whole day, something feeling right. Like she belonged with them.

The pure authenticity and emotion in her voice and body language cannot be understated. And while it took her a long time after that to understand her feelings and that she wanted to be one, I could tell that with every fibre of her being, she really did feel like, maybe even was, a lemur.

“Of course, yes, they’re cute and sweet,” she told me, “but to me… it’s more than that. It’s a form of being.”

I said - “I’m guessing, then, that as soon as you heard of this Dr. Erian bloke, you were right on it.”

“That’s right!” she chirped, “I’m not the first, but I am an ‘early adopter’, to use that term. Half a year later, here I am! Finally the real me. Yeah, primate HRT is quicker than other mammals, and other animals too.”

She remained still for a moment, and I knew not to interrupt.

“The interview’s pretty simple. Convince him this is what you’ve always wanted. He’ll ask you if you’ve lived as your preferred species for a year or two. Fabricate some evidence for that, he doesn’t look too deeply. Stay strong, my friend.”

The process is apparently very strange. A mix of surgeries, hormone therapy, and gene editing over the course of months if not years. Watching your own skin change colour and grow thick fur or scales, or something else. Feeling your bones and limbs shift around, grow new ones, or have them wither away. Experiencing your whole body grow or shrink. It all sounds terrifying. You can’t deny the dedication of these people, and their bravery.

But she seemed so happy about it, saying that the pain and hassle was all worth it.

Our meeting did eventually have to end, and we bid farewell on good terms. It was at this point I began to feel pretty bad about the whole thing. I’m fine with talking to Dr. Erian, but… lying to these people leaves a sour taste in my mouth. These are marginalised outcasts for whom the one bit of hope they were looking for has finally arrived. What if my reporting contributes to something bad? But, I suppose my job does hang in the balance. Whatever happens, it was now time for me to meet with the infamous Dr. Erian.

Part 4 - Man of New Medicine

The infamous Doctor himself is located in [REDACTED]. Turning off the M25, I drive [REDACTED] and, realising that I’d held my breath for about fifteen minutes, I turned left into the clinic. It’s not a particularly fancy place - there’s no signage or anything, and the front just looks like someone’s house. But I knocked, sweatily, not knowing whether this would be my last knock or the beginning of a new journey. A few nerve-wracking seconds follow. And then, I hear it. A shuffle, then a cough, a sigh, and the door opening. And there he was. Wrinkles on his face beneath his glasses, a bushy moustache emulating that of Nigel Mansell at the front, and wispy strands on top the only stars in the void of hair between the graying sides behind his ears. A white doctor’s coat over tweed framed a beerbelly, situated in the center of his short, chubby body. Not the look I expected from a scientist and doctor in charge of a revolutionary new therapy. Holding a mug of lukewarm coffee designed with the familiar theta-delta sign, he gestured for me to come in.

Having sat down, I stared awkwardly at my own mug of coffee that he’d given me. It seems he wanted to give me the floor. But, for all of my journalistic training, for all of the advice I’d been given, for the script I’d made which I tried to memorise, I just froze at that moment. Was it his piercing gaze? The elderly-style room filled with decor that seems to have eyes that follow you around the room, judging you? The wallpaper, intricately detailed and patterned with - eyes? Who is this guy? Or, wait, is it just me seeing things?

“So, skunk, huh?”

I was dropped out of my stupor by that casual comment from the man. “Oh, um, yes. That’s what I was… hoping for.” Some of my confidence had been restored, but I just wasn’t in the groove yet.

“Look. It takes a lot of effort for someone to find my services - a lot of effort,” he repeated, “to go through, to seek it out, to search for someone who can recommend you, to fill in the form, even to come here. So, if you’re serious about this, which you have to be to go through all of those steps, I’d like you to open up a little more. We can do this more casually. This isn’t a job interview where I’m analyzing your handshake and posture, but I do need to find out what route is best for you.” Leaning back, he pushed up his glasses with his index finger, them reflecting the light from his weak sepia-toned incandescent bulb, concealing his eyes in the light.

