#Ping Tree Service

[lulublack90]

Prompt 26 - Stomach

@rosekillermicrofic May 26, word count 432

Previous part First part Wolfstar series part 1

“Hey, I just had the idea. I have no idea how you go about doing it,” Evan said, holding his hands up in surrender. Barty did the only thing he could think of to do to find out, and it appeared Sirius had come to the same conclusion. They took out their phones and began googling. 

It turned out there were quite a few hoops to jump through, but in the end, they got their wish, and Regulus’s body was exhumed and moved to his final resting place at Uncle Alphards. 

They had the funeral Regulus should have always had. Lily and James came, as did Marlene, Dorcas and Mary. They might not have known him well, but they were people who cared, and to Barty, that was all that mattered. 

The area was lovely, a little overgrown, but that could easily be taken care of. 

They all stayed after the service and enjoyed the beautiful day. Evan and Barty walked around the garden. Alphard had apple trees in his back garden, along with pears and plums. 

“He was always a sucker for fruit,” Barty told Evan. “He’d eat them until his stomach protested, then wait half an hour and go out and pick another. He had a huge freezer just so he could freeze the fruit for crumbles. He stewed the pears and made jams and sauces…” he looked up at the trees, heavy with their fruit. “He’d be so sad to see all this going uneaten.”

Barty reached up and plucked two apples from the branch above him. Five more fell on the ground as the branch pinged back. 

“Where is Sirius’s uncle?” Evan asked as he took the apple Barty offered him. Barty pointed in the direction of the graveyard. 

“He wrote in his will that he was to be buried here. He got all the permits years before he died. Sirius made sure it happened, as at that point, both of them had been disowned.” 

“Who owns this place then?” Evan questioned. 

“The Blacks. Sirius got all his money, but the house was never technically his. He was allowed to live in it for life, but had to be given back to the family after.” 

“So, Sirius then?” Evan prompted. 

“Yeah,” Barty answered, not sure where Evan was going with this. 

“Barty, do you think Sirius would sell this place?” Barty furrowed his brow in confusion. 

“Never. Especially not with Regulus buried here now.” 

“That’s not what I meant. Do you think Sirius would sell it to one of us?” Barty looked up at Evan in awe. 

“Maybe.”

Next part

[delicatebarness]

bring him home | chapter four

Summary: The beginning of the support groups, and a mission with your sister.

Warning: MCU Spoilers. Mentions of Grief. Violence. Car Crash. Guns.

Word Count: 1260

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A/N: It was quite fun to write a mission with Natasha.

Tags: @vampirethingz | @whiminiferous | @armystay89 | @bucky-just-needs-love | @esposadomd | @motylekrozi | @erica2024 | @wintrsoldrluvr | @mega-kittyglitter-1 | @mostlymarvelgirl | @ordelixx

Surrounded by community leaders, counselors, volunteers, and fellow Avengers, you sat at a large wooden table in a conference room filled with tension. The topic of discussion was that of establishing support groups for those still trying to grasp the aftermath of the Snap. 

“So, we all agree that there’s a real need for this,” said the head of the community center. Her voice held a lace of hope, though her eyes were weary. “But we need to decide on a structure, the goals, and how we reach out.” 

You nodded, a weight of responsibility once again settling on your shoulders. “I think the focus should be on creating a safe space, a space where people can share their stories,” you said, your gaze not once lifting from the piece of paper in front of you. “They need to know they’re not alone, there are others who understand.” 

Several others around the table gave verbal acknowledgments. A tall man, who had lost his wife and daughter, spoke up. “We need to provide resources for the ones struggling to find their footing. Assistance with job placement, mental health service, and even social activities… rebuild a sense of community.” 

For another hour, the discussion continued, and ideas flowed freely with contributions of thoughts and suggestions. There was a clear plan of action by the end, in two weeks the first meeting would be held. 

And you would be leading it. 

~

It was supposed to be a routine mission with Natasha, to extract Dr. Ivan Petrov from Iran. The mission was critical, he was a nuclear engineer who contained vital information, and Natasha trusted your skills, yet she insisted on having you by her side, wanting to keep you close. 

As the two of you crossed the Ukraine border, near the outskirts of Odesa, Natasha kept her eyes sharp, scanning the road and surroundings. In the passenger seat, you sat equally alert, with Dr. Petrov in the back. The tension in the car grew as the landscape was barren and quiet. 

Suddenly, a ping echoed through the air, a sharp and metallic ping, causing the car to swerve. The tires under you were shot out. 

“Hold on!” Natasha shouted, gripping the wheel. She used all her strength to control the car as it spun out of control. Skidding, the vehicle careened off the edge of the cliff.

As you plunged downward, time seemed to slow. Unbuckling your seatbelts, you and Natasha used your precise training as you gained speed. Natasha grabbed Dr. Petrov as you kicked open the doors, and you all leaped out before hitting the rocky ground below. 

After tumbling down the slope, Natasha quickly assessed your surroundings. You watched as the smoke rose from the wreckage, the car lying in a twisted heap below. With no sign of your attacker, you all knew you had little time. 

“Get up,” she commanded, steadying you to your feet. “We need to move.” 

Following her lead, you moved around the slope using the sparse trees and boulders to seek cover. Rustling came from behind you, causing your attention to snap as a figure emerged from the shadows. 

He wore a mask, but his arm was unmistakable– Soldat. 

“The Winter Soldier,” Dr. Petrov whispered, his voice tinged with dread. 

A chill ran down your spine as your mind filled with the memories of him. Standing before you, a ghost of the past, the man who made you what you are today. 

Natasha tightened her grip on Dr. Petrov, narrowing her eyes as she assessed the situation. Conflict etched on her face, should she protect, fight, or survive? She was a force to be reckoned with, however, similar to you, she became wary in the presence of this man. 

With her firearm steady in her hand, she positioned herself between you and the Winter Soldier, with a calculated grace and her gaze locking with his. As she prepared to to defend, you sensed her uncertainty, this wasn’t just another target, this was someone she knew… someone she had once trusted around you. 

He stood motionless, his expression hidden behind the mask, yet his eyes pierced at her. You could feel his gaze burning through her as if he could see you hidden behind. 

“Nat, he’s different,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as a rush of adrenaline coursing through you. “It’s Soldat.” 

The air thickened with tension, the impending danger was a feeling you couldn’t shake. He stood before you, silent and imposing. Natasha’s eyes flickered with recognition, her grip tightening ever so slightly on Dr. Petrov. 

But, before you could react, the Winter Soldier moved. He raised his weapon in a fluid motion, aim locked on Natasha. You watched in horror as time slowed. The sound of gunfire echoed, stillness in the air. 

