#It’s been sitting in the drafts since mid-August

[oumoumimi]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JUNGKOOK 💛✨️

[09/01/1997]

(cr. namuspromised)

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Dreamboat Chapter 6

Summary: Y/N, her brother Steve, and his best friend Bucky all moved out West for a new start after Y/N was almost caught up and hurt in a rival gang fight.  Steve wasn’t in shape to fight in the war, but Bucky was drafted.  While out West, Y/N finds herself in trouble again from the local bar owner.  Steve is suddenly drafted for an experimental division of the army, but leaving Y/N alone isn’t an option.  Bucky comes home needing help, and Steve comes up with a crazy compromise.  

Warnings:  mentions of violence, war, unwanted advances, graphic imaging, eventual smut

*Y/N/N= your nick name

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The months went by slowly.  The pregnancy was hell at first, Y/N running to the bathroom all the time and her emotions all over the place.  After the first trimester she finally seemed to calm down, and the nausea eventually subsided.  She was worried about never hearing from Steve, and getting no notice from the army about him or his whereabouts.  Bucky tried making some inquiries with some war buddies he’d made, but no one seemed to know anything.  He tried to put her at ease so she wouldn’t stress herself out, being advised by Dr. Banner to keep her stress as low as possible.  Most of the time the only way to distract her enough was to make love, which she was especially excited about during her pregnancy and Bucky was all too eager to give her.

During the summer months Y/N struggled with how tired she was.  She tried to keep up with her work, but doing house calls was becoming too much of a physical task as her belly got bigger and heavier.  By mid-August she was struggling to just get up from sitting, and Dr. Banner put her on maternity leave rather than firing her.  “Just focus on this baby,” he instructed her.  “If you decide to come back to work after birth, you let me know.  If not, then we’ll make sure you leave with all the help you’ll need.”

At the beginning of September Bucky was looking for jobs, since she couldn’t work anymore.  He’d been unsure about getting a job for a while, not thinking anyone would hire someone missing a limb.  Then the war ended.  Y/N was happy, but scared at not hearing from Steve.  Surely she would have heard something from someone by now?  The army usually let families know when someone was missing in action, especially when someone was killed in action.  As the nation celebrated Y/N and Bucky were getting the nursery put together in what was Bucky’s old room.  She was in full nesting mode and wanted everything to be perfect.

“Alright the clothes are ready, the crib set up, the bottles cleaned…let’s see,” Y/N was hurriedly flitting around the room as she made mental notes of what needed to be done.  “We should really give the kitchen another deep clean, I swear the dust accumulates so fast–”

“Babydoll, we’re ready,” Bucky laughed as he stopped her constantly moving.  “You’ve gotten everything.  If anyone knows what they need for babies, it’s you, and you got it all.”  He hugged her, petting her hair.  

“I’m sorry,” she laughed with him.  “I’m just…I wanna be ready.”

“You are,” Bucky said, pulling away to look at her properly.  “We are.  It’s gonna be okay.”

Y/N smiled up at him, kissing him before sighing heavily.  Then there was a knock at the door.  They both frowned, glancing at the door and then back to each other.  Bucky shrugged and walked to the front door as Y/N stayed in the nursery, refolding a blanket that she’d already folded twice.  She heard voices and then Bucky gasped loudly.

“Buck?” Y/N called out.

“What the fuck?!” Bucky shouted.

Y/N ran out of the nursery then froze in the living room.  Standing by the entryway was Steve, but…it couldn’t be Steve.  He was an inch taller than Bucky now, with broad shoulders, long legs, filling out a military uniform.  He looked built, and big.  Bucky was staring at him in shock, Steve looking sheepish and worried.  Steve gave Bucky a grimace of a smile.  “Hey Buck,” he said.  It was definitely Steve’s voice.

Steve looked to Y/N and his eyes widened as he saw her pregnant belly, his mouth dropping open.  “Y/N?” he asked, his eyes glancing between her and Bucky.

“Steve?” she whispered.  

Steve nodded, taking off his military hat.  “Yeah, uh,” he paused, looking down at himself.  “I know it’s quite a…difference.” He smiled at her.  It was Steve’s smile.  “You look quite different, too.”

Y/N broke down in sobs, nearly falling to her knees before Steve quickly stepped forward and caught her.  She clung to him as he helped her sit on the couch.  “Steve!” she cried.  Her hands moved to cup his face as she stared at him.  “How?  You’re so…so big!  What happened?”

Steve smirked.  “Turns out the experiment was me,” he said.  “They called it a super soldier serum.  I don’t know if you’ve heard of somebody called Captain America?”  Y/N frowned but nodded.  “That was me,” he said.  “My job was to take down the inner workings of the Germans, and a group called Hydra.  But we won,” he smiled.  “And now I’m home.”  Bucky walked over and sat across from them on the chair, staring at Steve.  Steve looked between the two of them, glancing at Y/N’s belly again.  “Looks like you two have been busy,” he said, giving Bucky a friendly glare.  

Y/N scoffed and Bucky finally cracked a smile.  “Sorry pal,” Bucky chuckled.  “I couldn’t help myself.”

Steve scoffed then turned to Y/N.  He slowly held up his hand toward her belly and she took it and rested it on her bump.  “It’s okay,” she reassured him.  He looked at her in question.  “I’m happy,” she nodded.  “We’re happy,” she said, glancing toward Bucky.

Steve sighed but smiled.  “I’m happy for you.  Both of you.”  He then started giggling.  “I’m gonna be an uncle.”

Y/N and Bucky laughed at his giddy expression.  “You’ll be the best uncle,” Y/N said.  She felt like her heart could finally ease.  Her brother was home.  As Steve and Bucky caught up and Steve told them all about his adventures in Europe Y/N couldn’t stop smiling.  As screwed up as it all was, with Bucky missing an arm, her marrying him as an arrangement at first, and Steve coming back as a whole new man, they were all together again.  She relaxed against the couch, letting their voices lull her to sleep.  All was right.

***

Steve had been working with their neighbor, Tony Stark, behind the scenes while he was with S.H.I.E.L.D.  Y/N knew that Tony was some kind of genius, she just didn’t know how much so until he showed up on their doorstep a few days after Steve got home with a large, long box.

“Hey Y/N/N,” Tony greeted her, stepping inside without an invitation and kissing her cheek quickly.  

“Oh, uh, hey Tony,” Y/N said, eyes wide as he walked through the entryway like he owned the place.  “Please, come in,” she said sarcastically.

Tony ignored her and set the box down on the coffee table in the living room.  “Rogers!” he barked.

Steve came out of his room and rolled his eyes at Tony.  “Stark,” he greeted him.  

Y/N sighed as Bucky walked out of their room with a frown.  “Ah, Barnes,” Tony said, “the man of the hour.”

Bucky’s frown deepened and he glanced at Steve curiously.  Steve looked a bit sheepish and smiled.  “What’s going on?” Bucky asked.

“I have something for you,” Tony said.  “Rogers was talking to me about your loss of limb and I’ve been toying with some things, talking to some interesting people in Africa, and made something that I think could be helpful if you’re interested.”

Bucky blinked at him.  “What?”

Tony rolled his eyes.  “Behold!” he announced, and ripped off the top of the long box dramatically.  Bucky, Steve and Y/N stepped forward and peered into the box.  Y/N gasped at the sight of an arm made of some kind of metal.  It was a muted, dark gray color with gold peeking through the plates.  It looked otherworldly to her, but when she glanced at Steve he was smiling.  Bucky looked incredulous.  “Now, obviously it will take some work to attach it, and it will most likely be a bit painful, but I have an idea of a way to make it work.  It’s made of the same material as your shield,” he gestured to Steve, “so it’s nearly indestructible, and functions like a normal arm, just a million times stronger.” 

Bucky reached his hand out and stroked the arm with his fingertip.  “How?”

“What on earth would he need an indestructible arm for?” Y/N spoke up.

“I believe he was given a version of the super soldier serum, too,” Steve interjected.  Y/N shook her head as she stared at him.  Steve looked at Bucky who looked like he was trying to remember something.  “You’re stronger now, aren’t you?  You have to really hold back or else you break things easily.”  Bucky’s eyes narrowed at him.  “You move a lot faster, so you have to slow yourself down.  You can hear, see, and sense things from long distances away.  You could probably tell she was pregnant before she knew but didn’t know how to explain the second heartbeat you heard,” he said, gesturing to Y/N.

Bucky’s eyes widened at that, his mouth agape.  “How did you–?”

“Because that’s how I feel,” Steve said, pointing to himself.  

Bucky exhaled sharply and looked at Y/N, who was looking back and forth between them in shock.  “They…they kept injecting me with things,” he whispered.  “Some of it did nothing, some of it hurt like hell.  I…”  Y/N covered her mouth to stop herself from sobbing.  He’d been hurt so badly, then somehow escaped just so he could come home to her and Steve.  “Oh babydoll, it’s okay,” Bucky quickly walked over and hugged her.  “I’m okay.”

“I know you’re due soon,” Tony interrupted, looking at Y/N then Bucky.  “But if you let me, I think I can get this on before the baby gets here.”

Y/N shook her head and looked up at Bucky.  “You don’t need it, you know that right?” she whispered.  He looked down at her with an unreadable expression.  “You are good and whole just as you are.”

“I know,” Bucky nodded.  “But,” he glanced at the arm, then looked at the other two.  “Excuse us,” he said before pulling Y/N into their bedroom.  He shut the door and turned to her again, cupping her cheek in his hand.  “If I can have a chance to touch you,” he whispered, his thumb rubbing across her cheek, “to actually hold you, hug you completely, to hold our baby, to not feel so off balance, not feel the phantom pain, get a job more easily,” he said, his voice rushing out more earnestly as Y/N sighed.  “Even if it’s just a small chance, I wanna take it,” he said, leaning his forehead against hers.  

Y/N stared up at him.  The hope in his face was pleading with her to understand.  She slowly smiled.  “If you feel good about it, then I feel good about it,” she said quietly.  

Bucky sighed heavily as he closed his eyes, nuzzling his nose against her nose.  “I do,” he said.

“Then do it,” Y/N said resolutely.

[blysse-and-blunder]

In lieu of a week in the woods

sunday, august 27, 2023 ~ 11:30pm

just got back from 6+ days off the grid, swimming, drinking tea, porch sittin’, and generally revisiting old stomping grounds. somehow it still wasn’t long enough.

(you can add a read more on mobile now??!!)

Reading picked out some specific weird old trade paperbacks to read at the cottage, and successfully finished one: margaret atwood’s lady oracle. one of those books where I will be thinking about it forever, but not necessarily because I enjoyed it? good prose moments, good turns of phrase or moments of clear perception, but i found the main character sort of perplexing—the bits of old Toronto, vintage mid century canadian childhood and adolescence, were probably what will stick with me. That and the way that I think it was trying to get psychonanalytic but, in classic 80s feminist fiction style, it didn’t make a ton of sense. also the fatphobia? like, experimenting with the pov of someone with intense body dysmorphia / weight shaming / internalized fatphobia felt unempathetic? like i was supposed to be impressed or titillated or surprised by this choice, that the book would even consider having a main character who was fat. period typical, sure, part of the mid century setting, sure, but also like. gratuitous.

also finished italo calvino’s the baron in the trees, and a.k. larkwood’s the unspoken name, and started the audiobook for the long way to a small angry planet. Also began my harrow the ninth reread, and wow this book is good. and even more so when you can follow what’s happening.

listening only the fact that I did spend so long literally in the woods has prevented me from having in-depth thoughts and feelings about hozier’s unreal earth. more to come as I sit with it longer, but so far—strong positive feelings. some new ground, some old ground, and some things that bridge the two nicely. worth listening to with headphones or however you can pick up all the layers in the mix. I really like ‘Icarian carrion’ on this listen.

watching watched a couple of episodes of Star Trek: Strange New Worlds this evening, since being back— ‘lost in translation,’ and the lower decks cross-over. loved seeing boimler and mariner in the flesh, and the different gags they fit into that one, despite the fact that one of the things I’ve liked most about this season has been the show gradually giving time to some of the more philosophical questions trek can explore—but lower decks does that too, sometimes better, and these two episodes back to back fit pretty well.

playing it was a very boardgame forward week at the cottage— clue, PARKS, and a new one for me, shadows over Camelot. not an uncomplicated setup, but some of the tie-ins to actual arthurian themes (the grail quest keeps pulling players in but it will grind them up and spit them out! the next generation are the ones who survive!) caught and held my enjoyment when the different mechanics threatened to lose it. I also tuned in to d&d remotely for a bit, though my connection was bad, and my rig was rated ‘haunted’ by the other players. they could hear crickets over the voice chat 😌🌲

making sewed a new patch onto my jacket and moved another two—picture to follow. didn’t do any of the mending I brought, but have had thoughts about what makes sense and what I might buy to supplement the projects. new fabric store on my commute deserves a visit, methinks.

working on truly the answer here is ‘not overthinking or delaying out of perfectionism’. which I have already done. finished all but the last eng 385 essay feedback, finished proofing for joe and responding to the department’s newsletter person for the piece she’s writing; still have to finish this letter of recommendation and these two (2!?) chapter drafts. the point is to be able to write a final sentence and just. let them go. learn how to not stop shy of finishing something. learn how to bring something (anything) to a state of some kind of completion. sure, right. sure.

if you need me, I’ll be back in the woods.

[fieldsofview]

Spider-Man: Homesickness UPDATE

The following text is copied from my AO3

Hey, y'all. This is going to be a long and rambling life update for a moment. TLDR: The epilogue won't be posted until mid/late August, but it is coming. Keep reading if you're so interested in the *why*, otherwise, I'll see you then.