I recentred myself with a few breathing exercises, slipped back into the persona I had crafted, and began. I told him about the desire to be a skunk my whole life, that I felt a strange kinship with them, everything that I’d been told before repeated through my mouth. We went on, me telling him exactly what my friends had said to, him asking me simple questions, easy peasy. I didn’t even make any jokes about skunks being smelly or farting. Then came the first obstacle.

Have you spent time living as your preferred species? Yes, I said. He asked for proof, but this is where I decided to go into journalism mode, and ask him something. Why is that required? He gave a sigh, and provided what I wanted.

“Technically, you don’t need it. And I’m well aware that not only is it impossible to really do so - given that in order to even make an appointment with me, you’d have to participate in society: something that you can’t really do if you’re properly living as an animal. The question’s more like a test. I know that most people lie, but it’s how they lie that’s interesting. Do they dress up? Act like an animal in public? Private? And so on. It’s just… interesting.”

We carried on after that for a little longer, until I reached the second of my journalistic questions. Are these procedures safe? Where did you get them from?

“There is a risk to any procedure. Anyone who has experience with transgender hormone replacement treatment, for example, knows it increases the risk of certain cancers. Therian hormone replacement therapy is much the same, except radically different in almost every way. And the process is elementary, my dear, um.” The man let out a light cough. “Simply take the essence of what that person feels on the inside, and let the medications do the trick for the outside! With certain species, surgeries are needed, especially when it comes to vertebrae - and the physical therapy is part of it too, but for the most part, it isn’t ridiculously complicated!”

I noticed he didn’t answer me on where the research from this came from, but I wasn’t sure how to tell him that without arousing suspicion. If he was dodging questions already then that might be a bad sign. Or was it that he just didn’t remember I’d asked? I tried a slightly alternative angle. “So what, is it like CRISPR or something?”

“I’m afraid it’s classified information, but you’ll feel it once you’ve…” He seemed to be lost in thought for a few moments, “started the treatment.”

A wall pushed down on my head. I righted myself and pushed further against it. “How many people are in your care?”

“Oh, many. A hundred, officially? Maybe a few more.” He lowered his head, the light reflecting off his glasses obscuring his eyes from me. “But who’s counting?”

I felt the wall’s pressure even more. Was I starting to buckle? Beads of sweat formed at my forehead. “Are they all animals or are some of them, um… fictional… creatures?”

“Oh, it’s ever so varied. Perhaps you’ve seen the results of some of my work, but there are others; others so beautifully different to everything we thought we knew about nature.” He let out a hearty chuckle. “We don’t need to constrain ourselves to what’s real any more. People can be whoever, or whatever, they want to be.”

“A-anything?”

“Anything.”

I stayed silent for a long time after that, eyes wide and unfocused, mouth hanging somewhat limply open. The wall pressed upon my hunched back.

“I’ve heard,” the Doctor broke the silence with a hoarse, crackly voice, “many peoples’ worries and trepidations over the years. People worry about the danger the treatment poses to them, and the danger they might pose to others. But I trust that my patients will do the right thing. Now all that’s left is for me to trust you. Are you sure you want to be a skunk? That you want to go on this journey? And that you can keep yourself safe and sane until you have finished?” Upon saying this, he leaned forward, eyes drilling into mine. 

The wall pushed and pushed, my back creaking under the pressure, until it all let go at once. I had decided my next plan of action. Of course, it’s all fairly straightforward. I was just here as an information-gatherer, and I’d found out quite a lot. The idea intrigued me, and perhaps in the ultimate journalistic sacrifice I should go through with it - though I’d certainly demand a higher salary to do so. But I needed time to think. To process everything.

“No.”

In retrospect, it was a simple answer, but perhaps the most difficult no I’ve had to make in my life.

—

And that was the end of the article. But not the end of the story. After this got published, a few days later another article was found in a national tabloid. It had poached items from this story without the consent of the author, and was eventually taken down, but the damage was done. Because instead of a deep and emotional look into one author’s journey down the rabbit hole of knowledge, it was merely a bigoted hit-piece against a newly forming marginalized community. Little did either of the authors know, that these two articles would be the first dominoes that brought about something much greater.