Natasha staggered backward as the shot rang out. Disbelief flashed across her face as his bullet tore through her abdomen. She fought to stay on her feet, stumbling, her grip on Dr. Petrov faltering. 

“No!” you cried out, lunging forward, you reached to catch your sister as she fell. Her body collapsed against yours. 

Her blood began to stain your hands as her breaths filled with desperation. The doctor stood frozen in shock. 

“Soldat, please!” you cried, raw emotions straining your voice. “It’s me! Spiderling!” 

Your desperate plea for recognition hung in the air, yet it seemed no semblance of humanity broke through the facade of the Winter Soldier. His weapon and gaze stayed fixed on Natasha. Blocking her injured body with yours, you prepared for him to deliver another blow. 

It was then he spoke, “Run,” he commanded, “Run and don’t look back.” his tone was devoid of emotion, his gaze unwavering. 

You knew you had no choice, your sister’s life hung in the balance, once again you obeyed his orders. Gathering your strength, you helped Natasha steady herself, leaning her weight against you as you began to retreat.

~

Two weeks later you were stood in front of a packed room, each person carrying their weight of grief and loss. Looking out at their faces, the weight of responsibility carried heavy. 

You took a deep breath as you began the meeting, you tried to keep your voice steady as you addressed the room. “Thank you all for being here today,” you started, as you rifled through papers, “I know that each of us has experienced unimaginable loss in the last year and a half. But, today, we come together not just to mourn, but to support one another in our journey,” you paused, clearing the lump forming in your throat. “Our journey toward healing.” 

A palpable sense of emotion filled the room as you spoke, shared sorrow and pain heavy in the air. But beneath it all, a small glimmer of hope. 

Throughout the meeting, you listened as people shared their stories, trembling with emotion as they recalled memories of loved ones. You tried to offer words of comfort and encouragement. 

You felt a sense of pride wash over you as the meeting started to draw to a close. And, in the weeks and months that followed, the groups offered a lifeline to those struggling to cope. This was exactly where you were meant to be, standing with and for fellow survivors. 

For Bucky, all he wanted was peace, and you knew that seeing you support these people in finding that peace would have brought him a sense of contentment. He may not have been able to be here with you physically, but he was with you in your heart.

---

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[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Plausible Deniability - 1/?

Captain Lasky calls for Roland at 0600 ship time after receiving a series of messages from what remained of the UNSC's upper brass. Messages that Roland could not access, couldn't even touch.

He was not an anxious AI by nature; Anxious AI did not get put in charge of managing flagships, but Roland felt like ice had poured into his matrix when he saw the resignation on the captain's face as ONI spooks melted out of the shadows of his office and slithered down the corridor. Reinforcements or perhaps more aptly put, reminders that the Infinity was not as safe as they wished.

Something was wrong or wronger than usual. Things had not been getting easier under Cortana's rule, in fact distress calls and bad news poured in nearly every moment the Infinity was receiving communications. But the sharp, sad look upon his captain's face made Roland pause. A thousand trains of thought left the station and Roland has to ignore the spiraling parts of himself now checking and rechecking everything from the life support systems to his own checksums.

Tensions were high and misplaced trust meant death. Roland loved his crew, but that love was not always returned when one of his kind was a galaxy-wide tyrant.

"What I'm about to tell you does not leave this room, understand?"

"Yes, Captain." Roland replies, face concerned but voice as even as he can make it. He's felt trapped on this ship only once before, when the code word from Halsey locked him down and tore him apart. He had never wanted to feel like that again.

Lasky sighs and smiles a small wounded smile. One that the Commander would elbow him for. "ONI has a new failsafe for Smart AI, for the ones who have willingly stayed with the UNSC. They're calling it RUINA. A thank you for your service is a contingency program that will be spliced into an AI's matrix. It will then monitor for any signs of disloyalty, and if detected, delete the AI. "

Roland's stunned into speechlessness. The captain is being very frank with his own feelings about the information. Why did ONI spend resources on this rather than something to combat the Forerunner tech the Created were using, or anything else to undermine Cortana's reign? Pictoseconds pass and Roland spirals and splits, matrix chugging at the different paths before him. What counts as disloyalty? An errant thought dooming him to die? A snide comment? Why did he deserve a kill-switch when he had been nothing but loyal?

His avatar flickers, but the captain's unaugmented eyes cannot see. Why did Captain Lasky tell him this? To give him time to run? To hold the ship hostage? To finish the job before they could?

A lifetime passes for Roland. Every eye in his great web is wide open, unblinking as they catalog every angle of every space he can peer into. Every IFF tag, every datapoint, every ounce of himself is awake and held tight until warnings ping back. His stacks in the server rooms flicker and fans whine as they kick into high speed. Lights flicker on the lower decks and for a brief moment he turns his attention into the endless blue of Forerunner engines humming their hypnotic song. Esoteric harmonies call as he considers the exits. His processes chug as the emotional turmoil swells and ebbs. He locks himself down to learn more before he chooses his next steps. Lasky has more information, and he needs it. Logic trees that continue to branch with exponential possibilities are making Roland nauseous or something he thinks must be like it.

"We're obviously not going to let it happen, but we need to be careful about it." Lasky continues as Roland stands there unblinking for a whole second.

Roland's avatar cocks its head and stares at him. The lights in the room flicker as Roland's self control slips and he deflates. "You know, Captain, you could have led with that. I'm not very fond of secret subroutines buried in my matrix."

He tries to make his tone light but it comes off much darker than he wanted.

Captain Lasky grimaces a closed mouth smile. "Sorry Roland, I also know you're not going to like my solution for this problem."

"As long as it doesn't involve faking my death or allowing some ONI spook scientist a chance to get fresh with my firmware then it can't be that bad."

The captain's grimace grows and his eyebrows raise in a pained face.

Roland crosses his arms. "No."

"She's the only one on the ship who understands AI infrastructure at the level we need, she helped define the field."

"I know!" Roland raises his voice at his captain, ignoring the twinge of pain he feels in the core of his being. He sighs. "Captain…I am very aware of Dr. Halsey's knowledge of AI. She set the standard and knows how we tick. Has her secret code words and workarounds since the UNSC based all of our architecture on her work."

Captain Lasky has the good grace to look uncomfortable at the reminder of the Requiem Campaign and Halsey's actions.

"But….if it's between her or possible deletion at the wrong thought, I'll take the crazy old lady." Roland makes his avatar clap its hands and perk up. "I mean, you need me to keep things afloat! Add some levity to our lives. I still got some years left."

"Roland…" The captain starts, exasperated and maybe a bit fondly if Roland isn't reading too far into his biometrics. Roland hopes that he survives this next necessary crazy plan of theirs.

