#Naomi has been put on pause until further notice

[empresskadia]

I quite seriously despise drawing armor :’) and people who do have my respect. It took me hours looking at reference photos for this. But I said, ODST Raya will be started

My girl likes her sniper rifle, bang bang

I still have some details to add on but I’m also working on a new sketch for her Spartan armor, I changed it up a bit.

[voiceless-terror]

Smile and Nod (The Magnus Archives)

Whumptober 2020 Day Six: “Stop, please”

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Sasha James, Tim Stoker, Elias Bouchard, Original Character

CW: Harassment, Unwanted Advances

Summary: 

“He said to let go of him.” The voice startles them both and Jon turns to see Martin, a placid smile on his face. He is tall, so tall- was Martin always this tall?

Jon runs into trouble at the Institute’s annual donor party and has an unlikely rescuer. 

The Institute hosted a party for its most illustrious donors every spring. Jon had never been expected to go to it until his promotion to Head Archivist and even then he tried to get it out of it, to no avail.

“I’m afraid it’s part of your duties now as Head Archivist,” Elias had said. “We need to have a face for every department and I’m sure quite a few of our donors are anxious to meet Gertrude’s replacement. You understand, of course.” Jon nodded. “I trust you’ll be on your best behavior.” He hadn’t forgotten his promise to ‘be more lovely’ after the incident with Naomi Herne. 

“Yes, yes,” Jon sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to the event- sticking close to Elias’s side didn’t seem very appealing, but being left to the wolves was even worse. Elias seemed to notice his hesitation and paused, waiting for Jon to continue. Perhaps he didn’t have to go alone. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?

“W-Would it,” he began, cursing his stutter. “That is, I would like to- if you don’t mind, I think it would be valuable to have my assistants attend, as well?” He hated the uptick in his voice that made it sound more like a question. “I-I just think it would be a good experience for them to ah, meet the donors as well. Since they do a lot of the research.” Another reminder that he had no idea what he was doing; Elias hadn’t said anything about his methods in the Archives, so he only hoped that indicated a tacit agreement about the way things should be run. 

Jon watched several emotions flit across the man’s face, irritation and disappointment giving way to resignation. He tried to ignore the first two and focus on the last. “Alright,” Elias agreed with a sigh. “Please stress the formality of this event, particularly to Mr. Blackwood. You’ll be representing the Institute, and as such you will be expected to interact with our donors. See that you don’t use your assistants as a social crutch.” Damn. There goes his plan. At least I’ll have some support. 

So here he was, standing in the hallway with his assistants in an ill-fitting suit he last wore to the funeral of a distant cousin. It didn’t fit then, either. He hoped he didn’t look too much like a child in his father’s clothes, but the snickers from Tim and Sasha dashed any hope of that. They looked wonderful, of course, as they always did. Martin was in the same boat as Jon, fidgeting in a blazer and non-matching pants.

“Well boss, looks like it’s time to schmooze!” Tim clapped a hand on his shoulder and steered him through the door. Elias liked to have his parties in the main library- it was the most beautiful part of the Institute, aside from the entrance hall. The tables and desks that normally populated the center of the room had been cleared away to reveal a rather spacious area for guests to mingle and talk over the sound of a tasteful string quartet. The whole event was incredibly elegant and Jon felt like he very much did not belong.

“Ah, there he is!” He heard Elias call from the right-hand corner of the room, where he was surrounded by several well-to-do donors dressed to the nines. He gestured him over with a magnanimous hand and Jon instantly flushed. Tim squeezed his shoulder and pushed him in their general direction. “This is our new Head Archivist, Jonathan Sims. He’s been doing fine work thus far.”

After a moment Tim’s hand is replaced by Elias’s, firm and weighty on his shoulder. He’s exchanging pleasantries with people whose names he forgets almost instantly- their hands are cold and their voices distant, they talk over him as if he were a child they judged and found wanting. Elias’s hand did not move and he was anchored in place, even as they made no move to include him in their conversation.

He saw Martin give him a look of pity from the corner that he was currently occupying with Sasha and Tim. They had their hands full of hors d'oeuvres and drinks and Jon wished desperately for a glass of water, anything to keep his hands occupied. He turned to realize the  conversation had stopped and his companions were staring at him expectantly. “I’m sorry?” he hazarded, wondering if he’d been addressed.

“Our son George,” the woman over-enunciated, her tone condescending. Jon remembered vaguely that she had some connection to the Fairchilds, though her name wasn’t familiar. “-is over by the bar. I think you’ll find his company a bit more interesting, hm?” The group tittered and Jon felt shame rise in his throat as his boss’s hand tightened on his shoulder.

“Yes Jon, why don’t you introduce yourself?” Elias said genially enough, though Jon can tell he had disappointed him once again. Jon nodded, excusing himself to go to the corner to get a much-needed drink and to embarrass himself further. There was a man roughly his age fiddling around on his phone with a bored expression. He was tall and handsome but in the soft way of the rich, cruel and cherubic in equal measure. It unnerved Jon and he summoned up a smile that felt more like a grimace.

“G-George?” he asked, willing his voice to steady. The man looked up, expression unchanged as his eyes bored into Jon’s. “I’m Jonathan Sims, the new Head Archivist-”

“Parents send you over?” he smirked and Jon felt the tension in his shoulders ease just a bit. “Sorry you had to deal with them. This your first time at one of these? Median age here is usually around seventy five, give or take.” He laughed and Jon smiled, the man’s candor a bit charming even to him. 

“Y-Yes, I’m not really sure I should be here,” he admitted as George slid a drink into his hand. He took a grateful sip and closed his eyes at it’s smooth burn- this was expensive liquor and Jon was going to savor every last bit.

“That makes two of us,” the man nudged him with his elbow and Jon started to think the night might not be as bad as he thought. He glanced quickly over to the other side of the room- Tim winked and gave him a thumbs-up (which he ignored) and Martin’s face was carefully blank. Jon did not know what to make of that.

George, it seemed, was not all that bad. He listened patiently when Jon went off on a rant about book-binding, nodding and smiling at all the right parts. In return, Jon let him talk about finance for longer than was polite (and God was it boring). They’ve now had two drinks and Jon is feeling much, much looser. The smiles are genuine and unforced. He watches Elias nod in approval out of the corner of his eye and feels his chest warm with pride. Not a complete disappointment, am I?

But George is getting closer. It was fine when they were awkwardly perched on opposite ends of the bar and needed to hear one another, but this was getting too cozy for Jon’s tastes. He tries to take a casual step backwards but stumbles. George’s hand goes to his elbow to help steady him and stays there. 

“I-I think I need to-” he starts to mumble an excuse but the man is not having it.

“What do you say we get out of here?” He whispers, coming in closer. Jon’s nerves reach a fever-pitch but he does not want to show it, doesn’t want to make a scene so he keeps the smile pasted on his face. “My apartment’s not that far-”

“O-Oh, I’m f-fine, thanks,” he says, trying to dislodge the man’s arm but it is no use- he is much stronger than he looks and has at least half a foot on him. “I actually have plans-”

“With who?” George asks pityingly as Jon tries desperately to meet anyone’s eyes, even Elias’s. He tries to convey his plea without making it obvious to any other bystanders but his boss’s eyes slide right over him. He knows he saw, he knows-

“That’s why they sent you over, right?” George continues, his mouth dangerously close to Jon’s neck as he leans into whisper in his ear. “Pretty thing like you, get me to open the cheque book-”

“Good Lord no, let me go-” at this Jon scoffs, horrified as he tries to yank his arm away.

“Don’t make a scene,” the man says in a low and calming voice, though the leer on his face is clear to see. Jon feels terribly small. “You don’t want to disappoint the boss, do you?”

“Please,” he begs, all out of words. “Stop, please-”

“He said to let go of him.” The voice startles them both and Jon turns to see Martin, a placid smile on his face. He is tall, so tall- was Martin always this tall? 

“I’m sorry?” George replies with a sneer, his voice raising in both pitch and volume and Jon is sure if people weren’t looking before, they’re looking now. “I’ll thank you to stay out of this, we were just leaving-”

“No,” Martin replies in that preternaturally calm voice, still smiling. “You weren’t. Now let him go, and we can forget this all happened, hm?” He puts a hand on the arm that’s holding Jon and there’s real strength behind it. George tries to wrench his arm away but Martin’s got it in a solid grip and he barely manages a wiggle.

“Let go of me now, or I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Martin sounds bored. It is mystifying and Jon can do nothing but gape at the man. “You don’t want a scene, do you? Not in front of the family. Not again. So smile, and walk away.” There is a moment where Jon thinks they will come to blows but it passes. George manages to turn his scowl into a neutral expression, saving some dignity though he throws one last glare Jon’s way. “Not even worth it,” he mutters as he walks away. Jon leans against the bar, releasing a breath he did not realize he’d been holding.

“A-Are you alright, Jon?” Martin has a hand on his elbow but it’s okay now because it’s Martin and it feels right. His face has that same look he gets when he asks Jon whether he wants a cup of tea, or how he’s feeling or if he’s eaten that day. Worried, gentle.

“W-What was that?” is all Jon manages to get out, his voice in an embarrassingly high-pitch. Tim and Sasha are now making their way over with schooled expressions, though Jon can see the worry in their eyes. “Did you know that man? I-I mean, what the hell?” Jon realizes he’s sputtering and tries to get a handle on his swirling emotions. “N-Not that I’m not grateful, but good lord. ‘Not again?’”

Martin laughs, suddenly bashful. “I just guessed with that one, honestly. He looks like the type that’s thrown a fit or two, doesn’t he?” Tim and Sasha reach them and Martin is himself again, hunched over like he’s taking up too much space. This is the Martin that tiptoes around the archives, that’s always smiling and chattering about his day. Jon has never contemplated the man in much detail, but he is finding it hard to reconcile this new side of him. It’s not necessarily unwelcome. 

“Alright there, boss?” Tim inquires, good-natured but anxious. “Was going to come over, pretend to be your boyfriend and all but Martin said that would be ‘demeaning’ or whatever.” Tim rolls his eyes at this.

“I don’t know, Martin seemed to diffuse the situation pretty well,” Sasha eyes him curiously. “What did you say?”

“N-Nothing, really-”

“He asked him to leave,” Jon says, finding his voice and unable to take his eyes off Martin. “And he left.”

“Damn, okay,” Tim gives an appreciative whistle before knocking back the rest of his drink. “Working that Mart-o magic, I guess. This party blows, let’s hit the bars. Night’s still young!”

Sasha cheers and Martin looks at him questioningly- he surprises himself by nodding in agreement. “Yeah, let’s go.” He studiously ignores Elias breaking off from his group of sycophants and heading their way. He watches as Martin straightens himself minutely, blocking Jon with his body as Tim ushers them out the door before they can get stopped by the man. Jon knows he will get a tongue-lashing out of this but he doesn’t care right now. He feels small in Martin’s shadow but it is a safe small, like a blanket wrapped around him on a chilly night.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Martin asks as Tim and Sasha chatter ahead of them, arguing over their destination. “We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to. I can take you home.”

I can take you home.

“I’m fine,” he says though he knows the situation hasn’t quite set in yet. “I’d rather not be alone, I-I think.” Martin nods and gives him a smile. It is almost charming, and Jon returns it. He doesn’t really want another drink but he needs a distraction, any distraction.

The night is cold and Martin is close, big and safe and warm. And if Jon leans into his side when they finally agree on a bar, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26856373

[bubonickitten]

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Chapter 17 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 17: panic/anxiety symptoms; brief mention of past self-harm (from last chapter); mention of past (canonical) blood/injury; brief allusion to past passive suicidal ideation; brief claustrophobia/Buried themes (in the context of a nightmare); some blink-and-you'll-miss-it internalized ableism re: ADHD (not explicitly stated as such); Jon-typical self-loathing, internalized victim blaming/dehumanization, etc.; discussion of low self-worth, fear of abandonment/rejection, and other Lonely themes; extensive discussion of Jon's statement consumption (so, general warning for restrictive behaviors re: 'eating' and self-hate re: addiction/compulsions); swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 17: Intervention

Even asleep, Jon is a flurry of movement. The muscles in his jaw tense repeatedly as he grinds his teeth; his limbs twitch and jerk and tremble; his fingers curl into his palms, fists clenching and relaxing at random intervals. The quick, erratic motions beneath his closed eyelids are accompanied by gasps and the occasional whimper. Impossibly, he looks even frailer than usual – folded in on himself and shivering despite the thick, oversized jumper engulfing his slight frame.

Martin sits on the floor with his side pressed up against the cot, his arm resting on top of it and his eyes riveted on the few inches of space between Jon and himself. Part of him wants to reach out, to soothe away the varying shades of distress flitting their way across Jon’s face; another part of him, quieter but nonetheless insistent on making its existence known, tugs him in the opposite direction, urging him to widen that handspan of distance between them into a chasm. Something about Jon’s ragged breathing keeps Martin rooted in place, his heart skipping a beat any time the pauses between breaths stretch just a little too long for comfort.

At least he’s breathing at all, Martin thinks with a pang. His hand twitches in an unconscious desire to check for a pulse – some secondary sign to reassure him that Jon really is just sleeping.

At the gentle knock-knock on the doorframe, Martin jumps. The door to Document Storage, already cracked an inch or so, creaks as it swings wider.

“Jon?” Georgie calls softly, peeking through the gap. “You in here? I was just – oh,” she says when she sees Martin. An instant later she notices Jon, tossing and turning on the cot behind him. “What happened? Is he okay?”

“He… well, he’s fine now. I think. Just… sleeping.”

“Wait,” she says, fully entering the room and approaching to watch Jon with genuine astonishment, “you actually got him to sleep?”

“Not really? He was having trouble staying vertical, so I told him he should lie down until the vertigo passed, and…” Martin shrugs. He’s still taken aback by the fact that Jon complied without argument. “I don’t think he was planning on falling asleep, but he was out as soon as his head hit the pillow.” Jon’s fingers spasm, brow wrinkling as he cringes and curls into a tighter ball. Martin sighs. “Doesn’t look very restful, though.”

“Oh, he’s always been a fitful sleeper. Even back in uni. He didn’t used to be that bad, though. Or – he was, but in short bursts. Not… drawn out like this. He’d usually wake himself up after a minute or so of…” She frowns as Jon goes taut in a full-body spasm. “That.”

“I guess the Eye doesn’t want the dream to end,” Martin says quietly. Jon twists his fingers against the sheets, gathering the fabric in a death grip. Martin’s hand twitches again, inching just a bit closer to Jon’s. He resists the urge to uncurl Jon’s fingers, to give him a hand to hold instead.

“Last I checked, the nightmares weren’t as nightmarish anymore,” Georgie says. “I mean, by his own admission, he treated mine and Naomi’s dreams like social calls.”

Martin tears his eyes away from Jon to glance at Georgie, a puzzled expression on his face. “Naomi?”

“Naomi Herne. He said hers was the first statement he took in person.”

“Yeah, back when he was still putting on the skeptic act. And she filed a complaint against him for being…” Martin smiles and shakes his head. “Well, Jon.”

“I’m not surprised,” Georgie says with an amused snort. “They seem pretty friendly now, though.”

“What, seriously?”

“Yeah. They do have a similar sense of humor. She doesn’t seem to scare easy, which probably helps. And she has a cat, so…”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Jon… has trouble initiating when it comes to having a social life,” Georgie says slowly. “Just wanting to talk doesn’t strike him as a good enough reason to start a conversation. He worries he’ll just be an annoyance. It’s like he needs to come up with some concrete justification for reaching out. But Naomi is always excited to talk about the Duchess – that’s her cat – which means Jon is less likely to feel like he’s bothering her. Which also makes him less likely to talk himself out of sending a text. Plus, it’s a safe, normal thing to talk about, and he loves cats, so…” She shrugs. “It’s good for him.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. Gives her an excuse to stay in touch, too, I think.” Georgie gives Martin a significant look. “Lonely, you know?”

“I…” Martin rubs the back of his neck, not meeting her eye. “Yeah.”

“Anyway, I thought… well, he said the nightmares weren’t as bad as they used to be.” Georgie frowns as she watches Jon’s lips twist, his teeth bared as he sucks in a sharp breath. “I don’t know. At least he’s actually sleeping. I don’t think he’s slept for more than forty minutes at a time since he got out of the hospital.”

“That was nearly a month ago.” Martin gapes at her, horrified. “How has he even been able to function with that level of sleep deprivation?”

“The same way he survived for six months without a heartbeat. And why he has to consciously remind himself to breathe sometimes, and has a tendency to forget to blink, and doesn’t have much of an appetite for normal food anymore. He’s not fully human –”

Georgie must sense Martin preparing to go on the offensive, because she holds up both hands palms-out, placating.

“I’m not saying that he’s inhuman, either. He might be convinced that he’s more monster than human, but he’s still a person. He’s just… different now, and he’s resigned to that, but he hasn’t yet gotten it through his head that there are people who will accept him regardless.” She sighs. “My original point was that he doesn’t have the same physiological needs that most people do. But he still does need to sleep from time to time. Sleep deprivation clearly takes a toll on him.”

“Figures,” Martin huffs, blowing hair out of his eyes. “He’s always treated sleep as optional.”

“Yeah,” Georgie says with a laugh. “He’s operated on a bare minimum of sleep for as long as I’ve known him. Part casual self-neglect, part allergy to the general concept of resting, and part legitimate insomnia. I told him more than once he should get evaluated for a sleep disorder, but… well, you know Jon. And now that he really does need less sleep than the average person, of course he’s pushing the limits even further.”

Martin looks down at Jon and thinks, as he has countless times before: He really does make it so damn difficult to take care of him.

It’s simultaneously heartbreaking and frustrating, even irritating at times – but somehow, whenever Jon doubles down, it only makes Martin do the same. It’s become such a familiar dance, a challenge even, and more often than not, Martin wins those contests of will: badger Jon persistently enough, strike just the right balance between expressing worry and wagging a finger, and eventually he’ll agree to take care of himself. In the beginning, he would grump and roll his eyes and drag his feet; as time went on, though, he became more receptive to it. Some days, he even seemed to enjoy – albeit in a guarded, almost shy way – being cajoled into sharing lunch or tea or conversation.

Unthinkingly, Martin brushes a lock of hair away from Jon’s forehead, damp with cold sweat. Wishes he could smooth the tension away as easily.

“Did you two talk about things?” Georgie asks.

“Some of it.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I…” Martin bites his lip. “I feel like I shouldn’t want to, but I – I sort of do?”

“Well. I have some time to listen.” Georgie takes a seat towards the foot of the cot. “How’d it go? Bearing in mind this isn’t the tunnels.”

“It’s… a lot.”

“Mm. I can imagine.”

“I mean, he…” Martin runs a hand through his hair with a disbelieving, nervous chuckle. “He told me he wants to grow old with me?”

“He said that?” Georgie laughs outright. “God, he’s gotten even more saccharine than I thought.”

“It’s just – not something I would have ever imagined him saying? To anyone, let alone me.” Martin can feel his palms sweating now; he rubs them on his trousers, hoping to dispel some of the clamminess. “He just seems so… changed.”

“He is, but… maybe not as drastically as it might seem. Rather, this is him, just – without all the walls.” Georgie chuckles, shaking her head. “And less of a filter, apparently. Sorry.”

“Sorry?” Martin repeats, perplexed.

“He’s dumping a lot on you all at once. I can talk to him, if you want. Tell him to slow down, give you some space to process it all.”

“I… I don’t…” Martin pauses, coming up against an invisible wall between a daunting realization and the explicit acknowledgment thereof. He makes several abortive attempts at speech before he manages to voice the confession: “I don’t think I want him to?”

Left to himself for too long, Martin can feel himself start to come unmoored. The truth the Lonely is so loathe to have him accept, let alone speak aloud, is this: he doesn’t want that to happen. Not anymore. Being in the presence of others, actively taking part in a conversation, seeking comfort in touch – all of these things still feel grating, unnatural even, but a return to solitude frightens him in a way it hasn’t for months. It’s an old terror, one that he had become numb to since accepting the Lonely’s embrace. Now, it seems to have returned with a vengeance. The lingering, ambient discomfort that comes with human connection is quickly becoming preferable to that looming fear of absence.

Still, though…

“It feels like – going against my nature, every minute I spend talking to him, to you, to… anyone, really. I think I just… forgot how not to be alone?”

On some level, Martin wonders whether he ever knew in the first place. He’s had friends, certainly, but every relationship, no matter how ostensibly reciprocal, has been laced with an undercurrent of insecurity: a loud, nagging voice in the back of his mind, reminding him of the consequences should he allow himself to be too much or not enough. Always primed for rejection, he strove to make himself pleasant, to make himself useful, to make himself accommodating and unobtrusive and easy. Sometimes, he felt like an impostor, fooling people into believing that he was worth keeping around. He was always counting down the moments until someone would see through the façade to the inadequacy within, realize he wasn’t worth the trouble, and leave him behind.

“The Lonely… I don’t think I want it anymore,” he says, “but it feels – wrong, to leave it behind. Not me, somehow.”

“Hmm.” Georgie drums her fingers against her chin. “I can understand that. Isolation can become so habitual that it starts to feel like home, and anything trying to break through feels like an invasion. You start to feel safer alone, and you deny those moments when you catch yourself wishing things were different, because loneliness has become such a part of you that you don’t know who you would be without it.”

“I… yeah,” Martin says, taken aback by having it laid out so succinctly.

“In my experience, it helps to remind yourself that your brain is lying to you when it tells you you’d be better off alone. In your case, I guess it’s your brain and a supernatural fear god or whatever, but… unless you’re keen to fight a god, it might be best to start with your brain. That’s something you actually can exert some control over, with enough practice. And I think it might make it harder for the fear to get to you if you’re not trapped in the kind of mindset it thrives on.”

“I guess,” Martin says, looking off to the side. Once again, he rests his arm on the cot, his hand mere inches away from Jon’s, sheet still clenched tightly in his fist.

“But you don’t have to take it on all at once,” Georgie says. “If you have to set boundaries, Jon will understand. And even if he didn’t, you still have a right to enforce them. Not to sound cliché, but you shouldn’t set yourself on fire to keep others warm.”

The problem is, of course, that the concept of putting himself first is as alien to Martin as the idea of being… well, not lonely.

“I can hear the cogs turning,” Georgie says with a gentle smile. “Look, it’s easier to accept a concept intellectually than it is to actually apply it to yourself. There’s a learning curve. But it’s a lesson worth learning. Took me way too long to learn it myself. If it helps, start with – to use another cliché – ‘put your own oxygen mask on before helping others with theirs.’ Then you can move onto practicing self-care without feeling guilty.”

“What are you, a therapist?”

“Nope. I’ve just had several years of experience being on the receiving end.”

“O-oh. Uh, sorry –”

“Don’t be. It’s not something to be ashamed of. Anyway, at this point, I could probably fill out CBT worksheets in my sleep. With enough practice, it does start to become intuitive.” She shrugs. “Anyway, you can’t fix Jon, and I don’t think he expects you to. You can support him, you can care about him, but you can’t make him better. That’s true in any relationship, but… well, obviously it’s – a bit more complicated in this case.”

“I just… I want him to be okay, and I don’t know how to help –” Martin startles when Jon kicks one leg out violently, entangling himself in the sheets as he pulls it back and curls into himself again. Martin lowers his voice. “He – he was so starving he passed out, Georgie, he wasn’t breathing and it was like the hospital all over again and – and I don’t think I have any other stories I can tell that would count as statements –”

“Wait, you gave him a statement?”

“Y-yeah.”

“I thought he didn’t want –”

“I don’t know if he would have agreed if he was conscious, but he… he wasn’t waking up, and I didn’t know what else to do,” Martin says pleadingly, watching Georgie carefully to gauge her reaction. “He needed a fresh statement. Old statements aren’t enough, and he said new ones cause nightmares regardless of whether he takes them in person or not, so we can’t just give him new written statements that come in, and I – I don’t know what we’re going to do if he gets that bad again.”

Martin remembers the look in Jon’s eyes: glossy, glazed and almost luminous with an alien sort of hunger, but shot through with a terror more devastating than Martin had ever seen from him. The unflinching intent with which he hurt himself; the erratic rhythm of his breathing; the way his dilated pupils swallowed the irises just before he fell unconscious. He was lost to the world in those moments, alert but unresponsive, seemingly unable to hear a word Martin was saying.

And the abject horror on his face when he commanded Martin to stay away…

“He was… he was so scared. Of himself. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone, but he – he can’t think straight when he’s like that.”

“Shit,” Georgie says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I think working in the archives gives some immunity? I’ve given a few statements, before we knew how all this works, and he never showed up in my nightmares. Tim’s or Sasha’s, either, as far as I know. And I actually… well, I don’t actually mind giving him statements, to be honest? It’s – hard, to relive it, but it’s… cathartic, too. To get it all out, to be able to actually – describe it in words. Maybe I’d feel differently if I came in off the street – or was approached – and I didn’t know him, and wasn’t protected from the side effects, but – as it is, I would be fine giving him statements when he needs them, and that’s not – that’s not a huge sacrifice on my part, is what I’m saying. But I don’t… I don’t think I have any more stories to give.”

“Okay,” Georgie mutters to herself, rubbing her temples. “Okay. We… we’ll figure something out. Obviously, Jon needs to be part of that conversation. Maybe Daisy, too – Jon seems to trust her.”

“Why would he trust her?” Martin asks, incredulous, almost incensed. “She kidnapped him. She – she slit his throat, she was going to –”

“I know. I don’t really understand it either. But supposedly she’s changed a lot, and she’s an Avatar like he is. I get the feeling he might want her there.”

“Fine,” Martin says in a clipped voice, even though fine seems like a wildly inaccurate descriptor to him. “What about Basira? And Melanie?”

“Melanie… with Jon’s permission, I’ll invite her, just so she’s not out of the loop, but I doubt she’ll take us up on it.” Georgie frowns, rubbing her jaw absently. “As for Basira… I don’t know. Something Jon said…”

“What?”

“I’m…” Georgie pauses, tilting her head from side to side as she deliberates. “Concerned. About how Basira might approach the situation.”

It takes a few seconds for Martin to work out the implication. When he does, he pales, mouth going slack.

“You – you don’t think she’d hurt him?”

“I don’t think so,” Georgie says haltingly, “but there’s a chance she might put the option back on the table if she thinks he’s too dangerous. She wouldn’t like it, but… well, she seems utilitarian. I think she’ll do whatever she thinks she needs to do. And even if she doesn’t threaten him directly, I still…” She sighs. “Jon’s not in a good place right now, mentally. Frankly, I worry about exposing him to anything that might encourage a better-off-dead mindset, even if it’s just… perceived condemnation.”

“God, this…” Martin laughs, high and stressed. “This entire situation is…”

“I know. But we’ll figure something out. And in the meantime, make sure to take care of yourself too, alright?”