This is an extract from the tabloid article in question.

The new woke claiming to be ANIMALS, DRAGONS and FICTIONAL CREATURES, and worse, taking risky surgeries to become more DANGEROUS predators.

In a bizarre and disturbing twist of fate, there are people taking dangerous medical procedures on taxpayer money to turn themselves into disgusting animals.

“The woke left are finally showing their true colours”, a disgruntled co-worker of one of these so-called ‘therians’ said to our reporter. “My employee enters my fast food establishment and she’s covered in fur. Probably flea-ridden too.”

A story in the local news of the town of [REDACTED] was brought to our attention by our reporter. He contacted the author of this article but she declined to comment.

This reporter’s boss was almost brought to his knees by the sighting of a savage beast roaming the streets. But instead of a bigfoot rumour, this was once a human whom the author calls ‘Kayla’ - but as an exclusive, we managed to find her real name, which will be revealed at the end of this article.

The reporter meets with Kayla, while pretending to be one of them, and is directed to the literal Frankenstein that conducted all of these procedures. It is revealed that not only do they ‘fabricate evidence’ of what seems to be a case of ‘species dysmorphia’ in order to get the surgeries they want, the doctor knows that and still goes ahead with these dangerous procedures anyway.

“You don’t need [proof of species dysmorphia]... I know that most people lie.” He told the reporter.

“There is a risk” he later says, regarding the procedure itself, which often takes months if not years and can be incredibly painful and debilitating, meaning patients often have to get themselves classified as disabled and live off the benefits our taxpayer money is spent on. Similarly to “transgender hormone replacement treatment… it increases the risk of…cancers.” 

The doctor himself even confesses that he and patients are worried about “the danger that [those very patients] pose to others”, but that he simply “trusts them to do the right thing”. He says that people can, and should, be “whoever, or whatever, they want to be.”

This man is not only creating dangerous creatures that are then let loose into society, he is trusting them to make their own decisions. How long will it be before one of these ‘therians’ murders or preys upon an innocent child? How can we protect our own families from those that seek to turn themselves into the very predators that used to lurk in the shadows of our ancestors, waiting to pounce and eat them? We at this newspaper urge the government to stop this madness before it is too late.

The real names of the people involved are as follows:

—

This was the second article written about therians. And things only got worse from there. While Dr. Erian’s real name was not found out or spilled, Vanessa and Kayla were targeted. Therians were outraged that Vanessa’s article would find its way into the national news as a hit piece. While some directed their anger at Vanessa herself, some were supportive of her. Kayla fled her home, and is now reported as being on the local missing person’s registrar. Keith was sentenced to minor community service after finding this out and assaulting Vanessa, who later moved away from her hometown after losing her job. Erian still works at his practice. The world is in a slightly more unstable place now, with public knowledge of therians pretty much guaranteed.

The first government debate about the existence and classification of therians is just around the corner. This could be a pivotal moment in the history of mankind, and I for one am not sure which way the pendulum will swing.

[grapejuicestyless]

Good Luck, Babe!

Harry Styles x Fem!reader

Summery: Harry could run around the world in search of a replacement to fill the void that you left, but he’s better off coming to terms with the fact that he’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.

I’m okay knowing I won’t ever get to call my future lover my high school sweetheart. It’s hard to stay committed to someone for decades as an adult, let alone at sixteen. But it pulls at my heart strings just to know little me would be so devastated knowing the boy who used to string up fairy lights and scribble on big bubbles letters on poster boards for our prom decided I was too boring for his massive life and left once the glitter from all the glamour of fame got in his eyes.

It’s funny to think about, ten years thrown away forever because my stable life wasn’t worth living when he could offer me anything I could ever dream of. God forbid I want to settle down with some little ones to teach nothing but love in a world where everyone can only ever teach their children hate. God forbid I wanted that with him.