I know that, until now, I've been very consistent in keeping updates on time. And I know it's likely frustrating for you all to have to wait for the epilogue, and for that I apologize. It's coming, I promise. I just want to make sure I do it justice and do my best, and my life has not allowed for that right now. My personal life has been kind of a wreck these last few weeks. To start, I had a long stretch of time where I was covering extra shifts for my coworker who was in the hospital, which meant a lot of doubles (My usual 4PM-midnight followed by the midnight-8AM shift, with only a few hours after to go home and sleep before doing it all over again.) This is when I was drafting the previous chapter, and I did do my best to keep working on all of this but I was drastically limited in the time I had. During and following all of this, my cat, Aya, got very sick very fast. Within about 2 weeks, she went from being a perfectly healthy 5-year-old cat at her yearly physical exam, to having such extreme symptoms from a mystery illness that she was interned in a specialty Vet clinic's ICU for several days, needing a feeding tube, intravenous medication, and 24-hour care. Ultimately, despite the thousands of dollars I spent, four different veterinarians, and countless tests, no one could figure out what was wrong with her. She has since passed and her ashes should hopefully return to me within the week. Because of the timing of it all, just a few days later I left for a trip out of state to visit my elderly grandparents for their 85th birthday celebration with my extended family (There are nearly 40 of us) that I could not reschedule or miss, and I've been there for the last week. It's a 18-hour journey each way and I've spent most of the trip assisting my father with care of my younger brother or assisting my cousin with her three kids under 5. I've had no time for writing whatsoever. I've barely had time to breathe, let alone grieve the loss of my cat who I have had since she was a tiny kitten and who passed so suddenly and so violently that it has stuck with me in a way that previous pet deaths have never done. Her sister and her were so closely bonded and it's been heartbreaking to see her so confused as to why Aya has never come home. And now I've had to leave her with my roommates while I'm gone and she's been acting skittish and scared around them in a way she never has before. I only hope when I return in a few days she'll forgive me. I haven't started writing the epilogue yet. As many of you pointed out in the comments here and on my Tumblr (that I truly haven't had the capacity to respond to), the last chapter did not quite feel right or sit in the way you wanted. I stand by the events of the chapter, but because it was basically my rough draft with almost no editing, it's lacking the subtlety and nuance it deserves, and it's missing some details it should have had. I love this fic with all my heart and I want it to be a project I can finish and leave in a way that I am proud of. So, I will be spending the next few weeks taking the time I need for myself, and then I will be spending the time to make any edits to the entire story that I feel are necessary for it to be its best. Once that's done, I'll publish the epilogue. A version that is final and that I can be proud of, whether or not anyone else likes it. Because I know the last chapter was not my best work, it's been hard to sit with those comments and accept them, despite knowing the circumstances surrounding them. Thank you to everyone who has supported me through this project, and thank you for your patience as I make sure this is the best it can be. My hope is that I can post the epilogue in about one month, as I approach the year mark from when I first started drafting this fic, but I will take it day by day to ensure it's the best it will be. I will delete this "chapter" once the epilogue is posted. 

[xtruss]

Almost Nothing Is Worth a War Between the U.S. 🇺🇸 and China 🇨🇳

Americans and Chinese have to rehumanize each other in terms of the way we conceive of our problems and engage.

— By Howard W. French | Foreign Policy | August 21, 2023

A child sitting on a man's shoulder takes a picture as she visits the Bund waterfront area in Shanghai, China, on July 5, 2023. Wang Zhao/AFP Via Getty Images

Midway into my just-completed one-month stay in China, I found myself seated alone in a tasteful restaurant in an upscale shopping mall in Shanghai, where I had gone for dinner.

There, amid dim lighting and soft traditional music, I had a kind of revelation. Bear with me. Against the opposite wall sat a three-generation Chinese family dining together. Two grandparents, slouching a bit, their visages deeply lined, faced in my direction, and seemed to exhibit mild curiosity about what has become a rare sighting recently, even in China’s most cosmopolitan city: a foreigner. They watched closely as I spoke with the waiter in Chinese to complete my order.

Two other people—from all evidence their much taller daughter, who was dressed in the refined way of a well-paid professional, and a small grandchild—sat with their backs to me. I was only able to see their faces when the mother stood up mid-meal to take her girl to the bathroom. In this little glimpse of three generations, an entire world opened up for me, as did a deep sense of alarm over one of the most urgent problems facing all of humanity in these times.

As a former longtime resident of China and someone who has been studying the country since I was a college student many decades ago, I could not prevent myself from trying to imagine the run of experiences the two elders had lived through. I guessed they were roughly my age, meaning in their 60s, but they looked a lot older and more worn than your average well-kept American of similar age.

This meant they would probably have harsh memories of the Cultural Revolution, the decade of political violence and upheaval that began under Mao Zedong in 1966. They or their families may also have suffered even worse tribulations late in the previous decade during the “Great Leap Forward,” when Mao’s crash effort to industrialize resulted in tens of millions of Chinese people starving to death.

Now, the elderly looking man who gazed across the narrow space separating us wore a light blue Gap t-shirt as he picked his way gingerly through a three-course meal, seemingly taking his time to chew. What did he understand of the symbolism of mass consumerism represented in the white logo emblazoned on his shirt? What did he make of the proliferation of this temple of marketing and surplus that is the shopping mall, a cultural phenomenon that contemporary China has made its own? How did he feel about the long curve of his life? Of the grave errors that China had made, but also about where it had ended up, or at least where it stood in this moment? I almost wanted to ask him, but thinking it would have been too much of an intrusion, I restrained myself, with regret.

In those moments, these thoughts impelled me to think about the curve of life in my own country, the United States, too—of how easily one can assume a kind of superior or even triumphalist attitude toward other people in other places. I had just missed being of draft age in the Vietnam War, a senseless tragedy visited upon tens of millions of Southeast Asians, for reasons as specious as many of Mao’s economic and political ideas. I thought of the persistent denial of civil rights for African Americans, which continued in a de jure sense almost into my teenage years. I thought of the devastation to the planet caused by America’s heedless crusade for wealth. Then, based on the evidence, I concluded that bad decisions and human folly are, well, universally human.

The biggest human folly I can presently think of, though, would be something that nowadays seems frighteningly easy to imagine: a war between the United States and China. Until the coronavirus pandemic, I had either lived in or visited China every year since the late 1990s. I plan to write several columns based on my recent return to the country after four years of pandemic-enforced absence. But this is not yet the occasion for a deep exploration for the political, economic, and strategic issues that are pushing to the two countries so far apart and fueling ever greater risk of catastrophe.

I’ll just say here that this is not a situation where, as so many in each country may be inclined to think, if only the other side would stop doing things that threaten or provoke us, the war clouds would dissipate. We have problems together, and if they are to be prevented from causing mass death and destruction, both countries will have to escape the endless loop of reflexively problematizing and sometimes essentializing the other, along with the relentless self-justification.

Many will think me naive, but this has to begin with something all too rare. Americans and Chinese have to rehumanize each other in terms of the way we conceive of our problems and engage. Actually, seeing people in China, like that family across from me at dinner, helped bring this home. But how can this be achieved for the crushing majority of Americans and Chinese who will never visit the other’s country? How can we strip off the layers of surface things that separate us to get in touch with the profound humanity that should unite us? It’s hard work, and the answer is not obvious, but it is urgent.

Since I’m ready to be accused of naivete, I’ll try to start first. There is almost nothing that is worth a war between the United States and China. I’ll come back to the tricky sounding “almost” in a second—it’s actually not as big of an asterisk as some might imagine. Control over Taiwan, which the government of Chinese President Xi Jinping has made into an all-too-public obsession, is not worth the killing that would be unleashed by a Chinese invasion and by any U.S. response in defense of that island. Continued U.S. geopolitical preeminence in the world is also not worth a major armed conflict with China. This is not a call for capitulation, but rather for both countries to find ways to prioritize coexistence and avoid disaster.

As a non-academic historian, I read an inordinate amount about the past, and I have always been struck by the airs of overconfidence and intoxication that have preceded many great past conflicts. On the eve of World War I, for example, elites on both sides—in Germany and Britain—were blithely predicting the troops would be home by Christmas.

Most Americans (and most Chinese) probably spend precious little time thinking about what war would do to their own country. It would be useful to give a wider airing of war game scenarios, such as one carried out recently by the Center for Strategic and International Studies, that make clear just how devastating a conflict could be. In this example, just one of many, Hawaii, Guam, Alaska, and San Diego, California, would all come under withering Chinese attack, up to and potentially including with nuclear weapons. Lest Chinese people think that they would have little to fear by way of direct impact, just for starters, many areas of coastal China, where the country’s population and wealth are heavily concentrated, could face a rain of U.S. missiles.

What are people willing to concede in order to avoid such a fate? In a book I wrote about China’s conception of itself as a great power, I concluded that the United States needed, for starters, to signal a lot more serenity in its competition with China. For at least two decades, my country has behaved as if a bit haunted by the prospect of being overtaken. But for objective reasons—including China’s extraordinarily profound demographic problems, the declining effectiveness of China’s economic policies, and a plethora of domestic challenges in the country—the United States needn’t be. What is more, though, is that the signals of American anxiety, which are rife in the political culture and come through in many U.S. policies, fuel Chinese nervousness, insecurity, and over-assertiveness.

China, for its part, needs to get over its own insecurities. The air of self-confidence it seeks to project is powerfully belied by the constant resort to overt nationalism and to assertions that in its dealings with other countries—or with international bodies like international tribunals governing laws of the sea, for example—only others are capable of incorrect positions. China, by contrast, is not only always right but also righteous.

Beijing is profoundly worried about the staying power of its own political system, but it needn’t obsess, as it claims to, over the supposed efforts of others to undermine it. Whatever threats there are to China’s system of rule come from within China itself. Nobody outside of the country, in other words, is trying to bring down the Communist Party. Only the party itself can achieve this, by failing to reform in step with the desires of the country’s own population.

So how can we restore some confidence on both sides? First the asterisk from above. War should be ruled out except in the case of a direct attack by one side on the other, which means we should rule out attacking each other. China should meanwhile also lower the temperature on Taiwan, in tandem with more reassurances from the United States that Washington does not support the idea of formal independence for the island.

Chinese and American leaders also have to start speaking with each other and meeting much more often face to face. There is really no substitute for this, for as much as what were once called people-to-people exchanges can reinforce a shared sense of humanity, seeing political leaders shake hands and smile and meet across the table to discuss thorny issues separating the two sides can also remind both countries’ public and political classes that there is nothing so hard that it can’t be talked about.

— Howard W. French is a Columnist at Foreign Policy, a Professor at the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism, and a longtime Foreign Correspondent. His latest book is Born in Blackness: Africa, Africans and the Making of the Modern World, 1471 to the Second World War.

[shy-forceghost]

I just finished 5 posts that had been sitting in my drafts since mid-august. I'm proud of myself :)

[electronicgrowth]

Can’t Get Enough Part 5

Billie has lost her virginity! Where is this relationship headed? 

This has just been chilling in drafts... I forgot I was a person there for a moment. I apologize.

Summary: The two most stubborn people in Knockemstiff, Ohio have eyes for only each other. Lee Bodecker is determined to become the town’s next sheriff. He knows that image is everything. Billie Dechswaan doesn’t care about her image at all. All she wants is to leave Knockemstiff and never come back. But Lee has other plans for her. Both are far too stubborn to give up their own plans. What happens when they can’t get enough of each other?

Word Count: 2.3k

After losing her virginity, Billie can’t get enough of Lee. When he’s inside her, she promises him all the things he wants. But they fight about her wanting leave. She’s still adamant about moving away, despite her attack. Lee tries desperately to reason with her. But she won’t hear it. Lee feels his time running out as the days in June and July come and go. He makes the decision for them one day. He pokes holes in every single condom. He feels slightly guilty, but Bille needs to realizes how much she needs him. 

All the arguing comes to a head one night in mid-August. Billie snuck out like she did most nights and met up with Lee. She quickly slide into the car and kissed him. It was a Wednesday night and they hadn’t seen each other since the church service on Sunday. Billie had spent most of the time between services chatting with Lee, instead of helping to serve luncheon, and this behavior was not missed by the church ladies. 

Rumors were flying. Everyone was wondering when Lee would finally make Billie his wife. Many were saying that it was bound to happen before the next election. She’d be sherif’s wife by Christmas, the gossip said. Edna, the police station secretary made the mistake of asking Lee and relaying all the gossip. It got him thinking. He was going to broach the idea with Billie. He had to. He already had a ring anyway. 

Before Lee could even start the car and drive away. Billie was kissing his neck. 

“Did you miss me, baby?” He teased. Pulling her closer to him. 

“I always miss you,” she scoffed, straddling his hips. 

“I missed you too,” he murmured against her lips. She ran her tongue against his. 

“You know,” he began, pulling back from the kiss, “You don’t have to miss me.” 

“What do you mean?” Billie giggled, staring at him, “I always miss you when you’re not around.” 

“I mean, you could miss me less,” Lee said. Billie’s smile dropped a bit. 

“What are talking about, honey?” She asked. 

“If we live together, we would see each other everyday. Wake up together, go to bed together,” he hummed, kissing her neck between each phrase. 

“Lee,” she scolded, pulling away from him. 

“Come on baby,” he huffed, “Be mine. Be mine forever. And don’t give me that whole song and dance about leaving. You want to be with me and I want to be with you. I could give you everything. Just let me.” 

“We’ve talked about this, I want to be independent for a while,” Billie grumbled. 

“Billie, come on. We’ve been together practically everyday for months. Why do you have to independent? You want to get married and have kids right?” He asked. 

“Of course, I do. But—“

“No. No buts. If you’re planning to have kids, you won’t be working that long anyway. So, pick the right man to have kids with. Pick me, baby,” Lee implored. Billie stared at him and slipped off his lap. 

“I was up front with you Lee. I told you I was going to leave and go to college. You knew that going in. I should go,” she whispered. Climbing out of the car. Lee ground his teeth before he got out of the car. 

“Billie,” he yelled, “get back here.” He stalked after her angrily. 

“Lee,” she sighed, turning to face him, “I can’t do this tonight. I can’t have this argument again.”

He gripped the tops of her arms, “What is it? Why won’t you marry me? Is there something I’m not doing? Are you embarrassed of me?”

“What?” She spat, “Of course not. You’re everything I want—“

“Then what is it? I love you, dammit,” he shouted. 

“Look, let’s just take a pause. We can talk tomorrow. We’re both upset,” she placated. 

“Fine,” he huffed, stalking back to his car and driving off before Billie had even reached the woods. Wheels spitting gravel, engine revving loudly as he drove away. Billie felt empty. What had she done? 

The next day the county fair started. It was the event of the summer. Everyone was there. And Billie was avoiding Lee after their fight the day before. But he spots her. She evades him all night. He finally corners her outside one of the livestock barns. 

“What is with you? You said we’d talk today and you’re fucking ignoring me,” He spat, shoving her against the barn and caging her in. Billie refuses to meet his gaze. Tears quickly well up and spill down her cheeks. 