“Yeah,” Martin says, only half-listening.

“I mean it. Jon cares about you. He wouldn’t want you to run yourself into the ground on his behalf.”

Before Martin can respond, Jon jumps in his sleep again with a strangled gasp. Flinging one arm out, his hand brushes against Martin and seizes a fistful of his sleeve. Tightening his grip, he tugs on Martin’s arm to bring it closer, practically hugging it in a vice grip. Almost instantly Jon calms, tense muscles relaxing, pained expression going slack, a relieved sigh shuddering out of him as he nuzzles into the crook of Martin’s elbow.

Martin can feel his cheeks burning. He shoots a preemptive glower in Georgie’s direction, daring her to laugh – but she only smiles.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” she says, rising to her feet. “Text me when he’s awake, will you?”

“Y-y-yeah,” Martin stammers. “I’ll – I’ll see you later.”

He barely notices her departure, instead staring down at Jon with a vague sense of wonder. Jon holds fast to him like he’s a lifeline, and Martin can feel him breathing warm and steady through the fabric of his sleeve. The cold sweat on his brow seems to be evaporating now. Martin shifts his position to more fully face the cot. As he reaches up with his free hand to brush away the hair clinging to Jon’s forehead, a slow, shy smile begins to spread across Martin’s face.

It won’t be long before Jon succumbs to another fit of tossing and turning, but in the meantime, Martin simply watches him with faint awe and renewed affection. He’s never seen Jon look so at peace, and he takes the opportunity to memorize the sight.

When another shard of the Lonely shatters and crumbles away, Martin is too preoccupied to note its passing.

With a startled yelp, Jon sits bolt upright. Gulping down air in deep, ragged breaths, he looks wildly around the room, not taking anything in: it’s all visual noise, smudges of loud colors and sinister shadows, all of it closing in and bearing down on him.

Something next to him – close too close too close – moves abruptly, rising up and looming over and settling down beside him. Jon cringes away, only to find that his legs are pinned together by something, restricting his movement, and there’s dirt in his mouth, and dirt in his throat, and dirt in his lungs, and he cannot breathe, cannot breathe, cannot breathe, cannot breathe –

“Jon,” comes a voice – somehow both close and far away. “Listen, you’re – you’re okay, you’re safe.”

Trapped in that liminal twilight haze between sleep and waking, Jon gropes blindly for a handhold, an anchor, something real and solid and –

His hand collides with something soft, warm – wool, his mind supplies, and then:

…wool is able to absorb nearly one-third of its weight in water…

He shakes his head to chase away the stray scrap of trivia, digging his fingers into the fabric to ground himself.

“It was just a dream,” says the voice again – a kind voice, a safe voice – and Jon takes a shuddering breath, like a drowning man clawing for air.

Then a hand closes over his, and that light pressure is enough plunge Jon right back below the surface. He thrashes violently, desperate to break away from the throbbing litany of too close cannot move trapped held pinned in place screeching metal crushing in and down and down and down and Karolina beholds her encroaching fate with tranquil acceptance and the Archivist feels her skull crack and her chest cave in and her lungs collapse and still she smiles and she watches as the Archivist flails uselessly for an escape that does not will not cannot exist and the door bulges and splinters and explodes inward and the deluge rushes in and the Archivist is drowning, drowning, drowning –

The hand draws back, the pressure lifts, the train car finally collapses, and the last remnants of hazy sleep begin to disintegrate.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to – it’s – it’s just me, Jon.”

“Martin?” Jon chokes out, tightening his grasp on Martin’s jumper – wool, warm, soft, safe – still bunched in one hand. He reaches out his other arm to find a second handhold.

“Yeah. I – I won’t hurt you.”

Safe.

“I know,” Jon says groggily. The tension drains away and he sags against Martin’s side, breathing in slow, deliberate swallows. “’M sorry. Dream.”

The first time he’s slept, truly slept since leaving the hospital, and of course it had to be while Karolina Górka was dreaming. Of course.

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

“Buried,” Jon mumbles, face partially burrowed in Martin’s shoulder. Self-explanatory, he figures.

“Oh,” Martin says in a broken whisper. Jon opens one eye to see an expression of helpless pity on Martin’s face. “That’s…”

“’S okay,” Jon assures. “I’m okay.”

Reluctantly, he releases his hold on Martin and leans away. When he stretches – partly out of habit, partly to reassure himself that he can – there’s still something pinioning his legs. A spark of panic tears through him before he realizes that it’s just the sheets, tangled hopelessly around his lower half. With some difficulty, he manages to extricate himself and kick the blankets away.

“How long was I out?”

“Couple hours.”

“Have you just been sitting here the whole time?” Jon frowns apologetically. “You could’ve woken me.”

“Wake you when you were actually sleeping for once? Uh, no. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Jon says simply. “I’d like to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m – fine,” Martin says. Jon raises an eyebrow. “Really, I – I am. I’m more worried about –”

“Me, I know. And I’m worried about you. I… don’t think you’re just ‘fine.’” Martin gives a noncommittal grunt. “I really would like to know where you are in all this. How you’re faring. How I can help.”

Martin remains silent, lips pressed tightly together as if to seal them.

“I know I was – distracted, earlier, but I… I really do want to help,” Jon tries again. “Please let me help?”

Something finally gives and Martin slouches with a sigh.

“I’m… still trying to figure it all out,” he says slowly. “I don’t know what I’m feeling most of the time, besides… worried, and…”

“Lonely.”

“Yeah,” Martin says with a wistful smile.

“You don’t have to be,” Jon says quietly.

“I know.”

“I’m not – I’m not trying to –” Jon sighs. “I just… I need you to know.”

“I know,” Martin says again.

Jon bites back the nagging impulse to ask all the questions itching on his tongue: Have you decided what to do about Peter? How Lonely are you now? Do you need closeness or distance? What should I be doing, or not doing? What can I do to take care of you? Where do we stand?

What do you see, when you look at me?

Jon looks away and shuts his eyes.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that, by the way. It wasn’t my intention to frighten you. Or to…” He swallows, fighting back the nausea rising in him. “To compel you.”

“It’s alright –”

“It’s not,” Jon says brusquely. He makes a conscious effort to soften his tone before he continues. “I don’t want to be the thing that frightens you.”

“You’re not,” Martin says with a bemused frown. “I know you didn’t mean to use your powers on me.”

“You were afraid. I could…” Jon closes his eyes again and forces himself to say the words. “I could taste it.”

And the Archivist in him savored it.

“I wasn’t afraid of you, Jon. I was afraid for you. You looked terrified, and in pain, and you were hurting yourself, and I didn’t know how to help, and then I didn’t know if you were going to wake up, and… that’s what scared me.” Jon’s skepticism must show on his face, because there’s an intensity to the words when Martin reiterates: “Not you. Never you.”

“Never say never,” Jon says with a brittle, self-deprecating smile.

“I’m serious, Jon.”

So am I.

“I… I think we need to talk about where to go from here,” Martin says after a moment, averting his eyes.

“I agree.”

“You do?” Martin looks back to him, blinking in surprise.

“Yes,” Jon says, adjusting his position to sit cross-legged and pivoting to face Martin fully. “The others need to know what happened. I can’t be trusted not to hurt anyone –”

“No, that’s not what I –” Martin sighs. “I’m worried about what could happen if things get that bad again.”

“That’s what I’m saying. I came dangerously close to – to relapsing. We need some plan in place, some way to keep me contained so that I don’t –”

“Stop, stop, stop,” Martin says, holding up a hand. Jon tilts his head, bewildered. “I’m not – I’m not talking about keeping you contained, Jon. I’m worried about you. This goes beyond a compulsion you can beat with enough willpower. You were starving. You… you could have died.”

“We don’t know that.��

“Exactly! We don’t know, and I don’t want to find out.”

“Well, yes, but –”

“No ‘but.’ There has to be some way to keep you fed without hurting anyone. We just need to –”

“Martin, terror and suffering is the entire point. That’s what sustains it. Mine, my victim’s, doesn’t matter as long as it hurts.” Jon laughs, hollow and bitter. “It’s not like there’s an ethical way to – to harvest trauma –”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Martin says fiercely, “and I’m not ready to just give up. I would hope you aren’t, either.”

“I…” Jon busies himself with tucking a flyaway lock of hair behind his ear, using it as an excuse to break eye contact.

“Please, Jon.”

Martin takes his hand, prompting Jon to look up again. A familiar guilt rises up in him, shame at always being the one to put that expression of desperate worry on Martin’s face.

It’s enough to make him agree, albeit in a whisper, “Okay.”

“Right,” Martin says, giving Jon’s hand a brief squeeze. “Georgie and I were talking while you were asleep. She wants to be part of the discussion, so long as you’re alright with it.”

“Of course. We should probably tell Daisy and Basira as well.”

Martin appears to hesitate.

“I was thinking the three of us can meet first,” he says carefully, “and then we can open up the discussion after.”

“Why?” Jon observes the slight concavity that forms as Martin chews the inside of his cheek. “Martin?”

“Georgie’s worried about Basira’s reaction,” Martin says abruptly, “and honestly, so am I.”

“She needs to know.”

“I – I know, it’s just…”

“We have so few allies; we can’t afford secrecy and mistrust. And…”

And of all of them, Basira is the one Jon can trust to do what must be done if things go wrong. If he goes wrong.

“Basira is a strategist,” he says. “She’s good at viewing a problem from multiple angles, considering all the variables, predicting potential solutions and outcomes and then weighing them with a… pragmatic eye.”

“The pragmatism is what worries me.”

“I want her there,” Jon says simply.

“Okay,” Martin says, but Jon can tell he’s not thrilled about it. “What about Daisy?”

“Yes,” Jon says, not missing a beat. At that, Martin somehow manages to look even less thrilled.

“And Melanie?”

“I… I’m alright with her being there, but I don’t want her to feel pressured. She’s dealing with enough as it is.”

“Okay. I can let everyone know, but I think you should get some more rest before –”

“No.”

“Jon –”

“I need to confront this now. While I’m still… in my right mind,” Jon says, plucking absently at his sleeve with his free hand. “Sober.”

For a brief second, Martin looks ready to argue, but then he capitulates with a sigh.

“Okay,” he says, releasing Jon’s hand and standing up. “I’ll… round everyone up, I suppose.”

“Thank you,” Jon murmurs.

Martin glances back several times as he leaves the room. Jon waits until he’s out of sight before he puts his face in his hands, sighs, and tries to brace himself for a conversation he dreads almost as much as the Coffin.

A short time later, the group – minus Melanie – convenes in the tunnels, five chairs arranged in a loose circle with a sixth left empty off to the side. Sitting almost directly across from Jon, Basira watches him with eyes narrowed, arms folded, and mouth pressed into a firm line.

“What do you mean you ‘almost’ relapsed?”

“Martin suggested reading a new statement that came in earlier this evening,” Jon tells her in a straightforward near-monotone. Pushing through the discomfort it brings, he forces himself to meet her eyes when he speaks. “I agreed, without informing him that reading a fresh written statement has the same repercussions that taking a live statement in person does. I was going to feed, knowing that it would hurt an innocent person.”

“But you didn’t,” Martin says emphatically. “You stopped yourself.”

“Only because Helen pointed out the cognitive dissonance. Took a monster to remind me not to be a monster.” Jon scoffs. “Even then, I almost did it anyway.”

“But you didn’t,” Martin repeats.

“What about next time?” Basira asks, unimpressed. “When you get hungry again, what then?”

“That’s what we’re here to discuss,” Georgie says, assuming the role of mediator the moment she notices Martin’s scowl deepen. “We need to find some way to keep things from getting that bad in the first place.”

Thoroughly unnerved, Jon squirms in his seat. Basira has had him pinned under her stare for several minutes now, and she seems unlikely to cut him free any time soon. But what right does he have to object to scrutiny, given what he is?

“What did you do with the statement?” Basira demands. “The one you were going to read?”

“I… asked Martin to burn it.”

Her eyes flick to Martin. “And did you?”

“N-not yet –”

“Burn it. As soon as we’re done here.” She shifts her attention back to Jon. “Is there an alternative to new statements?”

Jon doesn’t miss a beat when he answers, matter-of-fact: “No.”

“Jon,” Martin and Georgie say simultaneously, with the tenor of a reprimand.

“I’m not – I’m not trying to be difficult,” he replies, finally breaking eye contact with Basira to look down at his hands. “It’s just… reality. I’m an Archive dedicated the curation of statements – of fear.”

“You never actually explained what that means,” Basira says. “You being the Archive.”

“It’s… hard to put into words.”

“Try.”

Jon sighs, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.

“The Archive is more than – paper and files and tapes. The reason it needs to be housed in a living mind rather than a mere building is because the statements themselves have a living quality to them.” He crosses his arms, brow furrowing as he struggles with his phrasing. “They need to be immersed in a steady supply of fear. A shelving unit, a filing cabinet, a hard drive, a cassette tape – those can’t provide the ideal habitat that they need to thrive. The Archivist is –”

“– simply a battery, a ready source of constant terror –”

He cuts the Archive off with a frustrated snarl, digging his fingernails into his arms.

“Hey,” Georgie says gently, “you’re alright. Take your time.”

Jon has to spend a few minutes counting breaths before he feels ready to try again.

“What I was –” He cuts himself off preemptively, half-expecting the Archive to intrude again. Once he realizes the words are his own, he clears his throat to recover from the false start. “What I was trying to say is – without a living consciousness to contextualize them, the statements are just… stories. When I consume a statement – read it, hear it, doesn’t matter – I See the events play out through the victim’s eyes. My lived experience of it is essential to the recording and preservation of the story. I need to be able to recall how it feels, not just summarize the major points of interest.” He sighs again. “And… that’s also the point of reliving the events in the nightmares. All of it is to keep the memory fresh. To keep the story – the fear – alive.”

When he looks up to see all four of them staring at him, he begins to rub his arms absently, increasingly self-conscious. He can feel the semicircle grooves leftover from where his fingernails cut into the skin.

“So… yeah,” he finishes awkwardly. “The Archive is defined by the statements and the fear that embodies them. The Beholding always hungers for more, and the Archive is a… a receptacle for all of its knowledge. The continual curation of new statements is what sustains it. Without that, it withers.”

“And dies?” Basira asks.

The question isn’t unkind, per se, simply businesslike: an eagerness to discover an answer heedless of whatever messy emotions it might elicit. Jon understands that impulse all too well. Not for the first time, he wonders whether Jonah had a secondary, hidden motive for recruiting Basira: a backup Archivist, in the event that his first choice be unable to endure the process.

“I still don’t know if it would physically kill me,” he replies, “but the hungrier I get, the more I forget myself. I’m liable to do things that I wouldn’t normally do, monstrous things.” He huffs. “And at the same time, giving in to that hunger will also make me more monstrous over time. It seems like… either way, I – I can’t avoid losing sight of… well, me. The human part of me. Whatever’s left of it.”

And wouldn’t losing himself be a death of sorts?

In a way, Daisy died the moment the Hunt recaptured her. What she became was her, undoubtedly, but only a small piece of her. The creature that Basira eventually killed… it was an echo of all the hated, feared parts of herself that Daisy had tried so hard to starve out. The rest of her – all the things that altogether made her Daisy – had long since been burned away.

If Jon didn’t manage to find a way out of that doomed future, he suspects that his ultimate fate may have been similar: all the fragile scraps of himself that still belonged to him, every sliver of personal identity, every shred of humanity crushed and buried beneath an ever-swelling ocean of dispassionate knowledge. The Archive would have carried on expanding and curating until, one day, it would have either collapsed under its own weight or simply run out of things to catalogue, then to waste away – but by then, it would have borne no resemblance to the original owner of its ravaged vessel.

Some endings play out in merciless increments. Jon has witnessed – has caused – more than his fair share of pointless, drawn out suffering. It would have been only fitting for his end to follow a similar path.

“Well, shit,” Basira mutters.

“What about statements given consensually?” Martin asks tentatively. “The one I gave you seemed to satisfy the Archive, or – or however you want to call it. And in the past when I’ve given you statements, they never gave me nightmares, so…”

“Anyone aligned with the Eye has a measure of protection from the Archivist,” Jon answers. “I was never privy to Tim’s or Sasha’s nightmares, either. Once Melanie and Basira started working here, their dreams were cut off from me as well. And… last time, Daisy ended up signing an employment contract after returning from the Buried. Same result.”

“Is it just the archival staff, or any Institute employee?” Basira asks.

“I… don’t know,” Jon says thoughtfully. “If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that it’s restricted to those most strongly connected with the Eye. Archival assistants, primarily. Possibly the research department, or at least those individuals who are the most… compatible with the Beholding, so to speak, though I’m not positive.”

Now that the question has been posed, Jon craves an answer.

“But – but experimenting isn’t worth the risk,” he says, mostly in an attempt to dissuade himself from pursuing the matter any further. He’s pleasantly surprised to hear the confidence in his own voice.

As if satisfied with that answer, Basira gives a tiny nod. Jon doubts it’s meant as a vote of confidence or as approval, but her posture does relax somewhat. He doubts that she trusts him by any stretch of the imagination, but for the moment she seems to have decided that he isn’t an imminent threat, at least.

It feels remarkably, disconcertingly like passing a test he didn’t realize was in progress.

Georgie’s eyes are fixed on the floor, her chin propped in her hand and a contemplative pout on her face. Martin has his lips pressed together, as if biting back an objection. Daisy is the only one looking directly at Jon. She hasn’t said a word since Jon gave his confession, but now her head cocked slightly to the side, as if she's weighing her words.

“I have a lot of stories from my Sectioned days,” she muses. “I could –”

“What would you say if I told you that you should go hunt a few monsters?” Jon says immediately.

“I…” Daisy stalls for a moment, and then gives a resigned sigh, understanding. “I would be worried that I wouldn’t be able to stop at a few,” she says grudgingly. Her shoulders slump as she adds, “Or at monsters.”

“Exactly.”

“But wouldn’t it be different?” she asks, perking up again. “The prey doesn’t consent to the hunt. The fear is taken, not freely given. But a statement – that can be consensual.”

“The Hunt cares about the terror of the prey in the moment. The Eye cares about the terror of the victim in the retelling. The consent aspect is only relevant in terms of whether and how it influences the fear. The fear is all they care about, and I doubt anything benign can come of consuming the fear our patrons want, consensual or no.”

“Do you remember what I said about harm reduction?” Georgie has been sitting quietly with her thoughts for so long, Jon startles at the sound of her voice when she rejoins the conversation. “We need to keep you from getting so hungry that it changes who you are, and new statements are the only way to satisfy that hunger. Correct?”

“Well, yes, but –”

“No ‘but.’ According to you, right now your options are statements or starvation.”

Struck with a fleeting impulse for petulance, Jon has to swallow a biting retort. It’s an old habit, hackles rising at having his own words turned against him – something for which Georgie has always had an aptitude. Between an impressive memory, an analytical nature, and a tolerance for confrontation, she’s never been shy to speculate on what’s really going on in Jon’s head at any given moment. That ability to dissect his motivations and insecurities and cognitive distortions – it used to feel like being flayed alive, all the vulnerable bits of him exposed and shoved under a spotlight.

It’s probably fair to say that his inability to weather that level of scrutiny was a big factor contributing to their eventual breakup: his guarded nature was incompatible with her more straightforward approach to relationships.

“I realize it’s not ideal,” she’s saying now, “but taking statements given with informed consent seems like the most ethical choice.”

“It isn’t just unideal, it’s – it’s –” Jon puts one hand over his eyes, rubbing his forehead and fighting back the urge to shout. “This isn’t a solution.”

It’s still feeding the Eye. It’s still capitalizing on other people’s trauma. And the stories Daisy has to offer… Jon has to wonder how many of them feature Daisy as a victim or a bystander, and whether those outnumber the ones where she herself is the object of fear. He’s taken statements from Avatars before. Some of them were indeed stories of experiencing fear firsthand. Others, though… the fear threaded through the statement came not from the teller, but from their victims.

Jon isn’t keen on siphoning off the secondhand terror of Daisy’s prey. Maybe he can’t afford to be picky, but if there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that lines have to be drawn somewhere.

“We can keep looking for a better alternative,” Georgie says, “but for now… think of it as a stopgap measure.” Sensing Jon’s continued aversion to the idea, she continues: “If your own wellbeing isn’t enough to convince you, consider how you starving would affect other people.”

“It might make me more dangerous,” Jon says quietly.

“I mean – maybe, I guess? But that’s not what I meant.” At Jon’s blank expression, Georgie sighs. “When you suffer, it hurts more than just you. You have people who care about you. They’re sitting with you right now.”

“Still, I – I can’t ask that of –”

“Oh, come off it, Sims,” Daisy says, rolling her eyes. “You crawled into hell to drag me out when all I’d done was treat you like prey. And even after seeing what it was like, you went back in and brought me back a second time.”

“Yes, but –”

“If I sign a contract to work in the archives, it’ll stop you showing up in my dreams, right?”

“Yes. I’m – I’m sorry, again, about –”

“And it’ll keep new nightmares from cropping up if I give you more statements?”

“Well, yes –”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Jon opens and closes his mouth soundlessly several times.

“I – I – I don’t want you to sign yourself over to the Beholding just so I can – treat your memories like a – like a snack” – Jon flings one arm out in a sweeping gesture, supplementing the disgust with which he says the word – “without facing any consequences!”

He looks around at the others, arm still outstretched in the air, waiting for someone to back him up on this. When no one does, he huffs a bewildered chuckle and withdraws his arm to comb his fingers through his hair instead. Why is he the only one making a fuss about this? He thought he could count on Basira at least to raise an objection, but she’s just staring off to the side, apparently lost in thought.

“I was already considering signing a contract anyway,” Daisy says. “Basira said you had a theory that the Slaughter’s effects on Melanie were slowed by her connection to the Eye, yeah?”

“Yes,” he admits cautiously.

“We were thinking – maybe it’ll do the same for me with the Hunt.”

“Did it help last time?” Basira cuts in, as if she’d never tapped out of the discussion.

“I’m not positive,” Jon hedges. “It was a theory we’d considered, yes, but it’s not like we had much of a sample size to test that hypothesis.”

He wishes he’d thought to ask these kinds of questions after the world ended, when he actually had a chance of getting the answers. In his defense, he had a lot on his mind – and it’s not like he considered the possibility of coming back in time to actually make use of that information.

“And it didn’t entirely silence the call of the Hunt,” he adds, looking back to Daisy. “You still deteriorated the longer you refused to answer it.”

“Hm.” Basira’s contemplative expression returns as she withdraws to commune with her own thoughts again.

“Well, it’s not like I’m going anywhere anyway,” Daisy says with a shrug. “Basira’s trapped here. So are you. And I don’t think I can be trusted to leave here without giving in to the Hunt again. I have nothing to lose by signing a contract, and…”

Her eyes gravitate towards Jon’s throat. Mechanically, he reaches up to adjust the scarf around his neck, to ensure the scar there is covered. At the guilty expression on Daisy’s face, Jon has to look away.

“If it can help,” Daisy continues, “then I think telling some stories is the absolute least I can do after… everything.”

“How many do you have, do you think?” Georgie asks, once again settling into problem-solving mode.

“Don’t know. Several. A couple dozen? Maybe more, depending on how far we can stretch the definition of a statement.”

“I have a handful as well,” Basira says, her tone wholly unreadable. “Not many, but… a few of the things that happened while you were dead should count as statements, I think.”

“I – I couldn’t ask you to –”

“I’m not offering; I’m just inventorying all the options on the table,” Basira says with an air of finality.

Curiously, Martin seems to tense at Basira’s words, shifting restively in his seat and looking askance at her.

“How much time does that buy us, do you think?” he asks, throwing brief, surreptitious glances in Basira’s direction. “How long would a few dozen statements last you?”

“I… I don’t know,” Jon says, still altogether uncomfortable with the idea. “If I ration myself, then – a while, hopefully? Hypothetically? But…”

He’s loathe to elaborate, but when did keeping secrets and denying reality ever help?

“Last time, it kept getting progressively worse. I needed to feed more and more frequently in order to stave off the hunger. The side effects of abstaining grew more severe. I want to hope that it will be different this time. Maybe giving in to the hunger in the first place only encouraged the Archivist’s… evolution. Whet my appetite. It’s possible that refraining from hunting will… I don’t know, slow the process? Maybe? B-but at the same time…”

He trails off, lips parted, unable to say the words.

“Jon?” Martin prompts gently.

“It’s… I’m sorry, but I – I have trouble being optimistic about it. Coming back didn’t… it didn’t reset the Archivist’s progress. I’m the product of what I’ve done up to this point, even if I’m the only one who remembers any of it. I still have all the marks. And… the Archive fledged and thrived in the apocalypse.”

“Meaning?” Basira leans forward, watching him intently.

“The Archive is accustomed to a feast, not a famine. Millions of statements filtering through every moment without pause. Even when humanity started dying off – when there was less and less fear to go around, when even the monsters started to decay in that place – the Archive was still sated, because I could See everything. No matter how few and far between those pockets of terror became, as long as fear was being suffered somewhere, the Archive had a steady source of sustenance.”

It wouldn’t have lasted forever, of course. Everything has an ending. But that had still been a ways off when Jon left that place.

“I probably would have been one of the last things standing, by the end,” he says softly.

“And you think the hunger will be worse this time because you aren’t used to being hungry,” Basira says.

“More or less,” Jon mumbles, shamefaced. “Coming back to the past, to now… there was no transition between plenty and want. I – the Archive – was just… dropped into a – a habitat it was never adapted to survive in. It’s like a… like a non-native species, as far as this reality is concerned. Like taking a fish out of water and expecting it to evolve lungs on the spot.”

“Hm.” Basira cups her chin in one hand, running a thumb slowly over her lips as she thinks.

“I plan to ration myself as strictly as possible, of course. I just want to establish the possibility that things might – escalate, at some point.”

“If it comes to that, we can deal with it then,” Georgie says. “In the meantime, we should just…”

“Take things one crisis at a time?” Jon tries to temper his bitterness with a weak smile, without much success.

“I mean, yeah, basically,” Georgie says. “But in order for this to work, you need to be honest with us.”

“I – I am, I –”

“I’m not accusing you of lying, Jon. I just mean… well, you have a long history of ignoring your own limitations, and –”

“You’re not good at taking care of yourself,” Martin interjects. His cheeks go pink and he tosses an apologetic glance in Georgie’s direction. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No worries,” Georgie says. Martin looks uncertain until she grins and, still making eye contact with him, jerks her chin in Jon’s direction. “By all means, go on.”

Emboldened, Martin turns his attention back to Jon, who meets his eyes with no small amount of apprehension. If Martin is intent on compiling a laundry list of examples of Jon’s poor self-care – and judging from that worryingly familiar look on his face, he is – then he has ample material to choose from. Jon barely has time to brace himself before Martin launches into his lecture.