No, my dreams were stupid compared to those of his own. Children mean nothing to him if he’s not taking home another award for his excellence. Settling down is a laughable dream, how could I expect him to ever even try when it seemed like with every single chance to start trying he was at a new peak in his career.

When I left him, he didn’t even look sad. Not even when I turned to face him as I walked out of our front door with all my things stuffed in a bag slung over my arm. He looked distant, sure, but not sad and that made me sad, for me but mainly for him.

Three years ago if I had even shown signs of unhappiness he would have stopped the world to fix our issues, ironed it all out real nice to make sure that I never felt that feeling again. Now I could beg on my knees pleading for him to hear me and my cries would fall on deaf ears.

But I don’t regret leaving him in the end. It hurt at first, leaving behind all I ever knew, letting him go after I wasted away all my youth on him, but life goes on and my heart would heal the longer we were apart.

Occasionally he would reach out, letters with the same swooping letters that I recognized as his own handwriting, the same writing that once wrote me love letters, all addressed to me with the hopes of meeting up.

But I knew myself better than that, I knew Harry better than that. If I met him, even only for coffee our night would end with me back in his arms and his head between my legs. We weren’t ever meant to split, but then again no one who’s ever felt the same kind of love like young kids is ever made to walk away from something so sweet.

I was better for it, between each letter there was a new girl. A model who resembled me in the most vague ways. I wondered all the time if he ever accidentally called any of them my name. If he chose them with my eye color so when he looked into their eyes he could see mine for just a second. It felt like each week he was caught leaving some bar with some other girl, someone else’s lipstick staining his jaw.

I got over him slowly, never fully, but enough to love again. I had room to give once more and enough strength left to keep fighting for the love I deserved. I earned the right to be able to hold someone who would call me “baby” with pride, without the slightest hesitation or embarrassment.

Harry could kiss a hundred girls and boys in bars, drink away his twenties and sing to his fans across the world, and I would be here chasing my own dreams. After all, he always needed the spotlight, he lived for it. All I needed was a little love, and somehow in his search for glory, he lost any kind of that he had and I had found it again.

I saw Harry a couple years later, the small bar in Brooklyn with the good music and sweaty bodies. He looked good, he always did. His hair looked a little grey and I must admit, I almost drooled, but looks were the only attraction I would ever feel for him. Emotionally, I was cut off, even when he leaned up close and pressed me into a bone crushing hug.

With a cool smile on his face he asked me confidently what I was doing here and how I’d been. I told him a friend of a friend had invited me along to come celebrate an old friend’s birthday, that I didn’t really want to drink tonight and was just trying to enjoy myself.

I could see his hesitation when an arm slung itself over my shoulders, curly brown hair tickling my cheek and a kind smile flashing towards him and somehow in our conversation, I forgot the most important update in my life, one I’d make sure he’d never forget.

“Who’s this?” He asked kindly, ready to introduce himself even though we were all well aware everyone in the room knew him by name.

“Oh, Harry, how rude of me!” I laughed at the time, but I’m still not sure if he could hear it over the music. I hope he did, because it would have been the last time he would hear it.

“Harry, this is my girlfriend.”

[marimayscarlett]

hi! :) since fans have gotten richard and paul those paulchard flags, banners, pieces of fabric (you know what i mean) during the boat ride a few shows ago, i'm a bit cautious about people taking things a little ... further than they have been before

in my understanding, in fandom spaces, it's mostly agreed upon to keep shipping stuff in those fandom spaces and away from the band members/real life. i say mostly, because people that go overboard are everywhere, and we don't know what kind of stuff the band has been exposed to in the past during meet and greets, signing sessions and so on. on the other hand, i'm not really on instagram, so i don't know what has been going on over there. nevertheless, i've read something about a past girlfriend of richard having been harassed on insta around 2019 when richard and paul first started kissing after ausländer – don't know if i remember that one correctly, though. and with paul being in a long-term relationship, i feel a bit weird about people bringing the shipping name up close to them; or maybe that's just me? i was wondering about how the behavior of one fan might encourage another ones behavior encouraging someone else even further, and so on. though i'm fully aware that everyone is responsible for their own actions. am i taking things too seriously? the band has had years of experience with fans and popularity after all, and i can imagine them being careful with, for example, searching certain things up online

i was curious about your point of view on all this :)

Hey,

Thank you for your detailed message, which I find really balanced and thoughtful! It's an interesting topic, and I've often thought about it, as well as the Paulchard ship itself. I might ramble a bit, sorry.