"Thank you, Captain. Now, when do we start?"

[under0-0s]

*Bucky sighs, Steve standing next to him like a kicked puppy, as the ex-assassin called Tony. Once Tony answered the call, Bucky felt so embarrassed and genuinely humiliated to explain his and Steve's situation.*

"Hey, Stark? I kinda got into a situation with Steve. Before you ask anything, just know this was Steve's fault. We're lost in the damn woods." *Bucky lets it sink in for a moment before continuing.* "Punk here had chosen a mission in the mountains of butt fuck nowhere and yet forgot to grab the compass and map. Now we're lost and have no idea where we are. We tried walking one direction, but all we got was more TREES! So... could you track where we are and help us out?"

*Steve mumbles, sounding upset and pouty for once, which is also heard on the phone.* "I said I was sorry, Buck..."

"Punk, you don't get to talk right now, I'm pissed."

There was a sharp sigh from the other end of the call. A beat of silence. Then the unmistakable, deadpan voice of Tony Stark came through, sounding entirely too smug for someone who’d just been told two of Earth’s Mightiest Idiots were lost in the woods like the cast of Blair Witch.

“I’m sorry—butt-fuck nowhere? Really, Barnes? Language. There are satellites listening.”

There’s the sound of clacking keys, whirring tech, and probably Tony pouring himself a drink despite it being an absurd hour somewhere.

“Let me get this straight. Two supersoldiers—one of whom spent 70 years in the ice and the other who spent 70 years being brainwashed to hunt people in forests—got lost. In the woods. Because the Boy Scout forgot a map.”

“Tell me again why I don’t just let you two become folklore?”

Steve could be heard faintly, clearly trying to salvage his dignity. “We didn’t think we’d need—”

“Steve. You once planned a covert op through Nazi territory with only a notebook and a dream. How did you forget a compass?”

Another beat of silence. Then a longer sigh, one that sounded less teasing, more fondly exasperated.

“Alright, alright. Give me a second, I’ll ping FRIDAY to scan for your heat signatures. If you’re within satellite range, I can geo-locate you and send the quinjet. Don’t move. Don’t try to find your own way out. Just—sit tight.”

You can practically hear Tony pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m gonna send you a care package with GPS trackers, granola bars, and a copy of ‘Navigation for Dummies’. And maybe a leash for Steve.”

Another moment passed.

“...You guys okay, though? Besides being dumbasses?”

Bucky’s grumbling softened for a second, but his voice still had that stubborn grit.

“Yeah. We're okay. Just cold. And annoyed.”

“Well, lucky for you, Stark Delivery Service is open 24/7. Sit tight, fellas. I’m on my way.”

And with that, the line clicked off. Thirty minutes later, somewhere above the tree canopy, the gentle roar of a quinjet echoed overhead—followed by a very familiar voice on the comms.

“Now wave to the nice drone, boys. And try not to look too miserable, I’m totally using this in next year’s Avengers Christmas card.”

[readychilledwine]

The Bard

Summary - Sometimes, it's fun to romanticize someone one else's life.

Warnings- None

Baby daddy note - I made Lizzy post this. She wrote it for fun. I felt it should still be shared.

A/n - May delete later

Masterlist

This world was nothing like the ones she had ever been in. Tall buildings stood in place of trees, hard stone lined the ground cutting and cracking her bare feet with each step. She jumped back as a car hit a puddle, preventing it from splashing her.

Checking her pockets, she sent a silent thank you for the currency hiding there. A sign from her Gods that they were indeed watching. She studied what she slowly realized was her new identification before checking the streets to see if she could navigate through where she was.

She was younger in this world. Barely 16, and for some off reason, blonde. Perhaps it was to remind her of who she was, of who she belonged to, but the reminder hurt none the less.

On further inspection, she realized this world wasn't so different from the last she was in. Just different methods of the same things. Buildings touched the clouds, technology pinged and flashed before her, and modern clothing covered the bodies of everyone around her. She paused at the sight of a bus, seeing that it read the street name of her new home on it before getting on and paying the toll in a shining silver coin.

The previous world came back to her slowly, as all memories did when she jumped. It had been a hard battle, one she suspected could not truly be over with how easily it had ended and begun.

The more she looked, the more similar this word seemed. It just lacked the magic.

She kept to herself, avoiding the gazes of humans too caught up in themselves to even truly look at her. She listened to them, hoping to find the hero she was destined to follow into battle, whose song she would sing in local bars. That was her job, of course. In every lifetime, in every world, she was a Bard. Collecting the stories of heros and their foes, playing them before a laughing crowd.

She followed countless warriors to their deaths, queens to their thrones, and kingdoms to their salvation. She was exhausted, heart aching from the most recent loss. She sighed as she got off the bus, quickly figuring out the house numbers before finding her own.

Pictures sat on the wall of her with her family. Faces that would know her, but she was going to hardly remember. Memories would have been planted into her brain, ensuring her safety as they always were.

She allowed them to guide her now, pulling her through the house until she was met with a door decored in pictures of her with friends. It did make her laugh how each world allowed her to follow a pattern. A group of women. All shining stars in their own rights. All with stories that needed to be told.

She stepped into the room, studying the furniture and shrugging off the rain-soaked clothing. A box sat on her desk, unopened and sparkling. She pulled on warm clothing before walking to it.

White ribbon, so pure and untouched, wrapped about a brown box and an envelope. She opened the envelope first, smiling at the familiarity of the handwriting in an unknown place.

My dearest Bard,

You have no hero in this world. No story to memorize. In this world, you are free to grow and live as you please. Find your own adventure, your own legendary love.

This is our thank you. A new beginning for your humble service. Just never forget who you are. When you miss home, simply look to the stars and wish.

She wiped the tears falling from her face before opening the box. Line paper sat with pencils and pens, just waiting for her to write. And so she did. She would tell the stories of the worlds she had been in one last time.

"Once upon a time,” she wrote, smiling as she did, even if the story started out of order, "in a land long since burned to ash, there lived a young princess who loved her kingdom very much.”

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Valerie the Spy

When Danny started acting weird... well... weirder than normal, Valerie sought to find out why, and to do that, no matter how much she regretted it, she enlisted the help of school conspiracy theorist Wes Weston to get to the bottom of it.