“You used to forget to eat. You never took lunch unless I hassled you. I had to nag you to go home at night.” He’s counting off on his fingers now, Jon notes with dismay. “You went through most days fueled by a maximum of four hours of sleep and frankly alarming amounts of caffeine. You insisted on coming back to work, against medical advice, immediately after almost being eaten alive by worms.”

Jon opens his mouth to speak – and promptly shuts it again when Martin gives him what Jon can (with equal amounts of affection and dread) only refer to as that look.

“You could barely walk. I had to threaten to forcibly remove you from the building before you agreed to go home. You spent the next several weeks sneaking – hell, limping around down here” – Martin makes a sweeping gesture with his arm – “where we found your predecessor’s murdered body, and –”

“Yes, yes, okay,” Jon interrupts, hands flapping anxiously. “I get your point.”

“I also had to threaten to withhold the Admiral from you in order to get you to go to the clinic to have your third-degree burn treated,” Georgie chimes back in. Jon glares at her; she looks far too entertained by the proceedings.

“I was – I was on the lam,” he protests. “I couldn’t exactly go waltzing about in public.”

“But you were perfectly willing to go chasing down Avatars, apparently.”

“I…”

“Oh,” she adds, “and today was the first time you actually slept since you woke up from a coma.”

“I was asleep for six months,” Jon mutters, arms crossed, bouncing one heel against the floor. “I think that more than makes up for –”

“You tried to pass off a stab wound that required five – five!” – Martin holds up five fingers for added (and unnecessary, in Jon’s opinion) emphasis – “stitches as an accident with a – with a bread knife.”

Somehow, Martin manages to sound as indignant now as he did on the day it happened.

“That was several lifetimes ago,” Jon says primly. “At some point you have to let me live it down.”

“It hasn’t even been two years!”

“Seriously, Jon?” Daisy, who has been hiding a smirk behind her hand throughout the entire exchange, finally fails to contain her stifled laughter. “A bread knife?”

“I – I panicked,” Jon says weakly, cheeks burning. “Martin cornered me in the breakroom and it was the first thing I saw, and I just –”

Martin starts in again. “You were actively exsanguinating –”

“Th-that – that’s an exaggeration,” Jon sputters, watching Georgie out of the corner of his eye to gauge her reaction. She’s shaking her head with a faint smile, and Jon… well, Jon supposes that playful scorn is preferable to actual scorn.

“– and you refused to let me take you to the clinic until I threatened to call an ambulance,” Martin finishes.

“I was –” Jon twists a lock of hair around his fingers as he scrambles for some way to save face. “I would have been –”

“I think it’s safe to say you have no sense of self-preservation,” Basira says, and even she has a hint of amusement in her tone now.

“They have a point, Sims.”

“Et tu, Daisy?” Jon says, hoping to garner a laugh – or, failing that, at least halt the relentless bombardment of admonishments. Daisy simply raises her eyebrows and folds her arms, unmoved.

“Do I need to revisit some of the things we discussed in the Coffin?”

“No,” he says sullenly. When no one else speaks, he continues, somewhat irately: “Are we quite finished with the roast session?”

“For now,” Georgie says. “The point is, don’t run yourself into the ground just to test the limits of what you can endure.”

“And don’t let rationing statements turn into just another way to punish yourself,” Martin says sternly. Then he bites his lip, speaking gently now: “You… you deserve better than that.”

I really, really don’t, Jon thinks. Having no desire to unleash another lecture, though, he keeps the contrary comment to himself.

“Besides, letting yourself get that bad probably makes things worse in the long run,” Georgie says. “Like walking on a sprained ankle. Maybe you can endure the pain, but the longer you ignore it, the more likely you are to cause even more damage, and recovery takes longer than it would have if you’d just attended to it in the first place.”

“Speaking from personal experience, are we?” Jon allows a hint of retaliatory smugness slip into his voice.

“Yes,” Georgie says, rolling her eyes. “That ankle is still weak. Which is why you should listen to me. Just… try to care about yourself even a fraction of how much others care about you, alright?

Jon sighs. “Point taken.”

“You can trust us,” Martin says.

“I – I know that. I do trust you. I’m just…” Afraid. “I don’t want you to –”

“– mark me out as something other –”

“– getting used to people making polite excuses not to look at me –”

“– it wears you down to be someone whom nobody wants to see – I called out again and again but nobody came –”

Frantic, he covers his mouth with his hand to halt the recitation; the words continue to pour forth undeterred, albeit muffled and likely – hopefully – too indistinct for the others to understand.

“– I remember shouting, recriminations, and I was abandoned –”

“– no one to blame but my own stupid self – blundering in where I had no right to go –”

A flash flood of restless energy breaks through the dam and then it’s racing through his veins, filling his mouth and his mind with white noise. He kicks one foot out and brings it stomping back down to the ground in a burst of sheer infuriation and near-panic. A crawling sensation travels up and down the length of his spine, a parade of feather-light pinpricks reminiscent of thousands of scuttling spider legs.

The slight whimper that works its way up his throat is thankfully stifled by the hand still pressed to his lips.

“Breathe through it,” Basira tells him.

Irritation flares to life at the reminder, but Jon forcibly snuffs it out before the spark can catch. Basira is only trying to help – and in a way she knows has helped before.

He breathes.

A frustrated noise – something between a snarl and a whine – spills out on his exhale, and he presses another hand atop the first as if it can render him entirely soundless. Before another wave of self-directed fury can take him, Jon coaxes himself to take another breath in through his nose. And another. And another, counting up until the pressure behind his eyes lets up and the static clears from his thoughts – at which point, he’s forced to confront the four pairs of eyes playing patient audience to his outburst.

Like a toddler’s tantrum, he thinks acidly, burning with humiliation.

“Sorry.” Although the scathing edge to the word is reserved solely for himself, he takes another breath before speaking again, lest the others assume the ire is directed at them. “Sorry. I’ll try to control it better.”

“It’s fine, Jon,” Martin says. “We know you aren’t doing it on purpose.”

“Anyway,” Basira says, her peremptory tone indicating a return to the subject at hand, “can we all agree that this is the best strategy for now?”

Jon looks down, tracing the weave of his scarf, focusing wholly on the texture of fabric against fingertips in a vain attempt to distract from the pins and needles still skittering across his skin. It takes a moment before he registers the silence. When he looks up, the others are staring at him. Basira raises an eyebrow, clearly waiting for his response.

“Even if I do agree to this,” Jon says warily, “I still – I know it’s a lot to ask, but I still need to be monitored for any signs of…” Although the question is meant for all of them, Jon shifts his gaze to make direct eye contact with Basira as he asks it. “Can you let me know, truthfully, if I – if it looks like I might… if you think I’m a danger?”

“Jon,” Martin sighs, “you’re not –”

“Yes,” Basira says decisively.

Martin glares at her, his mouth falling open with a combination of shock and protective outrage. Jon recognizes that expression, and he jumps in before Martin can get a word out.

“Thank you, Basira.”

Now Jon is the target of Martin’s glower. He looks offended, betrayed almost, as if Jon took Basira’s side in a dispute between the two of them. Again, though, Martin doesn’t get the chance to scold.

“Alright then,” Daisy says, stretching. “It’s settled. You” – her eyes swivel to Jon, their piercing intensity prompting him to sit up at attention – “come to me when you’re hungry.”

“Before you cross the boundary into ‘starving,’” Martin says, carving out an opportunity to chastise despite the interruption.

“Consider me a vending machine of horror stories,” Daisy quips.

Jon grimaces and rubs the back of his neck. “Do you have to describe it that way?”

“Oh, quit grousing.” With a flash of teeth, a wolfish grin spreads across her face. “What, would you prefer I write up a menu?”

Her expression turns solemn when Jon winces and looks away.

“Sore nerve?” she asks, suddenly and uncharacteristically delicate.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” The question is nearly inaudible, Jon’s eyes fixed on the floor.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

Fearing his voice might crack if he tries to speak, Jon bites down on his lip and tucks his chin to his chest, letting his hair fall to hide the others from view. He shuts his eyes for good measure and swallows hard, determined to head off the tears threatening to gather.

“Hey.” Daisy stretches out a leg and kicks his foot gently. It’s enough to make him raise his head cautiously. “I was just teasing. Really.”

“I –” It comes out as a croak. Jon clears his throat and blinks several times to dispel the stinging pressure in the corners of his eyes. “I know.”

“It is… so weird to see you two like this,” Basira says with an air of baffled wonder.

Jon notices Martin fidgeting restively out of the corner of his eye. When he looks directly at him, he sees Martin glaring at Daisy with a mixture of worry, suspicion, and resentment.

It isn’t surprising; he never really did forgive Daisy for what she did to Jon. Neither did Jon, for that matter, but… Daisy was so changed after the Buried, it was difficult to see her as the same person who dragged him into the woods. She was, undoubtedly – she was the first to admit that – but she was remorseful and wholly dedicated to changing her behavior, even knowing it might well kill her. She never asked for forgiveness, never denied the harm she’d caused, never tried to justify or shirk responsibility for her actions.

What she later became… there was nothing left of the Daisy who he’d come to see as a friend. For that Daisy, being reclaimed by the Hunt was a fate worse than death. Worse than the Coffin, even. She would have preferred to die as herself, and on her own terms – and the Hunt stole even that ounce of humanity from her. It made her forget that she didn't want to be a Hunter.

Jon dreads watching her waste away again, but not nearly as much as he fears the Hunt devouring her whole.

“People change,” he says, looking from Martin to Basira, hoping those two words can convey all the things he cannot say. They both look unconvinced, albeit in slightly different ways.

The silence drags on uncomfortably long until Georgie claps her hands on her knees.

“You never answered the question, Jon. Are you alright taking statements from Daisy? At least until we can find a better solution?”

“I…”

He glances around the circle, looking at each face in turn, trying to discern their opinions on the matter. Daisy gives him a reassuring nod. Martin has an almost pleading expression on his face, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and wringing his hands in his lap.

Basira is… entirely inscrutable, much to Jon’s dismay. He didn’t expect otherwise, but he still wishes he could get a read on her, determine exactly how she categorizes him now. Probably not as a trustworthy ally. At best, perhaps she sees him as human enough to be suffered to live, but on thin ice and under probation. At worst, she sees him as an irredeemable monster and is simply keeping her opinion to herself for the time being.

Or – no, the worst might be what he was to her last time. She saw him as a monster, yes, and was fully prepared to put him down – like a rabid animal, he thought when confronted with that wording – if he became too much of a danger. It was comforting to know that Basira wouldn’t let sentiment get in the way if he had to be stopped. Less comforting was how she saw him as an asset: a dangerous tool to be used and then locked away once he’d fulfilled his purpose.

Granted, he gave Basira permission to use him – asked her to, in fact. It would be unfair to resent her for taking him up on an offer that he himself put on the table. If his powers could be used to help for once, he was fully willing to sacrifice his humanity to do so. After all, he was already too far gone, he figured – and everyone else seemed to agree.

Georgie certainly seemed to think so. Melanie told him outright that he came back wrong. He had likewise interpreted Martin’s avoidance as a comment on his having changed for the worst, at least initially. And he knew from the moment he woke up that Basira saw him as something other, as something more akin to the monsters they were fighting rather than an ally. He understood why they all felt that way, agreed with their assessments even, but it was soul-crushing nonetheless.

But even if he couldn’t have – didn’t deserve – trust or companionship, he still needed a reason, something to justify choosing not to die. If being wanted wasn’t an option, the least he could do is avoid being a burden. An annoyance. If approval wasn’t on the table, at least he could convince people that he was worth keeping around. And hadn’t that approach always been second nature to him? In a way, he didn’t tend to seek affection so much as try to avoid rejection.

Ultimately, though, pursuing that strategy started to feel sickeningly familiar. It wasn’t until much later that he realized why: between Jonah and the Beholding – and in all likelihood the Web as well – he’d grown accustomed to being seen as a means to an end, and that made it all the more difficult to see himself as a who rather than as a what. It’s a distinction he still struggles with – particularly during those times when the Archive makes its presence known.

He might not have much right to ask for trust or approval, but that doesn’t change the fact that he craves it – perhaps from Basira most of all. If even her opinion of him can change… well, it would go a long way in helping him to believe that he really does have a chance.

“Jon,” Basira says, snapping him back to attention.

Shit. How long has he been staring?

“We need an answer,” she continues.

Jon can’t help but wonder if this is another test. If he agrees, will she see it as further proof of his inhumanity, as evidence that he isn’t trying to resist? If he refuses, will it make her suspicious, lead her to believe he plans on going hunting instead? He’s never been skilled at reading between the lines, at interpreting social cues, at deconstructing the unspoken. The best he can do is ask questions and guess blindly as to the right way to respond – and agonize over the repercussions should he get it wrong. Basira has a way of making that already difficult process even more intimidating.

“Jon,” Basira repeats herself, growing impatient now.

“O-okay,” he says quietly. “It’s… worth a try, I suppose.”

She gives a curt nod. As always, it gives him no insight into her thoughts. He has no time resume brooding, though, as Martin draws his attention with an audible sigh of relief. When Jon glances at him, Martin graces him with a smile – small, almost shy, but genuine. Jon tries and fails to mirror it.

Apparently finished with Jon for the moment, Basira turns her attention to Daisy.

“Come on,” she says, rising to her feet and tapping Daisy on the shoulder. “It’s time for your exercises.”

Obediently, Daisy starts to stand, only for her knees to buckle beneath her. Basira is there to catch her.

“Been sitting too long,” Daisy grunts, embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

“Can you manage the ladder?” Daisy shakes her head, flushing darker. “That’s fine,” Basira says, though Jon thinks he can detect a hint of fear – maybe even melancholy – in her tone now. “Let’s just… walk for now. Wake your legs up.”

The two of them start off down the tunnel, Basira supporting half of Daisy’s weight as she staggers forward.

“Jon?” Georgie says softly.

“Hm.”

“Try to cut yourself some slack, yeah?”

Jon really can’t afford to do that, but saying so will only start them talking in circles again. Martin leans closer and places a hand on Jon’s knee.

“Hey,” he says, looking Jon in the eye with overwhelming sincerity. “We’ve got this, alright?”

“Alright,” Jon responds, and wills himself to believe it.

The three of them exit the tunnel in silence. It isn’t until Jon hoists himself through the trapdoor – Martin assisting in pulling him to his feet – that one of them speaks.

“Oh,” Georgie says, looking at Jon, “by the way…”

“Yes?” Jon says, apprehensive.

“Melanie asked me to tell you that she’s ready to talk, whenever you are.”

“O-oh.”

“I know it's not a great time –”

“No, I – I think I…” Jon nods. “I think I’m ready, too.”

“It doesn’t have to be tonight,” Georgie says hurriedly.

“I really am okay to –”

Martin looks ready to object, but Georgie gets there first.

“Okay, correction: it won’t be tonight,” she interrupts, fixing him with a stern look now. “You’ve had hardly any rest since coming out of the Coffin. I think you should get some actual sleep tonight. If – if – you’re feeling up to it tomorrow, we can arrange something then.”

“Fine,” Jon sighs. He knows better than to argue with the combined tenacity of Georgie and Martin.

And he has to admit, he is rather tired.

A little over a half-hour later, Martin and Jon are back in Document Storage.

When he suggests Jon go to bed, Martin is prepared for a protracted argument. Jon acquiesces surprisingly quickly, though, his only condition being that Martin get some sleep as well. It takes slightly longer to convince Jon to take the cot. Martin pulls up a chair and sits at the bedside, refusing to budge as Jon makes his counterarguments. Eventually, though, Jon starts nodding off mid-protest. It’s only a matter of time before he begrudgingly gives in – but not before demanding that Martin take the better blanket. With an amused shake of his head, Martin agrees to the compromise.

Jon slips between the sheets, Martin leans back in his chair, and for a long moment the two of them watch each other in silence. Jon’s hand rests near the pillow, fingers crooked loosely, palm turned up like an invitation. Martin has the sudden urge to reach out and take it.

Another minute passes before Martin realizes that… well, that’s a thing he can do now, isn’t it? What’s stopping him?

Slowly, tentatively, he extends his hand, lets it hover uncertainly above Jon’s, fingertips barely brushing. He applies the slightest pressure, giving Jon every opportunity to pull back. He doesn’t. Jon interlocks their fingers, curling them over in a firm grasp, and peers up at Martin through his lashes with mingled uncertainty and hope.

“Is this okay?” Martin asks quietly.

As answer, Jon lets out a contented sigh, eyelids fluttering closed as a sleepy smile spreads across his face.

“'Course,” he mumbles, already drifting off. “Always will.”

Martin will follow not long after, slumping precariously to the side, head lolling onto his shoulder, and hand still held fast in a warm, sure grip. It’s a posture that will undoubtedly leave him sore by the time he wakes up, but that discomfort will be overshadowed by the way he feels in these shared, quiet moments: seen, accepted, wanted, embraced.

Anchored, he thinks – and for the first time in months, no thoughts of Loneliness shadow him as he falls to sleep.

End Notes:

Jon: *feels safe for the first time in a literally unmeasurable amount of time and promptly passes right back tf out* Martin: oh no he’s cute

Jon's gotten a SNACK and a NAP now. I hope you're all happy. :P  (Just kidding. Every time someone tells me to let Jon have a nap, I am also @ing myself - and Jonny Sims - with the exact same demand.)

(On that note, I find it funny that as I was writing this chapter and finally giving Jon the nap he deserves, he was ALSO finally getting the nap he deserves in canon.)

Citations for Jon’s Archive-speak are as follows: MAG 135; 130/067/066; 032/037.

Next chapter: Melanie gets some actual screentime again!!

[stusbunker]

Older Bonds and Deeper Ties

For Better or Worst: Chapter Seven

Featuring: Sam Winchester x Emery Simmons-Winchester OFC

Other Characters: Jack, Naomi, Dean, Castiel, OC Bandit (their dog)

Season 14 AU

Word Count: 3599

Summary: Sam comes home late and has to face the music. Jack continues his pursuit of answers. Castiel pushes on. Emery starts panicking on her own. Sam knows things.

Warnings: Show level experiments, nightmares, and suggested loss of a child.

Series Masterlist

^*^*^

“You kiss me with your mouth wide open like you’re not afraid of swallowing poison. I taste the good and bad in you and want them both. We call this bravery.”  - Anita Ofokansi

Sam pulled Emery’s car behind his crossover, knowing they would have to switch their positions soon enough. It was just after one in the morning and Sam didn’t know what he was walking back into. Or who Emery was, really. He hoped she had gone to bed so he could take some more time to wrap his mind around what his life had become. He also knew he had fucked up by not calling and the shame was eating at him on one side, as the thought of not owing her an explanation scratched on the other. This was probably his worst birthday, yet. Cautiously, Sam approached the back door, but the motion detectors spotted him, and he had to ease in through the mudroom without much stealth.

              He nudged a hamper full of wet clothes out of his way before stepping into the kitchen. Bandit’s tags then his nails on the tile floor raised Sam’s head in time to see Emery, blurry eyed and ridiculous with her scarf askew and his robe nearly tripping her as she met him. Everything he had worried about fell away when her smoky voice rattled a tender, “happy birthday.”

              He tried to keep the smile from his lips, but they weren’t listening, his face broke open like a well whacked pinata. “I think I missed it.”

              She caught up with him, snaking her arms around his waist as he set down his keys on the island. Her head hit him between the shoulder blades, she was just so small. Sam pulled her hand up to his heart, spinning into her embrace. They kissed quickly, but he wouldn’t let her pull away.

              “I’m sorry I’m so late,” he confessed.

              “Yeah, what the hell, man?! I had plans and then the stupid rain happened and Mox and Sho are assholes. Luckily Bandit was here otherwise I would probably still be pouting--”

              “You smell good,” Sam interrupted, kissing her a little deeper.

              “Nope, nice try though,” Emery smirked, holding him at arm’s length. “Where were you?”

              “At the meeting until like 8:30, 8:40? Then, somehow, they found out it was my birthday. So, we had drinks,” Sam started talking, hoping to make sense.

              “And your phone suddenly evaporated, or they took you to the one dead zone in a city of half a million people?” Emery nodded, biting back the snark enough to tease and not harm.

              “How much wine have you had?” Sam glanced behind Emery at the countertop, eyeing the abandoned blue glass bottle.

              “Enough! Hey, don’t change the subject.” She poked him in the sternum, hard enough for him to wince.

              “Ow! Well, you’re usually an adorable drunk. I was just asking!” Sam groaned, but couldn’t delay the inevitable anymore. “Cady took my phone. She noticed your texts during the meeting and decided to be a child and hold it hostage.”

              “Did she now?” Emery’s eyebrows hitched. “And?”

              “And, I’m sorry.” Sam conceded, not feeling the least bit guilty about using Cady as a fall guy. Just a tad guilty about the lying part, though.

              “No, not you Sam, what else did Cady do?” Emery knew things, somehow Sam forgot how intuitive she was.

              “She made a pass at me,” Sam mumbled.

              “I knew it! That little--,” Emery inhaled before the words came out. “Did anyone else see it? Is it going to be a big thing?”

              “No, once I told her, twice, she got the message,” Sam swallowed, taken aback at the faith she had in him, in their relationship.

              Emery tucked a strand of hair behind Sam’s ear. “Are you okay?”

              “’m fine, why?” Sam straightened, still playing with the fingers on her free hand.

              “A hot, younger woman tried to get you in bed, Sam. It’s not an easy situation to navigate, for anyone. I know this is still new, for you, this kind of life—”

              Sam huffed. “Trust me, putting Cady in her place was the easiest thing I did all day.”

              “Well okay then,” Emery draped her hands on the back of his neck. “Why don’t we get to bed, Birthday Boy? Wifey is tired.”

              “Me too,” Sam yawned just as Emery was about to kiss him again. Instead she attacked his cheek down to his neck. The warmth of the wine radiated from her skin as it brushed against his. Sam dipped and picked her up, stomping up to their bedroom in a shared bout of exhaustion tinted giggles. Sam slept soundly that night, not because he was in denial, but because he couldn’t deny how loved he felt with Emery. The lies were second nature to him, but he had told her the truths that he could at the time. He had been used before, he wasn’t letting his guard down, but a part of him needed her to be real.

^*^*^

              “It’s good to see you again, Jack,” Naomi held open the door to her office, ushering him inside the stark décor. He tried to smile back, but his better instincts allowed him a polite caution.

              Once she was sat behind her desk Jack spoke up, “I want to see Dean. If I am going to trust you are doing the right thing, I need to see proof of life.”

              “Proof of life? In Heaven?” Naomi replied tartly, not letting her amusement show. “Jack, I’d like to think you have a good understanding of the desperate circumstances we are in here. The lengths we have gone to, to keep the souls and this world, safe. We have entertained your visits and questions, but I can’t risk your presence setting Dean, or Michael off.”

              “How do I know he’s even here?! That you’re making progress. You won’t tell me where Sam is. Just let me see my--- Dean. I want to see Dean.” Jack hadn’t realized he had stood up with his outburst, his soul burning behind his eyes. A fact that Naomi didn’t miss, she tugged her jacket into place and sniffed at the petulant Nephil.

              “Please?” He added softly, sitting back down.

              Naomi stood up, looming over the desk like a disappointed principal. “Your persistence doesn’t change my responsibilities, Jack. Heaven cannot fall. You understand that, don’t you?”

              “Yes, I think so,” Jack nodded, something in his face shifting the fire in the angel’s eyes to something cooler, something closer to warmth. She walked around the desk and nodded toward the office door. Somehow, they were in a different hallway than the one that had led them to the office originally. It was still bright and stark, but narrower and twisting. Jack kept close to Naomi’s heels, feeling like the door-less walls were tightening every few yards.

              “You cannot tell anyone what you see here, Jack. I know you have kept your word so far, but I need to reiterate how important it is that this process won’t be disturbed. Can you promise me that this stays between us?” Naomi had stopped at the end of the hall, a T intersection with three doors surrounded them now.

              “Yes, I swear,” Jack nodded enthusiastically, hands heavy against his pockets as he wiped the sweat off.

              “I need you to remain quiet. Don’t try to touch him or reach him in any way. Can you do that?” Naomi watched Jack until, against her better judgement, she rounded the corner to the right and faced a fourth hidden door at the end of a much shorter corridor.

              “Wait here.” Naomi smiled sadly before disappearing behind the tempered glass door, her warped form fading from view as Jack watched earnestly.

              Jack cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot. He was trying to hold all that nervous excitement and fear inside himself.  He needed Naomi to trust him if he was going to be allowed further access. If he was going to save his family that he owed his life, twice over. He could do this. He would this. Just when his internal dialogue had reached thudding levels, the door clicked open, a dull metallic shimmer reflecting from the depth behind Naomi.

              “It’s okay, Jack. You can come in, just don’t touch anything,” she whispered tensely.

              Jack had gotten used to the solitary meetings with Naomi, occasionally he would see Dumah or one other angel he hadn’t been introduced to. Heaven was vast and they were stretched thin, with so few of their kind remaining. Jack knew his father had given them false hope for stability, he didn’t want to repeat those failures. Steeling himself, Jack walked past Naomi into a large space, it reminded him of a surgical bay from Dean’s favorite medical show. There were white machines and metal trays upon the matching counters, directly in the center of the room, approximately thirty feet from where Naomi and Jack stood, was Dean.

              He lay with a crown of rods laced through his skull, his mouth open and eyes closed. He wore the black tee shirt and jeans he had left the Bunker in, all those months before. Jack inhaled deeply, trying to keep his emotions at bay. Dean’s boots lay underneath the simple bed, as if he would kick his legs over the side and slip them on at any moment.

              Naomi watched the Nephil process the scene, knowing he would protest at any moment. This, like all their previous discussions, was a test. She was desperate to save Heaven, but she was not careless. This boy was a valuable resource, with the loyalty of a Winchester and the naivety of Castiel. She needed him to trust her and he was so willing to. His desire to prove himself shone through every squint or thoughtful pause. She tried to brush off the endearment she felt, as residual family connection.

              “Can he feel---” Jack started.

              “He’s not in any pain, Jack. No, Dean is kept separate from his body for now. As is his guest,” Naomi explained, unwilling to tempt fate and call the angel inside the hunter’s mind to the surface.

              “How much longer?” Jack turned to lock onto her piercing blue eyes.

              “We aren’t sure. We are doing everything we can for him,” Naomi reassured. Then turned back the way they came. Jack blinked against the tears in his eyes as he watched Dean’s chest rise and fall. He was alive and Jack could get to him if he really needed to. But Jack wasn’t dull enough to think that Dean was safe. As if on cue, once they reached the door a pained whimper escaped Dean’s lips, freezing them both in place.