First of all, I have to admit that I was a bit taken aback when I saw the footage with the flags, as this was the first time a direct contact about this to the band was made. It felt like a fourth wall was being broken - kind of hard to describe. I'm convinced that both of them have some concept of what Paulchard or shipping in general is - Richard had fanfiction/slash explained to him in this interview once and seemed quite neutral, almost positive, about it. Additionally, they both display a clear affection for each other outwardly, so it shouldn't be surprising that specific shipping structures develop from that. I think the dynamic between Paul and Richard is so interesting and attractive to many because a lot has happened in their history. Close collaboration and friendship from the start (x), intense disagreements, fundamentally different personality traits, fiery tempers, strong opinions (x), and yet they seem to have found their way back to each other on a personal level, thanks in part to external mediation (for example by Schneider). They appear to be an emotional support for each other on tour; I get the impression Richard needs this closeness or expressed affection, and Paul seems to have a sense of what his counterpart needs and shows Richard his appreciation, whether on stage or backstage. It's just lovely to see how they've developed over the decades. Their relationship has such a strong humanity with a wide range of emotions, and coupled with the displayed tenderness, it's just very good shipping material, objectively speaking.

I had a feeling that there would be some kind of confrontation about the topic at some point, especially since 2019. I'm glad it was such a 'tame' approach, a sweet flag with a drawing and a heart (even though a drawing of the two without the 'Paulchard forever' would have sufficed). Still, I think this step is enough, and there shouldn't be more actions like this. Rubbing it in their faces more would be unnecessary and unneeded. This is where common sense should kick in. The fact is that Paul and Richard are not together; regarding their sexuality, it's not my place to make definitive statements, but Paul has been with Arielle for ages, and Richard has had numerous longer and shorter relationships with women. So, comments on IG, whether on family members', partners', or Paul and Richard's accounts, are absolutely inappropriate, disrespectful, and detached from reality. We mustn't forget that these are real people with real relationships and feelings, and we really don't need to rub it in their faces. I think shipping in fandom circles is fine, but there must be respect for the individuals in direct interactions, and family members should definitely be kept out of it.

As I said, I found the flag cute and sweet, but more doesn't need to happen imo. I'm also a bit worried that this might inspire others to do something that is too much, which I hope won't happen. In conclusion, I must commend both Richard and Paul for how they handled the situation. Both were mildly interested and took the flag without making a big deal out of it.

Thank you to @m---e---l for gathering some thoughts about this ask and discussing this with me 🤍

[lycheeloach]

overanalyzing mordecai's letter to his mom

Transcription + ramblings under the cut

Mother, Forgive my unannounced departure. Circumstances relating to my employment have made required me to travel on short notice. It may be some time before I am able to correspond again, but you will find savings in my rented room above the dry grocery adequate for living. Give Mrs. Kovitz the name Ezra [and] she will allow you upstairs. There is a safe box in the southeast corner behind the baseboard. [combination in Hebrew, more on that later] Please use some portion of it to relocate to more suitable living space, expeditiously. Purchase somewhere if you are able. The building is poorly ventilated, m[cut off, but based on the version from the Lackadaisy website it almost certainly says 'moldy'] and unhealthful. -M[ordecai]

First things first, he opens his letter with just 'mother'. 1) he's more formal than Esther, who just calls her 'mom' (though that might be because it's a Serious Letter). 2) he also signs it just 'Mordecai'. no 'dear' or 'love' here because he's totally not sentimental at all, right? he's also bad at expressing emotions, so instead we have to extrapolate how much his family means to him through his actions.

'forgive my unannounced departure' is telling in a couple of ways. First, it's pretty much an apology, which is something we don't really see from Mordecai. Second, it suggests that he and his mom are still in frequent contact, even after he's moved out.