“Baby,” he hums gently, “What’s wrong.” His hands move up to cup her face and his thumbs wipe the tears away. 

“Not here,” she shakes her head, “Let’s go for a drive.” 

“Alright,” Lee murmured. They walk silently to the cruiser and Lee drove a couple of miles down the road before he pulls off onto a side road. It’s not really a road, more like a trail in the woods that farmers use in the spring and summer as a short cut. 

Billie has tears running down her face. 

“Talk to me,” he begged. 

“I’m late,” she sobbed. It took Lee a few moments to catch on.

“Your period?”

“Yeah, I’m three weeks late. I thought it was just stress or something,” she cried, her voice breaking. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” he soothed, “I’ll take care of ya.” Lee’s heart is beating out of his chest with excitement, but he schools his features and voice to one of concern and anxiousness in order not to tip Billie off. 

“What are we gonna do?” She’s fully panicked now. Lee can hear that she’s nearly hyperventilating. 

“Shh, baby. You need to breathe, okay?” He said as he grabbed her face and forced her to look at him. She nodded slowly, breathing in and out steadily before Lee spoke again. 

“We have to tell your parents,” he began. Billie’s eyes grew comically large, she started to protest but Lee cut her off. 

“We’ll tell your parents. We’ll get married and no one will be the wiser. It’s okay,” he soothed, “I’ll be with you when you tell your parents. I promise I’ll take care of you.” His eyes shone with sincerity. 

“What… what if I’m not ready?” 

“You are. You’re perfect. Gonna take such good care of me and our baby,” Lee hummed as he kissed her. 

“Lee,” she protested. 

“Come on, sugar. You’ll be my good little housewife. I can’t wait to see you get round with my baby. You’re gonna look so sexy,” Lee groaned, he kissed from her lips to her neck as he spoke, “You’re all mine.” 

“Did you— did you plan this?” Billie asked, shoving him away. Lee narrowed his eyes at her. 

“It doesn’t matter how it happened. What’s done is done and you need me Billie,” he growled. Billie opened her mouth but no words came out. She was stunned. She shook her head back and forth, as she searched for the words. 

“You’re a bastard, Lee.” His jaw clicked from side to side when she said that. Without saying anything he started the car and drove. Billie didn’t question him on where they’re going. She knew she was in deep shit. It’s only when she sees the farmhouse come into view that she starts to panic. 

“No.”

“We’re telling your parents tonight.” 

“Lee, please don’t do this,” she begged. But he didn’t listen. 

“I wanted to be nice. I wanted to wait until after we got married. But you. You just couldn’t accept the nice future I had planned out for ya. So, if you want me to be the bastard, I will be. I’ll get you pregnant. Make you marry me.” He cut the engine and walked up to the house. Billie trudged behind him, she had no other choice. 

Lee knocked at the before Billie even reached him. Joy answered. 

“Deputy Bodecker,” she smiled, “To what do we owe the pleasure?” 

“Billie and I have something to tell you,” he said happily. What a master of disguise he was. He made Billie believe, really believe that he loved her and cared for her. But he showed his true colors the second she stopped listening to him. And now he’s wooing her mother. Making her believe he’s a nice, stand-up guy. Joy’s smile faltered when she realized the Billie was with Lee, but she let them both in all the same. Lee marched to the living room as if he owned the place. 

“John,” Joy called, “Lee and Billie want to talk to us.” John huffed, but turned the tv off. He gestured for Lee to sit. 

“Clara, why don’t you go upstairs,” Joy suggested. Clara was the only one of the children home. All the others were still at the fair. She nodded and walked away. Joy sat down, but Billie didn’t. 

“Honey,” Lee chuckled, “Come sit down.” She slowly went and sat by Lee. He was quick to wrap an arm around her. 

“She’s nervous,” he said, smile glued to his handsome face. 

“What’s going on?” John growled at Lee. 

“Billie is pregnant,” Lee responded. Joy gasped. John looked like a deer caught in headlights. Billie started crying again, and leaned forward to hide her face in her hands. Lee patted her back. 

“But, I don’t want ya’ll to worry,” Lee continued, “I’ll do right by her. I care for your daughter very much. We’re going to get married.” 

John harrumphed, “You can take her down to the courthouse tomorrow for all I care. I thought you knew better than to open your legs, girl. I know you’re mama taught you better than that.” 

“John,” Joy attempted to placate, “Let’s not be unkind. Lee is going to make this right.” 

“I don’t care if he can make it right. Your daughter is out there acting like a whore,” John roared standing up from his armchair. He crossed the room and slapped Billie across the face. 

“You have one week to get her out of my house,” John said to Lee, who looked up John and scowled. Billie couldn’t take one more minute, she jumped up and ran upstairs just as Sylvia walked through the door. If Sylvia was one thing, it was perceptive. She took one look at her father and Lee and chased after her sister. 

“Now get out of my house, Bodecker,” Lee narrowed his eyes, but obliged. He would make John pay for hitting Billie. 

Sylvia found Billie crying in a little ball on the floor. 

“What happened?” She asked her sister. 

“Lee g-got me pregnant and n-now I have to get married and I’m going to be stuck here in this stupid town forever,” Billie sobbed. 

“Shit,” Sylvia sighed. Clara crawled off of her bed to join her sisters on the floor, she squeezed Billie’s hand. She wasn’t one for talking, she wasn’t good at it. 

“I thought he loved me. But he manipulated me. I think he did it on purpose,” Billie choked through tears. 

Sylvia stood up and started pacing. 

“How much money you got?” She asked. 

“About $250,” Billie answered. 

“I got about $50 left over from babysitting. And I want you to take that,” Sylvia ordered. 

“I can’t take your money, Sylvie.” 

“Yes you can. Take it. Run away. Start over.” 

“I—I—I h—have t-t-ten dollars for you, Billie,” Clara spoke. 

“Take our money and go,” Sylvia said, “Consider it a thank you for all the years you took care of us.” 

“Are you sure?” Billie looked between her two sisters. Both nodded. 

“You have to go tonight. Go to the bus station and get out now,” Sylvia started to scheme. The girls helped Billie pack two bags that night. They rounded up and pooled their money. And at eleven that night, Billie snuck out and walked the three miles to the bus station. She waited until five in the morning and bought the first bus out to Cincinnati. But she didn’t stop there. From there she took another bus to New York. She figured she could disappear into the crowd there. She could say that her husband died and that she had no family left. She could get a job waitressing. Or maybe she could train as a secretary. It didn’t matter because she felt free. 

After two weeks in the city, she wrote her family and Lee a letter. She claimed that she wasn’t pregnant. That the stress from telling them and leaving town caused her to miscarry. She said that she couldn’t face any of them now. But that it didn’t diminish her love. She refused to come home. Billie did not include a return of address. She secretly sent Sylvia another letter at her boyfriends house. It included her phone number. Sylvia would call her once a month from a payphone and then from the phone at the local grocery store she worked at. The girls stayed in touch that way. Sylvia secretly relayed the information to Clara and when Joy got suspicious, to her too. 

Lee was distraught. He’d lost the love of his life and his baby in a matter of moments. He shouldn’t have made her tell her parents like that. But he couldn’t focus on it too long, because he was soon elected sheriff. He was married to the job. Then he started getting into business with the wrong people. Those terrible men he worked with gave him an idea. An awful idea. He wanted revenge against John and he would get it. 

@greeneyedblondie44

@bxnnywriting

[namesareunimportant]

Episodes related to each entity (up to and including episode 120)

This has been sitting in my drafts for ages and since I’m not planning on returning to the series, I might as well publish it.

The Stranger a. 1. Angler Fish (March 2010) b. 2. Do Not Open (1996-1998) c. 3. Across the Street (7 April 2006) d. 28. Skintight (January 2015) e. 34. Anatomy Class (January-March 2016) f. 39. Infestation (29 July 2016) g. 44. Tightrope (November 1952) h. 54. Still Life (early 2013?) i. 61. Hard Shoulder (24 July 2002) j. 77. The Kind Mother (August 1994) k. 78. Distant Cousin (late 90s, pre-2001) l. 79. Hide and Seek (16 February 2017) m. 83. Drawing A Blank (September-October 2013) n. 87. The Uncanny Valley (September 2014) o. 96. Return to Sender (1993-1996) p. 101. Another Twist (May/June 2017) q. 104. Sneak Preview (August 2013) r. suspected 114. Cracked Foundation (23 April 2009) s. 116. The Show Must Go On (October 1787) t. 118. The Masquerade (6 August 2017) u. 119. Stranger and Stranger (6 August 2017)

The Buried a. 2. Do Not Open (1996-1998) b. 15. Lost Johns’ Cave (14/15 June 2014) c. suspected 41. Too Deep (mid-August - September 2016) d. 50. Foundations (1836) e. 51. High Pressure (August 2006) f. 61. Hard Shoulder (24 July 2002) g. 66. Held in Customs (19 January 2000) h. 71. The Buried (6 January 2017) i. 88. Dig (pre-November 2003) j. 97. We All Ignore the Pit (June 2008) k. 99. Dust to Dust (April 1935)

The Web a. 3. Across the Street (7 April 2006) b. 8. Burned Out (November 2006) c. 16. Arachnophobia (early 2015) d. 19. Confession (November 2006) e. 56. Children of the Night (2009) f. 59. Recluse (early-to-mid 1960s) g. 69. Thought for the Day (pre-2010) h. 78. Distant Cousin (late 90s, pre-2001) i. 81. A Guest For Mr. Spider (1995) j. 100. I Guess You Had To Be There (2017?) k. 110. Creature Feature (2012) l. 114. Cracked Foundation (23 April 2009)

The Vast a. 4. Page Turner (10 November 2012) b. 21. Freefall (3, 5, 7 June 2002) c. 46. Literary Heights (1997-1998) d. 51. High Pressure (August 2006) e. 75. A Long Way Down (early October 2006) f. 91. The Coming Storm (at least from 1996-2017) g. 97. We All Ignore the Pit (June 2008) h. 106. A Matter of Perspective (September 2007)

The Spiral a. 4. Page Turner (10 November 2012) b. 8. Burned Out (November 2006) c. 19. Confession (November 2006) d. 20. Desecrated Host (November 2006) e. 26. A Distortion (1 April 2016) f. 27. A Sturdy Lock (July 2003) g. 38. Lost and Found (March 2012) h. 46. Literary Heights (1997-1998) i. 47. The New Door (around early-to-mid 2016) j. 65. Binary (late 2016 - early 2017?) k. 74. Fatigue (pre-June 2015) l. 78. Distant Cousin (late 90s, pre-2001) m. 79. Hide and Seek (16 February 2017) n. 85. Upon the Stair (between 1980 and 1990) o. 91. The Coming Storm (at least from 1996-2017) p. 100. I Guess You Had To Be There (2017?) q. 101. Another Twist (between October 2009 and 2011, May/June 2017) r. 115. Taking Stock (mid-to-late 2017)

The End a. 4. Page Turner (10 November 2012) b. 11. Dreamer (12 March 2015) c. 29. Cheating Death (17 June 1775) d. 43. Section 31 (August 2011,18 July 2014) e. 62. First Edition (1955) f. 64. Burial Rites (2012) g. 70. Book of the Dead (2003) h. 94. Dead Woman Walking (around 2000s-early 2010s) i. suspected 95. Absent Without Leave (after 1946, 1977?) j. 113. Breathing Room (around 2012)

The Flesh a. 5. Thrown Away (8 August 2008) b. 14. Piecemeal (early 2011) c. 17. The Boneturner’s Tale (1996) d. 18. The Man Upstairs (22 October 2007) e. 20. Desecrated Host (November 2006) f. 30. Killing Floor (12 July 2013) g. 49. The Butcher’s Window (June 2007) h. 58. Trail Rations (October - November 1845) i. 72. Takeaway (27 September 2009) j. 90. Body Builder (2013) k. 103. Cruelty Free (2014) l. 115. Taking Stock (autumn 1999)

The Corruption a. 6. Squirm (20 November 2014) b. 16. Arachnophobia (early 2015) c. 22. Colony (March 2016) d. 26. A Distortion (1 April 2016) e. 32. Hive (pre-2014) f. 36. Taken ill (August - September 2011) g. 39. Infestation (29 July 2016) h. 45. Blood Bag (spring 2010) i. 55. Pest Control (2011, 2014) j. 68. The Tale of a Field Hospital (1 June 2003) k. 84. Possessive (pre-1982, late 1970s?) l. 93. Containment (1995) m. suspected 95. Absent Without Leave (after 1946, 1977?) n. 102. Nesting Instinct (early 2014)

The Slaughter a. 7. The Piper (1917-1918) b. 28. Skintight (January 2015) c. 42. Grifter’s Bone (autumn 2013) d. 76. The Smell of Blood (late 2016?) e. 82. The Eyewintesses (pre-2007?, 18 February 2017) f. 95. Absent Without Leave (after 1946, 1977?) g. 105. Total War (1862) h. 116. The Show Must Go On (October 1787) i. 117. Testament (1919, between 2016-2017?)