^*^*^

              Castiel was surprised to find Sam and Emery’s home unwarded. He wasn’t breaking in, just casually observing as he roamed their neighborhood on foot. It had been a week since he had gotten through to Sam, the first chance he could make the trip back from the Bunker. Mary had called him in to help as they slowly pieced apart the remaining factions of Michael’s army. She knew Cas had his own agenda, but he hadn’t shared his progress with her. He didn’t want to give anyone’s hopes up. His own included.

              Sam spotted him as he loaded Mox and Sho into the backseat with Bandit, his annoyance shining through on a dark glare topped off with a subtle shake of his head. Cas sighed and kept walking, through the damp lawn of a small park and back to the quiet diner on a noisy street, where he had left his car. He came back just after dark, watching from across the street beside a seldom used alley. From what he could gather, Sam’s wife was human. Their life had been set up to thrive, a nice house and comfortable jobs out of harm’s way and far from prying eyes. He needed to unravel the layers of the spell before he could convince Sam of the best course of action.

              It was on the third day that Sam took Bandit for an extra walk, putting Emery’s distraction over finals’ preparation to good use. He found Cas camped out in his flamboyant car, nodding to Cas repeatedly before leading him down a side street, close, but not too close to their usual loop of the neighborhood.

              “Any news?” Cas challenged once they were a safe distance away.

              “Not really, no,” Sam sighed, watching Castiel crouch down to greet Bandit. “We have way more normal security on the house that I imagine necessary, but I haven’t found any hex bags or anything.”

              “What about her? Do you suspect she is under an angel’s control?” Castiel offered. Sam’s lips pursed and he started shaking his head.

“I don’t mean possession, at least not currently,” Castiel eased.

“Look, man. I know something is going on, but—”

“But what, Sam? You are out here in some contrived reality, intentionally separated from Dean, me, your mother AND Jack.”

Sam kneeled down and scratched Bandit around his collar, humility and guilt slamming into him. “You’re right, Cas,” Sam let out in a constricted whisper. “How’re they doing?”

Cas huffed, “Fine, considering. Jack has refocused on physical training and Mary is quite the dispatcher.”

Sam smiled, warm and worried. “And the new recruits?”

Cas had been hoping the conversation hadn’t circled back to the Bunker and its Apocalypse World inhabitants. His pause sent Sam’s defenses back up. “We’ve had some tough hunts. Maggie, and a few others, but—”

Sam inhaled sharply, the news, a bucket of cold water down his back. The hunting life a cacophony of loss, such a stark contrast to his months of sudden complacency.

“They need you back. We need you both back,” Cas finished firmly.

“I can’t leave, if I do something much worse will happen,” Sam practically mumbled, free hand dragging over his beard.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Cas stepped closer, conscious of the length of their public conversation. He nodded Sam around the next corner, continuing to talk as they walked. “What? What will happen if you break this deal?!”

Sam looked over his shoulder, instincts returning after being dulled for so long.

“I don’t know.” Elbows bowing out, hands firmly in his pockets. “I just know I’m not going to put Emery—or Dean—in danger.”

Cas’s jaw clenched; the air thickened impossibly around the old friends. He shouldn’t have been surprised, and yet he was. Winchester stubbornness and loyalty always blinded them in the end. Though Sam was usually easier to reason with, or so Castiel remembered.

“Alright, just be careful. I shouldn’t have to remind you, but don’t ingest anything you haven’t prepared yourself.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “The kitchen was stocked when I showed up, but we’ve done all our own shopping since,” he replied tersely.

“Perhaps you should take over cooking duties, exclusively?”

Sam glanced to Castiel, chagrin softening his features. As Castiel felt Sam’s acquiescence, he reeled in his own doggedness. He had been in Sam’s shoes, once upon a time, when human kindness had saved him from harsh truths. When he couldn’t face what he was or what he had done after swallowing half of Purgatory.

“I know you trust her, Sam. I don’t want to infringe on your--- relationship, but I think---”

“Got it, Cas. Stay diligent,” Sam cut him off. “Look, here’s my new number. I couldn’t get through to Mom or the number I tried to remember for you. Grab yourself a burner, we can keep in touch easier.”

“They’re thorough, I’ll give them that.” Cas shook Sam’s hand, taking the strip of paper, a smoother gesture than Sam expected.

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” Sam muttered before crossing the street, heading back the way they came.

^*^*^

              Emery didn’t know where she was going or how she ended up in the backseat of some outdated boat of a car. She felt like she was five years old again, her granddad driving her to school while her mom worked the morning shift at the diner. The heavy metal seat belt, familiar and cool in her lap. But it wasn’t her granddad driving, it was some white guy, two of them, actually. As she watched in silent disbelief of her surroundings, it became apparent that the men were twins. Or perhaps the driver was a descendant of the passenger, their clothing at odds with each other.

              Suddenly, the one to her right turned to face her, a wave of nausea hitting her as a smug smile crept over his mystifying features.

              Emery woke with the taste of bile in her mouth. The surrealism of the dream hitting her with a second bout of panic as the possibility of what the encounter meant for her, for the human sat beside an angel in her vision, for Sam, and their entire deal. She raced from the bed and dry heaved into the toilet. The stretching cold crystallized across her overheated skin, overreaching in its unpleasantness. Carefully, she fell back onto her palms and ass, the tile edges biting into her, vibrations sputtering from her heart to every inch of flesh.

              The light snapped on, Sam hesitated in the doorway, waiting as she tried to pull the green from her features. Quickly, she flushed away what little came up.

              “Baby? Can I get you anything?” Sam’s voice cracked over his first words of the day. He couldn’t look directly at her, the disgust breaking through his usual cool. Emery chuckled, some tough guy he was.

              “Just leftovers from a nightmare,” Emery reassured, groaning, she pulled herself up.

              “You sure? Cuz we could stay home, just in case?” Sam offered, arms crossing over his chest while she marched back to bed.

              “Don’t have to twist my arm. No Church it is,” she grumbled, tugging the comforter to her chin.

              “Okay, rest up. I’ll be back up in a bit,” Sam squeezed her ankle, and pat the bed, earning a weak agreement from Emery.

              An hour and a half later, Sam gave up waiting for Emery to emerge from her cocoon. Instead, he piled breakfast onto a sterling silver platter he found in the china cabinet. He focused on the small motions that built the meal, piece by piece. Coffee, of course, alongside a glass of ginger ale tainted with a touch of holy water, scrambled eggs, with more salt than was necessary. In all, they gave him the trifecta of tests in an inconspicuous, single serving. His insides were too wound up to take any of the food for himself; reluctance and apprehension warring within.

              Along the far corner, Sam placed a single tulip from the yard atop an almond colored envelope. After placing the unbuttered toast beside the eggs, in case her stomach remained upset, Sam resigned himself to the fact that there was nothing left for him to prepare. No other item needed, no way to prevent the inevitable without giving up completely. Conflicted wasn’t a strong enough word for his state as Sam climbed the stairs. He knocked on the bedroom door with Bandit at his heels, whose eagerness to check on Emery refocused Sam’s attention.

              “Come in, but I’m not gettin’ up yet,” Emery’s warbled voice called through the carved wood. Sam balanced the tray and opened the door, letting Bandit in to get the first kisses. Emery giggle whined as she patted Bandit a spot beside her. He, instead, circled thrice before laying across her legs.

“Hey.” Sam stood sheepishly, while Emery sat up.

“What’s this? Breakfast in bed? Lucky me.” Emery smirked, holding her arms up as Sam settled the tray onto her lap. Sam hovered, eyes sparkling in anticipation, but the ornately engraved tray left her unblemished. She smelled the flower before setting it back down to read her card, the opening words gripped her chest and stole her breath away.

‘A mother is not defined by the number of children you see, but by the love she holds in her heart.’

“How—" her words caught in her throat, tears falling without her realizing they had formed.

Sam cleared his throat and pushed her breakfast over to his empty side of the bed. He took her face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the grief.

“I guessed?” Words softening as he peered into her astounded eyes. “By the way you are with Trudy and the baby. By the way your body was molded into something beautiful, a testament to what it had carried,” Sam whispered, lips dancing over her forehead.

“Geez, maybe Hallmark should hire you,” Emery teased, trying to lighten the moment that was threatening to overwhelm her.

“Happy Mothers’ Day, Emery. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, but I want you to know… that I know that part of you. I see you, and all that love in your heart, even if no one else does. Okay? And I’m sorry they’re not here with us now, ya know?” Sam pawed at her hair as her hands clamped over his wrists, holding him to her.

“Yeah, I know.” She breathed deeply, sticky and thick through the sobs. “Sam? I see you too. I might not get, all of it. But I know you’re so much more than this life.” A few ragged breaths later, she kissed him.

The kiss wasn’t earth shattering, but short and salted, yet filled with a deepening bond neither had seen coming. She left the card propped open on her bedside table as she ate. The final tests forgotten, but if Sam had been paying attention he would have noticed, her only reaction was a stifled grimace at the now cold, over-seasoned eggs.

^*^*^

Read On: A Door Once Opened

[collateralfiction]

24

Third Person Perspective

“Call him, now,” There was nomisunderstanding Adrian and his thought process. Although he might not have been the clearest with his thoughts from outsiders looking in, down the line it would click, and people would commend him for his wise actions. Bailey might not have understood him now and why he was so persistent on having her call her ex, but she wasn’t seeing the bigger picture. Even when Adrian throws out a random idea that no one seems to understand or grasp, he already has it figured out in his head. Adrian wasn’t a full fledge pessimist, but he considered the consequences thoroughly and is still sticking by his judgment call. Bailey’s hesitance was only making him question her and the probable uncertainty she had with this whole plan from the start. This is what he’s been waiting for all this time, there was no turning back. Little did she know, if she was to make this phone call, all power and control was in her hand. For Bailey, that was a blessing in disguise, but she was too timid to realize that. Adrian was taking a risk by doing that since this would be his first time ever trusting someone to do right and Bailey was making it no better by making Adrian doubt her.

Bailey sat puzzled for at least three minutes straight, trying to figure out why Adrian was trying to put her in this position. What would she even say to him? If she couldn’t talk to him in person, how could she talk to him on the phone? Bailey was never feeling this idea to begin with but rarely does Adrian take no for an answer. Bailey felt like she was walking blind into this and now that she knows Ryan has been unfaithful, the last thing on her mind is ever talking to him. There had to be a way to skate over this. This trip was slowly dwindling down and there was only so much time she could use to procrastinate. The reality of the situation at hand was sinking it for real this time.

“Why?” Bailey uttered, “I just don’t see that working out and thing will only get messy,” she tried to persuade.

“That’s a risk I take,” Adrian firmly stated. “Let’s remember who the one in hot water is, a’ight? You can leave anytime you want and go back to your life perfectly fine. You don’t have to worry about police and shit hounding you, now do you?” Bailey not once bothered to answer that, only because what she might have said just might anger him than anything else. She bit her bottom lip and began to fidget with her turquoise colored nails that she had done a few days prior. She was growing antsy and her usual nervous habit was to chip her perfectly done nails. “Your family is going to welcome you in with open arms and there’s a great chance that they’ll try to pressure you for answers and prosecute me, right?” Adrian asked rhetorically.

Bailey dropped her head, knowing that was exactly what they were going to do. She hadn’t even thought about what the consequences for Adrian, and it indeed made her uneasy because she was in a torn predicament and didn’t know what to do. Should she aide her parents in helping find Adrian or should she just forget that this happened and intentionally save Adrian’s ass? “I just think there could be other routes we could take with Ryan,” she mumbled, leaning her head back against the couch.

“You got a better idea?” Adrian asked, grabbing the last two blunts that were left on the table and lightening them both. He was probably going to be high by the end of this one, but he didn’t really care as much since Austin was asleep and he would probably be calling it a night soon after as well. Bailey accepted the blunt from him and placed it to her awaiting lips before taking a long drag. It was strange how Ryan would beg for her to smoke with him and she would tell him no all the time but with Adrian she did it on her own accord and didn’t regret it. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. After some time had passed, Bailey nodded her head slowly and turned to face Adrian.

“So, you basically want to play Ryan at his own game, correct?” Adrian nodded, his vision on the cloud of smoke in front of his face. “So, let’s do exactly that. Who knows Ryan better than me? We’ll end up having the advantage if we decide to play with his head,” Adrian looked over at her with a slight smirk before exhaling the smoke from his mouth and some leaving from his nose. It was sexy the way Bailey was trying to come up with an alternate plan and for that reason alone, he was going to listen to what she had to say. It might be helpful, it might not. But it’s all about taking a risk, something Adrian is prone to doing. Adrian continued to listen to her while smoking his life away. “I say, we mess with him from afar… like torture him. Ryan doesn’t do too well with pressure and he easily becomes paranoid. I’m not saying send cut off heads his way, but it’ll make it easier to catch him slipping, you know? Why not ambush him? That’s one of your favorite things to do anyhow,” Bailey mumbled, taking a pull from the blunt once more.

“Was that a jab?” Adrian questioned, coughing slightly.

“Yeah,” she smirked.

“I can take that,” he nodded. He knew what she meant by that and didn’t need further explanation either to understand it. Rubbing his temple, he mulled over the improvised plan Bailey happened to come up with in less than five minutes. Not only was Bailey emotionally drained from all this but at the same token, she was using that fuel to be very malicious as well. Who would have thought that she would actually assist in the demise of her ex-boyfriend? One who just might be fathering a child? “I’ll do the harassing and to make it even more interesting, I think there should be a few times when you ‘accidentally’ run into him. But it wouldn’t be your average run in. Instead, he’ll see you, but it won’t register until you’re out of sight,

“And how would that happen?” Bailey asked.

“You know his daily life, right?” Bailey nodded. For the most part, she did. Even if she didn’t, Adrian had that covered. “We’ll stalk this mothafucka, send him the strangest shit and then we ambush… well, you’ll ambush him,” Adrian grinned. “Look at is as your ultimate revenge,” he said, sensing the apprehensive look on her face. “I’ll be there anyhow, it’s all good,” Adrian nodded, blowing out smoke from the corner of his mouth. Bailey leaned over and put out the joint before dusting her hands off.

“Only on one condition,” Bailey sighed.

“What?”

“Youcan’t kill him,” Adrian paused, mushing his eyebrows together. It was a promise he wasn’t sure he could make. He didn’t know what could possibly come out of Ryan’s mouth and there was no telling if he could easily roll over and let whatever happen just die down. Someone had to pay, and Adrian would be damned if he figured everything out only for Ryan to get off scotch free. Bailey only said that because she knew that Ms. Chalmers had one kid taken away from her at such an early stage and having another be taken in the blink of an eye just might destroy her. Bailey wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt if it came down to that. As long as Ryan was alive at the end of this, no matter what condition he was in, she would be alright. “I’m serious, Adrian. Don’t kill him,”

“You’re telling me this but I bet yo pops got niggas waiting to murk him anyhow. You can’t stay on this earth forever, it is what it is,” Bailey frowned at Adrian’s words and slowly shook her head. Bailey should have known this would be one condition she wouldn’t win on. “And me but whatever,” Adrian shrugged. He knew what came with the territory of kidnapping someone like Bailey, knowing what her background is. Was he scared? No, not at all. He kidnapped her in broad daylight with no fucks given and even with the streets talking, he still couldn’t care less. If he got away with it once, he would get away with it twice.

“Let’s just be reasonable, okay, Adrian?”

“I can do that,” he said, closing his eyes briefly. “But not for Ryan,” he mumbled lowly.

“Wait, you can’t go to sleep!” Bailey practically yelled causing Adrian to pop his eyes open. “This is probably the most honest you’ve been. and I don’t want it to stop so soon,” she whispered. Adrian face showed nothing short of amusement. This was what Bailey wanted from the beginning and in her mind, it’s been long overdue. The least Adrian could do is talk and satisfy her needs mentally. It’s not like she would use it against him. Before switching into a different topic, Adrian and Bailey quickly discussed the plan the two of them came up with, clarifying what their parts would be. Once done, Bailey decided to turn the conversation into one they seem to have avoided for such a long time; Adrian’s exes. Bailey knew he had some and it was only fair that he opened his mouth and said something since Adrian basically knows Bailey and Ryan’s relationship dynamic inside and out. “Spill it,” she urged.

“Well, she’s my ex and she ain’t in my life no more, good?” he chuckled, watching Bailey’s face turn into a scowl. If that wasn’t obvious, she thought.

“Explain her to me, I want to know,”

I don’t understand why, Adrian thought. “So, I had this old chick named Naomi. I met her during college, like sophomore year,” Bailey cocked her head backwards, surprised at the fact that Adrian in fact did go to college. It seemed like Adrian was truly living in another life since he rarely talked about the simple things. Like, what made him happy, did he go to prom or what did he major in college? Bailey barely knew that he had graduated high school and to find out that he not only graduated but went to college as well was definitely shocking, but it was just one more thing to add about what she liked about him. Ryan graduated high school but didn’t attend college. No judgment but he should have taken the opportunity when it was provided for him. Adrian noticed Bailey small smile and didn’t understand where it was coming from until he quickly realized what he had said moments ago. “Oh, I went to Rutgers,” he added. “I couldn’t go too far. I majored in business, as you can tell. Light work,” he said cockily.

“Um, business is very competitive, I guess your GPA and SAT was on point,”

“4.2 and 1920. I could have been valedictorian,” he smirked. “What? You thought I was a basic nigga just doing illegal shit without thinking ahead?”

“Not exactly,” Bailey stated truthfully. “But, I also see you attempting to swerve the topic too. Not happening, playboy,” she chuckled. “So Naomi…”

“As cliché as it might sound, she was different. She wasn’t looking for a come up and she just genuinely cared. She was dope as hell, but I couldn’t see myself committing to her at the time ‘cause I was too busy fucking random bitches and at twenty, what nigga wouldn’t like that? I don’t think she was looking for a relationship either at that but that was until she started fucking with this one nigga and I pretty much distanced myself away from her. I was twenty-four when I saw her again. She was working at Macy’s or some shit and we legit spent the whole day catching up. Turns out she was single, she admitted to liking me and she wondered if I would disappear on her again. Only problem with her randomly popping up in my life again, was I never had the chance to explain what I really invested my time into. If she was gonna be my bitch, she had to know everything, but I was hesitant on telling her for obvious reasons,”

“You must have really liked her,” Bailey noted.

“I did,” Adrian chuckled dryly, rubbing his chin. “I went all out for her. Took her on expensive dates, bought her gifts she would have never had if it had not been me, showed her the world, you know? We made it official a little over four months into us reconnecting. Everyone, including my mom, seemed to like to her so I guess that meant something good. My mom was a tough one to crack and if she was feeling ol girl, then pigs were flying. Anyhow, we dated for a good two years but it seemed like ever since Naomi got that stamp of approval, everything just went downhill,” he sighed. Bailey definitely was happy that Adrian was speaking out on something that seemed impossible for him to do. It just made him seem more like a normal citizen when he did.

“We were toxic, too toxic. We clashed more than anything and it seemed to be like a competition on who could get each other madder or whatever. At the time, I didn’t see that because I was in love with her and everything else that was wrong with her or our relationship was canceled out because of the love I had for her. Justine tried warning me though, ironically enough. They never really meshed anyhow. I still don’t know why, and I really don’t care,” Of course you wouldn’t care, Bailey thought. Licking his lips, he continued but wished he had a drink in his hand. “It took me a while to figure out what she used to do with the money I would give her. She wasn’t the type to go shopping excessively or any of that shit but one day I caught her slipping. I found coke and ecstasy pills in her bag,”

“I knew it was hers and I confronted her about it too. She did that reverse psychology and tried to blame it all on me and make me feel guilty. Long story short, she found a way to get me hooked on that shit too. No one knew but she did, and she used that to her advantage. You would think if I was using, I would be slow to catch onto things, but I wasn’t. I found out Naomi was playing games behind my back and the drugs was her excuse to distract me and cover her ass up,”

“Like what?” Bailey questioned. Bailey was intrigued for all the wrong reasons, but she was genuine about wanting to know about a piece of him.

“She changed, man. She was using me and that was her goal all along once she found out that what I was doing, and she calculated all those zeros in her head. But I wasn’t one to be taken advantage of, so I simply came up with the most radical idea of all ideas I’ve ever executed. Kidnap her,” At the time, Adrian was dealing with way more than just Naomi’s bullshit. The love that he once held for her easily and quickly evaporated the minute he found out that she wasn’t being loyal. He wasn’t going to be the one to made look like a fool and he was going to have the last laugh in all of this. It was a lot of things that ticked Adrian off but for someone who he believed actually was there for him and him only, not his money or status, to turn around and do the one thing he despised, he couldn’t have it. Never had he kidnapped someone before, but it was always a first for everything. The only thing was how do you kidnap your girlfriend?

Only thing is, Adrian wasn’t worried about that question nor consequences. The same way he kidnapped Bailey was the same way he kidnapped Naomi. It was easier than taking Bailey because Naomi thought nothing of it and that what she was doing easily went under the radar. Wrong! The minute Adrian had placed her in an isolated area away from his house, tied her on a chair and left her there for 24 hours in a sound proof room, she knew this was no longer a fancy treat and her cover was blown.

“I tortured her. Did that reverse psychology she loved doing on me,” Adrian muttered. “It’s crazy how I gave my all to this bitch and she turned around and screwed me over. Maybe it was karma, maybe it was me being too caught up to realize half the shit she was puling. Either way, lesson learned,”

“Where is she now?” Bailey asked cautiously.

“Six feet under,” Adrian answered, his face remaining stoic to hide his true emotions. To this day it still boggled his mind that you could give a person the world and that still wouldn’t be enough. Why she had to cross him like that, he would never know. And the sad thing about it, the whole week in which she spent locked up with Adrian, not once did she seem remorseful or even felt the need to give some sort of apology. Naomi was sorry, sorry that she got caught alright.

“You killed her?!” Bailey asked.

“Naw,” Adrian mumbled. “I wish I did but I didn’t have it in me to kill her. She had been put through it though, I know she did. At least mentally. I wore her down, but her pride was just as big as mine. The only thing I allowed her to have was her favorite bottle of ecstasy. She died off of that shit. The rest is history,” Adrian shrugged. He couldn’t believe those words actually came out of his mouth because it had been so long since he actually talked about Naomi and for Bailey to be the one to pull it out of him left him speechless. A part of Adrian expected for her to distance herself away from him but instead, she engulfed him in a tight hug. It would have made sense for Bailey to look at Adrian differently but it’s hard to do that when you begin to learn about someone and understand their ways. It’s definitely an unfortunate situation but the last thing Adrian needs is Bailey coming down on him hard about something that happened before her. She’s sure he’s heard it all before.

“You’re not using anymore, right?” she whispered, pulling back to look him in the eyes.

“Coke? Naw. Ecstasy? Every once in a while but I stick to my Mary Jane more often. When I was finishing off my bid, they made me go to counseling and shit for my addiction. I had to come up with some bullshit ass story about why I was hooked on it to begin with,”

“So, they don’t know about Naomi?” she asked.

“They do. I just left out the kidnapping part,” he muttered.

“Does your relationship with her have anything to do with the way you act now or how you treat women in general?” This was the perfect opportunity to pick at his brain while she had the chance.

“Somewhat,” he admitted. “It’s just not a good feeling and if I can avoid it, I will. I choose to act a certain way because of me though. It’s a lesson well learned and I’ve been reminded me of it every day. There’s no reason for me to act clueless when I see the reality of shit now. With Elsa, I liked her but not enough to fully commit. Why? I couldn’t give my all and end up getting burnt again. You really gotta put yourself out on a limb for someone and you would only hope they would do the same. It takes so much for me to trust someone,”

“Yeah, I know,” Bailey mumbled. “I still remember when you said you didn’t trust me,” Adrian smirked in amusement. That was another one of his radical moments.

“You see why now. I ain’t mean no disrespect but you can’t trust everyone you encounter. That’s just how life is,”

“I don’t think you should hold onto that mentality forever though. You won’t be happy,” Bailey stated truthfully.

“Hopefully by thirty I’ll have your mentality,” he joked, “Anything else you want to talk about?” he asked. He actually preferred staying up and talking rather than staying up and being bombarded with all his thoughts. However, in the back of his mind, he was figuring out precise ways to fuck up Ryan’s life for good before Mr. Banks could.

“Two more questions and then we can go to sleep,” she chuckled. “Is there a real reason why I’m here? I just feel like it goes way beyond this whole situation with Ryan and Lonnie,” Bailey rambled.

“Not sure. When I find out, I’ll let you know,” Bailey playfully rolled her eyes.

“Okay, one last question. What’s one of your fears?” she asked, laying her head on his chest while closing her eyes. Adrian didn’t have too many fears to begin with since he’s been exposed to so much in such a short period of time but that didn’t mean he had none at all.

“I don’t want to lose anyone, anymore,” he sighed. For every person that he no longer had in his life from everyone to his mother, figuratively, andolder brother, he couldn’t take it any longer. He has seen some of his close friends die right in front of his face and it’s not a good feeling at all when you feel like you’re the reason for that to happen in the first place. At this rate, he could lose anyone at any given moment and that’s something that made him very paranoid. It wasn’t something he could easily control by the snap of his finger, so he only hoped that what he was doing now, was somehow going to benefit everyone he still has around. “What about you?” he breathed.

“I’m trying not to fall for you and it’s scary because I think I am,” Bailey confessed, not willing to look Adrian in the eyes this time around. Now that he revealed a bit of his past about his ex-girlfriend, she wasn’t sure how Adrian could ever fall for any girl the way his mind is set up.

__

DetectiveJasondays seemed to grow longer than the usual 24 hours that was naturally given in one day. He was sleep deprived but there was no way he could fall asleep when he was so close to closing this investigation. After having a conversation with Mrs. Andrews, Rayne, Chance and Ryan all signs pointed to Adrian and that he was the culprit behind this madness. The only thing to do now was catch him but it seemed like Adrian was too fast and knew that his time was coming to a close. There had to be somebody working on the inside for him to know that people were coming for him. Detective Jason had an idea of who but there needs to be evidence before he can make a decision and act without thought. Adrian might be smart but everything he does will catch up to him – words that Mr. Banks had said a few minutes prior to one of their meetings. No matter what, Mr. Banks wasn’t discouraged because despite what his daughter was doing or what connectionshe might have had with this Peters nigga, she was coming home, and Adrian would reap the consequences.

Now, it was all about finding Adrian but only if they knew his address. Unbeknownst to Detective Jason, that’ll be the difficult part because none of Adrian’s business or property is under his name. It’s under a trusted longtime friend of his and until everything in his life is settled and he no longer wishes to frolic in the wild side of things, it’ll remain like that. It was going to take a few days for Detective Jason to do that, but he had an idea of where to start and Ryan was his first stop. However, when he stopped by Ryan’s apartment in Harlem, he was confused on who the pregnant woman was roaming around his apartment. It was something he was going to keep in mind to reference Mr. Banks.