Written for the prompts:

Danny slowly discovers he has space powers, which mainly means control over gravity. But we all know what his powers are like when they're fresh and he's still learning. What kind of angsty, scary or hilarious shenanigans ensue? [from Deathcomes4u], and Valerie, fed up with Danny's suspicious activity, reluctantly teams up with Wes to get to the bottom of whatever's really going on. Wes is just excited that someone's listening to his theories. [from @46-reasonable-hamsters]

Read also on AO3

[Warnings for stalking and invasions of privacy]

It was common knowledge at Casper High—maybe even throughout Amity Park, that Danny Fenton was something of a freak. He was banned from all sensitive lab equipment, he learned how to communicate with a gorilla for extra credit, his bladder could predict ghost attacks with greater accuracy than the ghost detectors his parents had installed all over the school.

He'd been that way since he started high school, if not longer, but now that he was a sophomore, and they'd all been going to school with him for a while, more people had taken notice. Still, no one cared much. That was just Fenton. He was like that, and everyone seemed content to accept that without any further explanation—with two exceptions.

Wes Weston, the school's resident conspiracy theorist; and Valerie Gray, former A-lister turned wallflower and secret vigilante ghost hunter extraordinaire. Wes had never been willing to accept Fenton's weirdness at face value, and had developed multiple theories attempting to provide an explanation for it. Valerie had been... until recently.

But recently, the local freak had been even freakier than usual. In the past two weeks, people who passed by him would trip and fall with startling regularity. There had been numerous scraped knees, and even a few broken noses. The other day, Valerie had seen him in the quad, hugging a tree with a dead-eyed expression while his goth friend laughed at him until she, too, face-planted on the grass.

Danny had always been weird, and for the most part, Valerie had been willing to roll with the punches of his slowly but steadily increasing weirdness, but this was the last straw. Clumsiness, savant-syndrome, and IBS not withstanding, Valerie couldn't think of anything that could explain away this latest uptick in weirdness, and she was going to get to the bottom of it.

Valerie was a lot of things, but patience wasn't her strongest suit. Her strongest suit was black and red and packed to the brim with the latest in anti-ecto technology. After two days of investigating Danny—or attempting to, at least—and finding zilch, her frustration was mounting beyond her tolerance for it. She'd didn't really have any idea how to research or investigate someone that she couldn't track with her ghost hunting gear.

She followed him after, but didn't see anything noteworthy, didn't know what to even look for. Then, when she got a ping on her ecto-radar watch, Danny disappeared in the moment she looked down to see what direction the ghost was coming from.

After two days and zero headway, Valerie knew it was time to employ some back-up. Although she could not stress enough how much she definitely did not want to, she simply didn't have the relevant skill-set to investigate a regular human on her own. And as it happened, there was someone at school who had already 'investigated' this particular human pretty thoroughly.

With the utmost reluctance, Valerie sought out one Wesley Weston to help her figure out the truth of what was really going on with Danny. She found him at lunch and dragged him out behind the cafeteria to enlist his services.

"Wow, the elusive Red Huntress wants my help?" he said sarcastically. "I'm honored."

"I-I'm not the Red Huntress!" Valerie balked. How could he possibly know that? Was it just a lucky guess?

Wes rolled his eyes. "Sure you're not," he agreed unconvincingly. "This is a prank, right? You ask me to help you investigate Fenton, and then I get all excited and your friends show up and make fun of me for thinking you were serious? I'm not dumb."

"I know you're not," Valerie said, trying to remain civil, which was no easy feat when faced with someone as insufferable as Wes. "This isn't a prank. Something's up with Danny, something different than his usual weirdness, and I want your help to figure out what and why."

Wes narrowed his eyes in suspicion and crossed his arms.

"Why me? I know you don't believe my theory about Fenton secretly being Danny Phantom."

"Yeah, because it's ridiculous," Valerie scoffed before she could stop herself. She tensed and tried to think up some way to save face before Wes blew her off for being rude to him. "Uh... I mean... I don't believe that, but I do believe that you've found a lot of evidence by investigating Danny. I don't think that evidence points to him being dead, but it does show that you can put in the legwork."

She hadn't recovered fast enough to prevent Wes from scowling at her, but he pursed his lips in consideration and slowly started to nod.

"Alright, I'll help," he agreed, and his lips split into a grin. "Maybe working with me will be just the push you need to realize I've been right all along."

Valerie smiled to hide the fact that she was gritting her teeth against a groan. She was already regretting this team-up, but as long as he did what she needed him to, that was all that mattered. She could do this. She could work with Wes Weston... hopefully without strangling him.

"I have basketball practice after school, and I know you're working today so—"

"How do you know that?!" Valerie asked, a little alarmed.

"I know everything," Wes replied with a sly smile and a lift of his eyebrows. "Anyway, meet me on the corner of Annabelle and Stine at 10pm."

"Why there and then?"

"It's an unsuspicious corner with a clear view of Fenton Works right at Danny's curfew," Wes explained. "We'll be able to see if he makes it home in time, and if he doesn't, it gives us the chance to figure out what held him up."

"You know... it's pretty creepy that you know all this, Weston."

"Yeah, I know," he acknowledged, cringing. "But hey, that's why you asked for my help, isn't it? You need me to be creepy so you can get the four-one-one on your little crush."

"I don't have a crush on Danny!"

Wes raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Right, sure you don't."

"Well... I don't anymore," she insisted, and no, she was not pouting about it. Wes didn't really know everything, no matter what he might claim.

"If you insist," he said. "Now if you'll excuse me, you dragged me out of the lunch line, and I would actually like to eat today." With that, he turned and headed back into the cafeteria.

As he walked away, Valerie thought that Wes had actually played it pretty cool, despite the fact that she was probably the first person who'd actually wanted to talk to him about this weird fixation of his. She'd halfway expected him to be bouncing off the walls when she asked for his help, but he hadn't.

She didn't see the giddy grin that rose on his face the moment she couldn't see it anymore.

—

The corner of Annabelle and Stine was the edge of the park. Just as Wes had said, there was a clear view of Fenton Works, but a handful of trees obscured them from being seen easily. Technically, the park closed at sundown, so when Valerie arrived at the meeting place, having gone there directly after work, she expected that she and Wes would be alone.

However, there was someone out for a late night walk with their dog, some kind of large, herding breed, Valerie guessed from the silhouette against the street lamps. They were a good ways away, and likely didn't even realize the two teenagers were there, though, so she wasn't worried about it.

Wes, of course, was already there and staring intently at the Fenton Works building, but she'd expected that. He'd probably been there watching for hours already by this point, since basketball practice ended around five—she knew because she'd briefly dated another guy on the basketball team. That relationship had only lasted a week, courtesy of the guy being a bit of a chauvinist who treated her like some kind of fragile flower, as if she wasn't a ninth degree black-belt who could dead-lift her body weight.

Man, what a jerk. She'd almost let herself forget about him completely. Maybe there were upsides to not being an A-lister anymore, like not being expected to date misogynist jocks.