The way Mordecai crosses out the word 'made' and replaces it with 'required' is probably in an effort to sound less alarming- less like he was forced to skip town. But he's so pressed for time and resources that he doesn't start over with a fresh sheet of paper.

'It may be some time before I am able to correspond again' he knows he's screwed. He's pretty sure he's going to die on this train, but he focuses on what's more important- writing to his mom and telling her where to find the money necessary for her and his sisters to have a better life.

It's revealed that Mordecai is renting a room- this gives him the personal space he so desperately needs, and also might be for reasons of keeping his work and home lives separate. Ezra is presumably an alias and he may have even given Mrs. Kovitz instructions to let his mother in if she ever came by. (Sidenote, in all likelihood she was probably just his landlady but I still kinda want to know how Mordecai would interact with Mrs. Kovitz.)

SO. here's an interesting fact for you. The safe combination is the name of Mordecai's youngest sister, Hannah, who died in infancy (you can see her in Tzipporah's arms here). Characters in the Hebrew alphabet correspond to numbers, hence how her name could be a safe combination. I can't phrase this in an analytical way- Mordecai using the name of his sister who died approximately a decade ago for the safe makes me explode. It makes all my bones fall out.

Apparently Mordecai saved enough money for his family to only need some of it to move to a better place. He emphasizes the importance of moving right away, because their building is gross- more than that, the tenements had very high mortality rates, something that the Heller family experienced firsthand.

The last thing I want to say is how desperate Mordecai is to get the letter mailed, practically begging strangers for postage. He's certain he's about to be shot in the face and he still fixates on sending that letter, because if he doesn't, everything he did for his family will have been for nothing.

In conclusion, I am normal.

[leidensygdom]

ENNU EPILOGUE RECAP!!

OKay! So, our campaign ended! Yesterday was the 81 session, and last one of it- Our DM did a wonderful job at running it. We basically got to ask them for the scenes we'd like to see, and the session was built around that. It's been three years, so it was wild to see it come to an end! Here's a recap tho (a lil bit more focused on my blorbos since they're the ones you know)

The epilogue happened two years after the campaign's end, with a couple of flashbacks going some time back

First scene was welcoming Blasma (one of the party members), who had been on a trip all this time to heal her soul at her grandpa's dubious laboratory. She's pretty okay currently- if we ignore soul healing is something theoretically impossible. Probably many questionable things happened there. Osten traveled with her to make sure she was doing okay

Next scene was her welcoming party. A bunch of shenanigans happened. Yxala tried so play cool aunt, got her a motorbike. They ended in somewhat odd terms and my girl was trying so bad to get her trust again

Pulsar and Tephra- each polycule's kids- appeared to be overall terribly adorable. Yxala talked a lot about her Sweet Potato. Tephra is Yxala and Relé's biological kiddo (as evidenced by the branched horns), 6 months old, and just one of these big hefty babies who is starting to munch on everything (here's a token of baby her, and what she's like grown up!)

we also got to see the closure of Mythannae, Yden and Jorven's polycule! Myth and Yden recovered their enchanted clothing business. They specialize in magical clothing adapted to specific needs- Like fireproof clothing for fire genasi, helmets with bag-of-holding like pockets so you can put them on with horns, that stuff. Jorven has now been working on music again. (For context, Myth was my previous character before I switched for Yxala!)

Blasma's player also had an epilogue for his previous character- she's a tired old lady, who is now joining another tired old lady to get in politics. An improvement, given they were cops before that

Centi got to resurrect the weird celestial wife of an old teacher of hers- Who had been snatched up by Sol Ascensus and transformed into a monster. I can't wait to show Niereva to y'all tho, she's a bit of a weird aminal (a mantis/naga-like aasimar)

She may have done a fucked up pact with a psychopomp tho-

We had Yxala's, Relent's and Uri's wedding, we knew that was coming! It took Urion a long while to recover from after the Deep Lab, and they still struggle a lot with that they did as The Onirist