However, Ryan didn’t even know where he stayed so that impromptu meeting was fruitless. If Detective Jason would have stayed a little longer, he would have run into Lonnie which at one point was one of the people they were looking into. They just didn’t have an actual person that had fit the description yet. Nor had Ryan or Xavier connected the pieces yet but someone was about to. “What’s up, bruh?” Ryan greeted, allowing Lonnie access into his apartment. Lonnie had been coming over more often for some reason, but Ryan didn’t suspect a thing since he rather have Lonnie in his space rather than Xavier.

“Good, good. I got some shit to tell you,” Lonnie muttered, walking towards the living room. Jessie was laying idly on one of the couches facing the big flat screen TV set. Lately she and Ryan have been having multiple arguments over the same thing and Jessie has become more tenacious in her beliefs. She doesn’t want to be hidden when guest arrive, and she wants to be treated as if she actually matters. Although Jessie knows the situation surrounding Bailey, she isn’t as concerned with her disappearance because she knows that she’s probably in good hands, especially if she’s with Adrian. How would she know that? Well, this world is based solely on connections and once upon a time, Jessie did know Naomi – briefly- but knew nonetheless.

Turning her head away from Lonnie, she focused back on the flat screen T.V., not at all interested in what they were going to talk about. She had a growing fetus to worry about. “Where’s that nigga Xavier?” Lonnie questioned, taking a seat at the kitchen counter.

“Shit, I think he went to visit his uncle. Not sure nor do I give a fuck,” he grumbled irritably.

“Let me get this straight one mo’ time. Your girl went missing a while back, you guys have no idea who could have done it. But at the same token, you got some next chick pregnant and shit? Do you even care that she’s missing?” he asked, seeming to hit that million-dollar question. Just like Adrian, Lonnie had a heart and even if it might not have been the biggest, it was there, and it did make him look at Ryan strangely for showing a lack of emotions towards his girls’ situation. Out of all this time knowing Ryan, he never had met Bailey. He knew about her and probably seen a photo or two, but he definitely wouldn’t be able to point her out among a photoset.

“Fuck is that supposed to mean? Of course, I care,”

“So, where she at?” Lonnie questioned, his thick brows meshing together. “And why you got another chick knocked up?” Ryan clenched his jaw, not wanting to discuss Bailey at all. For the past few months he hasn’t. All it’s been doing is driving him crazy and the fact that he still has Mr. Banks on his back and Xavier coming down on him hard for every little thing he does, does not make the situation any better. He knows he’s dead meat as soon as Mr. Banks make an appearance. He already feels like it with the way everyone treats him, including his mother. “You better hope and pray she doesn’t appear for your benefit,” he chuckled dryly.

“Shut the fuck up. Why you here anyway?” he retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

“So why I come to find out that ol’ girl that I was dating, I was really fake dating her,” Lonnie chuckled. For some reason, he couldn’t shake off the idea that, that shit was fake the whole time. Not once did he think for a second that Kennedy was potentially faking the whole thing and that possibly an ulterior motive laid somewhere unknown to him. She played him well and she probably would have got exactly what she wanted had Lonnie not messed up and Adrian didn’t have to make his fist acquaintances with Lonnie’s jaw. But everything seemed to happen for a reason and Lonnie rather be aware under any circumstance than played completely. It didn’t make sense why Adrian would be after him unless for one reason that he was sure was buried a long time ago. Guess not, he thought. It was go-time.

“How do you fake date someone?” Ryan questioned.

There was a million responses Lonnie could come back at him with but decided to keep his mouth shut not to offend him any further. “That’s beside the point. This whole Kennedy chick was false from day one,” Ryan immediately tensed up, his face becoming sterner. Where did he hear this Kennedy name before? Immediately blocking Lonnie’s spiel, his mind went back to the conversation he had with Detective Jason and how he mentioned Chance seeing Bailey. It still boggled his mind that Chance saw and spoken to her yet she’s still out there. Then it clicked.

“Y’all went to Dave & Buster’s once?” Ryan blurted in the middle of Lonnie’s spiel, not bothering to filter how that came out.

“Why are you asking for?” Lonnie asked.

“I think I had a friend run into you,” Chance was no friend of Ryan’s, but he had to lie and come up with something that seemed plausible.

Lonnie’s face scrunched up as he thought about it. He did recall Kennedy running into what was supposedly an old friend of hers. When he first saw them, he was suspicious off bat. Not once did Kennedy even bother to mention what her friend’s name was but yet she was able to tell him how Chance was a close friend and that it had been a long time since they saw each other. Lonnie wanted to call her out on her shadiness but bit his tongue on it and had developed another plan instead. “Yeah, a short light skin nigga, looks like he does Acid or some shit,” he chuckled briefly. That was definitely Chance and that also meant Bailey is Kennedy. Ryan’s mouth dropped. Ryan recovered and began to play it cool in order to milk enough information out of Lonnie. It was no doubt that Adrian was behind this and that’s off the basis that Bailey told Ryan that a while back about how he threatened her. But Ryan wasn’t particularly keen on who his baby mother’s brother was however. There was just certain shit that Ryan and Lonnie didn’t discuss.

“And this is the same night you got fucked up by?” Ryan said, piecing everything together one by one.

“I ain’t get fucked up,” he retorted. That was a yes then. So then that just confirmed that this was all Adrian’s doing and if Ryan was smart, he would move fast with this type of information. Lonnie opened his mouth to say something but quickly shut it when his phone rung. He looked at the caller I.D. and smirked, deciding to ignore the call for the moment. Perfect timing, he thought. “Aye, bruh, I’ll see you later, a’ight?” Lonnie stated, going to stand up.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryan said a bit dismissively. He reached for his BBC sweatshirt slipping it over his black Supreme shirt. “Aye, Jessie. I’ll see you later,” he yelled loud enough for her to hear.

“Where are you going?” she asked but Ryan didn’t bother to respond to her as he was already on his way of making two important calls, one that would lead to him meeting up with Xavier.

_

Out of the country, the gang was all enjoying their dwindling time left in the beautiful Turks and Caicos. They were still on the private yacht and would be for the next two days if everything worked out the way that is was supposed to. While everyone was finishing off their lunch and getting ready to join everyone for some fun in the crystal clear ocean with the usage of the jet skis, Bailey had wondered off to the top of the line saunas and Justine had sat near the edge of the boat with her phone in hand, attempting to reach Lonnie for the fourth time this morning alone. Sighing, she stood up after some time once Austin was strapped in all the necessary swimming gear. This is what he had been looking forward to for the longest; riding on one of the jet skis. However, he was still underage and there was a huge risk he would be harmed if he didn’t have someone going with him so Adrian gladly agreed that he would go with his nephew to do so.

“Be careful, okay, Aussie?” Justine warned.

“I will, I will. Can I go now?” he asked hurriedly.

“Wait, let me get a picture really quick,” she smiled, opening up her camera. She snapped a few pictures of her son before being content and he happily ran away, catching up with his uncle who was already on one of the blue jet skis. Justine smiled faintly before making that dreaded phone call that she so desperately didn’t want to make but had no choice but to. She disappeared back into the boat, avoiding Caiden who still happened to be inside. She slipped into her bedroom, locked the door and sat on the bed. She stared at her phone for a total of five seconds before an incoming call from Lonnie appeared.

With shaky hands, she went to answer the phone, placing the large device near her ear. “H-hello?”

“Ah, so nice to hear from you. It always is, huh?” Lonnie said sarcastically.

“Lonnie, whatever my brother has done has nothing to do with me so please, don’t do this,” she said lowly, goosebumps breaking out on her skin. She was becoming nervous and for good reasoning.

“But that’s where you’re wrong, Justine. There’s no way you don’t know what your brother has been doing all along. You might not like it, but you know what’s happening,” he gritted. Justine was truly left in the dark with what Adrian was doing with Bailey. She never got the chance to ask what was Bailey’s purpose of being here, not that she really wanted to know but she did feel like Adrian would have told her sooner or later. So far, he hasn’t. He’s made sure that whatever he’s doing, doesn’t concern her at all. Being that Justine doesn’t participate in what her brother nor step father does, she doesn’t know much about the business, but she knows enough. If Lonnie is calling Justine up about something that she’s unaware of that is occurring, it’ll only lead to a problem.

“I don’t!” she protested vehemently.

“I’on got time for this run around and to be honest, I don’t believe the shit that’s coming out your mouth. Bottom line, baby, we’re both two shady ass motherfuckers who don’t give a fuck about anyone else’s livelihood but ours; this is why we clicked, baby but this is also where we go our separate ways,” Lonnie was prone to speak in riddles. He always felt like it was an advantage over someone else and in this predicament, Justine fell victim to it so badly which is why he always did it. “We had an agreement, and it appears that you may be going against it so I’m breaking my part as well,” he spoke clearly.

Sudden realization began to set in. “Lonnie! You can’t say shit! You promised you wouldn’t no matter what. You know I don’t know half the shit that my brother does. Why the fuck would I purposely put you out there like that if I know it’ll only come back to me as well!?” she panicked. Everyone had things they weren’t especially proud of and Justine definitely had hers –ones that she never wanted to come to daylight. But nothing remains in the dark for too long. It didn’t even matter what Lonnie was talking about at this point because now Justine was put into the middle of things and everything was about to blow up in her face and she wasn’t prepared for that. Hell, she hadn’t even thought that far when she was in the middle of doing it back then.

“Should have thought about that when you started to fuck with me,” he said bluntly. “Anyhow, just called to let you know. There’s nothing that can change my mind and the little angel Adrian thinks of you, will be no longer,” By now, Justine had tears spilling out of her eyes, all due to Lonnie and his fictitious promise. “Unless, you want to come back to me,”

“I can’t do that,” she wept.

“Oh, now you can’t?” he chuckled. “A’ight. Do you, Justine. How’s my son by the way?” Her iPhone 6S slipped off her face and fell into her lap. There was a prolonged silence that was held on the other side of the line but since Justine was no longer speaking, Lonnie caught the hint and laughed before hanging up and continuing on with his scheduled plan. Justine was utterly mortified and if she could go back in the past and fix one thing, it would be never to think Lonnie actually had her best interest. She quickly dried off her tears and went to find Caiden. Adrian wouldn’t tell her shit without her breaking down in front of her older brother. Caiden or possibly August was her last resort. She had to find a way to diffuse a situation she never thought would get back to Adrian before things got out of hand.

__

While Justine happened to be having a panic attack, Adrian and Austin was just wrapping up their session on the jet skis. It was a lot more entertaining when you were actually on one and for a second, it made Adrian consider buying a motorcycle, but the only problem is learning how to ride one. That was going to be the first thing he learned how to do when all this shit blew over. It shouldn’t be long anyhow. “Soy frío,” Austin mumbled but Adrian heard him loud enough. It was funny how he knew Spanish so well now as an adult but during High School that was his most hated class that he had to take for all four years of High School but now that Austin is around, he has no choice.

“Whose fault is that? You knew the water was cold,” Adrian chuckled. “Go get the towel and head inside, alright?” Austin nodded and did as told. “Where Bailey at?” He had noticed that she had disappeared a while ago from the group but didn’t want to say anything too soon. She was probably still shocked about finding out that Ryan got the next bitch pregnant and that was understandable, but he didn’t want to leave her all by herself just in case anything popped up. He wondered if she even read the card.

“Not sure,” Brian shrugged. It had to be one of the longest searches Adrian ever took to find someone and when he did, he found out she was in the sauna from looking at the small square window. A quick idea formed in his head as he went to change out of his swim trunks and grabbed the crisp white robe and towel that was in their bedroom. Bailey was sort of at peace in this hot sauna. She wasn’t being bothered, there was no bad news allowed and she actually got a moment to herself giving her some time to reflect. She had been up since the wee hours of the morning and hadn’t really fallen asleep like she said she would but, she didn’t care. As long as she was able to lay down a bit, she was good. That required less energy. Although she didn’t want to, her mind drifted off to Ryan and where they went wrong. It actually in fact did hurt her knowing they didn’t make it like they said they would in the beginning, but you live and you learn. It’s just unfortunate that Bailey can’t say that Ryan was worth the trouble.

“Why you ain’t give me no invite?” Adrian said huskily, closing the wooden door behind him. Bailey looked up, sliding her hair behind her ears before cracking a small smile.

“You didn’t need one,” she smirked. The temperature was a little over eighty degrees but for some reason, it didn’t really faze Bailey like she thought it would.

“What you got on under?” Adrian asked, pulling Bailey’s body on top of him with ease.

“Nothing,” she whispered, slowly grinding on top of him. Neither Adrian nor Bailey had ever fucked in a sauna but there was always a first for everything and this was not an exception. Using his finger, he unraveled the white crème towel, revealing Bailey’s perfect size breast.

“Get your ass in that position I love to bend you in,” he demanded. She smirked and dropped the towel, walking towards the brown colored bench on the opposite side of the small room. Adrian gripped his growing erection, stroking himself slowly while getting up as well. Bailey was already on all fours, with her back arched and her ass sticking out. With how hot the sauna just became, it only intensified the feeling between Bailey’s legs. Adrian was lucky that he didn’t have to always think of putting on a condom with Bailey because she was more proactive and thought ahead, believing it was the best for her to go ahead and stay on the pills.

Adrian fit snug around the insides of Bailey as he slowly slid into her sex. A moan escaped past her pouty lips as her back involuntarily arched deeper. Adrian placed his hand on either side of her as he slowly began to stroke her, intentionally missing her spot. Adrian was keeping true to his words of fucking at least twice a day and since they missed this morning, they have to double up right now. “Adrian!” Bailey shouted.

“So impatient,” he chuckled. “You want it hard?”

“Yess,” she moaned, feeling him pick up his pace. Adrian wasted no time giving her quick and long strokes to her center, gripping her hips tighter in the process. The more their bodies connected with one another, things only became hotter between the pair, not including the sauna’s temperature either. Throwing her head back, Bailey had found enough energy to throw her ass back on Adrian, meeting his deadly strokes. His right hand came around the front of her body, touching, pinching and rubbing her swollen nipple. More moans and curse words expelled from her lip and to try to suppress it, she bit down on her bottom lip. Adrian wasn’t stupid though; he knew what she was doing so his hand continued to travel down south and he began to play with her other set of lips.

Adrian grunted, feeling Bailey’s tightness around his shaft and he knew any moment she would come but he had other plans and wanted her to wait. Sliding out of her, she moaned loudly while attempting to catch her breath. “Come ride this shit,” he grumbled, leaning against the wall. Bailey slid down on his shaft and wrapped her arms around his neck. The two of them both stared at one another for a while, while Bailey continued to swivel her lower half on him. Licking his lips, Adrian leaned in to kiss Bailey’s full lips while he continued to keep up his pace. “Shit, B,” Adrian groaned.

Bailey’s nails clawed at Adrian’s back, probably leaving marks behind but that didn’t concern Adrian nor Bailey. She tucked her face in the corner of his neck, kissing and sucking on his flesh as he continued to pump into her. “Deeper, baby,” she moaned, palming the back of his head as he began to suck on her left nipple. It left her with her mouth agape and her body completely drenched in perspiration. Adrian took heed of Bailey’s words and began to slam her down on his pulsing dick, watching the beautiful faces she would make every so often. He was reaching his peak, but he wouldn’t bust until Bailey did so first; he was going to be a gentleman in this situation.

“Uncle A?” Bailey stopped completely, her eyes widening at the small voice, yet, Adrian still continued.

“Adrian, did you lock the door?!” Bailey panicked for a second, not wanting Austin to walk in.

“Naw,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “Why you stop?” he frowned.

“Your nephew is outside the door,” she hissed.

“Oh shit,” Adrian muttered, wiping his face. “Continue riding my shit,” Adrian grunted, slapping Bailey’s thigh hard. She yelped and stared at him for a total of five seconds before progressively rotating her hips all again. She still hadn’t cum yet and she was so close. “What’s up, Austin?” Adrian yelled from the other side of the door.

“What are you doing?” Austin yelled. He would have opened the door and walked in, but Adrian always told Austin to be cautious when walking in any room so for his sake, Adrian and Bailey’s as well, he would simply wait until permission was granted which it wouldn’t.

“Fucking B’s pussy up,” he mumbled in Bailey’s ear. “What’s wrong?” he said loud enough to hear.

“Nothing. I’ll come back later,” Austin dismissed once he saw Brian walking with the Play Station in his hand.

“You’re the worst,” Bailey chuckled, kissing his lips.

“Don’t be surprised if he ain’t hear your loud ass moaning,” he chuckled, laying her down on the bench completely, missionary style. Her legs wrapped around his body instinctively and her grasp on him tightened despite the sweat and heat. They were gonna fuck until they came hard and even when they did come, they would probably go at it again, probably in the hot tub though.

__

It wasn’t long for the gang to dock at the next area in which they were going to go bowling. It was Caiden who wanted to go in the first place since this was a game he easily knew how to win. Two teams were made; Team A consisting of Bailey, Justine, Caiden and Brian and team B, consisting of Adrian, August, Justin and Austin. They had played at least two sets of game individually, Caiden’s team winning by a few points. Although everyone was having what seemed like fun, there was a noticeable amount of thick tension and it was expelling from August, Justine and Adrian. Before Adrian even allowed August foot inside the building, he straight up told August he had to speak now, he had no choice to. If they had spoken on it in the beginning, it would have been so much easier. But by the way August was purposely avoiding everything, including Bailey, he knew not a word would come out of him. But again, Adrian wasn’t going to be the one to tell her… at least not right now; it’ll have to be after everything is done. Saying something now might fuck up the plan and Adrian won’t allow that. Not with how many plans they’ve been running through.

“Sit down, Bailey. You been fucking with my game all night,” Adrian mumbled.

Bailey giggled, some because of the Strawberry Margarita and some because she knew that she was purposely throwing Adrian off his game. “Okay,” she said, throwing her hands up. She sat near Caiden, watching closely as Adrian approached the lane with his personalized bowling ball in tow.  He got into position, slighting looking back at Bailey, making sure that she wasn’t standing anywhere near him. Turns out, she was engrossed in a conversation with August instead but by the body language of both of them, it wasn’t the conversation Adrian was hoping for. Shaking his head, he turned back around and proceeded to throw the ball, that is, until Bailey called out his name obnoxiously loud. “Adriannnn!” she yelled. That action alone caused him to drop the ball as it traveled down the gutter.

“Yo, what the fuck, Bailey?!” Adrian gritted.

“I guess you’re not as good as you say you are,” she winked, standing tall. “Good game though, babe,” she giggled. This was the 3rdgame in a row Adrian had lost to. Shaking his head, he walked up on her and grabbed her by her arm.

“We’re gonna have a rematch later, alright?”

“One on one? Much better,” Bailey grinned, wrapping her arms around his torso. In the mix of everything that happened today, no one really understands how much destruction will come about for being on the wrong side of what was once supposedly good. This was just the pinnacle of what was to come, and it only takes one second for things to change. The only thing that is guaranteed to happen is no one is leaving away unharmed, whether physically or mentally, everyone down to little ol’ Austin.

[addictionstories]

17

Naomi would vanish and be out of communication for two or three days at a time, which would terrify me. She hadn’t called or responded to any of my texts all weekend. I was convinced something terrible had happened. Her mom called me, asking me if I had heard anything. “Nothing” I told her. 

“She has ID with her, right?” her mom asked.  

“Yes.”

“Hopefully we’ll hear something soon.”

Naomi resurfaced and called me the next day, which was a relief. But living in a constant state of anxiety had become grueling for me. And it was affecting my work. Regardless of what I was doing, a portion of my mind was always in a wild, excited state, worrying about her, imagining catastrophic scenarios. This was the norm now; my default setting.

A few days later, I played an afternoon jazz concert at Binghamton University. In the morning before I left, I checked in with Naomi. She was okay. Bur during the rehearsal, I had my phone on the bottom end of the piano keys, watching for texts, worried.

The following Sunday, I worked a brunch at a new casino off the Thruway, west of Syracuse. We played in the main restaurant, an upscale steakhouse, marble floors, high ceilings, with a buffet that seemed a half mile long. After, we ate shrimp and lobster and bread sticks. My thoughts immediately turned to Naomi and how I wanted to take her here. Then reality came crashing in. What was the likelihood of us coming out here? She’d have to have the right combination of drugs at the exactly right time, or it would never work. We were always at the mercy of bizarre circumstances and the whims of drug dealers. We could never plan or do anything until she got sober.

At this point Naomi was bouncing around between hobo (trap) houses on Syracuse’s northside. Addiction is a progressive disease and I could see her sliding further down the rabbit hole. She and Alex were back at Dom’s place on the northside, a squalid hovel. A river or trash and bottles flowed out the door onto the dilapidated porch, spilling onto the lawn. Inside, the smell of mold and cat urine attacked your nostrils. I’d stop over, park in front and drop off fresh needles. But how long could this go on? She’d be starting probation soon.

I’d been filling in for a piano player from Utica, teaching lessons at Colgate University and was scheduled to play a concert with the school’s jazz band. I arrived at the theater in downtown Hamilton, parked in front with my hazard lights on, and hurried in to unload my equipment. When I came out a burly cop was eyeing my car, about to write a ticket. When I explained the situation he let me off with a warning. I parked in a space across the street and went back inside to set up my keyboard. A few moments later, the cop walked through the theater, up to the stage and motioned to me to come down. Did he see something in the car, a needle, a spoon? I thought. God, this could be bad. The guitar player, Joe, and some of the other musicians looked over at me, curious, concerned. 

I followed the cop outside. 

“We’ve got a problem with your car,” he said.

His words seemed to knock the wind out of me. Thoughts or being arrested flooded my mind.  For a moment I couldn’t breathe. 

“I can see that this inspection sticker has removed from your vehicle and put back on.”

I paused for a second. “Yes, I had the windshield replaced recently,” I explained, my voice tremulous and small.

He smiled. “Okay, Okay, that’s the right answer. I just wanted to make sure,” the cop said as he started walking back toward his cruiser. 

My whole body sagged in relief. Okay, that’s it. That’s all it was, I thought. 

The theater manager had come out and was standing on the sidewalk. He’d watched the exchange between the cop and me. We walked back in as I explained what happened.

Over the next several days, Naomi’s situation continued to deteriorate. She moved into a bed-bud infested drug house on Ash Street, on the ragged-edge of Syracuse’s northside. All the joy and emotion had been sucked out of her. She was lifeless, forlorn, a ghost woman. Her mother was aware of what was going on. Naomi had another arrest warrant in Central Square. A village cop had come to her parent’s house twice, looking for her.  

“Look, you’re the only person who can help her, “ her mom explained. “You know where she is. Call the cops and tell them people in the house are using drugs. You’d be saving her life.”

This put me in a incredibly difficult position. Even though I basically agreed with her mom, I looked at calling the cops as a betrayal of Naomi’s trust. And what if if didn’t work. Naomi would never confide in me again.  I’d be locked out. She wouldn’t tell me her whereabouts, and I wouldn’t be able to help her at all.

This was exceedingly complicated. Her mom gave me the number of the cop who’d been looking for her. He and Naomi had gone to high school together.

I agreed to call and talk to him, but I knew in my heart that I could never follow through with this plan. I left the officer a message, but never heard back, which was a tremendous relief.

At this point, after hanging with Naomi for a year, seeing her use drugs, meeting her friends, other drug users, I was beginning the understand the futility of thinking you can force someone to quit, by imposing consequences, legal or otherwise. I’d wished that worked. But my experience told me that it did not.  It was an agonizing thing to realize you’re powerless to help someone you love. But unfortunately, it was reality, as much as I hated to admit it.

It was madness for the next two weeks, as I brought Naomi needles and ferried her on drug missions. I stayed laser-focused on the end of the month, when Naomi met with her probation officer. That would end the madness, I was convinced.

At this point Naomi was barely going out. I remember pulling up to the northside house on a sunny afternoon, waiting for her, as I looked down to Lodi Street - watching kids riding bikes, people going in and out of the corner bakery. Naomi had become completely shackled by her addiction. She was a prisoner now more than she ever was in jail.

She was meeting with her probation officer on May 31st.  We scrambled to get things done the week before.  She had several bags of clothes and some possessions at the Ash Street house, which had to be moved out. Then she planned to go to Taxi Man’s apartment to detox. Then back to her mom’s, where she planned to stay.

When I picked her up on the northside, I waited in the car for over an hour, as I got sporadic texts from her, telling me she needed more time, that she was working to get things together. After a while I drove to the all night cigar/news shop, a few blocks away to smoke and kill some time, as I waited for her to text me. But two more hours went by, with nothing.

By this time it was going on four AM. I finally went home and went to bed, thinking we could try again tomorrow.

I went back the next evening, but it was the same situation, waiting in the car, her texting, telling me she was getting ready.  After a few hours, I left. This was getting ridiculous.  She texted me early the next morning -- around 7 - saying she was ready to be picked up. I grabbed a coffee and headed back over. 

When I pulled up there were two hobo-esque people standing alongside the house, in the driveway, looking disheveled, out of it. Naomi came out a few moments later. I got out of the car and walked up to the porch. She handed me her backpack. “I’ve got a bunch more stuff to bring down.” she said, as she went back inside and up the stairs. 

I put the backpack in the backseat, on top my my keyboard case. A moment later, I put another bag in the car and noticed a tiny brown bug on top of the case. 

When I lifted the backpack I saw a handful of the little buggers. “Fuck me,” I thought. God dammit.

“There are bed bugs on your fucking bags,” I yelled at Naomi, when she came down. “Jesus Christ.”

“Look, I’ve had a terrible night. I am going to wash all this stuff when we get to Taxi Man’s place. 

I took all the bags out of the car and put them on the sidewalk, checking for the critters. The ones on the keyboard case I scooped up with a napkin. I’d never seen bed bugs before. They were logy little bastards. For years I’d heard horror stories about them and was terrified to get back in the car, but managed somehow.

After I dropped her off I wasn’t sure what to do as I thought the car might be contaminated. I checked my body carefully when I got home but didn’t bring my keyboard into the house, keeping it in the trunk of the car for several months. I took off all my clothes and washed them. 

Over the next few days, as Naomi detoxed, I brought her food, fast food burgers and some of her favorite candy. I’d park in the lot behind Taxi Man’s apartment and wait for her to come out. She looked rough - wearing sweat pants, her hair greasy and matted. Detoxing or dope sickness, felt like you had the flu, she explained to me - body aches, chills, sudden temperature changes, sweating one moment, shivering the next. 

I was encouraged that she had the discipline to do this on her own, and took that as a sign that she was ready to put drugs behind her. I was looking forward to probation. She’d get her life back, and she wouldn’t be able to use drugs without getting caught. It was a win win. There was so much we’d be able to do now - going out to dinner, planning trips. We’d be able to got to Old Forge in the fall to see the changing leaves. 