The Desolation a. 8. Burned Out (November 2006) b. 12. First Aid (23 December 2011) c. 19. Confession (November 2006) d. 37. Burnt Offering (August 2009) e. 43. Section 31 (August 2011,18 July 2014) f. 55. Pest Control (2011, 2014) g. 59. Recluse (early-to-mid 1960s) h. 67. Burning Desire (October-November 2006) i. 87. The Uncanny Valley (September 2014) j. 89. Twice as Bright (1989-1991) k. 100. I Guess You Had To Be There (around 2015-2016?) l. 107. Third Degree (January 2010)

The Dark a. 9. A Father’s Love (1990-1995) b. 25. Growing Dark (January - 11 March 2015) c. suspected 41. Too Deep (mid-August - September 2016) d. 52. Exceptional Risk (1 November 2002) e. 63. The End of the Tunnel (26 March 2014) f. 73. Police Lights (10 February 2017) g. 86. Tucked In (1983) h. 98. Lights Out (1864) i. 100. I Guess You Had To Be There (2017?) j. 109. Nightfall (Jluy 2010)

The Hunt a. 9. A  Father’s Love (1990-1995) b. 10. Vampire Killer (1959-) c. 31. First Hunt (31 November - 1 December 2010) d. 36. Taken ill (August - September 2011) e. 56. Children of the Night (1982, 1996, 2009) f. 61. Hard Shoulder (24 July 2002) g. 107. Third Degree (mid-2017) h. 109. Nightfall (July 2010) i. 112. Thrill of the Chase (November 2011)

The Eye a. 12. First Aid (23 December 2011) b. 23. Schwartzwald (winter 1815) c. 53. Crusader (November 1941) d. 60. Observer Effect (April - July 1972) e. 62. First Edition (1955) f. 82 The Eyewintesses (pre-2007?, 18 February 2017) g. 92. Nothing Beside Remains (9 April 1824, 28 April 2017) h. 118. The Masquerade (6 August 2017) g. 120. Eye Contact (9 August 2017)

The Lonely a. 13. Alone (30/31 March 2015) b. 33. Boatswain’s Call (late November 2010) c. 48. Lost in the Crowd (around 2009 - early 2010) d. 57. Personal Space (September 2007) e. 92. Nothing Beside Remains (9 April 1824, 28 April 2017) f. 100. I Guess You Had To Be There (2017?) g. 108. Monologue (August 2009)

The Extinction a. 65. Binary (late 2016 - early 2017?) b. suspected 114. Cracked Foundation (23 April 2009)

All entities/general plot a. 35. Old Passages (pre-2002) b. 80. The Librarian (1994, 16 February 2017) c. 111. Family Business (September 2008, 30 June 2017) d. 117. Testament (2-4 August 2017)

[tiefling-queer]

it’s mid-august, school’s starting again. none of us are in class anymore. it’s a college town - summer doesnt fit it, just slips right off. it was just june. you were just here. it’s been ages since i’ve seen you. there’s a post i want to send her. we were just watching a meteor shower out in the badlands. i havent spoken to her in years. the post sits in my drafts. i’m hanging out with them and it’s like nothing’s changed. we’re fundamentally different people now. i just moved out here. ive lived here half a decade. it’s a college town, im not in class anymore. folks usually leave once they’re done with school. most of our friends have moved on. i don’t think i can leave. ive got time. ive got time. ive been telling myself that for years. when’s the last time we spoke. we’ve got time. we’ve got time. yeah i think i’ll just stay in tonight. sorry i didn’t respond to your message. we’ve got time.

[pikapals16]

Just When It Gets Better, It Gets Worse (not finished)

tw: non-con, abuse, self-harm, sensory overload/panic attack, suicide attempt (these were planned tw's so not all of them are in this draft, but just to be safe)

A summer day spent at the mall with her visiting family should've been fun. It probably would've, excluding her past and her parents' denial that anything of any sort happened.

This isn't the case if you couldn't tell.

Kat's family was walking through the mall center when a group of people catches her eye. It's not like this group came together, they're all gathered up and definitely staring at something. Normally Kat would just walk on pass, but the sound of distress convinces them to sneak into the crowd.

After scooting to a place where she can observe, they see the subject of curiosity is a girl, about her age, and who's clearly in a sort of panic attack. Her hands are clamped and pulling at her hair, her body rocking back and forth.

The girl in pink watches as someone tries to approach her before someone else yelling back.

"Don't get close! She's probably one of those weirdos with autism." Kat pushes down their anger at the offhand comment. This girl doesn't deserve that, she's already in distress. Kat looks around for anyone the girl could've come with, as it is very unlikely that she'd have come alone

She sees two men, mid to late fourties, frantically looking around for something, which puts them as the most likely possibility. They consider going up to them to inform them of the situation, but she figures they already know, explaining the distressed look on the their faces (and assuming that they are who this girl arrived with).

Kat digs inside of her bag, looking for something that might help ground the panicking girl. Nothing that'd be remotely helpful, and she never brings their stress ball or fidget cube with their parents around. Something about disbelief in non-physical diseases, but she'd rather not risk it.

What they do take out though, is one of those toy rings with googly eyes. To be frank, Kat isn't sure why she has the old toy in her bag, but perhaps it will help the girl calm down? It's not like they have anything else to use.

Slowly, Kat slips closer to the girl, choosing to ignore any comments made, and sits in front of her, making sure to maintain distance to not make her feel uncomfortable.

Admittedly, they haven't been in a situation even remotely similar, but they've read some articles that give her an idea of what to do. The rest, she's just winging it.

Slipping the ring onto her finger, Kat raises their hand.

"Hi, I'm Mr. Goggles." Kat opens and closes her hand to imply that it's the one speaking. As it does, Kat can see the girl look up in curiosity. They guess that it seems to be working. "What's your name?"

Kat cringes a bit, this girl is probably a college student, she doesn't need to be dumbed down.

"C-Cathy." Cathy's eyes seem to light up at the character. Although her hands haven't moved from their position, they've stopped pulling, and her rocking looks like it's slowing down. Kat smiles at her, hoping she recognizes it.

She takes the ring off of her finger, and holds it out in their palm, offering it to her.

"You can have it." They say just loud enough for Cathy to hear. The latter looks at her in confusion. Why would the pretty girl be giving this to her of all people? She doesn't even know her. "It's okay, really."

At this point, Cathy's hand have since released from her head as she contemplates this. Hesitantly, she reaches out, causing Kat to scoot forward so she can hand it to her.

Cathy curiously spins and shakes the toy before putting the ring on her finger, like the pretty girl had. She opens and closes her hand, and her heart seems to flutter--at both the shaking sound of the googly eyes, and the little character that appears on her hand.

Kat smiles when they hear quiet coos coming from Cathy's mouth. What she did seemed to work, and she's calmed down.

Speaking of which, they should probably go and find their parents before she gets punished. Again. Yet, there's something that draws her towards this...stranger. She can rule out love, as she identifies as demisexual, but they're tempted to stay here in their little bubble.

Without any outside influence, just them-

"Oh my god, thank you." The two middle-aged men briskly walk over, one of them kneeling to communicate with Cathy through what looks to be sign language, and the other turning his attention to Kat.

Feelings and memories are shoved down into the archives of Kat's mind. She doesn't need or want to remember, and this guy shouldn’t have to worry over another panic attack.

”Thank you so much for calming her down. My husband and I really appreciate it. Not many people have enough patience to deal with our daughter’s autism.” The thought of these two men being married and raising a child calms some of Kat’s nerves, but just some.

”You’re welcome. Does she go to school here?” Kat curses at themself for asking that, but surprisingly the question isn’t taken a wrong way.

“No, we’re just visiting friends.” The other husband mentions as he helps Cathy up. “But thank you for being so kind. It’s rare that people listen.” Oh. Kat would know that firsthand. The countless times it’s happened.

“Yes, for sure.” Is what she settles with. They don’t need to know. “I should get going though. Wish you all the best!” With the goodbye, Kat runs off to find their family, praying they didn’t notice her absence.

But of course, they did, and while she’s being scolded at, Kat lets her thoughts take over for a bit. It’s not like it’d end any differently. It’s always the same punishment and Kat hates it each time.

They’ve felt nothing for the past couple of years but today just seemed to be different. An unlikely meeting, yet Cathy seemed to have an effect on them. And they only met for a couple of minutes if anything.

They don’t know why she’s putting so much thought into this.

What are the odds of them meeting again anyway?

-

Kat walks up to their meeting spot for lunch. She doesn’t have friends, acquaintances really, but they eat with them to trick themselves into thinking they are her friends. That she’s not completely alone. To distract herself from other things.

Right before they sit, Kat sees someone else, seated by themselves. People walk past without so much as a second glance, and Kat can’t take their eyes of them. They have brown curly hair, and they’re wearing a blue hoodie, which in itself is a bit odd for August.

Kat fiddles with their pink crop top. She sees herself in this mystery person. The emptiness and loneliness. Perhaps if they help the other, maybe they’ll feel less damaged as well.

”Do any of you recognize them?” Most of them don’t, but someone claims to have seen her in their creative writing class, and another claims that she has ASD. “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

The girl in pink sees the strange looks from their lunch mates, but like she’s done before, it goes ignored.

"Hi." The girl on the bench looks up at the new voice. "Can I eat lunch with you?" The brunette scoots over and pats the empty space for her to sit. As Kat sits down, the other can't seem to take her eyes off her. She's pretty.....and someone she hasn't gotten the chance to thank yet.

Quickly the girl in blue digs through her bag, looking for a certain item that a certain someone had given her on a certain summer day at the mall. She shakes the rings back and forth to get the pretty girl's attention.

"Oh. Wait." Kat takes a better look at the girl she's sitting next to. No wonder she felt familiar. "We met over the summer. Cathy, right?" Cathy nods, smile growing on her face. "Well, I never told you my name, so I guess I'll do that now. Hi, I'm Kat. She/they pronouns."

"She/her." Cathy points to herself as she speaks, to make sure that Kat didn't think that Cathy didn't support their pronouns. "And thank you." Kat tilts their head in confusion. "For Mr. Goggles and helping me during my meltdown. You kinda saw me at my worst."

"Oh um, it's nothing." Lie. "Hold on, I thought you were just visiting?" ..Not a complete lie, she put some pieces together.

"My dad got a job here and my pop didn't want to be more than an hour away from me because....you know." Cathy realizes she's been stimming, but doesn't stop her actions, rather glancing at Kat to see her reaction. Nothing. Kat's eyes never leave Cathy's, well really her head since the latter isn't a fan of direct eye contact.

And that's another thing. Kat doesn't force eye contact like the other's experienced so many times before. Cathy's met very few people who are similar, and she holds them all close to her heart.

"Yeah."

The two talk for a little longer before departing for their separate classes. 'Two' honestly refers to Kat leading the conversation and Cathy commenting when prompted, but neither really care. They make sure to exchange numbers, but little did they know how much they would end up depending on each other.

-

She was minding her own business, honest. Cathy was never one to go into crowded places alone, for obvious reasons, but this is the easiest and closest place for her to meet with her new friend.

The ever so increasing volume of the area starts to bother the blue girl, so she takes out her headphones, blocking out most of the noise. She checks her watch again. Kat’s still not here?

Her initial thought is that Kat blew her off, but they’ve made it very clear that she’d never do something like that, not without explanation. To steer her thoughts away from becoming too overwhelming, Cathy plays with her fidget cube inside her pocket.

It’s never completely gone, but Cathy’s certainly learned how to handle her ASD better. Or at least, so that she can prevent any public outbreaks.

Unlike some people who just haven’t grown up from high school behavior yet. This particular guy thinks it's funny to copy her very subtle stimming. Just your typical jackass.

"Dude stop, she hasn't done anything to you." And that, would be the arrival of her friend. Kat turns to Cathy, tilting their head in the direction of her dorm, and the pair starts walking away. "He didn't make you uncomfortable, did he?"

Cathy shakes her head, and the two walk in silence. The silence isn't all that bad or foreign, but rather a comfort to the two. Of course, until the unsuspected thunder. Seriously, they don't know why they bother listening to the weather reports at this point.

In instinct, Cathy takes off her jacket and wraps it around Kat before pulling the both of them into the dorms.

"Cathy, you can stop running, we're inside now." Cathy doesn't stop. She doesn't want anyone else to see what she's done. No one's seen it. Not even her parents. She keeps her same pace until she's navigated the halls to Kat's dorm.

Only then does she let go.

And she immediately regrets it.

"Cathy...." Without the long sleeves as a cover, Cathy's scars are exposed. Even as she tries to hide it with her hands, they're still visible. She does nothing except curl in on herself, soft noises coming from her mouth. Kat does nothing except open the door, trying their best not to stare so hard.

Thank goodness her roommate is out of town, that would've made for some awkward conversation. Kat and Cathy walk in, the latter with a brisk pace, the former with a moment of hesitation.

"You did that yourself, didn't you?"

-

and that's where i gave up, basically, where i was going with this was that cathy opens up about the self-harm, then kat opens up about her trauma yea, they're friends! cathy is a year older than kat, so she graduates and although they still talk, it's not as often as kat would like. long story short, kat starts to feel lonely and depressed again, and they feel so disconnected from the world that she kills herself by overdose. little does she know that cathy and her friends were just on their way to surprise them, but see kat just in time for it to happen. cathy runs up, and begs kat to stay with her (the others are calling an ambulance) and kat's like "shit no, wait, you're here" then black out.

whether or not kat survives is up to interpretation! or....would've been hehe. idk, i'm kinda rambling now, but yea here's an abandoned oneshot

[goldencuffs]

fake dating au part two

Whenever Laurent was overwhelmed, or feeling the kind of loneliness even a good cock couldn’t cure, he would sneak off into the library in the north wing of the Palace, where most of his mother’s official portraits were displayed.

Laurent loved all of them; Hennike was smiling in every single one, blonde hair curled perfectly, and teeth a stunning white. The colouring of her gowns and crowns were so bright, even painted, they seemed to shine in the dullest light. Laurent didn’t really know her; she had died three days after giving birth to him, but he had watched so many interviews and home videos of her, he felt like he had. She had been beautiful, well spoken, and everyone had been shocked when she had fallen for Al, because she had been betrothed to someone else.

Laurent liked coming down here to talk to her. It helped to have her listen to his dramatic tirades. He had started doing it when he was thirteen, when Auguste had enlisted in military training and left him alone, but had stopped a few months later, when Al caught him, his face ashen as he’d watched his youngest son babble to his dead wife.

After that, Laurent made sure to only come down in the dead of night, when he was absolutely desperate.

Which was clearly now; Laurent’s head had been spinning since the dinner at Heston’s. Even dessert hadn’t cheered him up — Heston, the absolute cretin, had served only four options of dessert and not a single one had chocolate in them. Not even one! It was like people intentionally went out of their way to put Laurent in a foul mood. Laurent had already drafted a wordy letter about Heston’s appalling lack of class and hosting abilities on the way home, and he was going to send it to the local tabloid first thing in the morning.

Laurent paced around the library, addressing his favourite portrait of his mother. It was her wedding portrait, and he loved all the detailing in it. The blush pink flowers in her bouquet matched her lipstick and her blush, and the tiara she was wearing had 588 diamonds in it. It was called The Laurent Tiara, and when Laurent had found out it had been Hennike’s favourite crown, he’d cried into his pillowcase for an embarrassingly long time.