We had a scene of Urion's recovery. Initially they didn't even want to come to terms with being Urion- They were The Onirist. Relé had a hard time forgiving them too, bc they DID hurt Relent a lot. Yxala was a bit more fine about it, even after having her heart carved out by them.

they're all going to therapy lol

There's actually a cult to The Onirist/Ataraxia now though! Some people loved the idea of a godly machine that could solve everyone's hurts and ailments, and they're asking for them to come back and fix the world. maybe the mind control microchips were fine, y'know

(uri isn't doing great about this)

We had the ceremony- Money and seeds are given to the partners as a sign of prosperity and life. They're gonna have a great garden.

The polycule drank (alcohol-free) wine imbued with each other's blood too bc ceremonies there go hard- (this one is seen as a bit more archaic)

And a major exchange between marrying partners is expected. They exchanged basses- They had them custom made many decades ago, with Urion's being based on clouds (after Relé), Relé's being based on fire (after Yxala), and Yxala's being based on bismuth crystals (after Uri's). Now Uri has the fiery bass, Relé has the bismuth one, and Yxala has the cloudy bass

Urion was the bassist for Demonwire, a group they were a part of with some other anarchist friends. This bass has a very long history and it's very significative. Yxala was a bit shocked.

After that, the wedding after-party took place. Blasma set a date with Osten- They didn't actually get romantically involved up until now (and it's probably gonna be very slow still gfhudhdgf)

I forgot to mention this but Urion and Relent are now involved with an organization to help the people who were affected by the Deep Lab and The Onirist's actions. Uri had a very awkward interview about it.

We had few other closure scenes here and there. Finding out two other npcs are marrying, the fact the weird undead guy somehow has a new kid, that stuff- and then we went onto the final one

Which was a concert by Demonwire. Urion played with them for the first time in 12 years, and gave an awkward speech, and it was super sweet and just a great point to end the campaign in!

With that, we're now set to go play the next campaign- Which will happen 8 years after this epilogue (ten years after the end of the major campaign events). I'm going to be playing Siegmund, one of Yxala's kids, and I'm very excited for that.

Yxala won't be doing any major stuff- She's gonna still go fight corpos in the streets and she's going back to the Mecha Derby (did y'all know she was a mecha pilot in a sports competition lmao. I'm working on her pilot fit, it's cool!). Urion is going to be back on Demonwire, mostly to raise funds for those hurt by The Onirist and Ataraxia, and will have a bigger role coming up- Specially given Siegmund's (and Vyxander, his twin) have a lot to do with that. Relent will also be doing some major stuff, but it will remain spoilery for a time. He's got some big things to handle!

I may have cried a bit at the end because it's been so long. I'm glad the characters won't be fully gone. Next campaign will have a lot more lore stuff to gush about- We're going to adventure outside the city, and meet people from all over the world. There's a country that uses souls in place of nuclear fission. It's gonna be wild! (And thank you for reading-)

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Not long after he and Lambert start working together, Aiden stuffers from the effects of his mutagens.

C/W slight ableism from Lambert and suicide mention.

Damn those fucking experiments. Aiden was perfectly willing to sell his soul to the highest bidder here and now if it meant he could just sleep. Something which had eluded him since that day they'd injected him and his class with some untested mutagen bastardisation all those decades ago. He supposed he should count himself lucky really - at least he was able to rest in a fashion. Meditation could only do so much though and he knew of at least two others who had ended it themselves before they'd even left the caravan, the exhaustion finally driving them to madness and another who'd wandered straight into the open jaws of a wyvern their first year on The Path, thinking it was just another hallucination (so the rumours said. Aiden had a feeling that one may not have been completely accidental either).

He could feel the signs creeping up on him. The bone deep exhaustion, the black spots creeping into his vision with increasing regularity. He wondered how much longer he could keep it from Lambert. It hadn't reached the point where he was a danger to himself - not yet - and he'd learned the prickly Wolf wasn't overly chatty anyway (at least, not with him) so any extended silences between them were probably counted as a blessing. It had taken so long for him to convince Lambert it may be mutually beneficial for them to work together (he'd been right) and now that tentative arrangement was perilously close to going tits up. Maybe they'd get lucky and hit a lull between jobs and travelling soon.