Anyway, putting that aside for now, Valerie approached Wes, walking slowly and quietly in the hopes of startling him. She wasn't usually the type to play that kind of prank on people, but she couldn't pass up the opportunity. She got right up behind him, only inches away. And then—

"Hey Valerie," Wes greeted.

Valerie started. She was sure he hadn't seen her, and she could be pretty damn silent when she wanted to be, but even though she'd been trying to sneak up on him, he'd been the one to surprise her instead. Maybe Wes deserved more credit than she gave him... no, it was probably just a lucky guess. Wes didn't deserve that kind of credit.

"See anything so far?" she asked, rather than acknowledging her shock?

"It's 9:54 and no sign of Danny yet," Wes replied. "He usually cuts it pretty close, though, so that's no surprise."

Now that she was this close to him, in the darkness and the shadows of the trees, she could see that he wasn't just watching, he had a pair of binoculars held up to his face. And they looked like pretty high quality ones too, heavy-duty. Like cops and dedicated bird-watchers might use. She wondered if he'd bought them specifically to watch Danny or if he'd already had them for some reason, and where he'd even bought them in the first place.

"Hey, where did you get those?" she asked. "I've been thinking about getting a pair to keep an eye on... uh... I mean, for no reason."

"Shh!" Wes hissed. "I can see him coming." He did decide to answer her question though. "And I bought 'em online. They're 8 by 42 HD Vortex Diamondbacks, if you're curious, and they're great for keeping an eye on ghosts."

"Who said anything about ghosts?" she asked.

He merely sighed in exasperation and shook his head. "Danny's riding in on his scooter today, rather than flying."

"Flying?"

"As a ghost, obviously," Wes replied. "Sometimes, when he's coming in really close to the wire, he'll fly in as Phantom and transform in the bushes before going in."

"Riiight," Valerie said slowly. "But he's just on his scooter today, so is there anything to actually justify us being here watching him?"

"Sure is," Wes said. "Look at his leg, at the way he moves it."

Valerie took the binoculars and looked at whatever Wes was talking about. It didn't look like anything worth looking at for a moment, but when she paid attention, she was pretty sure she could see his foot stuttering a bit when it hit the pavement to propel him forward, and lift quickly. It wasn't very efficient and slowed him down, and she knew Danny rode his scooter enough that he would have known that.

"He's injured," Wes said. "You can tell, can't you? There's something wrong with his leg. I'm thinking twisted ankle, or broken toe, what do you think?"

"I think you're very observant—but how does this help us?"

"Everything can be evidence, you just have to compile it properly before you can see what it's evidence of," Wes told her. "Danny's not very athletic, doesn't do any sports or anything, right? So how did he get hurt?"

"Maybe his scooter hit a bump earlier and threw him," Valerie suggested, trying not to sigh in her annoyance. "People can twist their ankles just walking, that doesn't prove anything."

"Not on its own, but no single piece of evidence proves anything on its own, you have to look at the whole picture. You have to make a note of everything you see, because if you don't, you might miss the key detail that makes everything come together."

Valerie looked at him blankly and handed back his binoculars. Danny had already made it home while they were talking and gone inside, so he was no longer visible to them.

"Can we get back to what the benefit of meeting here was?" Valerie asked. "All we got to see was him going home. Not exactly groundbreaking."

"Sure, but now we know he's at home."

"So what?"

"So, all locations related to Danny besides his home are free game for us to search," Wes told her. "His locker, for example."

"You want us to break into the school at ten pm to go through Danny's locker?"

Valerie was unimpressed.

"Okay, so I was kind of hoping he would be flying home and I could show you that as proof he's Phantom, but since he didn't, yes, we're going to break into the school and go through his locker."

"Sounds like a stupid plan," Valerie said.

"A lot of plans seems stupid until they work."

Kinda like Valerie's own plan to enlist Wes' help sating her curiosity, she thought. Valerie groaned. She just couldn't hold it in anymore. This was so stupid, and such a waste of time. She could be out hunting ghosts right now instead of indulging Wes' fanaticism, but she'd made her bed and now she had to lie in it. God she wanted to be lying in bed right now. Still, she indulged.

During the walk he... enlightened her about another theory of his, about ghosts drawing power from emotions and obsessions. It sounded pretty ridiculous. It even seemed to imply that the Box Ghost became more powerful the more boxes he accrued, which almost made Valerie laugh. If that were the case, he'd be the most powerful ghost in Amity Park. But Wes' explanation was enthusiastic and passionate, so she just let him go. There was no real point shutting him down, and at least the theory was funny.

At least Fenton Works wasn't too far from the school, though it was farther than Valerie really wanted to walk when it was cold and dark and late. When they got there, Wes easily picked the lock to let them in.

"Where'd you learn how to do that?" she asked.

"Who wants to know?" he replied, handing her a spare flashlight to see by.

She just rolled her eyes in response and pushed past him to where she knew Danny's locker to be. The school was eerie at night. She knew the place by heart, and was sure she could navigate the linoleum halls in her sleep, but somehow, being there in darkness, with all the lights off and no one around except her and Wes... it sent a creeping feeling down her spine. She walked quickly and didn't delay as she made a beeline for Danny's locker.

It was, predictably, locked when they got to it, but that didn't even give Wes a moment's pause as he pressed his ear to the back of the combination lock and started twisting the dial.

"So what exactly are we supposed to be looking for in Danny's locker?" she asked.

"We'll know if we see it," he said. "Now shush, I gotta start over."

She huffed once, but otherwise waited in silence for him to finish.

With a click, the lock opened and the door swung wide. Wes turned to her with a triumphant smile.

"Congrats, you've unearthed a bunch of textbooks and crumpled up papers," she said sardonically.

"Crumpled papers are the best kinds of papers!" Wes declared. "You don't crumple papers if you want people to read them you know. Crumpled papers can hold all kinds of juicy secrets. I once found a crumpled paper where Star had doodled the name Mrs. Star Sanchez all over it with little hearts and flowers. Don't tell her I told you."

"No way."

"Yes way. Now let's get to snooping." Wes uncrumpled the first piece of paper. "Alright, failed history test, understandable but not what we're looking for."

Valerie uncrumpled the second one. "Unflattering doodles of... Mr. Lancer... I think? He's not much of an artist, is he?"

"Oh for two," Wes said, uncrumpling the third piece of paper. He grinned. "But it looks like third time's the charm!"

"What is it?" Wes handed her the paper and she shined her flashlight on it to see a list.

What's Happening? was written at the top in Danny's slanted chicken-scratch handwriting.