“If I tell Al the truth now, he’ll kill me,” Laurent wailed at an appropriately low volume; he was very considerate of the sleeping guards when he threw his tantrums. “Or worse — get me married! Oh god, he’ll set me up with that idiot Torveld and I’ll have to spend the rest of my life hearing about his coin collection. Who even uses cash anymore? And what exactly is the point of having money if you can’t use it? And has Al even considered the aesthetics of our coupling? How are we supposed to wear matching outfits if Torveld looks rubbish in Egyptian blue and azure? Hello! Those are my signature colours!” Laurent sunk down on the lumpy sofa and buried his head in his hands. “Maybe death really is the better option.” He looked up at Hennike’s green eyes. “Is heaven overrated? Where would you personally place it on a scale of one to ten?”

She didn’t answer him, obviously. It was no use, anyway; Laurent was definitely not getting into heaven.

*

Laurent woke up irritated and unrested, and not for his usual, fun reasons. He hadn’t come up with any sort of solution to his dilemma and he had had a very strange dream where Damianos punched him while Al watched on. Then the scene had changed, and Laurent was on stage accepting his tenth Oscar for Best Actor, even though he had yet to star in any films.

“I’m thinking of becoming an actor,” Laurent told Al later that night during dinner.

Al’s eyes narrowed and his mouth became a sharp line. “What?”

“I mean, I have the looks, obviously. And really, how hard is acting anyway? Clearly you don’t even need to be very good at it to star in a movie — look at Channing Tatum. I’m sorry, but it’s very obvious his height was the only thing that got him into Hollywood, and even then it’s not that impressive.”

Al put down his knife and fork. “Can we —” He sounded very strained, “have a normal conversation for once.”

Laurent considered this. “I don’t think we’ve had enough conversations to statistically find out what constitutes a normal one,” he said. Al went red, so he continued, “So you don’t think acting is for me? Shall I try directing then? Or maybe —” He sat up excitedly in his chair. “I could write movies! I have so many ideas! Why, for instance, has no one considered a gay version of The Princess Bride? What would that even be called? The Prince Groom? Ugh, no, that’s terrible. Oh, who am I kidding — with my face and my body I have no choice but to be on camera. Otherwise, it’d be such a waste.”

The vein in Al’s forehead was throbbing. If he had been wearing his crown, it would have gone unnoticed, but like this, it was rather unflattering.

Al said, “Laurent,” in a sombre tone. “I really hope you’re joking.”

“About The Prince Groom? Kind of. But the acting thing — would it really be that bad?”

“You are a prince,” Al said, teeth clenched. “If it is the glam and glitz you want, you have more than enough here.”

Laurent, uncomfortably, thought of his room, the only place in the Palace that was truly his, devoid completely of personal artefacts. He swallowed. “Yes, well.” He tried a smile. “Maybe I should borrow another crown from the royal archives. I don’t think I’ve worn one with emeralds yet.”

Al resumed eating. “Speaking of crowns,” he said, completely glossing over Laurent’s last statement. “I’d like you to wear the Crown of Naos when King Damianos arrives.”

Laurent’s mouth dropped open. “As if! Al, the gold colouring on that completely washes me out! Not to mention the fact that that thing weighs like, five kilograms!”

Al’s nostrils flared at the word Al. He said, “The crown is a gift from Damianos’ great great grandfather to yours. It will be an appropriate and symbolic gesture if you wear it.”

“But why can’t you wear it? Or Auguste?”

“I am not the one having an affair with the King of Akielos,” said Al.

Oh, right. Laurent had forgotten about that. But what was the point? It wasn’t as though Damianos would recognise the gesture. If anything, he might think of it as inappropriate.

Instead he said, “Well, gee, Al, I didn’t peg you as a romantic.” Laurent fluttered his lashes a little.

Al pushed away his plate. “I’m done, thank you.” A servant immediately came to clear away his food.

Al left the dining hall, his shoulders tight. Laurent wished Auguste would hurry back home already.

*

In the morning, on the way back from the stables, Jord said, “Looks like your wish came true.”

Laurent stopped dead. “Oh my god — is Pierre-Alexis Dumas here? Is he finally going to collab with me?”

“Who’s Pierre-Alexis Dumas?” said Jord.

Laurent whirled on him. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Sorry.” Jord said, not sounding the slightest bit sorry. The audacity! “But look.” He pointed past Laurent, to the front of the Palace.

Laurent looked. There was a nondescript black limousine parked on the long, gravel pathway. Laurent would have dismissed it, if he didn’t spot sight of Jeurre, Auguste’s chauffeur, leant up against one of the doors, smoking.

Laurent gasped. He passed on his bridle to Jord, who fumbled to catch it, and ran inside.

Auguste and Al were in the plate room. Al was sitting on the large, velvet throne, a glass of whiskey in his hand. It wasn’t even noon! And he was baring his teeth in that weird way — smiling, as he called it.

Auguste was standing in front of him, hands behind his back. He had gotten very tan, and his hair was much darker, a strange golden colour that made the blue-green of his eyes more appealing.

They both turned when Laurent entered. Al’s mouth was already drooping at the sight of him, but Laurent only had eyes for his brother, whom he hadn’t seen in eight whole months.

Laurent wanted to hug him, which surprised even himself. Laurent was not a hugger. He wasn’t much of a toucher, either, unless it involved getting laid.

Auguste gave him a nod. He sometimes acted so much like Al, it disgusted Laurent; the only difference was that Auguste’s eyes were always kind.

Laurent peered at him closely, shocked. “What have you done to yourself? Are you having a mid-life crisis? Should we call Paschal for a yearly psych evaluation?”

Auguste laughed. “It’s a moustache, Laurent. It’s very fashionable in Kempt, you know.”

“It’s horrendous!” Laurent cried. He stared at the thick hair above Auguste’s top lip in horror. “Right. I’m officially ruling Kempt out as a holiday destination this summer if all the men are growing that.”

Al’s eyebrows furrowed. “I like it. It’s very refined.”

“Oh god, now we have to get rid of it,” said Laurent, which made Al frown and Auguste laugh. Auguste squeezed Laurent’s shoulder. He was always mindful of Laurent’s boundaries. “I think you’ve grown taller.”

“I haven’t,” Laurent said. He showed off his riding boots. “See? It’s three inches of heel.”

“Very impractical,” Al said under his breath, which was not a very Kingly thing to do.

Auguste was still smiling. “I like it. It matches the piping of your coat.”

“Yes, exactly!” Laurent was so happy in that moment, he leant forward and hugged Auguste. It was very short, but Auguste looked so pleased afterwards, Laurent wished he had prolonged it.

“Did you get me anything?” he asked, to cover the embarrassment following his sudden burst of affection.

Auguste raised an eyebrow. “I’m hurt, Laurent. You’re not going to ask me about my classes or my rather excellent Anthropology professor?”

Laurent scrunched up his face. “Are you stalling because you didn’t get me anything?”

Auguste smiled. “There’s about fifty boxes of Grand Cru chocolate in your bedroom.”

Laurent’s sound of ecstasy was too loud; Al spilled some of his whiskey onto his pants. Auguste clapped him on the back in commiseration.

As the servants laid out a small meal —  roses of smoked salmon on cucumber slices, macaroons, thin slices of cured meat and cheese, crunchy shrimp salad on crusty rolls, grapes and strawberries and mango and pineapple, individual strawberry shortcakes, that kind of thing — Auguste said, “Father tells me you’re having an affair with the King of Akielos.” He said it casually enough, but Laurent could see he wasn’t thrilled about the idea.

Laurent swallowed his last bite of sandwich and placed a hand on his heart. “Al! You should know better than to gossip, shame on you!”

Al just sighed, a long, suffering sound, and Auguste glared openly at him. “I thought you promised to stop disrespecting Father like that.”

Laurent’s stomach pooled with an uncomfortable tightness. Being told off by Auguste somehow was always worse than being told off by Al.

“Fine,” Laurent said shortly. He said to Al: “Oh dearest Father, Papa, Your Majesty, light of my life, the man who impregnated Queen Hennike, so I, your glorious creation, could be born to bring some joy to this bleak, bleak world: stop gossiping immediately.”

There was a very long pause. Then Auguste laughed. “You are such a shit.”

Al sighed again. “He’s becoming more and more insolent by the day.”

“Thank you so much,” Laurent said, wiping away an imaginary tear.

Auguste barked another laugh. Al sipped more whiskey; a very good sign. Laurent was going to take advantage of this; he wanted a new watch.

Auguste continued his questioning a few minutes later. “So. You and the King — it’s true?”

Laurent flapped a hand. “Oh, you know how it is. He saw those pictures of me from Aimeric’s birthday party where I wore those silk shorts that were just long enough to be tasteful and the poor darling had absolutely no choice but to slide into my DMs and woo me.”

“What’s a DM?” asked Al, and if the question had come from anyone else, Laurent would have found it adorable. He probably would have tweeted it as well.

“Texting,” Auguste said. He seemed contemplative. “Aimeric’s birthday — from last September? It’s been a bit more than a year.”

“Yes,” said Laurent. He tried to say it as wistfully as possible. “He bought me a Ferrarri.”

“Really?” Auguste sounded impressed. “The 1954?”

Laurent grinned. “Do you want to drive it?”

“Fuck yeah,” Auguste said, then quickly cleared his throat and looked at their father. “I mean, yes. Perhaps later in the afternoon.”

Al shook his head, but he didn’t say anything for the rest of the meal. Well, he didn’t say anything to Laurent. He really was in a good mood.

*

Having Auguste back had Laurent so distracted it wasn’t until a few days later that he realised how frantically the staff were cleaning the floors and walls and painting frames.

In fact, he became so relaxed doing less than nothing all day, since Al was too busy doing this and that, or fawning over Auguste, he didn’t comprehend why the chefs needed fifty boars delivered fresh on Friday morning, until Al told him before their weekly Council, “I want you to wear your red high neck blouse tomorrow.”

“Why?” Laurent asked, checking for any fine lines in the shine of the armour of one of the propped knights in the hallway.

“It is the colour of the Akielos banner. I am trying to seem as diplomatic as possible.”

Laurent went very, very still. With dawning horror, he said, “The — Damianos is coming tomorrow?”

Al’s expression turned thunderous. “Do not waste my time asking stupid questions, Laurent. You know how much I despise it.”

Laurent’s eyes widened. “Oh no,” he said quietly, real fear settling into his bones. Damianos was going to murder him tomorrow. He would need to get a facial tonight, to ensure he was the most beautiful corpse the human eye had seen. And then something much more horrific occurred to him. “Wait! I can’t wear the red high neck with the Crown of Naos! Those colours completely clash!”

Al seemed to age a few centuries in a blink of an eye. With a shake of his head, he walked into the Chambers, leaving Laurent alone in the hallway.

Laurent frowned. One of these days, he was going to be the one storming out. It was only fair.

*

Things only got worse.

Laurent’s last minute facial broke him out, so he threatened to sue and smashed one of their stupid reclining chairs.

Laurent had honestly thought that was going to be the worst of it; the pimple along his jawline was easy to cover up once he got the local dermatologist to inject something in it.

But on the morning of Damianos’ arrival, Laurent was in a terrible mood. He hadn’t slept at all, worried about his pimple, his horrible outfit, and the fact that a man who was the size of a small house — Google said Damianos was 6’6”, but he was definitely way more, no arguments — was going to viciously kill him.

“Hurry up,” Laurent snapped at the servant dressing him, who had been pulling too sharply at his laces for the last six minutes.

“Yes, Your Highness,” he answered meekly, and continued fumbling about.

When a few more minutes passed, Laurent looked down at him. “Okay, seriously, this is ridiculous. You usually get me dressed in ten minutes or less. What is the problem?”

“I —” The servant looked like he was on the verge of tears. “Your Highness, the laces — I can’t do them up. It’s uh — it’s too tight.”

“What do you mean?” Laurent asked, narrowing his eyes. “This fit perfectly a month ago.”

“Yes, well —” And his eyes slid over to the bed, where an empty, open box of chocolates was stacked against many other empty boxes of chocolate.

Laurent saw red.

It took three guards and then Jord and Lazar to keep Laurent restrained enough to not kill him. In the end, he yelled until his throat was hoarse and the servant broke down, running out the room with his face covered in tears.

Afterwards, Laurent attempted to do up the laces himself, because he was not fat, and he definitely had not gained weight; he was svelte and sexy and desirable.

In the end, he could only do his trousers up, and only just. If he let out a particularly deep exhale… well, breathing was overrated anyway, Laurent had always thought so.

“Oh, forget it!” Laurent howled, miserable and on the verge of tears himself. “I look ridiculous.”

“No, you don’t, Your Highness,” Jord assured quickly. Too quickly.

Laurent glanced at himself in the mirror. His ass was practically suffocated in these trousers — and that was his best feature! He ran a hand down it forlornly. “It’s too tight.”

Jord’s eyes followed his hand with avid interest. He was drooling.

“Could be tighter,” said Lazar, leaning against the bedpost.

Laurent flung himself on the bed. “No it couldn’t. I need to lose about three kilograms in the next —” He checked the clock, “half an hour. Oh god. Just tell Al I died. It’ll make his day, go on.”

“Orgasms help with weight loss,” said Lazar. “I could fuck your face.”

Laurent sniffed “Don’t be so stupid.” He looked at the clock again. “Obviously, riding you will help me lose more calories. Both of you get on the bed, quick.”

*

Laurent did not lose three kilograms in half an hour. As enjoyable as the sex had been, it had only made him tired and anxious.

Jord suggested that Laurent should just let the laces at the back trail, and cover it up with a coat, even though it was far too hot in the year to wear one. Laurent obliged anyway, knowing how difficult Al would be if he showed up wearing undiplomatic colours. He changed his trousers into a different pair, making sure it had an elastic waistband to stretch accommodatingly.

When the crown was placed on his head, he staggered a little. It really was unnecessarily heavy. His great great grandfather must have had a head the size of a watermelon.

Laurent walked unsteadily down the hall, towards the Palace steps where Auguste and Al were already waiting. His insides became so twisted with the thought of seeing Damianos, he had to make a detour and hide behind a tapestry to have a panic, but only a little one.

Outside, the sun was blazing. Auguste clapped him on the back in greeting, and Laurent winced, the material of his blouse sticking to his armpits. Al’s lips curled at his outfit, but Laurent couldn’t care. He hoped he looked beautiful enough — just enough — so Damianos would reconsider his murder. At the very least, Laurent hoped nothing happened to his face.