No such luck. Aiden felt himself stumble again as the griffin descended, barely keeping his footing this time. It's tail grazing the top of his head.

"What the hell was that, Cat? A fucking trainee could have made that shot." Lambert yelled as he fired another sign at its retreating form.

Lambert's voice sounded far away

"hey! Answer me!"

The world tilted and went black before Aiden could even open his mouth.

Aiden opened his eyes and found himself staring at the wooden beams of a ceiling rather than the sky. Lambert must have got him back to their shared room. He groaned a little as he turned his head to look around. The sound and movement alerted the other witcher, who was reclining on the other bed flipping through a thin volume Aiden couldn't see the title of.

"How long have I been out?"

The sun was still up. If he was lucky it had only been a couple of hours.

"Just over a day." Lambert replied, putting the book to one side and planting both feet on the ground. Aiden felt his stomach lurch. Shit.

"Healer said the only thing wrong with you was that you'd dropped from exhaustion. Funny that, considering I feel absolutely fine and dandy."

That's probably because you've been able to actually sleep."

"So what, the delicate little pussy cat has a couple of bad nights and goes to pot? Fuck me."

Aiden scowled, rubbing a hand over his face, "It's more complicated than that."

"Wait don't tell me. The ground's been too hard, that rabbit the other night gave you a funny tummy-"

"Oh, either let me explain or fuck off!" Aiden snapped.

The Wolf inclined his head, his expression telling Aiden that his explanation better be a good one.

"It's my mutagens, alright? Cats are a little more...liberal with the mixing process. They'd been working on a batch which was supposed to reduce the amount of sleep we need and thought my class were the ideal candidates when the trials came. Nine of us in all, three of us left last I heard."

Aiden gave a wry smile he didn't feel, "You can guess it didn't work quite how they expected."

Lambert's expression was one of calculating sympathy, "So, you don't need to sleep?"

"Oh I need to. I just can't." Aiden stressed, "What you saw today was me at my limit. Past it actually. My mind will just push my body over and over and over until." He clicked his fingers, "The longest I've been out before now is four days."

"So what? You talked me into working with you so you'd have a minder? If you're stupid enough to go into a fight when you can barely stand you shouldn't be on The Path."

Aiden gave a growl which would have made a werewolf proud, "You condescending prick! Shockingly, I was managing just fine before I met you. I suggested working together for the exact reasons I gave, and have I ever made a mistake before today?!" Aiden flopped back down onto his back, suddenly exhausted again, "I usually do manage it better. People having to drag me away from a job because I passed out isn't a regular occurrence."

"So what was different this time?"

Aiden raised an eyebrow, "Are you saying you would've taken me seriously if I said I needed to stop because I was tired?"

The silence from the other was answer enough.

Aiden turned to face the wall, his back to Lambert, "If you want to split ways, I get it. But don't ever imply that I'm a liability again when I've survived just as long as you."

Minutes passed and Aiden fought the urge to look over when he heard no sound or movement from the other occupant.

"How long?" A quiet voice asked.

"Hmm?"

"Before you...need to rest, how long is it usually?"

Aiden thought for a minute, "Usually about a month with meditation."

"Alright. So a month from now we hunker down for a couple of days. If we're low on coin, I can still go out on a couple of quick jobs while you sleep."

"If you're doing this out of pity-"

Lambert snorted, "I'm doing this because usually my brother's are the only ones to call me on it when I'm being an ass. You were right. It took until you were beyond your limit for me to realise something was wrong in the first place. And it's sort of nice only having to put half the effort in on jobs every now and then."

Aiden gave a small laugh at that, "And you said I was lying about the benefits. Hey Lambert." Aiden turned to look at the other, "Thanks. For not leaving me behind."

Lambert grumbled something that might have been "Don't mention it." Before turning his attention back to his book as Aiden let sleep pull him back under.