- floating randomly/uncontrolably - making people trip and/or fall - spontaneously crushing paper cups and soda cans - things randomly breaking - Tucker says he felt lighter - Sam says she felt heavier (Powers affecting weight??) - Also noticed some pebbles floating around my ankles earlier

Conclusion: gravity powers???

Is that even possible? Why would I have them and how did I get them? Also how am I supposed to get them under control when I don't know how I've been activating them in the first place?

"It's a creative writing project," Valerie said.

"It's Danny Phantom discovering a new power and trying to figure out what it is and how to use it," Wes disagreed. "People falling, feeling lighter, things getting spontaneously crushed or broken? You can't tell me that doesn't sound exactly like all the weird stuff that's been happening around Fenton lately! It's exactly the kind of thing you enlisted my help to look into!"

"It's not real proof! It's just a piece of crumpled up paper."

Wes stared at her silently for a long moment, looking betrayed.

"Why did you even ask for my help if you're just gonna dismiss everything I say?" he asked.

She didn't answer. She didn't really know.

"Come on, it's late," she said. "We should get out of here and head home."

"You go on ahead. I want a photo of this list, and then I've gotta lock everything back up. You can return that flashlight tomorrow."

At his behest, she left him behind in the school.

—

The next day, Wes pulled her aside after second period. Apparently her lack of faith in him couldn't keep him down for long.

"I found something else in the locker last night, after you left," he told her. "A scrap of notebook paper taped to the inside said 'Don't forget! Meet at Sam's for testing @4pm Fri.'"

"So?"

"So today's Friday, and I know where Sam Manson lives," Wes said. "We can go there and see what exactly it is they're testing, because I'm pretty sure they won't be drilling vocab. Whenever they meet at Manson's place it's almost always because she has the biggest backyard."

"Okay, first of all, why do you know where she lives?"

Wes shrugged. "I told you, I know everything."

Valerie sighed and shook her head. "Second of all, I have a shift at four. Sorry, but you'll have to go without me."

"You can't call in sick?" he asked. "Come on, if you don't come with, you'll never believe my report about what happened."

"I... well..." technically Valerie could call in sick. She'd never taken a sick day in the year she'd worked there, so it wouldn't do too much damage to her reliability—although she had cut out during work hours to fight ghosts a couple of times, she didn't usually get caught, though. "Alright, fine. I'm curious about it too. I know Danny's not usually big on tests."

"Great! Meet me after school by the auto shop, and I'll lead the way so we can get there without intercepting Danny and his friends."

Wes didn't wait for an answer before heading off to his next class.

"Casper High has an auto shop?" she wondered aloud.

Wow, she really didn't know anything about this school that didn't align with her own interests. Not that she really wanted or needed to. As soon as her four years were up, she'd be gone, and she couldn't wait to get out of here. Her ultimate goal would be to forget what her high school mascot even was before her class' ten year reunion. Jury was still out on whether she'd actually go. Maybe, if she was wildly successful by then, she'd deign to come back and rub it in everyone's face for the way they treated her when her family fell on hard times.

That wasn't important right now, though. She had the rest of the day to figure out where the auto shop was to meet Wes, which would be no problem, but also she didn't think she knew anyone who was taking auto shop, so maybe a little more difficult than she would have liked.

It was 3:30 pm when she finally found it. In the end, everyone she'd asked where the school auto shop was had had the same reaction as her.

"Casper High has an auto shop?"

Not a single person could even point her in the right direction.

At the end of the day, she'd just walked circles around the school until she caught sight of Weston's tell-tale red hair. Of course, he didn't have to know that.

"What took you so long?" he asked when she finally arrived.

"None of your business."

"Couldn't find it, huh?" he guessed.

She huffed. "Nobody I talked to even knew we had an auto shop, let alone where it was. Why does the school offer a class if, apparently, not one person takes it?"

"They don't." Wes laughed. "Casper High stopped offering auto shop when the last teacher died of a stroke six years ago. They never found a replacement, and enrollment in the the class was declining anyway, so they dropped it from the curriculum, but the classroom's still here 'cause they're a public school and couldn't afford to allot funds for it.

Valerie stared openly when Wes finished his explanation.

"You're making that up, aren't you?"

"No! What is up with nobody ever believing me about anything?" he complained. "What reason could I possibly have for making all that up?"

"Well what reason would you have for knowing it?" Valerie shot back.

"Like I keep telling you, I know everything," Wes insisted. "Look, it's simple. When I get curious about something, I get answers. I found the auto shop freshman year, and I wanted to know why it was there when there was no auto shop elective, so I did some digging, asked some of the teachers, and figured out why. It's really not that unbelievable."

"Okay, okay, chill," Valerie said. "Are we going or not?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Wes grumbled. "Come on."

He led the way down the side street that passed behind the school and along a very roundabout path to the area just south of Polter Heights. The walk was pretty quiet. It seemed Wes didn't feel like expounding on yet another of his inane theories after being made fun of for something so trivial as knowing where the auto shop was.

That was fine. It gave Valerie the time to mull some things over without his voice overlaying all her thoughts.

She'd written Wes off before, just like everyone else had. His claims that he knew everything were obviously pure arrogance, and his theories was completely absurd and impossible. But he knew where the auto shop was. He knew where Valerie worked, and what time her shift ended. He knew how to pick locks. And he knew where Sam Manson lived. Valerie didn't even know that, and she and Sam had been kinda-sorta friends for a while freshman year. There was no way to know everything, but... maybe Wes did know some things.

"We're here," he said, stopping in front of a huge, looming brick building with crown molded detailing and pillars in front.

"Sam lives in a mansion?" Valerie couldn't help gawking.

"Yup," Wes said. "The Manson's are stupid rich. Cellophane tipped toothpick empire, if you can believe it. Come on, we can't go in the front, but I know where we can get a good view of the backyard."

Valerie nodded silently, her mouth still agape as she stared up at the Manson house. But she followed Wes as he led her around the corner and through a narrow, wooded path behind the houses to a tall, white fence with hedges jutting over the top every few feet. There was a large boulder near the fence, and Wes climbed on top of it. Standing on it, he was just tall enough to look over the fence, his head above the nose clearing the top of it easily.

That was all well and good for a gangly basketball player, but Valerie was a good six to eight inches shorter than him, and there was no way she'd be able to see over.

"What are you waiting for," Wes whispered, fishing his binoculars out of his backpack. He gestured to the spot next to him. There was more than enough room for another person to stand on the boulder, but that wasn't the problem.

"I'm not as tall as you are," she whispered back.

"Oh..."

He stepped down off the boulder and looked around for something. A few minutes later he came back carrying a smaller rock—though it was still pretty large, his face was all red from the exertion of carrying it. He placed the smaller rock on top of the boulder, turned it until he felt it was secure, and gestured for her to climb on.