The day before probation, I messaged Naomi, about when she wanted me to pick her up. The plan was to run a few errands, then go out to eat, then I’d drop her off at her mom’s. She texted back about a change of plans. Now her father wanted to take her home. We could hang out after at her mom’s, she explained.  Dinner might still be doable, depending on when they got back, she said. When I checked in with her later that evening, she was having dinner with her father. They’d stopped at a restaurant, at the “last minute.”

I was disappointed. This was supposed to be our night. I’d been looking forward to it all week.

Naomi texted at 9:30 when she got back home. She invited me over and had a “gift” for me, she said. She still had bags of clothes in my car that she needed to get. When I got to her mom’s house, I pulled into the driveway and texted her. The outside lights were off. It was dark, no moonlight.  Naomi came out and handed me a cream soda. “So that’s my gift? How sweet,” I said. I smiled, thanked her and gave her a hug. As she started taking the bags out of the backseat I noticed a shadowy figure on the house steps. When I looked closer I saw that it was Alex. She walked over and started handing him the bags. 

Alex! Really? I thought. 

He walked over and put his hand out. I shook it and said hello, then walked back to the car with Naomi.

“You guys went out to dinner,” I asked her, speaking quietly, so he wouldn’t hear me.

“My father took us out. He was with his new girlfriend. It wasn’t planned or anything.”

I couldn’t believe it. I’d busted my butt helping her all week, staying up all night waiting for her, giving her rides, and she blew off our dinner and went with Alex?  Why didn’t she ask me to join her father and her? 

“Come in, we can hangout,” she said.

“I don’t know. I think I should get home.” 

“Just come inside.”

“I’m not mad.  I’m just tired and I want to get home.”

I hugged her, got back in the car and drove off, feeling hurt, sad, like my guts had been trampled.

[lucyfrostblade]

Title: The Scent of Sweat and Popcorn

Fandom: Shadowhuntes

Ships: Clizzy; Background Malec

Rating: G

Word Count: 1243

Summary: Clary Fray was proud to say she didn’t hate many things; she hated watercolors, she hated her biological father even if she had never met the man, she hated that even though she was an art major she has to take math classes, and she hated tumblr. But most of all, she hated working at the drive in theatre’s snack bar when it was ninety degrees out. Written for @shadowhuntersaumondays

READ ON AO3

Clary Fray was proud to say she didn’t hate many things; she hated watercolors, she hated her biological father even if she had never met the man, she hated that even though she was an art major she has to take math classes, and she hated tumblr. But most of all, she hated working at the drive in theatre’s snack bar when it was ninety degrees out.

Sweat formed droplets on her face and arms as she maneuvered through the cramped space between the counter that housed the grill and the fryer and the food warmers. She reached up and wiped her face with her forearm. Glancing down at her plastic gloves, she noted the drops of sweat that gathered on the inside of them and the steam, if evaporated sweat that could be called steam, clung to the clear plastic and created a cloudy film on the gloves. After peeling the gloves off her hands, the sweat sticking the gloves to her skin, she wiped her hands on her jeans and slipped another pair of gloves on.  

Forcing a smile upon her face, she glanced over the food warmers. Like most Monday nights, the drive in was near empty, only a few college students and families filtered into the snack bar to grab some popcorn and for little kids to beg for overpriced candy. Most weekdays passed in similar fashion and always in the same snail pace. If the small building, with its popcorn machine, fryers, pizza oven, and grill, had air conditioning, she might not have minded the job. The only time Clary wasn’t paid to stand around for hours and hours were Friday and Saturday when the line often stretched well past the doors.

Since the drive in opened at 7:30, Clary had only seen four groups of people, most of them only wanted to get popcorn and pop. One of the groups, a trio of ridiculously hot college students, bought half of the food they had, seemingly. The raven-haired girl with them left Clary with her cheeks matching the vibrant red of her hair and Magnus, Clary’s manager and who currently manned the register, tried his best and succeeded in making the boy with her leave with crimson cheeks and spluttering, unable to make a coherent sentence. A blond boy traditionally pretty in every way society said, crossed his arms and glared while he waited for his friends, seemingly pouting and confused that he wasn’t the center of attention.

“Biscuit, wasn't he just the most beautiful man you have ever seen?” Magnus swung the register key around and made his way behind the counter and food warmer.

Clary rolled her eyes and grabbed a roll of paper towels and the green spray they used to clean the counters. Chances are, she could find those very materials scattered around most of the small snack bar. No one really bothered to put them away until they closed. “I’m going to ignore that and clean the counters before intermission.”

Not that Clary ignoring him stopped Magnus from talking about the boy. “His two friends were almost as beautiful but if I had to rank them, and I do, he would be number one, followed by her female friend. While the blond was attractive, he wasn’t really my type.” After a brief pause, he jested, “Of course, he might be yours.”

During her high school career and her first two years in college, compulsory heterosexuality held Clary in a death grip and forced her to make many questionable dating choices. Mostly, she dated jocks, the hypermasculine white boy kind, the occasional hipster, and even Simon, once. None of them were really excellent choices in boyfriend, sans Simon who would have been an amazing choice for anyone who liked guys. Her sophomore year of college led to her rebelling against the dictatorship that was compulsory heterosexuality. That year, she began a foray into flannel and snapbacks that lasted two months before Magnus put his foot down on it, whether or not it’s lesbian culture doesn't matter, Clary.

“Very funny, Magnus.” She arrived at the outer counter and sprayed the counter before wiping it down.

“No matter the sarcasm in your voice, I know my comedic genius.” He smiled. “And I know you know it, too, biscuit.”

The sound of footsteps brought Magnus and Clary out of their friendly bantering. The raven-haired girl from earlier entered the snack bar. She wore a black tee and periodic table pajama pants.

“Hi, how can I help you?” Clary sat down the paper towel and turned to face the girl with a smile plastered on her face.

Suddenly struck by the fact that, in her ensemble, the girl managed to be both hot and adorable, Clary felt her cheeks heat and hoped the girl didn't notice.

“I just want a soda.” The girl smiled and went over to the soda fountain.

“I’m going on break.” Magnus tossed the register key over the counter to Clary. “I assume you can handle this on your own after all the years you’ve worked here.” After Clary rolled her eyes and nodded, he retreated to the back area of the building and presumably to the small break area outside.

Distracted by the girl, Clary almost didn't catch the keys. She walked over to the register and waited for the girl. “Will that be all?” She asked.

Now, Clary had known she liked girls for just over a year now, mostly thanks to Naomi Scott and her English Professor from that year, and she had known she was a lesbian for a little over four months. However, if she still had any doubts about her sexuality, this girl would’ve been the reason she found out she was into girls. She was beautiful, most girls were, but she was perhaps the most beautiful girl she had even seen. If the angels had personally sculpted anyone, it would have been her, with her striking features, dark brown eyes that Clary found a new shade of brown in each time she looked at them, her dark, curly hair and her general perfection.

After the girl nodded, Clary rang her soda up, accepted the five dollar bill she offered and gave her change.

"My brother, Alec, might be in here later. We were trying to convince him to give your coworker his number. I think we might have done it." The girl smiled. "He's going to be so embarrassed when I tell him about the conversation I overheard."

Clary laughed, "You heard that? I bet Magnus will be glad your brother your brother knows he was five seconds away from waxing poetic about his good looks."

At that, the girl's laughter mixed with Clary's and Clary felt her heart skip a beat and a warmth spread from her stomach to chest.

"I did." She smiled. "So, my other brother, Jace, is your type?”

A crimson flush crept on Clary's face. "I, uh, no. He's the type of guy I would've dated in high school and a few years of college too. Before I found I was a lesbian. Gay. Homosexual." She stopped herself from embarrassing herself further and shut up. The crimson that stained her cheeks deepened.

But the girl only smiled. "I'm Izzy."

"Clary.”

"Well, Clary, do you want to see a movie with me sometime?"

"As long as we don't get any popcorn. I can barely stand the smell of it anymore." Clary joked.

[shysweetthing]

Hi I really loved your YOI fic "Call Everything on the Ice"! I was also just wondering, though, how long have you been studying Japanese? Could you give some advice or resources how you're learning? I'm planning on going to Japan for my Asian Studies degree and hope to learn Japanese (or at least get a head start) before taking that leap. Hope this isn't a bother!!! Thank you if you have the time to answer!!!

Okay, so perhaps people have noticed that I tend to overanswer things? Yes, yes, that happens.

Me: Maybe only explain this a little bit.Me to me: Who are we kidding? Have five, count ‘em, five separate numbered lists.

Answer to question #1: I’m at about *glances at watch* four and a half months of studying Japanese, and while I’ve been spending about 3-4 hours a day on this, I’m still really new. This means that I am inevitably doing something inefficiently and so you should take everything I say with a grain of salt. I haven’t been doing this very long and other people are much better resources!

That being said, my tendency to overexplain, my general pedantry (own it if you are it, whatever), and my deeply weird overanalytical brain means that maybe something I’ve done in breaking down my experience thus far will be helpful to you.

All five numbered lists below the cut.

Further disclaimers: I know how I learn and what I’m good at, and this means that I am really really good at telling when a course of study is Not Working For Me. This is because I am Relatively Tumblr Old and have learned a variety of relatively complicated things with a high degree of success in my lifetime.

It is very unlikely that your brain works like mine, and so to further qualify this, I’m going to tell you how my brain works.

1. For me, the death of learning is boredom. I cannot, repeat, cannot, do boring things for much longer than about five minutes. You could offer me a half-million dollars a year to do a job that has twenty hours of boring work a week and I would quit in desperation after two weeks. Or, more likely, I’d take the job and stay up nights for months on end automating it and then you’d fire me when you realized that I was now doing nothing at work except reading AO3 articles. This means that time-efficient but boring study methods are completely inaccessible to me. I don’t care how effective it is. If it bores me, it is not getting done.

2. I have an incredibly good recall for sounds, and a basic amount of musical training. One of the ways I used to commit things like relative electronegativity to memory was to make a song, because I could remember the most ridiculously long strings of information that way. Ditto for memorizing monologues in school. (This is relevant).

3. I have an absolutely excellent memory for other things, too, when I’m paying attention. If I’m not paying attention, I will remember nothing. (Yes, I’m on the ADHD spectrum–I hyperfocus like nobody’s business, and if I’m not hyperfocused you might as well fuck off because I’m not paying a lick of attention.) I am much more likely to trigger my hyperfocus with physical activity–either walking or writing things down.

4. I am very goal focused. Give me just about any concrete goal and I will make a spreadsheet detailing how to get from point A to point B with every intermediate step in the way, which I will adjust on a biweekly basis to correspond to my progress and what I learn. My goal in this case was to be able to understand spoken Japanese well enough to get the gist of the raw Yuri on Ice feeds so that I didn’t have to wait 3+ hours for the Crunchyroll translations by the time Season 2 came around.

5. I am the person who will spend 40 hours fixing a persistent problem that takes me one minute of boring work every month. I am so damned impatient that I’ll spend three hours a day every day for two years so that I don’t have to wait three hours. Let’s hear it for the few, the proud, the delightedly inefficient.

6. Along the lines of hating boredom: I absolutely love figuring out how things work, and so I tend to jump onto solutions that prioritize understanding how a system works first and then moving from there to increasing fluency. I will happily spend 10 hours figuring out how something works even if it only saves me an hour of time. You’ll see what I mean a little later.

7. Also along the lines of having ADHD: I need to feel that I am accomplishing things along the way, which means that if I’m taking on a two-year project, I need to be able to point to things that I am accomplishing along the way, or I will get frustrated and give up. In this regard, I am like a small child. If I can’t pinpoint an immediate benefit to something, I get frustrated and give up. From experience, I have gotten very good at pinpointing accomplishments so that I am constantly affixing little medals to my own chest, but it also means that I “waste” (in some senses of the word) time doing things that probably are more about keeping my mental state chugging along.

8. This bears mentioning, but one thing about my being old and being good at fixing persistent problems? I have disposable income, and only about half of it goes toward purchasing Victor nendoroids. Some of the resources I list here cost money. I am naturally cheap–I don’t like spending money if I don’t have to–but I have learned to be cheap with my time, and to value people who provide useful or lovely things.

9. I am deeply introspective. If something is worth analyzing in my mind, it’s worth overanalyzing to death.

Okay, enough about me! Here are my thoughts on what I have done so far to learn Japanese, which I’m going to divide into sections.

Listening to Japanese (with some speaking)

I’m not going to have the temerity to explain spoken Japanese at this point, so google elsewhere. Here are useful resources:

1. JapanesePod101.com: https://www.japanesepod101.com I started a one-week free subscription to this site at the beginning of the year when I knew basically nothing, and then they had a huge membership sale at the beginning of the new year which I glommed onto immediately. I listen to about 4-6 podcasts a day���when I’m driving, when I’m out for a walk, when I’m shopping. I shadow the Japanese parts (this is what shadowing is: http://learnanylanguage.wikia.com/wiki/Shadowing). I listen. There are criticisms you could make of this podcast, but it’s rarely boring, the people on it are likable, and the lessons once Naomi-sensei gets on board are fantastic.

2. Crunchyroll. This is one of those “need accomplishment” things that I use regularly. Some people advocate putting anime on as background and letting your brain cogitate; my brain is EXTREMELY good at not paying attention to things and so I don’t think this would be effective for me. I watch anime. I’ve gone from maybe sometimes hearing a name, to understanding set phrases like Victor saying “Ohayou!” or Yuuri saying “Tadaima” to (at this point) being able to understand the simple sentences, and pick words out of the complex ones. I pause a lot, for instance, when I understand all the words in a sentence but one. I try to sound the word I think I heard out in a Japanese-to-English dictionary (tangorin.com is free, I think?), and if that doesn’t work, in google translate (sometimes it’s two words, and that makes it hard to look up).

3. I try to watch ice skating videos in Japanese. There are some that have subtitles in Japanese and English, too, which is cool.

Independent skills that I have had to actively force myself to learn in order to listen to Japanese properly (still working through this list):

1. Timing things. English (or any of the other languages I’ve studied) isn’t overly concerned with syllable length or breaks between syllables. That makes it hard to distinguish between a two-mora vowel and a one-mora vowel, or to make your mind pay attention to the small-tsu break. You have to really work to pay attention to train your mind that this is important and it needs to stop filtering those things out. It took me probably two months to retrain my mental filters, which I mostly did by banging my head against trying to figure out what words I heard, trying different combinations, and then going back to the word I heard and relistening to it once i figured out what it was, until I was hearing the thing I wasn’t hearing.

2. Vowels. In English, we can mess around with vowels a LOT and it works just fine as long as the consonants are vaguely in the right place. That’s why people can write sentences with misplaced/swapped out vowels and your mind will basically make sense of it anyway–because we use consonants a lot to tag words. This means that a brain fed a diet of mostly English squishes a lot of vowels together into one mushy sounding sound. It’s why some people hear “Hai” as “Hi” and not as a two-mora, two vowel sound. There’s a point at the end of episode 4 where Yuuri says something like “Victor and my season is finally beginning,” and I understood all the words except 'finally,’ so I tried to sound out the word I heard that was probably 'finally’ as an exercise. I tried EVERY FREAKING COMBINATION of “よよ” and “ようよ” and “ようよう” and finally realized that I just wasn’t hearing the two-vowel combination properly: “いよいよ.” Again, the way I dealt with this except to repeatedly force myself to do exercises like this again and again while listening, sounding out what I heard and then listening to it again and again when I was wrong until I could hear the thing I missed.

3. Pitch accent. In English, pitch plays a role in intonation, and there are accepted pitches, but there’s a lot more pitch variation, and we mostly use stress to indicate meaning. In Japanese, pitch is far more important, with relative pitch between words being important, and increasing differences in pitch indicating increasing importance. It took me about a month into trying to learn Japanese to hear the words “pitch accent” and then another month to start really paying attention to words to try and determine the pitch accent, and then only very recently, discovering resources that break down what pitch accent is and what the rules are to it (OMG I didn’t know there were rules, I love rules!) in a way that made me say, yes, this is amazing. You want to visit Dogen’s site for this: https://www.patreon.com/dogen/posts – I found his videos accidentally, but they’re amazing. The first handful are free; the next handful, you need to pledge to his Patreon. Some of the things he says are difficult for English speakers to learn are not difficult for me–I suspect because I have basic musical training, and it turns out that those lessons where I learned to identify intervals taught me to hear pitch changes.

4. Language parsing. The thing I’m working on now is a straight-up language parsing issue. English functions much like a stack: Words go on the stack in the right order, and your brain assigns function and meaning on the basis of where in the stack they land, and improper stacking leads to breakdown. Stack issues in English are why it’s completely fine to say “friendly little brown fluffy Japanese dog” but “Japanese friendly fluffy brown little dog” is just wrong. English is, to use a metaphor that will be almost completely inaccessible to the current generation, rather like the BASIC I used on the Commodore 64–executed in mostly linear fashion with a handful of awkward and inelegant GOTOs that I only learned to cringe at when I took a computer science course many years later. Japanese also has a little bit of a stack issue, but a stack-parsing order is inappropriate. In a sense, it feels closer to a language in which particles function as meta-tags. It feels…more appropriate, I guess? to parse from particle to particle and from conjugation to conjugation. Japanese is closer to Java in many, many ways. I figured out that I needed to parse differently about a month ago, and have been slowly working on upgrading my internal interpreter.

5. Next stages: A lot of Japanese is indirect, and so absorbing indirect equivalents (or where there is none, getting the gist) is probably going to be a lifelong process.

Speaking

1. Some people like talking to other people. I hate it with a burning passion. I prefer people who use pixels. I did try a Japanese Skype conversation partner through italki.com. It was very, very useful. I learned a lot. I hated it so much that I have myself permission to not do it for another few months. (I do use italki to practice the other language I know–where I’m fluent enough that I can have an actual conversation about, like, the constitutionality of Trump’s executive order on immigration, for instance, instead of the name of someone’s rabbit. I don’t particularly hate that.)

2. I talk to myself, out loud, a lot in Japanese, even if I only say very stupid things. I try to express things I don’t know how to say.

3. I give my cat orders in Japanese. He listens to me in Japanese as often as he does in English, so this is a huge success.

4. I am not great at speaking, partially because my goal is not to be able to speak to people.

Reading and Writing

1. You’re gonna have to memorize the Kana. Just do it. I did it, and I hate boring things.

2. I spent some time looking at various speed-Kanji-learning methods, like Remembering the Kana, WaniKani, and Kanji Damage. The most useful thing I got was this description of Kanji from KanjiDamage http://www.kanjidamage.com/introduction and the description of Kanji as an orthography: http://www.kanjidamage.com/kanji_facts. This made me think of Kanji as words composed of radicals laid out on a two-dimensional canvas, as compared to English, where words are are composed of the letters of the alphabet on a one-dimensional canvas. Once I saw that, then you see that some connections and combinations are meaningful in the same way that evocative, advocacy, and vocal are related. Some connections are totally illusory and trying to find meaning or explanation for it is a fool’s game. Having understood that, I tried the basic method behind these and found that it did not work at all for me because it was boring as all get out, and I didn’t feel like I was learning anything (even though I was).

3. My current method is absolutely not the most efficient but I am making headway with it. It goes like this: find really easy reading materials, and learn the words that are in it. It took me about a month before I could read even the most basic of texts. (I started with the graded Japanese readers, level 0). Is this method of learning words scattershot as fuck? YES. ABSOLUTELY. But I feel like I’m accomplishing things because I am reading books, and I am willing to accept substantial amounts of inefficiency if it results in continued motivation.

4. At some point–my guess is somewhere around the one year mark–I’m going to have to transition to something a little more systematic. My hope is that once I reach that point I will have encountered those kanji enough that I will feel like I’m forming connections, not just learning disparate disconnected material, and I will not be bored.

5. Along those lines, Anki is my everything. I do about 20 cards a day, which means I’m learning around 70 words a week. Some of these words are great, like 難しい or 簡単. Some of those words are skating related, like 4回転トエループ. Some of those words are just really random things that showed up in the graded reader and I learned it because I’m stubborn, like 苦汁 (“bittern,” or a concentrated solution of magnesium chloride) or 納豆菌 (bacillus subtilis natto, the bacteria used to ferment soybeans into natto).

6. My Anki vocabulary cards have the English word on the front. On the back, I have the word in either hiragana or katakana, color-coded according to pitch accent, a recording of the word in Japanese, the kanji for the word, and sometimes the stroke order for the kanji. Yes, I write down the kanji–my memory is triggered by using muscles, including a pencil, and so this works for me.

7. This is what one of my Anki cards looks like, minus the spoken recording + stroke order. Blue is low pitch, red is high pitch, and the color of the heart at the end indicates the pitch of the particle at the end. It would be way more efficient to import other people’s Anki decks but I am (in addition to all the stuff mentioned above) deeply demand resistant and I only want to learn things that I have decided I should learn, with the precise information I want, no more, no less. I end up resenting other people’s flashcards so much that I’m stuck wasting time doing my own.

8. I’m also using a textbook (みんなの日本語). My textbook work lags substantially behind my comprehension, as driven by JapanesePod101, mostly because it’s boring until I understand it well enough to not have to stop and check every damned thing all the time. It is good to do exercises, though, and then to use the exercises as templates for saying and writing my own sentences which are of far greater interest.

Um, I think that’s everything I have for now?

Welcome to my brain.

[devilslcg]

One;

characters: jill porter ( @insomniius ) / sanji

rating: t ( mild cursing )

words: 1,603

notes: jill is the friend that's always there for sanji whenever​ his relationship goes south, but it's getting difficult as her own feelings for him are growing. but she's not the only one suffering as sanji is beginning to realize the right woman has been there the whole time.

It was late when she finally got to her apartment door, arms wrapped around paper bags and the fingers on her free hand fumbling with her key. She swore that her key was working against her, making her waste more time than needed because he was coming up the stairs. She had caught a glimpse of him on her way into the apartment complex, but had hoped that he was too busy with the girl on his arm to notice her.

                                          ( only she wished he would notice… )

“Come on…” Jill sucked in her breath when the key slipped from her grasp and hit the floor. She spat a quiet curse and crouched down to pick it up, but the sound of eager, uneven footfalls stopped her.

“Jill?” She wasn't sure that he knew it, but the sound of her name on his deep, smoky voice always made her insides squirm. Standing, she found her closest friend standing at his open door with a look of concern in those kind, blue eyes. “You alright?”

“Yeah! Just dropped my key.” She laughed and gave them a little shake. Sanji, smiling now, looked relieved. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was messier than usual. He looked even cuter, if that were even possible.

“You know, the place you recommended to me?”

“Yeah?”

“You were right! It was amazing. I wish—” he paused and something changed. His expression shifted from bliss to confusion, eyes moving from the woman in the hall to the one motioning to him from his sofa. Long fingers dove into his shaggy hair, teeth biting at his lower lip.

Jill felt a slight buzzing across her skin. “Wish what?”

“I don't know. I think I was going to say that I wish you were there, but…”

“Kind of weird to have someone else with you when you're on a date.” Jill mumbled. “How’re you two doing, anyway?”

Sanji hesitated again; he looked as though he wanted to say something again, but was holding back.

“We're okay. Maybe. Uhm, look… I gotta…”

“Babe, come on.” A slender woman with thick, dark hair grasped at the front of his shirt and pulled him close, painted lips brushing along his jaw. He let loose a visible shiver, but he didn't smile.

“Hey, Naomi.” Jill managed to speak through tight lips.

Naomi sneered and drew herself even closer to Sanji. He wrapped an arm around her, but his eyes didn't move to either of them.

“Hey, Jackie.”

“It's Jill.”

“Whatever.” She sighed and pulled at her boyfriend. Sanji snapped out of his silence when he felt lips on his, a surprised grunt leaving him. Jill stiffened and inched towards her door.

“Have a good night, guys.” She tried to dismiss herself as Sanji was being pulled into his apartment, but he shook himself free of the beauty’s grasp. He whispered something to her and forced a smile, but the twisted look on her face told Jill that she would be hearing muffled shouts through the paper-thin apartment walls yet again ( all hers, of course. )

Huffing, Naomi turned and slammed the door. Sanji remained in the hall, forehead pressed against the solid wood. He didn’t move at first. The only speck of motion laid in his eyes and the faint crinkling on his nose and brow. Something was wrong. Jill felt it in her gut, but she didn’t dare ask until she was sure that doing so wouldn’t upset him further.

“Sanji...”

“Come over tomorrow.” He didn’t flinch or reel back when he spoke, but stood straight and turned to her with a look of desperate hopefulness. Jill gave a start, honey-colored eyes widening.

“What? Why?” She didn’t really need an answer. She could see from where she stood that his eyes were growing wet and his chest was beginning to heave. She’d seen this far too many times in the past; he was going to panic, and it was for one reason only — he anticipated a break up.

“Please?” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry I keep asking you, but——!”

“Don’t be sorry!” Jill set her bags down and pulled the shaking man into a hug. She had a routine now; arms around the neck, pull him down to rest his head on her shoulder, let her fingers comb through his hair, rub the back of his neck, sometimes kiss his aching temple and forehead. Never his cheek. Never his lips. God, she really wanted to kiss him, but she couldn’t.

“She mentioned it earlier. I don’t even remember what she said, but it sounded like she was saying that I was lucky to have her for this long.” He hiccuped once, and that was enough to break Jill’s heart.

One tear. One nauseating hiccup. One sniff. One needy squeeze to her middle. It only took one night of comforting him to realize she couldn’t stand seeing him like this, as well as one night exactly two months ago for her to accept that she wanted to be the one to make him happy.

It pained her to see such a kind and thoughtful man reduced to tears over a woman that didn’t deserve him. She had told him once before that she was only toying with him, but he was the type that enjoyed blissful ignorance when it came to pretty women. No matter how insistently she warned him, he didn’t listen. But she didn’t care now. She wouldn’t tell him “I told you so” or laugh about his constant bad luck with romance.

She would hold him, comfort him and tell him the truth; that he was a wonderful man, and that he would find the right woman eventually.

                                                                                                 ( “can it be me?” )

“You know I’m here for you no matter what. Nothing will keep me from making sure you’re alright.” She mumbled into his hair. She felt him take in another deep breath. His shaking calmed, but it didn’t vanish entirely. His body would jolt suddenly with emotion every now and again, until he had regained control. Some days it took him hours to calm down, while other days it happened in the span of a few minutes. His panic was momentary tonight, but she had a feeling it would be much worse come tomorrow.

Sanji rubbed his eyes on the back of his sleeve and laughed. It wasn’t fake or strained, but genuine and sweet.

“I really don’t know what I’d do without you, Jill. You’ve been putting up with my bullshit since I got here.” He felt he owed her more than he could ever give back, but she always waved him off.