“Alright?” said Auguste. “You’re sweating.”

“Shut up,” said Laurent, mortified. He was a prince; he did not sweat.

Auguste’s response was cut off by the sound of the gates opening and rolling tires on gravel. Laurent’s heart was in his ears; he swallowed, but it made him feel more sick.

The sleek, black car was parked in the driveway. Several seconds later, Damianos stepped out, tall and handsome.

Laurent whimpered. It was one thing to see photos of Damianos on the internet, walking briskly down the street or shaking hands with Al, and it was another thing entirely to see him in the flesh as he walked down their driveway.

He was so tall. And he was built like a tree; all thick arms and chest and thighs. Laurent had such a weakness for thighs, they were really the best part of a man’s body, how they framed the groin and the cock and —

Laurent realised, suddenly, that he had not prepared at all for how he was going to greet Damianos.

Lovers kissed each other, yes? Laurent didn’t think he could do that without being punched but god, would Al think it was weird if he didn’t at least attempt to kiss Damianos? Maybe he could pretend to suddenly be shy, too coy to look into Damianos’ eyes in front of everyone — yes, yes that sounded perfect.

Damianos came up the stairs, smile wide and straight. His teeth were amazing. Were they fake? Laurent didn’t think so; he ran his tongue over his own, nervous, heart still thumping in his ears.

He greeted Al first. Laurent’s head was spinning. What if Al said something? What if Auguste did? What if Damianos said something that alluded to the fact that this was technically, the first time he and Laurent would be speaking to another?

And then Laurent couldn’t think of anything else, because Damianos was standing right in front of him.

He reached out, one large, dark hand to shake Laurent’s. Laurent staggered forward, into his chest, and closed his eyes.

*

When he opened his eyes again, Laurent saw the most beautiful angel.

“Wow, you’re hot.” Laurent poked a very hard, very strong bicep. “Heaven’s pretty cool.” He was dead, obviously,  because people this good looking didn’t exist in the mortal world.

“You’re not dead, Laurent. Can you sit up?”

Laurent thought about it. He wasn’t dead? That was good news. But he felt like he was dead because he couldn’t move his body at all.

“Here, can you follow my finger?”

“Hmm.” Laurent said and stared unblinkingly at what he assumed was a finger. It was quite blurry.

“I think he’s concussed.”

Laurent giggled. The stranger’s accent made it sound like he had said cock-cussed. It made Laurent want to suck cock.

He said, “If I’m not dead, I’d like to be. Jord, get me my blue Prada scarf. I want to be buried in it. Lazar, get your gun out.”

“He doesn’t seem concussed.” That was Al. The compulsion to die was suddenly much stronger.

“We should take him to the hospital,” the hot angel said. Laurent was in love.

He said as much: “I really love you,” he told the blurry figure. Then he rolled over onto his side and threw up.

[saddlepunk]

@iowasi I AM GLAD U ASKED

you wouldnt have heard of it bc its a story ive got in progress, and ive only mentioned it on my blog like... once, but its a historical romance novel!! basic premise is as follows:

There's this down on his luck human dude who goes by the name of Edwin Baker who catches wind of an opening as the valet for a merchant's son, so he goes to apply for the job. The one issue is that said merchant's son, a young man named Auguste du Chastain, is also a Fae, and Edwin has had like... no interactions with the fae ever in his whole life and is kinda terrified hes gonna get kidnapped or something. luckily for him Auguste is a dumb gay bastard who develops a crush on him pretty much immediately, which goes about as well as youd expect given that one of Edwin's duties as valet is "help Auguste get dressed bc he's got longass claws and cant work a button to save his life."

Luckily for Auguste, he manages to charm Edwin and they end up in a mutual pining thing. They'd totally just go for it, differences in station be damned, except... Auguste also has a fiance, a mid-level noble by the name of Vincent Coventry, who's kind of a control freak and just all around nasty dude. So the bulk of the story is Edwin and Auguste navigating their feelings for each other while also trying to get Auguste out of this marriage he really doesnt want to get into.

Other members of the cast include:

Davie, Auguste's little changeling kid. He is a feral bastard who likes to bite and roll in the mud and he'd think Edwin was the greatest thing since sliced bread except this takes place in the early 1800s and presliced bread wasnt a thing yet. Edwin is like, the only person who can wrangle him and Davie has some respect for that bc everyone else gave up after he bit them a few times

Anna and Justine, who tend to come as a unit. Theyre the maids, and theyre also married, and they want EVERYONE to know theyre married at all times. Anna is loud and boisterous and likes to tease both Edwin and Auguste about their very obvious crushes on each other. Justine is a little more tactful and reserved but she's also just as much of a menace when she sees a chance to get a dig on her friends.

Jules... is an asshole. He's the house steward and he's just kind of a snot about everything, but he's got Circumstances so he gets a slight pass.

Aaaaand Graham. He's the chef. theres not... a lot to say about him, he's just a regular guy. its fine. dont worry about it.

Ive got oodles of fae lore also, like how individual fae dont reproduce. instead theres a BUNCH of queens, one for each settlement who send out eggs for the fae to adopt. theres also the four High Queens, one for each seasonal court. they are Giant Women and also Bugs. I might end up typing up a whole official lore document on this world bc... i have a lot... but the story itself is the main thing its just like... mutual pining!! drama!! intrigue!! danger!! sometimes they just sit and drink tea but the important thing to know abt Edwin and Auguste is that theyre both kind of stupid and sometimes make bad choices because theyre lowkey horny and highkey in love.

I've got a completed first draft sitting at 56k words altogether, and now im pluggin away at a second draft that might end up longer bc im cleanin up the story and adding in extra bits to strengthen some of the later portions and i just... i love it so much every waking moment for the past week has been dedicated to thinkin abt it-

[teacherintransition]

IT’S STILL NOT FIXED? @#%&.$€£§?} Liberty Bell Take me Away!

"Ladies and gentlemen: the story you are about to hear is true. The names have been changed to protect the innocent”*

From me …”your time is your own when you retire.” Not exactly the case my friend, we will, all of us be captive to the throes of incompetence and being “shushed” by some in certain service business. The only thing you can do to maintain your sanity is to nestle up to your favorite barstool for the panacea when in pain and obtain sanctuary. This becomes problematic when your home away from home, the place where everyone knows your name, the place where the omniscient bartender has your required libation already poured when you cross the threshold … when this establishment has been closed for 1,193 days. Et omnis gloria eius…. The Liberty Bell.

The days since I announced my retirement in August 5, 2020; have for the most part, been pretty damn cool. I’ve started a website, a business, am a writing a book, am writing a blog that I plan to transfer into book form, I’m walking, I’m painting like crazy and have read around sixty books. All in all with honey do’s included, I’ve been a very good boy. Not everyday has been grand and nor should it. I can often find peaceful solace upon my lawn mower, lawn tractor, the throne of the most high to be the right balm for almost any emotionally taxing time; I’m pretty damned easy to please. For those that know me, I’m kind of Hank Hill about my lawn. Neatly cut on a weekly basis and verdant green, “I mean to tell ya!” OCD? You bet your ass I am… and I’ve got one of the best lawns on the block. My red, powerhouse mower had been “injured” for the last four weeks… scratch that SIX weeks which has reduced me to the bourgeoisie practice of paying some one to do my yard work. Not me, not ever… or at least not for long.

Without retreading over the bloody, battle ground of indignation, “the customer is always right,” “you need to understand sir,” blah, blah, blah yada, yada, yada, Yoda,” get over it you must?” I find my self like the French and the Germans at the Marne in World War I … at a stalemate. In times like these when a man, who realizes that deployment of WMD’S, would only escalate the matter beyond all reasonable proportion, he must know it’s time to lick his wounds, catch his breath and refresh himself at his neighborhood pub with tasty libations and good conversation. There was only one place in my town of Nacogdoches that could fully restore me with vim and vigor and had all the requisite charms to soothe the savage beast: The Liberty Bell Aug. 2013-May 2018.

As mentioned previously, I shall use pseudonyms to protect the identities of the people who were my superheroes. K opened the Liberty Bell in August of 2013. Kim and I thought we’d “try out the new spot,” and had dinner there the first weekend. K billed it as a wine bar with pub fare and live music. She underplayed her hand… pub fare? More like steaks, shrimp and grits, shepherds pie that transcended finger food pub fare. Over the years, we would enjoy countless bands and singer songwriters. But a wine bar? You sneaky little proprietor of manna and flowing nirvana… she had beer(s), bourbons, gins, vodkas, ….Scotch Whisky with names like Glenlivet, Glenfiddich, Maccallan , Johnny Walker R,B, and B, the Balviene and others. K had prepared and provided an oasis from what St. Anthony Bourdain referred to as the sea of TG Mcfuckdies, Appledon’ts, and other prefabricated restaurant grill ideas that could be found at the end of every feeder road on any highway in the country. The Liberty Bell my friends was something completely different… at least for us small town folk in Nacogdoches. Our first waitress was KC who showed all the charm, wit, and politesse one would expect from an high end dining establishment. This it wasn’t, but it damn sure wasn’t an all you could eat food buffet and salad bar either. As we exited that balmy August evening through the doors, Kim and I looked at each other and, with the stars gleaming in the sky declared, “we really like this place.” In truth, I was holding something back, in my mind and in my heart, I was really thinking, “no, I fucking love this place!”

The decor was simple: dark wood flooring, a mid tone oak bar with the all important brass railings, multi colored earth toned brick that appeared subdued and solid with the look of being an older establishment that gave a feeling of reliability and solidity. A row of draft beers that provided the patron with an eclectic variety of artistic fermented malt beverages. K was presenting a true farm to table dining experience that filled out a fresh, fantastic menu. An eclectic mix of your American staples, southwestern fare, delicious steaks for we carnivores and a few surprises thrown in and expertly prepared.

H worked for K and was the kindest sweetest, fun, personable soul I may have ever met. It was a definite, “YES!” moment if you got her table. You were not only going to get wined and dined, but we’re guaranteed laughter and a hug. Choosing extraordinary personnel, was the magic intangible that made the Liberty Bell … my spot. H was also a fine arts major and ran the art gallery in the restaurant. There were many works from the university Art school, but H sought out local talent and even displayed my art. My paintings were hanging in a gallery! This local flair of coxing the locals to put their talents “out there,” was another draw to get you into this place…this wondrous place. We made friends there … that enjoyed you … not just because you were going to spend money. They would come and sit with you if things were slow and if they weren’t slow, they’d damn sure make the superhuman effort to let you know that they knew you were in house. The master of this service industry art form was J. He was genuinely happy to see you enter the door followed with a hand shake, a smile and a from the heart, “good to see you man!” J and later his protégée N, loved a challenge. You wanted a special nightcap to close out the evening? There was none of this, “duh, I’m sorry we don’t make that,” no, no my friend. J and N knew how to make it or would research right there or suggest a perfectly acceptable substitute. The next week you could safely bet the farm that your drink request was on the menu often being named after you. How could you expect anything better? They wanted you here and they damn sure wanted you back.

All of these niceties, these actions that you could never expect from the chain bar, grill and swill were what made The Liberty Bell transcendent.

“A good local pub has much in common with a church, except that a pub is warmer, and there's more conversation. ”

William Blake

This my friends is the money shot for a personal pub…. not the drinks, not the grub, not the large plant by the door… can the place that you’ve chosen really lift you up when your down? If the whole week has been filled with smart ass criticisms by some passive aggressive mid management flunky who hovers around 5’ 5”, wears shirt sleeves with a polyester tie can two hours spent within the confines of said pub wash away all the smatterings of the Napoleon complex supervisor and have you smiling and laughing and your not even drunk yet….this is the place to be mi compadres. If you congregate with others also beaten down by the soul crushing 9 to 5 and can find commonality in the struggles of your fellow proletariat and can see the good in SOME of the human race, well baby, you’ve found your sanctuary and hold on with all your strength, because one day it might be gone. For four years almost every Friday, Kim and I would meet at the Liberty Bell and commiserate, vent, fuss and heal. Going home, twisting open a beer and mindlessly watching Sports Center was not the ticket. An early afternoon at The Bell was truly good for what ails you. The pub, K, KC, H, J, N, C and the others are all gone… and The Liberty Bell has been replaced with … uh … something. All too many afternoons call out for that salve that soothes the savage beast. I’m reminded often when things just don’t turn out like you want….not to the degree of break down status, but just to the point that a familiar face, your comfortable bar stool and genuine conversation would make everything right with the world again … at least for awhile.

*Webb, Jack; Dragnet; Mark VII Productions; 1951-1970

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[quadraphonictypewriter]

Jon Lord, Deep Purple

Original article by Lee Marlow which was first printed in the Leicester Mercury in July, 2000.

-

You join us in the hallway of Jon Lord's sprawling Henley-on-Thames home.

Him, Leicester born, millionaire keyboard maestro with rock legends Deep Purple and Whitesnake; me, Leicester-born over-eager hack with a headful of daft questions he's answered a thousand times before.

Holding out a hand, Mr Lord, the David Niven of rock 'n' roll, greets me like a long-lost friend.

Grey stubble frames his face and a head full of slate grey hair is tied neatly in a pony tail.

"Good to see you... find it all right?... blah... terrible weather again isn't it... blah... Yes, it is nice round here isn't it... George Harrison lives just down the road... blah... we're touring in August... blah... on the road in South America..."

He hardly stops to draw breath as we settle in the cream lounge.

I can't help but notice the luxurious off-white carpet is so plush that I can trace my footsteps from the oak door to the immense sofa and, in the corner, a small cinema screen masquerades as a TV.

Life has been kind to Jon Lord.

He's sold millions of records and, erm, "rocked" the biggest audiences the world over – from the 200,000 fans at the California Jam in the mid-1970s to last year's hybrid Royal Albert Hall gig featuring Deep Purple and the London Symphony Orchestra.

Purple, his mainstay band of the past four decades, are about to hit the road again.

Lord admits that after all this time it's hard to resist.

"I don't need to do this anymore," he says, "but it is immense fun.

''I do see a time when we'll have to call it a day, of course, but when? I know I can't do it when I'm 90, but..."

It's all a long way from life at 120 Averill Road, where Mr Lord senior packed socks by day and played sax by night and where the young Lord enjoyed "a perfect childhood," roaming through the nearby countryside with his grubby-faced pals.