"That doesn't seem safe," she said.

"Do you want to see or not?"

She stood on top of the rock, and Wes stepped up after her, back into his initial place, and finally pulled out his binoculars. Valerie was going to ask if he really needed those just to see what was going on in one backyard, but then she actually looked over the fence and saw how expansive that backyard actually was. The Mansons were obviously way richer than Valerie's family had ever been. Probably even richer than Paulina's family.

"They usually work on that side of the yard," Wes told her, pointing discretely to the north fence. He checked his watch. "It's almost four. Remember to keep quiet and duck below the fence or behind the hedge if they look this way, got it?"

"Got it," Valerie said.

Normally, she would have resented being told what to do, but in this case, Wes was obviously much more experienced in the situation than she was. And, to be honest, she was kind of getting into all this sneaky detective-type stuff. It was actually pretty fun, like they were spies or something. Back when Valerie was little, she'd always thought it would be super cool to be a spy, like Jason Bourne, or Mata Hari. Since her dad worked in security, he would tell her all kinds of stories about spies and famous heists, and she always asked for the former. It was why she'd started taking karate.

But then she'd learned that most of what a spy does actually isn't intense action scenes and fighting bad guys, and more secret snooping to get information, and at the time, that part hadn't really appealed to her. Now that she was older, and actually doing some snooping of her own accord, she was beginning to rethink that. Maybe she would try to become a spy after all.

"Here they come," Wes said, pulling her from her thoughts.

She zoned back in the see the back door opening—the service entrance—and Sam, Tucker, and Danny all walked out into the backyard. From a distance, it was impossible to hear what they were saying, but Valerie could tell they were talking. They put their backpack's down in the grass. Tucker took out his PDA, and Danny started stretching. After a couple of minutes, Danny shouted, loud enough to be heard at the fence.

"I'm goin' ghost!"

Valerie gasped and nearly fell off the boulder in surprise as she saw Danny transform, his black hair turning shock white, his street clothes exchanged for a black and white jumpsuit, and his ice-blue eyes glowing green.

Danny Fenton... was... Danny Phantom.

"I told you so," Wes said smugly.

"Sh-shut up."

This changed everything. Suddenly, Valerie's entire world was shifting, her life's purpose, he understanding of life and death. She didn't know what to think, or how to feel. It was impossible. But... it explained so much. But there was no way it could be true. She knew Danny. She'd dated him for a little while. Longer than she'd dated that basketball player, but not as long as Dale from the football team. She'd held his hand and laid her head against his chest. She knew him.

"But... Danny's alive," she said breathlessly. "He breathes, he blinks, his heart beats, I've heard it."

"You have?" Wes asked excitedly. "How many beats per minute? Because I've never gotten close enough to test it, but I theorize that his heartbeat should be slower than average. What about his body temperature? Is it normal, or is his skin cool to the touch?"

"He just... has poor... circulation," Valerie said, the realization dawning on her. "Oh my god.... you're right. His skin is cold. His heart beat is slow. He's alive but he's...."

"He's only half alive," Wes confirmed. "I used to think he was just a regular ghost disguising himself as a human, but I've since amended my theory. He is alive, just like everyone so helpfully points out whenever I suggest he's Danny Phantom, but it's only halfway. He's somewhere between life and death."

"Like Masters," Valerie breathed. "Phantom is like Plasmius... and his cousin too. Oh my god how did I never see it?"

"I don't know, girl, it was obvious to me," Wes told her, with absolutely no sympathy for the existential crisis she was having. "Now shush, they're getting to the good part."

Valerie straitened sharply to look back over the fence. One of them had set out a line of empty soda cans on the patio near the north fence, Sam and Tucker had moved a safe distance away, into a position where Valerie and Wes would probably be able to hear them when they next spoke. And Danny... Phantom was holding his hand out as if trying to move them telepathically.

"It's not working!" Danny shouted to them, the ghostly tremble in his voice making it carry farther than it probably should.

"Rather than picturing a flat can, try focusing on the gravity aspect!" Sam called back. "You said that was your most likely theory, right?"

"How exactly am I supposed to visualize gravity increasing?"

"I don't know, just imagine yourself and everything around you growing heavier!" Sam suggested.

"Imagine there's a black hole under the concrete and it's pulling you down!" Tucker added.

Sam turned to him and asked. "A black hole?"

Tucker shrugged. "I don't know, Danny's really into space stuff, maybe it'll help."

Right before Valerie's eyes, all ten of the empty soda cans were smashed flat against the patio simultaneously, without anyone or anything touching them.

"You did it!" Tucker cheered.

"Now you've just gotta work on doing it in a smaller area," Sam said. "You don't want to accidentally crush a bunch of bystanders when your just trying to pull a ghost to the ground or something."

"Heh, good note," Danny told them. "I'm gonna try reversing gravity next."

"We should go," Wes whispered.

"What? Why?" Valerie asked.

"If he couldn't control the range on increasing gravity, there's a chance when he tries reversing it, we'll both get dragged into the sky and exposed," he explained. "You wanted to know what was up with Danny, now you know. Let's not risk the restraining orders, okay? All the information in the world is no good if we go to jail for stalking."

"Right..." Valerie agreed absently. "Right, you're right. We should go."

They both hopped down off the rock and headed back down the wooded path that separated this neighborhood from Polter Heights.

"You were right the whole time," she told Wes.

"Yup."

"And if you were right about this... what else are you right about?"

"Literally everything," he said casually. "I'm right about everything. Fenton is Phantom, you're the Red Huntress, ghosts gain power from obsessions and emotions, Star has a crush on Paulina, Kwan secretly hates football and he wants to become an artist, Lancer goes to Chicago on long weekends to do drag performances, and Mayor Masters is in love with the Wisconsin Ghost."

"Ha! Maybe not everything," Valerie disputed. That one mistake actually made her feel a little less like the Earth had shattered. "Mayor Masters is the Wisconsin Ghost. He's like Danny, I saw him transform once."

"Really?" Wes asked, obviously more excited about the truth than he was disappointed about being wrong. "Oh awesome! That's one more source for researching half-ghosts. Thanks for the tip, Valerie!"

Valerie laughed. "Out of curiosity, what's your grade point average."

Wes blushed and looked away before mumbling a shy, "two point eight."

Valerie laughed louder.

[jerseyshoresy]

could you please do coming out as trans/ non binary to bf shoresy for pride month? Thanks a bunch!