“It’s not your bullshit I’m dealing with.”

Sanji snickered again. His head slumped forward, amusement barely twitching at his features now. “But you were right. You’re always right. Every time a girl’s screwed with me, you’ve told me so. I just never listened. I’m not even sure she is going to break up with me tomorrow, but I know she will sooner or later.”

“Her loss. You never know, the next one might work out and end up being the one you stay with forever.” Jill shrugged.

“Maybe...”

“You’re going to find someone that loves you no matter what, Sanji, I promise. Every girl that’s broken your heart don’t realize that they’ve missed out on having the most amazing boyfriend in the world. Heck, I’d go——” I’d go out with you. 

She paused, let her mouth hang open for a second, then snapped it closed. She couldn’t say that. She shouldn’t say that. Nothing would come of it. “I’d go up to her and give her a piece of my mind now if I could.”

“Jill...”

“Go back inside. She hasn’t done anything yet, right?”

“Yeah, but——”

“Whether or not something happens, I’ll be there. Just let me know, and I’ll come running quick as I can.” She was the one forcing a smile now, but it was squashed when Sanji flung his arms around her. He exhaled deeply into her ear and squeezed at her middle affectionately, cheek nudging against hers.

“Jill! You’re too good to me~! I swear, I’ll do something special soon as a thank you. And don’t tell me I don’t have to because I want to. It’s the least I can do.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek and pulled away, looking brighter and happier than he had since finding her in the hall.

“Fine, I’ll hold you to it then.” She rubbed at her cheek and tried to calm the burning behind her fingers, but his kiss still lingered on her skin like the scalding mark left by a metal brand.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Sanji rarely failed to cheer up with her around, but there was something different about the way he bounced back to his apartment. There was a strange sense of purpose in the way he looked back at her, hand on the door knob and a twinkle in his tear-sticky eyes.

They waved and wished each other a good night before disappearing.

She set her bags aside again and slumped against the counter, while he propped himself against the inside of the door. She felt miserable, and he determined.

I’ll find someone that loves me no matter what. I’ll find someone that’s cared for me even though I’ve been bugging her for months with my problems and come to her asking for advice when she has her own shit to deal with.

“I won’t screw up this time.”

Because this time, he was going to make sure she was THE ONE.

[ruffsficstuffplace]

The Keeper of the Grove (Part 7)

The dinner Weiss and Winter had was a simple affair, quick flame roasts and brief plunges into boiling oil, salads tossed together with whatever ingredients were available, and bread the two of them recognized from earlier in the morning, testing how long the fields could keep them oven fresh and warm.

It was hard not to notice that instead of the small army of maids and butlers eager to serve them, it was just the one butler handling drinks, with drones floating about serving plates, carving meats, and putting portions onto their plates.

As a matter of fact, there were a lot more drones than people everywhere else, too.

“Short on staff tonight?” Weiss asked as said butler poured her a glass of juice.

“Unfortunately so, Ms. Schnee,” he replied as he expertly twisted the bottle, spilling not a drop. “Chef Naomi wishes to beg your forgiveness; her more elaborate creations require a not insignificant amount of support and assistance, two things she did not have tonight.”

Winter daintily picked up a slice of meat with her fork, put it into her mouth and chewed. She hummed with pleasure, smiling. “Please tell her not to worry,” she said after she swallowed. “It's as excellent as I remember.”

The butler smiled, if a little nervously. “She will be very pleased to hear that. Do you require anything else, Mses. Schnee?”

“Just one more thing: had Father ever requested our presence again, after breakfast?” Winter asked.

The butler shook his head. “No, Ms. Schnee. Mr. Schnee has been incredibly busy in his office since he left the dining room earlier this morning; he's even had his own meals sent there. I assume it might have to do with Ms. Weiss'… adventure.”

He paused. “It's the talk of Candela—all of Avalon, even.”

Winter nodded. “Thank you, you're dismissed,” she said.

The butler bowed, before leaving the room as fast as professional decorum would let him. The drones and the cameras aside, it was essentially just the two of them alone in the dining room. They looked around just to be sure, waited a few moments, then dropped their polite smiles and amiable looking expresisons.

“Oh damn it, I hadn't thought about the press!” Weiss mumbled, angrily stabbing a slice of meat on her plate.

Winter sighed. “Neither did I; I'd suggest disguises and decoys, but they have the manpower to watch every last transport going to and from here like hawks, and we don't.”

“They're going to be all over this…” Weiss grumbeld. “Why couldn't Father be satisfied with a nice penthouse in Asgard?”

“Because every other trillionaire in Candela has a penthouse there,” Winter replied flatly.

“Are we still going out tonight?” Weiss asked, before shoved food into her mouth and chewed without pleasure.

“Definitely,” Winter said. “I say, let the media hound us: keep us trained on their cameras all night if they want, we'll just ignore their questions as we shop for plushies! And if the Keeper happens to come for us both while they're recording? Then that's what they get for wanting footage so badly!”

She chuckled. “Wouldn't that be quite the headline? 'Schnees Slain By Supposedly Mythological Being!'” she said, spreading her hands apart in the air. “Footage withdrawn for causing permanent mental scarring and psychological trauma in all who view it.”

Weiss nodded slowly. “Hey Winter?” she asked.

“Yes, Weiss?”

“Why are you suddenly, constantly making jokes about our impending doom?”

Winter smiled at her. “It's the only way I can think or talk about it without bursting into tears,” she whispered.

Weiss and Winter stepped out from the elevator and into the manor's garage, fed, bathed, and dressed in fresh clothes. It was easy to tell from a glance that a large number of rovers and even one of their father's private jets were missing, which wasn't too surprising.

What was was one of the traffic coordinators coming to meet them personally.

“Good evening, Mses. Schnee,” the cyborg said. “Planning to leave the premises?”

“We are, actually,” Winter replied. “Just a spontaneous shopping trip to Candela! We'll be back before morning.”

The coordinator nodded. “Mr. Schnee has actually requested that you both stay in the manor for the time being; he has asked us to clarify that this goes for all residents and staff, not just you two.”

“As if that makes it any better...” Weiss grumbled under her breath.

The two of them ignored her.

“'Requested' you say?” Winter asked she said as she stepped up closer to him. “As in, it's not a formal lockdown?”

“Yes,” they replied. “In my opinion though, Ms. Schnee, it would still be best if you delayed this trip until further notice--”

Too fast for anyone but the most observant and alert eyes could notice, Winter pressed a sizable amount of Uroch bills into the coordinator's hands.

“--However, I can not stop you from doing as you please,” they continued, discretely tightening their fingers around the money. “Do you have an estimated return time? Mr. Schnee does not appreciate vehicles being checked out 'Indefinitely,' more so with recent events.”

“I'm sure he's got more important things on his mind to think about than one more measly rover,” Winter replied. “It's not like we won't be back, right?”

The coordinator nodded. “As you wish, Ms. Schnee” they said, before a holographic screen appeared before their eyes—a visual marker for those without the same implants as them that they were busy communicating with others or the manor's various systems.

“Since when did you learn to do that?” Weiss asked as continued onto the loading dock.

Winter smirked. “Queensguard. The Uroch may not be the most valuable commodity these days, but it's certainly the most versatile.”

“What else did they teach you?”

“I'm not allowed to say,” Winter replied. “But I can say they really meant 'ready for anything.'”

Less than a minute later, they were off, strapped securely to their seats, listening to the quiet hum of the engine and the crunch of rock underneath the tank treads as they were gently jostled about. Schnee Company rovers may have been a serious step up from the stock models, but there was only so much you could do to compensate for terrain this rocky, battered, and beaten by the elements on a daily basis.

“Any other business you want to get out of the way, hopefully before the Keeper comes for us?” Winter asked. “Friends you'd like to hang out with one last time, or just say goodbye to? Places you want to see? Things you want to experience before it's all over?”

“No,” Weiss replied, “I'll just tag along with whatever you have in mind after you get your plushies and I get my cake shake,”

“You sure?”

“Very,” Weiss replied.

After all, it was hard to do any of those, when you didn't have any friends, and all you've ever wanted to do is leave here , see what it'd be like to start anew somewhere else .

As expected, the media knew exactly which loading bay they were entering the city from, and were prepared to mob a nd rain questions down upon them, physically fighting with one another for the prized “First Footage.”

Through a mix of the security teams and drones that were obliged to keep the area free of obstruction and especially dense human traffic, Winter's knowledge of hand-to-hand combat, and timely mentions of the Keeper of the Grove granting her a speed and strength Weiss never knew she was capable of, the sisters cut through the crowds like a missile, straight into the waiting backseat of a VIP hover- cab that had been waiting for them .

The vehicle's “crash bubble” activated, a wave of energy repelling any reporters and their camera-bots who had decided to take a desperate last shot at an interview. Weiss looked out the window and smiled as they flew off, knocking down several of their fellow journalists like haphazardly placed bowling pins.

As the cab began to rise up into the air, its AI appeared before them , a holographic bust of a young attractive woman of Oriental descent. “Welcome back to Candela, Mses. Winter and Weiss Schnee! We of the MTC sincerely apologize for not being able to assist you in circumvent the media--”

“Slash Command, AI Personality Switch: 'Antonio Perrero.'” Weiss said.

The hologram shifted and shimmered, before turning into that of an Italian-American man in his late 40's to early 50's, balding hair, a wrinkled face, friendly face with a big, round nose, bright eyes, and a bushy handlebar mustache.

“Eeeey, it's Weiss and Winter!” he said with a thick, comically exaggerated accent. “Been too long since I saw you two together—ain't right for family to ever be apart for so long like that... anyway, where to, gals?”

Winter sat up and smiled . “To the Plushie Palace as fast as you legally can, Tony!” she replied . “I've got a collection of toys to rebuild and return to their rightful places on my bed!”

“Hah! Told you you'd be back there one of these days!” Tony said as the cab began to move through Candela's skyline. “And here were my handlers, telling me I'm wasting space, saving routes people haven't taken in a while. I tell 'em right back--”

“--If you didn't want me saving so many shortcuts, then why'd you give me so many petabytes worth of memory, huh?!” Weiss and Winter playfully griped alongside Tony, before they all devolved into giggles or loud, bellowing laughter.

“And speaking of memory…” Tony asked, “… jeez, how long HAS it been since I took you gals there?”

Winter and Weiss mirth quickly faded away, the joyful mood gone.

“Oh. Oooh… way to go, Tony…” Tony said, his face looking remorseful and a little angry at himself. “So much for the 'most highly advanced and adaptive artificial intelligences in the market today'… look, gals, I'm sorry--”

“It's fine, Tony,” Winter said, “it's been a really, really long time—I'm not surprised even a supercomputer like you would forget.”

“I don't ever forget, especially somethin' as important as that!” Tony snapped. “Just that some geniuses in Programming decided that I need to be a little slower at pulling up some kinds of info from the ol' database than others...” he grumbled.

“We'll put in another formal complaint for you, Tony” Weiss muttered.

Tony smiled. “Thanks, gals, the two of you are little angels. Well, maybe not so little no more, but still angels.”

They drove around for a little while longer until distinct sight of the Plushie Palace came into view—a giant, thirty-story shopping complex that was specifically designed after and the stone and mortal palaces of yore, a giant teddy bear with a modest crown sitting in its highest tower.

“Sure you want to take the front gates to this place?” Tony asked as the cab began to slow down. “They still got those secret entrances and showrooms for doing deals all discrete like, and I know two of 'em, at least.”

“No thank you, Tony,” Winter said she looked out the window, pressed her right up to the glass. “This is my first time back here in a long while—I want to make it special.”

“Then I'll call 'em and make 'em roll out the red carpet like the first time I took you here!” Tony said, chuckling.

Winter teared up. “That'd be great, Tony, thank you.”

[dipulb3]

US coronavirus: California and Florida are charting different paths as cases spike | Appradab

New Post has been published on https://appradab.com/us-coronavirus-california-and-florida-are-charting-different-paths-as-cases-spike-appradab/

US coronavirus: California and Florida are charting different paths as cases spike | Appradab

Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis instructed the reporters that there is no going again to stricter measures, whereas California Gov. Gavin Newsom hinted that on Wednesday he’ll tighten restrictions, particularly at seashores, this Independence Day weekend.

California has had greater than 222,000 coronavirus circumstances — about half of that are in Los Angeles County — and on Tuesday introduced 6,367 circumstances, the second highest complete for the state because the pandemic started. In Los Angeles County there have been reviews of two,779 new circumstances.

As the vacation weekend looms, Newsom warned that household gatherings are the best concern.

Household gatherings the place households combine with prolonged household, are typically a spot the place folks let their guard down, the governor stated.

“It is not simply bars, not simply out within the streets with folks protesting, and the like,” Newsom stated.

The governor of the Golden State, who ordered bars in seven counties to shut over the weekend, stated he’ll announce extra restrictions on Wednesday.

Newsom has repeatedly promised that reopening the state comes with the power to “toggle again” if vital.

Responding to a reporter’s query concerning the seashores being closed in Los Angeles County for the Independence Day weekend, the governor hinted that state seashores might be a part of his announcement.

In Florida, DeSantis assured reporters that his state can cope with the uptick in circumstances and it is not essential to shut down outlets and eating places.

“We’re not going again, closing issues,” he stated. “I imply, folks going to enterprise just isn’t what’s driving it. I feel if you see the youthful people, I feel plenty of it’s simply extra social interactions and in order that’s pure.”

DeSantis’ message to Floridians, notably the youthful ones: Defend the weak.

“You’ve gotten a duty to not come into shut contact with people who might be extra weak,” he stated.

CDC director pleads with youthful Individuals to put on masks

A prime US well being official at a US Senate committee listening to made one other plea for Individuals — particularly youthful ones — to put on masks to curb the unfold of the coronavirus as case numbers surge throughout a lot of the nation.

It’s “essential” that Individuals “take the non-public duty to sluggish the transmission of Covid-19 and embrace the common use of face coverings,” Dr. Robert Redfield, director of the US Facilities for Illness Management and Prevention, stated Tuesday.

“Particularly, I am addressing the youthful members of our society, the millennials and the Era Zs — I ask these which can be listening to unfold the phrase,” he stated.

The CDC urges everybody to put on a fabric face cowl in public, primarily in case the wearer is unknowingly contaminated however doesn’t have signs. Dr. Deborah Birx, the White Home coronavirus activity pressure coordinator, additionally has stated there’s growing evidence masks may assist stop the wearer from turning into contaminated, too.

The US has reported greater than 2.6 million circumstances of the virus and no less than 127,322 deaths, in keeping with Johns Hopkins College. State and native leaders have stated case charges have been rising in a lot of the nation, pushed partially by gatherings, each in properties and in locations like bars — which some consultants have referred to as the right breeding floor for the virus.

Fifteen states reported recording their highest seven-day averages of circumstances on Monday, according to JHU data. Of them, 10 don’t have any statewide masks necessities — Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Florida, Idaho, Montana, South Carolina, Tennessee, Texas and Wyoming.

“Masks are extraordinarily vital,” the top of the Nationwide Institute of Allergy and Infectious Illnesses, Dr. Anthony Fauci, stated Tuesday on the identical Senate committee listening to. “It is folks defending one another. Something that furthers using masks, whether or not it is giving out free masks or some other mechanism, I’m totally in favor of.”

Among the many states pausing or rolling again their reopening plans is Texas, the place bars have been ordered shut.

Arizona shut down its bars, gyms, and other businesses for a month. Seashores in Miami, Fort Lauderdale and Palm Seaside have been additionally ordered closed for the upcoming holiday weekend.

Miami-Dade Mayor Carlos Gimenez instructed Appradab he will probably be signing an order closing eating places within the county nightly at midnight. Gimenez stated that not complying with the order is a second-degree misdemeanor and violators may be fined and spend as much as 180 days in jail.

The nation’s rising case depend has had ripple results internationally. The European Union, which had shut its exterior borders due to coronavirus, agreed Tuesday to a listing of 14 nations from which it should now settle for vacationers. America isn’t on it, as a result of its present Covid-19 an infection price is simply too excessive, the EU stated.

States require quarantines of extra guests

New York, New Jersey and Connecticut are actually asking folks touring from eight more states to self-quarantine upon arrival — bringing their record to 16 — due to coronavirus issues.

The tri-state journey advisory, first issued final week, applies to anybody coming from a state with a constructive take a look at price greater than 10 per 100,000 residents over a seven-day rolling common or a state with a 10% or greater positivity price over a seven-day rolling common, the three Northeastern states have stated.

The most recent advisory, up to date Tuesday, provides California, Georgia, Iowa, Idaho, Louisiana, Mississippi, Nevada and Tennessee to that record.

That is along with the record’s incumbents: Alabama, Arkansas, Arizona, Florida, North Carolina, South Carolina, Utah and Texas.

The record requires folks arriving from these states to quarantine for 14 days.

In New York, violators might be topic to a judicial order and necessary quarantine, with fines of $2,000 for the primary violation, $5,000 for the second violation, and $10,000 if hurt is induced, Gov. Andrew Cuomo stated.

New Jersey’s governor stated the state’s well being commissioner may select to pursue unspecified punishments; Connecticut’s governor has described his state’s advisory as voluntary however thought-about it “pressing steerage.”

Massachusetts introduced Tuesday it’s doing one thing related. All arriving vacationers, together with returning residents, should self-quarantine for 14 days — until they’re coming from seven Northeastern states, Gov. Charlie Baker stated.

These exempted states are Rhode Island, Connecticut, New Jersey, New York, Vermont, Maine and New Hampshire, Baker stated. Important staff are also exempt, he stated.

Massachusetts additionally introduced there have been no Covid-19 associated deaths on Tuesday, the primary time in months zero deaths have been reported.

Solely 2 states’ circumstances trending considerably downward

The rethinking of how one can safely reopen the US comes as 36 states have confirmed an upward pattern in common new each day circumstances — a rise of no less than 10% — during the last seven days, as of Tuesday, in keeping with knowledge from Johns Hopkins.

These states are: Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado, Delaware, Florida, Georgia, Idaho, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nevada, New Mexico, North Carolina, Ohio, Oregon, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Washington, West Virginia, Wisconsin and Wyoming.

Two states noticed common each day circumstances decline greater than 10% over these seven days: New Jersey and Rhode Island.

Swine flu with ‘pandemic potential’ just isn’t a right away risk, consultants say

Chinese language researchers have introduced a not too long ago found sort of swine flu, however scientists world wide say that the virus does not appear to presently pose a right away international well being risk.

The G4 virus, which is genetically descended from the H1N1 swine flu that induced the 2009 pandemic, was described in a research printed within the Proceedings of the Nationwide Academy of Sciences on Monday.

G4 already seems to have contaminated people in China. In Hebei and Shandong provinces, each locations with excessive pig numbers, greater than 10% of swine staff on pig farms and 4.4% of the overall inhabitants examined constructive in a survey from 2016 to 2018.

Dr. Angela Rasmussen, a virologist at Columbia College’s public well being college who was not concerned within the research, warned the general public to not “freak out.”

“Our understanding of what’s a possible pandemic influenza pressure is proscribed,” Rasmussen posted on Twitter on Monday.

Appradab’s Cheri Mossburg, Jamiel Lynch, Jeremy Grisham, Amanda Watts, Holly Yan, Taylor Romine, Shelby Lin Erdman, Sarah Moon, Jacqueline Howard, Jessie Yeung and Naomi Thomas contributed to this report.

[archaickobold]

So I wrote a thing and it’s very gay. I want to put it up on my ao3 (clockwork_dragon if you want to check it out) but it has strikethroughs and I’m going to have to manually html those and I don’t want to do that right now so. Anyways this is a part of one of my established universes but you don’t need to know anything about it to read this. The story is under the cut, enjoy!

(Oh and sorry if parts of it read weird, I’m aroace and writing a crush is hard when you’ve never experienced romantic or sexual attraction oof)

And warnings are implied/referenced abuse, internalized homophobia, and I think that’s it. If I need to add anything else, lmk!

April 3rd, 1883. England

Damien sighed as he opened the door to the tailor’s shop, bell jingling overhead. His parents had insisted that he had to be fitted for a new suit, despite the fact that they could barely afford to do so. But they were so stubborn that he had to look as neat and fine as he could so that he would be able to “bring honor to the family name.” Damien really knew that meant they wanted people to think they were richer than they actually were, and they were achieving their goal through him. 

He was broken out of his thoughts when he was approached by the tailor’s assistant. As soon as he laid eyes on him, Damien felt a weird feeling in his chest. It seemed familiar, but he pushed it out of his mind. 

“How can I help you?” He asked, and Damien’s mouth was suddenly dry. 

“I-I’m here for a suit fitting,” he managed to stutter out, cursing his inability to talk to (incredibly handsome NO) strangers. The assistant didn’t comment on it, gratefully, and instead checked a list next to the register. 

“Everett, Damien?” He asked, and Damien nodded, internally wincing as he heard his mother’s disapproving voice in his head. He knew he should’ve just said yes, such a simple, one syllable word, but he didn’t want to risk stuttering over it and embarrassing himself further. “Right this way, follow me,” he said, turning to walk towards the back of the store. Damien followed, and saw a man he assumed was the tailor helping a client. 

“Ah, Ray. Would you mind helping him?” he said, nodding at Damien. “Whoever made this suit apparently did not have an ounce of care for the tailor who would have to alter it, so this is taking longer than expected. Besides, you’ve been training to do this for a while, so you should be fine. Off you go!” He said, seemingly not pausing for breath or to let the assistant reply. Shrugging, the assistant, Ray, Damien assumed, turned to look at him. 

“Right this way, then,” he said, leading Damien over to the dressing rooms.

“Are you alright?” Ray asked as he used a pin to mark a seam line that needed to be taken in. Damien started to shrug, but stopped just in time. He didn’t want to get stabbed by a loose pin. 

“I’m not very comfortable with all of the…” he gestured vaguely, “adjusting and touching and such you have to do. It’s just-” he stopped, his face bright red. “I know you have to, it’s part of the job, and all. But I’m not used to it, and it’s odd, and-” he cut himself off from his rambling, pointedly not looking at the (very cute NONONO) assistant. He hummed in response, saying

“I’m sorry, but you are right. There’s not much I can do about it, but I’ll try to minimize the amount of touching I have to do, alright?” Damien said nothing but nodded slightly. To his surprise, Ray kept to his promise and Damien noticed his movements were quicker and more precise than they had been. Ray didn’t say much, clearly focusing harder on his work now, but Damien found he didn’t mind. He was oddly touched that Ray had actually listened to him and didn’t brush him off, but he pushed the feeling aside. Of course he would listen to him, he didn’t want to get in trouble with his boss and his job was to listen to the customer.

Sooner than expected, Ray stepped back from Damien with a critical eye and nodded.

“It looks done. Does it feel right?” He asked. Damien carefully moved his arms experimentally before nodding.

“Yes, it fits much better now, thank you.” Ray grinned at him, a blinding (adorable Whwhywhynononono) smile that made Damien blush slightly. (Why did he keep doing that? he wondered.)

“Well then, if you’ll change out of that, we’ll start making the alterations. You should be able to pick it up next week,” he said, handing Damien his clothes. He took them and made his way over to the dressing room, trying to figure out the knot that had taken up place in his stomach. As he got dressed, he decided this was an issue he would have to ask his sister about.

-----

“That sounds like a crush.” Naomi said, after Damien had explained what he felt about Ray to her. He laughed. 

“No, no it can’t be. He’s a guy, and I’m a guy. No, I couldn’t, I can’t, I shouldn’t-” he spoke faster and faster, until his voice gave out, and he started to silently sob. Silently, because, no one wants to hear that Damien, why are you such a crybaby, grow up already, why do you-

His spiraling thoughts were interrupted as he felt a comforting hand on his back. Naomi. His sister. She always supported him, was always there for him when their parents weren’t. 

“Damien, can you listen to me?” she asked quietly. Damien nodded. 

“It’s okay if you love a guy. No, listen,” she said, seeing Damien was about to interrupt her. “I know what our parents have said, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this sooner. I wanted to keep you safe from them, or as safe as I could. But I’m telling you now, so listen. You loving another man is not shameful, or blasphemous, or anything, okay? It’s just part of who you are, and our parents and… other people, are too stubborn to listen to reason. But don’t let them tell you how to live your life. You’re almost 17 and you’re more than old enough to be able to tell who you love and how, okay?” Damien nodded silently, still not completely believing her. He wanted to, god, he wanted to believe her with all his heart, but the years of his parents’ words still beat at his skull.

“But, Naomi, I know I thought I was gay back when I was a kid, but I was still growing! I grew out of that phase. There’s no way that this is a crush. None.” Naomi sighed, and looked out the window.

“Look,” she said, “do you want to be friends with him, at least?” 

“Yes.” Damien replied, without a second of hesitation. He was sure of that much, at least.

“Then be his friend. If later, you do realize you have a crush on him, ask him out, and if you don’t, then at least you have a friend, okay?” Damien considered her words. He couldn’t didn’t have a crush on Ray, but he saw no harm in following her advice. Cautiously, he nodded.

“Okay.” 

-----

Several months later, he flopped down onto her bed dramatically. 

“Oh my god I have a crush on Ray.” she looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

“Finally caught up to the rest of us, have you?” she snarked, and Damien glared at her out of the corner of his eye. 

“Give me a break, it’s not exactly an idea I like, you know.” He sighed and covered his face. “Why couldn’t I be straight, I wouldn’t have to worry about any of this, it’d be so much easier.” he groaned. Naomi threw a pillow at him.

“Well, you clearly aren’t, so you have to deal with this.” her face softened. “But seriously, did you want to talk about it? Or did you just want to mope around on my bed?” 

“...talk about it,” Damien replied, his voice muffled by the pillow that was currently smooshed into his face.

“Okay, well, what did you want to say?” Naomi gently prodded. Damien sighed and looked at her over the pillow.

“I don’t even know anymore, none of this is making sense.” he said, and Naomi noticed the bags under his eyes. Of course he wasn’t sleeping well either, as if she wasn’t worried about him enough.

“Okay then, how about we start at the beginning? When did you think you might have a crush?” She asked. Damien sighed again.

“I don’t even know, it kind of just happened, you know? One day, we were out for lunch and I noticed the way the sunlight reflected in his eyes and it was so pretty, or how when I had to get yet another suit fitted,” he scrunched his nose, “and he was measuring my waist, he had to wrap his arms around me for a second, and it was like an almost hug, except he wasn’t touching me because the first time I talked to him I told him I wasn’t comfortable with it and he remembered and just,” he vaguely waved his hands. “The little things added up, and the next thing I know, I have a crush on him.” Naomi smiled at him.