An after-school diet of piano lessons, homework and bike riding, however, left a teenage Lord facing an extra year at Wyggeston School.

"I just wanted to play with my friends," he says. "But it was always homework and piano lessons. Something had to give – and it was usually homework."

After being sacked from his first two jobs in Leicester, Lord left for London to study acting and played roll-out-the-barrel-style standards in smoky pubs to pay his rent.

Despite his best intentions, Lord's hopes of becoming an actor were overtaken by his desire to play rock 'n' roll and by the mid-60s, he'd been roped in to play keyboards on The Kinks' You Really Got Me.

"All I did was plink, plink, plink," he laughs. "It wasn't hard."

But from there, Lord and his trusty Hammond organ didn't look back.

He had a top 10 hit with Let's Go To San Francisco with The Flowerpot Men and was pocketing the princely sum of £60 a week.

Lord's future was bright. In fact, his future was Purple.

The group formed in 1968 and had a smash hit in the US with Hush at the end of the year. Three decades later, Kula Shaker took the same song to No 1 in the UK charts. ("Good version as well," says Jon, "if a bit too fast.'')

Purple opened for Eric Clapton's Cream in the States, but after five storming gigs they were taken off the tour as the energised Purple boys blew Slowhand's shambolic drug-addled trio off stage.

"We got on well with them. They had no idea we were to be taken off the tour – they were too stoned!" recalls Jon.

Back home, Purple instigated the first of many line-up changes, welcoming new singer Ian Gillan and bass player Roger Glover – a switch which heralded a new era for Purple and, with it, British rock.

"We knew we had something. It was just so exciting. We used to practice every afternoon and then gig every night."

Gillan brought more than great vocals to the band – his jet-black long hair and charisma attracted the ladies as well.

"There were plenty of groupies at that stage," smiles Lord.

And?

"Well, let's just say if you give a young lad a bit of money and untroubled access to nubile young women – it's not a bad life is it?"

Even at the wrong side of 50, Gillan, it appears, still has a certain charm with the opposite sex. Lord and Gillan were recently interviewed by former Watchdog beauty Alice Beer for the BBC1 religious show H&E.

"I might as well not have been there," smiles Lord. "She was completely taken by Gillan. And after the show they left together and went for a drink. No, I don't know what happened!"

The first five years of the 1970s saw Deep Purple trapped in a perpetual album-tour-album loop. The shows were sold out and the albums – In Rock, Fireball, Machine Head, Made In Japan, Who Do We Think We Are? – all went platinum.

They made a wodge of money, concedes Jon, but their managers made more.

Yet despite the excess (they also had their own plane, naturally), Lord steered clear of drugs.

"I can say hand-on-heart we were never really a drug band. My Dad bought me my first pint and I was still very much a lad from Leicester, you know.

"I experimented with drugs, of course I did. I smoked grass, but it left me sitting in a corner, introspective and giggling to myself.

"I had a brief flirtation with cocaine in the late 1970s but, to be honest, I don't really like being out of control."

The drugs came later. American Tommy Bolin, drafted in to replace the increasingly moody and erratic guitarist Ritchie Blackmore, succumbed to a long-term heroin habit in 1976 and Lord still recalls the time a cocaine dealer chased bassist Glenn Hughes on to the band's private plane, demanding $3,000.

By 1976, the writing was on the wall for Purple and its elaborate brand of rock music. Punk was the new king.

Lord retreated to the States for two years. But former Purple leader David Coverdale was looking for someone to become the new ivory tinkler in his new outfit, Whitesnake, and Lord fitted the bill.

"He wouldn't take no for an answer. I harboured no ambition to be Whitesnake's keyboard player, but he was very, very insistent."

Persuasive Coverdale might have been, but financially generous he certainly wasn't.

"I was in Whitesnake from 1978 to 1983 and he paid me abysmally! I complained regularly and he'd say 'Ok, leave it with me', but it never changed.

"It was a good laugh – that was the main reason I stayed in the band. It was ironic that in the middle of this punk revolution we were playing white R&B and selling out tours."

Strangely, considering the times, Whitesnake's brand of sexist crab-paced rock was a hit.

They were the biggest-grossing tour band in Europe by 1981. But Coverdale – secretly nicknamed Elsie by the band because of his louche on-stage antics and some of his cheesy lyrics – wanted success in America. At all costs.

"It was all style over substance towards the end," sighs Lord. "The band lost its heart. It was just about posing."

The music might have lost its soul, but Whitesnake – complete with a new band of poodle-permed hired hands in black spandex and glitter jackets – went on to sell 17 million albums in 1987.

Lord, meanwhile, had answered the call to reform Deep Purple.

"The critics said Purple getting back together was about money. It was never about money," says Lord. "It was exciting for us and the fans when we got back together."

And that's where he's been ever since. In truth, the reformed band never quite graced the same artistic heights they reached in their heyday, but on the concert circuit they're still capable of selling out a Wembley Arena or NEC.

"I don't enjoy touring in the way I used to, but those two hours on stage make up for it.

''The day I can't open that door and look forward to it is the day I say, 'Thank you very much and goodnight'."

And that's about it. Interview over. I've got more daft questions but, crikey, I've been here for more than three hours and he needs to finish a musical extravaganza he's writing for the local church. Phew, rock 'n'roll.

"Take care driving back," he says, "and give my love to Leicester."

[matrixaffiliate]

Endeavor

Chapter Update! FFN and AO3

I want to promise you right now that this story is a happy story and has a happy ending...just stick with me. ;) Next chapter goes up on Friday, August 21st.

Chapter 4

Ted made it back to his flat and forced himself to plug his phone in next to his bed so he would stop checking it again and again. She said she would text him. He just had to trust that.

He tried to distract himself by tidying up his room a bit, but his mind kept going back to how amazing the night had been. Being there with Vic felt right, it felt easy, it felt like everything he wanted things between them to be.

He was kicking himself over that feeling for the hundredth time when his phone buzzed on his night table.

Unknown: Did you make it home alright?

Ted let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and saved the number.

Ted: Who is this? How do I know you aren't a predator?

He grinned and laid back in his bed, propping himself up against his pillow.

Vic: I'm totally a predator. My victims are always white males in their mid-twenties.

Ted laughed out loud.

Ted: That seems fair. I guess I can talk to you until my coworker decides to get back to me. She was supposed to text me tonight.

Ted watched her typing icon with what he was sure was a stupid grin on his face.

Vic: As fun as that sounds, I really was looking forward to guessing your name, so can we drop this game and pick up that one?

Ted: Such a killjoy.

Vic: You promised me clues, Ted…

Ted: How do I know you're really Vic and not an impersonator?

Vic: Because your wolf figurine is sitting on my desk next to my laptop dock, and you knocked half your chips on the floor tonight when Jamie said that it was probably time you found a girlfriend.

Ted groaned. That had, unfortunately, happened. Jamie had asked if Ted would start dating now that he was done with university and only had the one job. Ted had been so flustered that he tipped his basket up and knocked some of his chips on the floor.

Ted: So cruel...why would I give you any information about my full name now?

She sent him a GIF of a baby about to cry, and Ted started laughing. He started to type a snarky reply but stopped himself when a dangerous thought crossed his mind.

What if he called her? Heaven knew he wanted to.

He deleted what he already wrote and started again.

Ted: Don't do that, don't pull on my heartstrings. I'll make you a deal, call me so I know it's you and then I won't hang up until you know my name.

Ted hit send and held his breath. He was beyond screwed at this point. He was certain she was going to play this off, tell him she was tired and they could pick up this twisted game on Monday.

Then his phone rang and Teddy's heart exploded in his chest.

"You waste no time, Weasley, do you?"

"Oh, shut up," Vic laughed and Ted tried to let his relieved sigh out slowly.

"No more stalling, Ted, I want my clues."

Ted grinned, "But of course, I'm a man of my word.

"Clues, Ted, clues!"

Ted laughed. "First clue, a few of my predecessors have been our country's monarch, while another abdicated the throne."

"Ha!" She shouted, and Ted laughed as he moved his phone to his other ear.

"I knew you were an Edward," she laughed. "You're too down to earth to be a Theodore."

"What does that even mean?"

"Doesn't matter, all that matters is I was right!"

Ted couldn't stop smiling. "Are you satisfied with being right enough to not care about my last name, then?"

"In your dreams, Edward."

Ted swallowed. Maybe this was a bad idea, but he was already in this deep, too late to back out now.

"Alright, do an internet search for the scientific name of wolves."

It was quiet for a moment before Vic spoke.

"Canis Lupus?"

"Right," Ted smirked, "and this is probably the part where you decide you hate me. Because next, you take those letters and rearrange them into my last name. You'll only need five of them though."

Vic groaned. "Ted that is an awful clue!"

"I don't know, it stretches your mind and gets your brain thinking. Those are things that are supposed to help stop Alzheimer's. So really, I'm helping you, Weasley, I'm preserving your brain for your future self."

"You're so full of it," Vic laughed. "Come on, Ted, give me more than a word scramble."

Ted could feel the smile stretching across his face.

"Please, Ted." Vic's voice went soft and Ted felt himself falling.

"Alright, one last clue," he looked over at his desk and the picture of him and his mum when he was ten, a bouquet of flowers in her hands. "There's a flower, it's my last name. It's usually purple, but they come in pink and blue and orange too."

"You should send me a picture of the flower."

Ted rolled his eyes. "I have to make you work for something Weasley."

"Fine," she laughed, "I'm turning on my laptop."

"You're going to try and search for it? What is your search even going to be?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She teased.

"I would actually," Ted chuckled. "That way the next time someone wants to guess my name I can make it harder."

"I can't believe it! It worked!"

"What's my last name then, Weasley?"

"Lupin!"

Ted laughed. "What the hell did you search?!"

"Canis Lupus flower."

"Well done, Vic," Ted picked at one of the stray threads on his blanket.

"Why thank you, Edward Lupin."

His name felt like a song when she said it.

"Not a bad name, eh?"

"I've heard worse," Vic's voice was soft again. "But you still haven't told me your middle name."

"No way, Weasley," he laughed, "I don't know that about you, so I'm not giving you that information about me."

"If I tell you my middle name will you tell me yours?"

Ted felt his heart rate increase

"Yeah, I think that's fair."

It was quiet a moment before Vic made her decision. "It's Gabrielle, it's my aunt's name."

"Victoire Gabrielle Weasley," Teddy tried it out and it felt like honey on his tongue.

Vic cleared her throat, "Alright, your turn, what's your middle name?"

"Remus, after my dad," Ted answered without hesitation, "And Edward is after my grandfather."

"Edward Remus Lupin, that has a nice flow to it."

Ted smiled. "I've always been fond of my name."

It was contentedly quiet between them and then Ted got up the courage to ask something he'd been thinking about since Jamie said Vic had him reading a rough draft of a book she wrote.

"So, you're writing a book?"

Vic was silent a while longer before she answered. "Yeah, I, er, I've been working on it since uni."

"And you got a communications degree instead of focusing on creative writing because…?" Ted held his breath, worried that Vic would shut down this conversation.

"Well, I thought a communications degree would pay the bills, you know?"

"Authors do tend to have day jobs," Ted chuckled. "So, what's this story about? From someone as brilliant as you are, I'm sure it's a best-seller waiting to break all the records."

"Well, it's a fantasy epic," Vic started but then she went silent. "Oh, Sean is calling, you alright if we call it a night?"

Ted leaned his head back into the wall and closed his eyes. "Sure, I'll see you Monday."

"Thanks, Ted. See you Monday."

Teddy tossed his phone back on his night table. He might as well find something to distract himself from how much it sucked to be falling for a girl that was so far out of his reach. He changed into his P.J.s and then decided he would see if Kalil was in the mood for some late-night Mario Kart or something, but his phone buzzed against his table.

Vic: What is it with people deciding they have to call other people when they're drunk?

Ted sighed; he shouldn't do this. He should act like he fell asleep and text her in the morning.

Vic: He's singing me the song playing at the pub. It's Jamie's Got A Gun.

Ted laughed and gave in.

Ted: Maybe it's code ;)

Vic: That would be the worst way to tell me he was in trouble!

Ted grinned.

Ted: But think of the possibilities! You could send all sorts of messages with songs!

He watched Vic's typing icon and laughed when her message came through.

Vic: You mean like Viva la Vida?

Ted: You fancy yourself a disgraced king?

Vic: I'm full of surprises.

Ted: That you are Weasley.

Ted smiled as he watched Vic's typing icon blink on his screen.

Vic: I finally convinced him to go home and get some water. I'll see you on Monday, Edward Remus Lupin. ;)

Vic: Goodnight, Victoire Gabrielle Weasley.

He set his phone back down on his night table and flipped the lamp off.

Monday couldn't get here fast enough.

OoOoOoOoO

Ted laughed when he walked into the office Monday morning. His wolf figurine sat in the center of his desk with a fence built out of paperclips around it.

"Afraid he'll run back to you?"

"I just want him to understand that he has to stay with you." Vic grinned.

Ted moved his wolf out of the corral and set him down closer to Vic's desk.

"There, now he won't feel like you've abandoned him."

"What about my fence?" Vic teased.

"Oh, I think I'll see what I can get for it on eBay. There's bound to be someone out there who wants a paperclip fence."

"Start the bidding at ten quid. I'll accept nothing less for my artwork."

"Maybe we should paint it, raise its value." Ted laughed at the face Vic made.

"You want to ruin it? How dare you suggest such things!"

"I'm just saying," Ted laughed, "Why settle for less when we could maybe get twelve quid for it instead of ten?"

"You mean settle for eight quid because you had to ruin it with paint." She shot back with a laugh.

"Color makes everything better."

"Of course, you think that," Vic grinned and gestured to his hair.

Ted ruffled his hair, "Well, you told me you liked it that first day, so I think you just proved my point."

Vic smiled and looked down at her hands. "So, did you, did you really want to know about my book?"

"Of course, I do," Ted felt like she'd just offered him fifty pounds. "Is it YA or NA or YMCA?"

Vic laughed and started to give him the sparsest of details.

"That's all you're going to tell me?" Ted threw his hands up. "Come on, you can't expect me to believe you only want to tell me the basics. You've been working on this epic for more than three years!"

"Well, I mean, Sean doesn't really like to hear about it, and I just thought…"

"I'm not Sean, Vic," Ted rolled his eyes. "I want to know everything, so let's get to it."

Vic gave him a shy smile, "If you're sure?"

"I asked, didn't I?"

She smiled and before Ted knew it, they'd lost the first hour of the workday.

"Ok, let's get some work done, and then you can tell me the rest." Ted laughed. "I haven't even logged in yet."

"You're sure you want to hear how it ends?" Vic teased him.

"So torturous," Ted grinned at her.

Vic went to respond but her desk phone rang and for a moment she looked torn before turning her chair back to her desk and answering the call.

Ted grinned to himself as he went back to getting set up for the day. Things were going well, they were having fun, and he was settling happily into not just the position, but also the goal of growing their department into the first branch of Bread & Butter to break off and stand on its own.

But it wasn't so great when Sean showed up at lunch and took Vic for the rest of the day. She texted him an hour after they'd left and asked that he cover for her in the case that Ron showed up, and she asked Ted to forward her desk phone to her cell phone. Ted did so, and then spent the rest of the day feeling like an idiot.

And things continued to go up and down as they moved into winter and approached Christmas.

It only made things harder when Ted realized that he wasn't hiding his attraction to Vic well from anyone, except maybe Vic.

"Why are you looking at stuffed toys that look like wolves?" Kalil sat down next to him on the sofa and leant in to see his laptop screen a bit more than a week before Christmas.

"I was thinking of giving it as a present," Ted defended.

"Right, but for whom?" Kalil gave him a pointed stare and Ted rolled his eyes.

"I don't see how that's relevant."

"Ted! You're buying a present for your coworker who is in a relationship!"

"I never said it was for Vic!" Ted shut his laptop.

"You didn't have to," Kalil shook his head. "Look, Ted, I'm worried about you. You're obsessed with Vic and she's off-limits. You need to get out of your head. Come to the pub with me and Maira tonight. I'm sure she can get a few people to come too. You need to remember that there are more women in this city than just your coworker."

"Kalil," Ted ran his hands over his face.

"What would you do if she married Sean?"

Ted felt like Kalil had just punched him in the stomach. He couldn't breathe for a moment and his chest felt like it was collapsing.

"See," Kalil put a hand on his shoulder, "I can see it in your face, Ted, you're falling for her. Stop it! Get out and find someone just as great. Come to the pub tonight."

Ted let out a long breath, and he couldn't help but think that maybe, maybe Kalil was right. Vic seemed to like to goof around with him, but she'd shown no signs of leaving Sean for him. No matter how many times Sean let her down, no matter how many times he did something that she didn't like, she stayed. And the nearly five months of working with her had been full of huge highs and incredible lows. He'd loved the moments where he felt like it was just the two of them, but walking out after work on the days Sean picked her up to find he hadn't waited long enough after she'd left as he got a full view of Sean's tongue down her throat left him feeling like a loser.

"Alright," Ted nodded, "I'll come tonight."

Kalil squeezed his shoulder, "Good on you, mate. You'll see, this will be a good thing."

Ted nodded, but a part of him wondered if it really was.

Even with his misgivings, Ted was ready to head out when Maira showed up at their flat.

"I'm so glad you're coming with us!" Maira hugged him. "I've asked a friend to meet us there, I think you'll have fun!"

Ted rubbed the back of his neck, "Thanks, Maira, I appreciate it."

"Let's head out then," Kalil took Maira's hand and led them out into the cold.

Ted realized after they'd been out for a bit, just the three of them, that this was a good idea. He hadn't gone out much at all since before finals in May. Getting to laugh and talk with friends felt freeing.

"Oh, there's Nicki!" Maira jumped up and waved her friend over to their table.

Ted turned around to see a woman who could have been described as Vic's opposite. She had black hair with lime green highlights and it was cut in choppy layers, the longest barely touching her shoulders. And while Vic tended to wear conservatively colored clothes, at least at work and the one Saturday Ted had seen her, Nicki was wearing a bright pink blouse with teal trousers; her orange coat draped over her arm.

"Nicki this is Kalil's roommate, Ted Lupin. Ted this is my friend Nicki Choi."

"It's nice to meet you, and I love your hair!" She shook his hand across the table as she sat down.

"Thanks, I like yours as well." Ted smiled. Nicki wasn't Vic, but she definitely put out the vibe that she liked to have a good time.

And she did. Nicki was loud and fun and not afraid of anything. She tried anything she was put up to. She laughed loudly. She defended her opinions with passion, even if he flat out told her she was wrong. Nicki reminded Ted a bit of the stories he had heard about his mum when she was his age.

Ted was having fun, and so when Nicki scooted closer to him, he didn't think about it when he draped his arm across her shoulders. And when she rested her head on his shoulder, he let her. A small part of him pushed back, but Ted told that part of him that if Vic could snog Sean in the car park, then he could let a cool woman rest her head on his shoulder.

"I'm calling it a night," Nicki moved to hug Maira at about half eleven. Then she turned to Ted. "Will you wait with me out front for my Uber?"

"Sure thing," Ted nodded and moved to follow her. He tried to ignore the way Kalil grinned at him.

"This was fun," Nicki smiled up at him and pulled her orange coat closer around her.

"Yeah," Ted nodded, "yeah it was."

"So, who broke your heart?"

Ted blinked. "What?"

"You have 'heartbroken' written all over your face. I figured that was why Maira called me." She smiled sympathetically at him.

"I, er, it's complicated." Ted shook his head and rubbed his hand over his eyes.

"Did you have fun tonight?"

"Yeah," Ted chuckled, "yeah, I actually had a lot of fun."

"We could keep having fun. I don't expect you to move into another relationship with me, but we could just have fun, spend some time reminding you that hearts heal."

Ted hesitated. He didn't know why, but he did. Nicki was amazing. He'd be an idiot to turn her down.

"Here," Nicki pulled out a gum wrapper and pen from her clutch and wrote on it. "This is my number. Think about it, Ted, I think we could have a lot of fun together."

Ted nodded as he took the gum wrapper. "Thanks, I, er, I'll think about it, alright?"

Nicki smiled and then nodded a few cars down from the curb. "There's my Uber. Thanks, Ted."

She stepped forward and kissed his cheek, her cold lips managing to warm just the skin they touched.

Ted stood in the cold and watched her wave once before climbing into the Uber. He waved back and then the car pulled away.

He took a moment before he went back inside. Gum wrapper still clasped in his hand. He'd had fun with Nicki, and she obviously had fun with him. She was fun and beautiful and he admired her spunk and attitude.

So why was he hesitating?

Ted slipped the wrapper into his wallet and went back inside.

"That took some time," Kalil smirked at him.

"Er, yeah, I, we talked," Ted took a swig from his drink.

"Nicki is amazing, Ted," Maira smiled.

"Yeah, yeah she's, she's really cool, I, er, she gave me her number."

"You're going to call her, right?" Kalil asked.

"I, er, I think I might, yeah."

Kalil stared at him like he was stupid and Ted sighed.

"I think I'm done for tonight, mates. I'll catch an Uber home, let you two enjoy the rest of your night." Ted didn't wait for a response. He forced a smile and moved to the door. The pub wasn't all that far from their flat, and so Ted decided to walk it instead of requesting the ride.

The cold was bitter, but it helped to clear his head, though not enough to figure out what he should do. He wanted to hope that maybe Vic would suddenly return his feelings and dump Sean and be with him. But even with all the problems he could see she was having with Sean, Vic still stayed. A part of Ted feared she always would.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Monday morning rolled around and Ted was trying to figure out if he was looking forward or not to seeing Vic as he drove into work. He'd spent Sunday more or less holed up in his room, and Kalil seemed content to let Ted work through this one on his own. That didn't mean Ted was any surer one way or the other, though.

But when Ted walked into the office, he paused.

Vic hadn't made it in yet.

That felt weird. Ted was never late, but Vic was always early. He tried to shrug it off and get himself settled in for the day. She'd probably hit traffic was all. But even as he kept telling himself that, Ted kept trying to see around the corner of the building out the window into the car park.

Finally, he heard the door push open and Ted spun in his chair, ready to razz her for being late. But his eyes fell on her hand as she pulled off her glove with her teeth.

"You've got to be kidding me." He'd said it before he could stop himself.

"I know!" Vic smiled down at her ring. "I would have thought he would have waited for Christmas or New Year's, but he asked last night!"

"That's," Ted forced a smile, "wow. I, er, congratulations."

"Thanks," Vic smiled at the ring again and then started getting settled into her desk.

Ted thought he might vomit. He needed to get out. He couldn't be here, not with her, not now, now that she'd chosen Sean permanently.

He picked up his desk phone and forwarded it to his cell. Then he shut down his laptop.

"Are you going somewhere?" Vic looked over as he packed up.

"I have a few sales calls I'm going on today."

"Oh, well, are we still good for dinner?"

Ted paused. He'd forgotten all about their Monday and Wednesday meetings over dinner. Those evenings that he looked forward to every week. The moments that he felt connected to her in a way that felt real to him.

"I actually have something tonight. I'm sorry I should have remembered to tell you on Friday." He zipped up his backpack and grabbed his coat.

"I'll see you tomorrow, and congrats again, it's brilliant."

"Thanks," Vic frowned, "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Right," Ted nodded and left without a second glance.

He was grateful that she wouldn't be able to see him from the window as he stepped into the car park. How could he have been so stupid? Of course, she chose Sean. Ted had wanted her to like him so much he'd blinded himself to the fact that she was in love with her boyfriend, tosser that he was.

Ted drove home and set up at his desk in his room to get back to work. He tossed his wallet on his dresser and paused. He pulled out the gum wrapper and called Nicki.

It went straight to voicemail, and Ted almost hung up, almost gave into that part of him that hoped Vic would choose him, but he pushed that aside and left a message.

"Hey, Nicki, it's Ted. I was calling to see if you wanted to grab a drink or something. I, er, I hope to hear back from you. Bye."

He set his phone down on the desk and powered on his laptop. Then his phone buzzed.

Nicki: Hey Ted, it's Nicki, I'm in a meeting, but would you like to meet for lunch today?

Ted didn't let himself hesitate this time.

Ted: Sounds great, send me an address and time. I'll meet you there.

[lonelyhearteds-a]

hi . 

okay , ive literally been sitting on this for actual months now because i realize there are more important things going on in the world right now , but im at my own personal breaking point and i’ve realized that i need a space to get everything off my chest and this is as good as it gets since i can’t afford therapy so ,, here goes nothing . 

tl;dr.  tw : drugs , mentions of suicide , overall negativity

so , we’re gonna ignore january and february issues because honestly .... i don’t recognize those months as canon . anyways , i’ve been off of tumblr since the pandemic started in america in march . i lost my job , and i’ve had to use my personal time in order to keep getting something in my bank account , but i was making that + unemployment for a few weeks . everything was fine , truthfully and utterly i was making enough just off of unemployment despite the fact it took 3 weeks to even be processed . then everything hit the fan and it flew everywhere . my mom relapsed in mid-april and she relapsed hard , but me pretending it’s just her illnesses went about my business and decided to ignore it until it exploded in my face . i’m not going into too much detail about it , but with everything she’s done since april we’ve now got a really broken and fractured relationship . it’s taken me nearly fourteen years to realize the amount of sheer trauma she’s put me through ; mentally , physically and emotionally . then , we were almost evicted because she didn’t pay rent for two months - so i had to use my entire stimulus check just to catch up on rent and the mortgage payments . then , i went back to work in may just to process shipping orders . again , was fine for the most part , however i wasn’t making as much and what i had saved my mom found a way to guilt me to spend it . this went on all of may , living paycheck to paycheck . june week one came along and my mom overdosed . this was one of the worst experiences of my life ; it was re-opening week ( apparently clothing is essential during a pandemic )  , my mom was acting like she had no common sense ( destroying the house , not feeing the animals , not taking care of herself , LOSING MY CAT , locking the dogs in the car in 100 degree heat , calling me names i dont even want to repeat .. amongst other situations ), and i didn’t eat . for a week . i was sick to my stomach with stress and exhaustion , living off of literally 5 hours of sleep between friday and thursday when i finally got help from my family after begging them to help me send her to a psych ward for two weeks . she called me every single day and we’d argue every single day . when she was released , it was as if nothing’s changed . she said she was gonna change , but she hasn’t . she walks around with a rain cloud above her head and if i don’t give her money , she guilts me into doing it . so on so fourth . we argue almost everyday about something , whether it’s money or my attitude somehow making her life worse . i asked her one day if she’s ever going to be happy and she flat out told me no . there’s so much more going on with her but if i posted it all i might as well write a book . i’ve never wanted to kill myself more than i do everyday so far this month .

now , july , i’ve recognized i can’t keep living like this . my company has filed for bankruptcy and is closing more than 1200 stores and we don’t know which ones are closing and which ones are remaining opened yet , but if my store closes i have no money to fall back on until i find a new job . i have no money for groceries or pet food , and i don’t have enough to pay all of the bills . my mom over drafted one of my accounts and now i have to pay that back with my next paycheck which means i’m losing $110 automatically when i get paid next .

i’m honestly just exhausted ? like . i’m twenty-three years old and i literally have no will to live because of this woman and the shit she’s put me through . i was not planning on making it to my birthday this year and i was definitely not planning on making it to august . i don’t know . to be frank , i don’t have the energy to care about anything anymore and my anxiety keeps telling my some of my closest friends are over me when there’s no reason for me to even believe that . i’m seeing them all next year at different times and i know they’re excited to see me but i sat here the other day just questioning if that’s even real . i don’t have any friends in the town i live in ; i don’t go out and do things because of corona and if i do , my mom forces herself along . if i buy myself something i have to buy her something or it turns into an argument and an all around guilt trip . 

i’m trying so hard to save enough so i can move out , but .. it’s almost impossible at this point . and i don’t know what to do . i work full time ; there is no reason i should have to consider getting another part time job just to survive . i shouldn’t have had to to parent my parent and sacrifice so much of my life . i shouldn’t be this mentally fucked up , but here i am , once again , crying over spilled tea .

anyways , if you read all the way through , i don’t know when i’m returning to tumblr , but when i do i am still going to be moving blogs . nonetheless , i’m on d*scord ( ♡ kezrah fan club president ♡#9812 ) and i’ve been doing more rp things on there if anyone wants to talk or do things again ( im always game for a welcomed distraction , even if it takes me a minute to reply ) ; i still , for the most part , have the same muses that are listed on my page . love u all loads nd loads .