“For what it’s worth? I think you’ve had a crush on him for a while. You don’t have to believe me,” she said, holding up a hand at his protests, “but from what I can tell, you’ve always had a thing for him.” she grinned mischievously. “Now, when are you going to ask him out?” Damien blushed and looked away. 

“I don’t know if I want to,” he admitted quietly. “He’s amazing and wonderful and kind, but what if he’s straight? Or if he doesn’t like me at all? I don’t want to ruin our friendship. Plus, I know that you said being gay and all is okay, but I can’t help but feel that I’m still in the wrong. It’s just- years of being told I was wrong…” his voice trailed out, and Naomi leaned in to give him a hug. She paused.

“May I?” she asked, and Damien silently nodded. Instantly, she enveloped him in a hug. She squeezed him and held him close, even as she felt him shudder with silent sobs.

“I know, I know. It’s okay,” she whispered, offering comfort their parents never had. She felt her anger blaze red hot, but she pushed it aside. She couldn’t afford to do anything to her parents, not as long as they controlled her and Damien. So, helpless, she held her younger brother and soothed him as he dealt with his emotional turmoil as he realized he had a crush on another boy.

[delta-roseblr]

30 Day OC Challenge: Day 16

Hi all, so today is supposed to be a free space so I thought it would be fun to right a little fic that touches on some of the topics I have already touched on previous days as well as give you all a little snap shot of how Dean and Felix first got close. It turned out a little longer then planned :).

I will continue it on day thirty if this gets a good response:

Dean sat at the rickety, thrift store kitchen table that always wobbled when he even thought about moving. Trying to actually eat off the thing was impossible. In front of him, spread across the cheat laminate were months’ worth of unpaid bills, the words final notice was stamped with bright red ink on more than a few. His hands, which were balled into fists, rested in his lap as a display of his rapidly dwindling self-restraint. “Please tell me you are kidding.” He declared at the man (if you could really call him that) that sat across from him. His voice came out sharp and felt like each word was a gun shot.

His dad leaned back casually which was a bold choice considering the chair he was currently sitting in was something they had picked up at a garage sale two years ago for five bucks. At this point, Dean was pretty sure the thing was more duct tape than chair. “Kiddo, it’s not that big of a deal,” he replied with an easy smile and a dismissive wave of his hand. Dean’s fists clenched more tightly in his lap until his short nail bit into the flesh of his palms. He hated when his dad acted like this like the basic stuff wasn’t important when they very much were. Worse yet, Dean hated how he saw himself in his father’s blasé attitude: the easy smile, the dismissive wave, the general laid back posture, Dean knew he did that shit. It was bad enough that he looked so much like his dad, he didn’t want to act like him too. “You’re too young to get so stressed out,” his dad stated sounding fucking amused as he reached down to grab something from under the table. When he produced a bottle a beer Dean thought it was a damned miracle that his teeth didn’t actually shatter considering how tightly he was clenching his jaw shut. His dad used the edge of the table to pop the cap and brought the bottle most of the way to his mouth before pausing and then tilting the neck of the bottle in Dean’s direction. “Want a beer?”

In high school, everyone talks about how awesome it would be to have a cool parent that would let you drink and go where ever without having to check in, everyone was fucking idiots. Dean’s dad was barely equipped to take care of himself and definitely didn’t have the maturity and sense of responsibility to take care of himself let alone a child. He was pretty sure the only reason he had survived infancy was Aunt Naomi stepping in and making sure he didn’t starve. Of course, Dean did enjoy some of the independence but he would give up some of that if he could get his dad to act like a normal, respectable adult fifty percent of the time.

Dean looked between his dad and the bottle and back again before he felt something in his brain actually snap, it was probably that last straw everyone was always going on about. “Are you fucking kidding me!?!” he questioned outraged. He brought his hands up and only barely managed to stop himself from slamming his fist against the table. Instead, he snatched several long overdue bills and crumpled the paper in his hands as he held them toward his father in what he knew was a futile effort to get him to understand. “Dad, I literally have a final, final notice from literally every utility, we have no groceries, and rent is due in two fucking days and you blew off a job because it wasn’t really your thing!”

Considering his dad was in his mid-forties, Dean didn’t get how the man was still clinging to the fantasy of being a rock star. If anything he should have been happy that he actually was able to make any money as a musician. But no, his dad didn’t want to compromise his artistic integrity by lending his talents to something he doesn’t believe in or some B.S.

His dad sat across from him looking completely unaffected by Dean’s little outburst. If anything, he just seemed more amused at the situation which pissed Dean off beyond belief. Beer still in hand, he held the bottle further out in Dean’s direction to highlight his previous offer. “Kiddo-”

“Oh my fucking god,” Dean growled and tossed aside the bills he had crumpled in his fists in favor of raking his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I’m underage you should not be offering me a beer!”

“Age is just a number,” His dad replied easily. Honestly, his father’s tendency to handle every serious conversation like it was a mildly amusingly while Dean was on the edge of a panic attack just managed to make Dean feel more stressed. “You’re way more mature than most twenty-one year-olds,” he stated apparently giving up on his offer, he brought the mouth of his bottle to his lips and took a long pull. “So relax.”

Dean grasped fists full of his own hair as he glared up at his father. “How am I supposed to fucking relax when we are about a half a second away from being starving and homeless?”

“Dean, I’ll figure it out,” His offered the reassurance with a serious tone, or what passed as one for his dad. Well, Dean guessed he should be happy his dad was at least trying to take it seriously, but he still seemed too relaxed for the level of fucked they currently were. “I always find a way.”

Let it go, Dean told himself as he tried to figure out the exact number of days until he could move out. The fact that college was still over a year away wasn’t a very comforting thought. “Borrowing money from Aunt Naomi is not finding a way.” He pointed out flatly.

That got a response, but Dean knew that it would. His dad definitely has a sore spot when it came to just how much he relied on his sister to make ends meet and Dean knew it. “Alright, kiddo this is an adult problem,” his dad informed in a firm voice. If it wasn’t so fucking insulting the fact that his dad was classifying himself as an adult and having to act like Dean was some sort of uppity kid in the process would have been funny. “Why are you stressin’?”

“One of us has to!” Dean shouted releasing his brutal grip on his own hair before he caused himself to go prematurely bald. He slapped his palms down on the table and the harsh sound seemed to reverberate off the walls of the tiny kitchen. “And since acting like an adult doesn’t seem to be in your god-damned repertoire I guess that’s on me!” Dean shouldn’t have started yelling, but he realized that too late. Once he started it was like opening the flood gates, he couldn’t stop and it only seemed to get worse. Dean felt like a caged animal, he needed to get up and out and something. He stood up abruptly, his chair losing its battle with gravity with a heavy thud. Dean dragged his hands across the surface of the table sending a dozen or so bills flattering to the floor. “FUCK!” He stormed away from the table and stomped to the corner furthest from his father while still being in the same room. Voluntarily cornering himself before turning around to the destruction he left in his wake.

His dad was right. It wasn’t his problem, and he shouldn’t be stressed but it WAS his problem. If they ended up homeless or without food that very much affected Dean. And yes, Dean had a saving he managed to put together from working summer jobs and such but that was for college. This wouldn’t have been the first time that Dean had given up his savings to keep a roof over their heads, which was a part of the problem. It was selfish but he didn’t want to do it again.

“Hey,” His father’s voices sounding concerned caught Dean’s attention. He took in the scene like an outsider taking in a crime scene: His father was still seated at the table but he had put down his beer and was holding up his hands in a sign of surrender, papers littered the floor, and the chair Dean had been occupying moments earlier laid on its side. “I got this, so stop freaking yourself out,” He stated any of that annoying amusement from earlier had left his voice as he started pulling the bills toward himself forming a sloppy pile. “Go be a teenager,” he suggested making a shoeing gesture as he spoke. “Like go chill in your room or something.”

It wasn’t perfect but Dean knew he should just take what he could get and just be happy. Still, he couldn’t just stand there- he and his dad had been through this whole thing too many times in the past, Dean knew his dad’s routines far too well. His dad would sit at the table flipping through the bills without any real rhythm or reason while making his way through three or four beers. After putting on that little show for about an hour his dad would end up asking if Dean planned chipping in any on the bills. Dean already paid for his car insurance, gas, cell phone, school supplies, and clothes being that he was barely seventeen Dean thought that was more than his fair share. Dean really didn’t want to fight about it either, not that his dad would make it a fight, but didn’t know if he trusted himself not to. He realized it would just be better to be elsewhere for a few hours.

Dean gave in with a sigh. He took two large steps toward the kitchen counter. “Fine,” He admitted defeat as he snatched his car keys off the cheap countertop.

His hand was on the door ready to turn the handle when his dad called after him. “Where are you going?” The question was one of genuine curiosity. Dean’s dad never did the whole curfew thing, so even though it was well after nine at night Dean was free to come and go as he pleased.

“Anywhere but here,” Dean grumbled, the words probably taking on a sharper edge than was entirely necessary. He realized he sounded like some stereotyped teenager but anywhere but here was as far as he had gotten in the planning of his little escape. He hesitated, letting his hand fall from the doorknob, it wasn’t that he thought he dad deserved a better answer it was the apprehension of knowing his dad wouldn’t get anything done if he left. He moved away from the door and back toward the table stepping over his toppled chair as he went. Dean reached under the table and grasped the handle of the six-pack of beer that was sitting by the foot of his father’s chair. Holding the six-pack up he informed his father flatly, “And I’m taking the beer.”

“Don’t get caught with it,” His father advised as Dean once again made his way to the door. “And call me if you are too drunk to drive.”

Dean dropped the beer in the backseat of his car amongst the hoodies he had been too lazy to bring inside. He didn’t actually want the alcohol, he wasn’t a big drinker even at a party, he just didn’t’ want his dad to have it. It may have been a bit petty on his part but after a lifetime of dealing with his father’s irresponsibility, he knew what he needed to do if he wanted his dad to take anything seriously.

After depositing the beer in the backseat Dean dropped himself in the driver’s seat and drove. He wasn’t really thinking as he went, it was more like he was driving the familiar path out of reflex which was probably why he was almost all the way to his Aunt’s before he realized. Whenever he and his dad had a fight or if Dean was just too frustrated with his dad he went to Aunt Naomi’s and hung out with Will. They would watch bad movies or play video games or just bullshit, it was a nice distraction. But Dean knew Will wouldn’t be there, he had gone to New York for the summer to go to some camp. Dean could still go there; Aunt Naomi wouldn’t mind but it wouldn’t be the same.

He ended up pulling over a few blocks from his Aunt’s in the parking lot of a long-abandoned gas station. He cursed his luck, he cursed his life, he especially cursed Will’s stupid fucking summer camp. He didn’t want to go home but there wasn’t any other option unless he wanted to just drive around. His friend Watts was always with his girlfriend Ruby, and Wash just started dating one of Ruby’s friends. Both couples were completely impossible to be around, Dean would rather deal with his dad’s bullshit than that. Unfortunately, that was pretty much the extent of Dean’s friend group: Will, Wash, and Watts.

There was also the new guy, Felix, who Dean actually really got along with well but he didn’t know if they counted as friends. They had hung out at school and during soccer tryouts and Dean had given him a ride home three or four times but that was pretty much it. He had the guy’s number but….

It was the strangest thing, just as Dean convinced himself that texting Felix would come off weird or something his phone issued a loud noise signally he had a message and when he looked it was from Felix.

From Felix: I might literally be bored out of my god-damned mind.

It takes Dean a couple minutes to debate his response before replying.

To Felix: Bored enough to hang out?

As soon as he hit the send button he regretted it. This guy was going to think he was a fucking weirdo, Dean chastised himself. This was probably why he had all of three friends but Dean didn’t mean it to be weird. It wasn’t like he was asking Felix on a date or anything he just…. He didn’t know, he wanted to hang out. Maybe it was because Dean didn’t grow up with a whole lot of boundaries and since he got a car he had even less so if he got bored and wanted to hang out with a friend it didn’t seem weird to call them up even if it was pushing 10:30 pm. And while he and Felix might not have really hung out before he really liked the guy, he was funny and had this no-bullshit personality that Dean admired more than a little.

Felix’ response came much quicker than Dean expected. But, Dean mused darkly to himself, how long does it really take to call someone a creeper and tell them to fuck off?

From Felix: Fuck yeah! Wish I had a fucking car.

Dean didn’t give it any further thought. He shifted the car back into drive and started down the road in the direction of Felix’ house. It was easy to remember where the guy lived because it was one of the nicer houses on the edge of town. Dean managed to type out a reply as he sat impatiently at a red light when he was about halfway there.

To Felix: Your dad would be cool with you going where ever at this time of night?

Felix’ reply came just as Dean brought his car to a stop in front of Felix’ house. The lights all seemed to be off and there didn’t appear to be a car in the driveway. Honestly, it didn’t look like anyone was home. Dean started to wonder if maybe he had remembered wrong, things did tend to look different during the day after all. Before deciding to abort the whole idea he read the message from Felix.

From Felix: He would have to be home to notice.

To Felix: Cool, ‘cause I may be outside

He got no response to his message which just made him positive that he had the wrong house. He started looking around at the other houses curiously. There were only a few other houses in the area and Dean was 100% positive that it had to be one of them, it just had to be.

There was a rapid tap on his car window Dean almost jumped out of his skin. Turning toward the passenger side of the car Dean found that Felix was standing there grinning at him. He rolled down the passenger side window and exclaimed: “Dude, you just scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry,” Felix offered sincerely his grin turned into a genuine smile. “You may my absolute favorite person right now.”

Alright, so it wasn’t like Dean was into guys or anything but he seriously didn’t get how Felix didn’t have all the girls at school just hanging off him he was so good looking. He had dark hair that seemed to bring out his eyes where were just this really cool hazel color that seemed to look different depending on the lighting. He played soccer so he had a nice body without looking overly muscley. He definitely wasn’t from the south, you could tell just by looking at him, and Dean wasn’t sure why that was but it made him seem almost exotic.

Felix could totally pull off that hipster/preppy style that was the current trend but instead seemed to favor something more basic style. As he leaned against the door of Dean’s car basic meant a plain white t-shirt and dark sweatpants.

“I can’t say my motives aren’t at least partially selfish,” Dean informed casually. He had no intentions of giving Felix specifics about his dysfunctional home life, he didn’t need the guy’s pity. “Do you want to hang out?”

“Yeah,” Felix replied with a shrug.

“Then get in already,” Dean instructed with a wave of his hand like he was gesturing for the guy to hurry up.

To be continued......Maybe

[ghozt1ng-blog]

Mysteries of the Q Files

Chapter 10: On the Case!

“They are both going to stay with us,” Agent Conturbatio said. “It only makes sense. This way we can cover extra ground! Naomi and Patrick will interview the kids here, because it’s clear the students are more likely to talk to them, and we will handle the adults in this town as well as the other evidence.“

Agent Brown groaned and steered the Sphinx out of the room for a chat. Agent Miles rolled her eyes and got onto her phone to start talking with some labs.

“We’ll have this case solved before those labs even get started with what she’s sending them,” Naomi whispered to Trick.

“That’s the spirit Naomi! Keep following my plan and we’ve got this in the bag.”

“No Trick, my investigations will lead us to closing out this case. We just need to get back to-”

A shouting match ensued outside the door. Actually, it was more like Susan Brown ranting and sounding like she was about to tear off the Sphinx’s head. Trick winced at that. He barely managed to survive his mother in this kind of state. He doubted Conturbatio would.

“Look Naomi, at all costs, we need to get out of here and go to a place called Camille’s Cafe. But before that we need to make it to an appointment I set up through Rachel. Shannon Ramirez will be meeting up with some people at this hipster burger joint later - totally weird, I know, and it’ll go out of business soon anyway - the point is, that after everything that has happened today, we can use this opportunity to get more information!”

Naomi rolled her eyes slowly at Trick. “Aren’t you the least bit tired?”

“Of course not,” Trick said affronted. “After everything that has happened, what with Carly getting kidnapped right under our noses, not getting killed by my mom, and setting up this interview I’m totally stoked!”

Naomi patted him on the shoulder. “You poor thing, you misunderstand me. How can you still enjoy all of this gossip and social… Crap! I mean, it’s totally pathetic. You know that right?”

“It’s the game, Naomi. The greatest game we could play. It was boring before all of this, but now that we have this crazy case to spice things up, I haven’t felt this excited in years!” Naomi raised an eyebrow. “Okay, not for years…. Maybe for a year. You’re a killjoy, you know that?”

“I’m only trying to stop you from running away with yourself, though that might do your parents a huge favor,” she said dryly.

“Ha.. Ha… Speaking of running away, we might just have to do that if the argument at the door doesn’t go in our favor,” Trick said. “Agent Miles is distracted enough. Time to start planning an emergency escape route if we need it.”

“She may be a spaz at times, Trick, but I don’t think she’ll just roll over and let us walk out,” Naomi reminded him.

Right as she said this the Sphinx came through the door with Susan right behind him. Both Trick and Naomi had been so intent in their whispered conversation that they completely miss the resolution of the shouting match. Conturbatio gave them both a smile.

“It is settled. We need you two to go and talk to the other teens around here. They open up to you, and their information might be valuable.”

“I still have reservations about letting them loose with a monster running around and nabbing people, specifically teens,” Trick’s mom said tersely.

“I understand, but they will not be around long. Patrick, Naomi, I have called in to have flights booked for you both to go back home before the weekend is over. Sunday morning, you’ll be back in Virginia where your parents will get you.”

“Your dad is furious by the way,” Agent Brown said, eyeing her son.

“He wouldn’t have noticed if-” Trick began, but he cut off as his mother drew a line across her throat.

“The labs will soon have everything we collected at the scenes of the werewolf attacks,” Agent Miles cut in.

Naomi rounded on the other agent and said, “How many times do I have tell you people-”

“I think what you’re going for is Lycan,” Trick started and then she turned on him, giving him a look like his mother’s.

The Sphinx raised a hand and said diplomatically, “How about we all just call it the wolf until we actually have the perpetrator in custody? This way I think everyone wins.”

Everyone just grumbled in response. Agent Conturbatio continued to smile as he sat himself down at a desk and drew out papers from a briefcase. He laid them out before him and then turned to the group.

“I got Naomi’s mother to actually send me some of my files on special wolf attacks,” he explained. “She’s amazing and proficient.”

Naomi smiled slightly at the compliment to her mother, but then adopted a more neutral face. The Sphinx chuckled again and then held up one particular picture.

“This was taken just outside of a reservation in Montana. You can see that this poor fellow, one Bartholomew Singing Crow, had an entire arm torn off and most of his face bitten off. The only way he could be identified was that he had his wallet and id on him when he was attacked. Some tribes believe in creatures known as skinwalkers, particularly the Navajo. These are beings that look to be human until they take on animal form.”

He put that picture down and then pulled up a paper. “Here is a police report of what eyewitnesses claim to be a towering human being with a wolf’s head. It picked up a biker and started mauling him. Luckily, the man’s buddies were armed and drove it off with bullets. Independent and state researchers were unable to conclude what it was and chalked the whole incident up to the men hallucinating from the drugs they had consumed at the bar that night along with their beers. However, a source of mine all but confirmed that what it was that had attacked them was a demigod of Egyptian origins. The men had some interesting tattoos on their necks that looked like ancient symbols.”

Everyone was now exchanging confused looks as Conturbatio then held up the last set of papers with a blurry picture printed on one of them. It was of some snarling creature.

“This was taken at the New York-Canadian border three years ago. Some animal had been getting into people’s trash and causing a real mess. One man went out with a baseball bat and his wife said that something the size of a bear mauled her husband. A few boys back from college happened to be driving by and saw what was happening. They rushed the beast. One of them managed to get a short video. This is the clearest image of what they saw. They said it was the size of a bear, but it had the body of a wolf. There are no theories as to how such a thing could have come into being, except that it might be a prehistoric animal that recently woke up due to Global Warming and is now on the loose again.

“To date, these are all unsolved mysteries that have been stuffed into the Q Files and we have been able to secure the funding necessary to pursue them further than what you see here and some personal notes of my own.”

There was an eery silence in the room for a moment and then Naomi asked bluntly, “What does any of that have to do with what is going on right now?”

“We have to examine all possibilities,” the Sphinx said, shuffling everything back together. “We could be dealing with a Native legend, a demigod that has specific cause against these girls, or it could be a monster that just happened to be in the right place at that right time. Any number of things, really.”

“Or it could be someone close to Samantha and Carly,” Trick said.

“And there, I am inclined to agree with you, which is why you both are still here and not on a bus out of town,” Conturbatio finished.

“Which reminds me, we have somewhere we need to be,” Trick said, jumping to his feet and dragging a reluctant Naomi along. “We need a ride to Billy Bub’s Burgers.” Does every establishment in this town have to sound like it comes out of Harry Potter? “We need to meet with Shannon there and ask her some questions.”

“And before that, we need to get some silver,” Naomi reminded everyone. “You know? Just in case she happens to be the li-”

“Wolf,” Miles snapped.

There was a short pause in which the room was quiet for a few moments.

“Wolf,” Naomi finally said with a huff.

Dark clouds were closing in with the promise of rain and the sun was going down as the agents went their separate ways with Naomi and Trick. After going to the town’s dinky second hand shop where they picked up some silver knives for the team, Trick’s mother brought him and Naomi to the hipster restaurant. Trick could tell at first glance that it was just trying too hard. Burgers and hipsters hardly ever mixed. Hanging out under at an outside table and under an umbrella was a group of teens, mostly Hispanic. Trick easily picked out Shannon: she was the girl with too much makeup. It was obvious that she went to impress everywhere she went, hence her being a contender for the famous Billy. Still, it was polite to ask.

“Hi there! I’m Trick and this is Naomi, we’re looking for Shannon,” he introduced them as his mother drove off.

The group gave them odd looks and watched the car leave with an air of suspicion. Finally, the heavily made up girl half way raised her hand, as though she was bored with this, and declared herself out of necessity. Spot on! Honestly though, she should drop out of the running for Billy. That face would be a lot prettier if she didn’t wear enough foundation to support a cathedral. Trick lead Naomi closer to the table. Shannon realized that her acting uninterested wasn’t going to shake them so she finally addressed them.

“What do you two want?”

She had an airy voice that immediately bugged the snot out of the two sleuths. Trick did a better job of hiding his face than Naomi. He plastered a grin on and went for it.

“I was having a chat with a mutual friend, and they said I could come here and find you.”

“Oh, and what friend might that be,” she asked, eyeing them skeptically.

Trick realized it was best not to mention Rachel, so he threw someone else under the bus. Sorry about this Eustace. “Eustace told me. And believe me it is important. It’s about what happened today.”

The looks he got from the group told many stories. Two guys tried to look bored, but they could not hide their eyes from widening with anticipation. They wanted to know what the fresh gossip was. One girl look excited. Another looked very scared. Shannon, the last girl and a guy who was sitting too close to her, looked annoyed and even angry.

“So one of those wimps has been following you! We can have a go at them and teach them a lesson during the party,” the boy snarled. Naomi gave him a startled expression, but said nothing. “I didn’t think it would be that little-”

“I think we might have to remind all of the little, unpopular brown nosers why they are where they are,” Shannon said, overriding the boy. She then repositioned herself a few inches from him; he followed right after her. “Apparently the message didn’t sink in the last time.”

Aha! So there had been something done to the kids considered unpopular by these people. Trick would have to find out what it was and who the victims had been. It would probably shake up his suspicions that he right now harbored. Now he had to consider Shannon, which might mean solving the case would take longer.

“Or did Eustace send you here to confirm that Shannon is really here before scooping her up as well,” the angry girl demanded. “Nerds and losers working together to try and knock us off?”

“If that was what we were doing, would we really tell you?” Naomi returned the glare, and the girl actually shrunk back.

“No! No! This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Trick said hotly. “I have no interest in attacking any of you. I’m here to help solve the case, and I was hoping you might be able to help out.” He stepped under the umbrella. “And I have information to trade with. Like I can confirm that it was Carly Wilson who was attacked today.”

Shannon was not as dumb as her makeup might have suggested. She blanched with the realization for what that might mean.

“B-But Eustace is not the kind of guy who would like Carly,” another girl said.

“I already interrogated Eustace,” Trick waved an impatient hand. “I can assure you that he isn’t the attacker. No, we’re looking for someone else. Someone who is close to you all. And from the way Shannon looks, I think I am right.”

“Right about what,” Shannon asked hurriedly.

The boys now all got to their feet as though expecting a fight. Muscle bound morons, Trick thought with exasperation.

“Just what I said, the attacker is someone close to you girls. I think it might be someone interested in Billy Holmes and wants to remove the competition, or maybe they want him to not have any girlfriends. Who knows? But I need to know everything you know about which girls are after Billy. Starting with those who aren’t already kidnapped,” Trick said quickly.

Was that drops of rain on the umbrella already? He needed to hurry before they broke for cover and the conversation swerved away from where he wanted it, if they didn’t outright bolt and go home. There was no place to sit, so he and Naomi remained standing. Customarily, Naomi kept her thoughts to herself and her words short.

“Look, I know that Lotty is also after him, and then there might be Tara, but that’s not confirmed is it? I thought she and Jason were still a thing?” First I’ve heard of her, Trick thought. “But then there’s like a dozen wishful thinkers after him.”

“And what makes you more than that,” Naomi asked sourly.

Shannon made a deal of accentuating her chest and her low cut shirt while blinking slowly at the other girl. “I am very noticeable, and unlike most girls, I have multiple classes with Billy and actually know him.”

The boy too close to Shannon looked upset by her words. He knew he was fighting a losing battle, but still persisted for some dumb romantic reason or another. Trick honestly had very little sympathy for him. Even less after the way he looked at him and Naomi.

“Then if you are so close to him, why were you not the first attacked,” Trick asked.

One boy got up close to Trick and breathed in his face. “What makes you think that you can just come here and-”

Whatever else the guy was going to say was lost in a sudden yelp that turned into a scream. A strong and pale hand shot out from above the umbrella and yanked the jerk into the air. Everyone started shouting and screaming all at once. Trick and Naomi jumped back. Crouching on the umbrella as though he weighed nothing was a vampire in black historical Victorian clothing. Trick fumbled with his phone, but Naomi was faster. She shot a couple of picture before the vampire hisses at them. In a swirl of black fabric the vampire rocketed into the air and took the screaming jerkwad with him.

The other teens were hysterical and they ran away in different directions, Their food was left on the table, undisturbed. Naomi walked up and helped herself to some fries.

“You should call your mom,” she told Trick around a mouthful of fries. “She and the others need to get here quick.”

“Yeah… I’ll do that,” Trick answered slowly. “And I think I need to revise my theory on what is happening here.”

He saw Naomi continuing to help herself to the leftovers as the screams faded in the background. He shrugged his shoulders and joined her before calling the agents. When he finally called his mother the clouds burst. Yes, his theories definitely needed some revision.