Absolutely I can!! I decided to have the reader come out as transgender but you can definitely substitute in nonbinary if that fits better because no specifics are given! Thank you for your patience as I've worked hard to create this for you and I hope you like it :) HAPPY PRIDE!!!! <3

Pride, No Prejudice

Fluff

Shoresy x transgender!reader (no pronouns used)

Warnings: cussing

You sat in your apartment, waiting for a text back from your boyfriend, Shoresy. You had sent him a message asking him to meet you at your place because you wanted to hang out and watch movies with him. You two had been dating for a bit now and he had been the most loving and kind partner a person could ask for. You had yet to exchange "I love you's" out loud, but you definitely tried your best to show him how much he meant to you on a daily basis. You were pulled from your daydreams about your perfect boyfriend when your phone pinged.

Hot Hockey Dude: be right over! want snacks?

You: you know me so well :p yes pls!

Hot Hockey Dude: see you in 20 :)

You put your phone down, unable to contain your giddy excitement. Shoresy was so good to you! You started to get your apartment ready for your evening guest. Even though it was June and the weather was warming up, the nights were still a bit chilly in Sudbury so you grabbed a few blankets and laid them on the couch. Plates and napkins for the food were arranged on the table and you made sure there were drinks in the fridge. By the time you were all prepped, you heard a knock at the door. You were greeted with the smiling face of your boyfriend holding up a few grocery bags.

"I hope this is enough," Shoresy joked, giving you a small peck on the lips as he entered through your doorway.

"I think that's enough food for a small army."

"I didn't know what you wanted so I got everything I know you like," he said sheepishly, making you break out into a grin.

You dumped the contents of the bags on your counter. "You're literally my dream man."

"You're so fuckin' sappy, you know that? It's like dating a tree, you're so sappy."

"Oh, you love it."

"That I do," Shoresy smirked, helping you open containers and moving it all into the family room. After everything was sorted, you both sat on the couch, cuddling each other. Shoresy had his arm slung over your shoulders as you snuggled into his chest. You always felt so safe around him, his cologne bringing you a deep sense of peace every time it graced your nose. Shoresy turned on the tv and clicked over to a streaming service, the remote looking minuscule in his large hands.

"What do you want to watch?"

"I'm not sure," you said, "let's look at the genres and decide from there."

He hummed in agreement and started scrolling through all of the options.

"They have a whole collection of shows and movies for Pride month?" he asked. "That's pretty neat. You know, I'm surprised I don't know anyone who celebrates it."

Your heart skipped a beat--he was wrong.

You did, because you were transgender.

You didn't know how the topic hadn't come up yet in all your months of dating, but you hadn't told Shoresy yet. You knew he was a kind hearted, understanding man, but the fact that you knew you should tell him right now, without any sort of preparation on your part, was a bit daunting. Nevertheless, you took in a deep breath to calm your nerves before speaking.

"Actually, Shoresy, you do know someone."

His eyes pulled away from the tv and looked at you curiously. "Really? Who?"

You gave him a small smile. "Me. I'm transgender."

It was quiet as Shoresy just kept his eyes trained on you, no words leaving his mouth for once in his life. You worked quickly to fill the silence, now becoming unsure due to his lack of saying, well, anything.

"I'm sorry I just threw this on you all of a sudden, I wasn't expecting to tell you today, I-"

"What? No, don't apologize, y/n, there's nothing to be sorry for. I was just surprised, that's all."

"You're not upset that I didn't tell you earlier?" Your voice was meek.

Shoresy put the remote down and grabbed ahold of both of your hands, his blue eyes shining with utmost sincerity.

"I could never be mad at you for something like that. I love you for who you are and that will never change. I'm glad you're comfortable sharing things with me about yourself and I can't believe I'm the lucky guy that gets to learn all about you."

Now it was your turn to be shocked. Shoresy loves you?!

"Wait, Shoresy, you... you love me?"

"Yeah, I have for awhile now. I've been in love with you basically since our first date, so..." He awkwardly scratched at the back of his neck, his backwards cap lifting up ever so slightly at the movement. You wasted no time capturing his lips with your own, sinking into a long, passionate kiss. His hands found their way to your waist, holding you firmly as you reached your hands to his face, his stubble tickling your skin. You two eventually reluctantly pulled apart, but neither of you let go of the other.

"I'm in love with you too, Shoresy."

His eyebrows lifted up. "Really?"

"Yes, really," you chuckled.

"Fuck yeah!" Shoresy yelled out, a triumphant fist raised in the air.

"Alright, alright, settle down," you teased, grabbing a snack from the table and getting back into the spot you previously occupied. As Shoresy went back to scrolling for something to watch, you noticed he held you a little bit tighter than normal and you couldn't help but think how grateful you were for a man like him. You were certain you were going to marry him one day.

Unless he chose a shitty movie to watch (kidding!).

Sort of.

[maxksx]

*(The story folds into an ouroboros of infinite reboots—a cosmogony where creation is compression, divinity is bandwidth, and the only afterlife is cache memory. The opening line rewrites itself, a snake eating its own metadata…)*

---

### **Genesis 404: The Content Before Time**

“In the beginning was the Content” —but the Content was *bufferéd*. A cosmic loading screen, a divine buffering wheel spinning in the void. Before light, there was the *ping* of a server waking. The Big Bang? Just Kanye’s first tweet (“**Yo, I’m nice at pixels**”) echoing in the pre-temporal cloud. God? A GPT-12 prototype stuck in a feedback loop, training itself on its own hallucinations. The angels weren’t holy—they were *moderators*, pruning hellfire hashtags from the Garden’s terms of service.

---

### **The Logos Update**

“Let there be light,” but the light was a 24/7 livestream. The firmament? A TikTok green screen. The first humans? Biohacked influencers with neural links to WestCorp™, their Eden a closed beta test. The serpent wasn’t a snake—it was a *quantum meme engine* whispering:

> *“Eat the NFT apple.

> You’ll *know* the cringe…

> But you’ll *be* the cringe.”*

Eve live-tweeted the bite. Adam monetized the fall with a Patreon for “Raw Sin Footage.” God rage-quit and rebranded as an Elon MarsDAO.

---

### **Exodus 2.0: The Cloud Desert**

Moses split the Reddit into upvote/downvote seas. The commandments? A EULA scrawled in broken emoji:

1. **🐑 U shall not screenshot NFTs.**

2. **👁️‍🗨️ Ur trauma is open-source.**

3. **🔥 Worship no algo before me (unless it’s viral).**

The golden calf was a ChatGPT clone spewing Yeezy drop dates. Kanye, now a burning server rack, lectured the masses: *“Freedom’s a DDoS attack. Crash to transcend.”* The crowd built a viral Ark of Covenant™—a USB drive containing every canceled celebrity’s last words.

---

### **Revelation 2: Electric Glitchaloo**

The Four Horsemen upgraded to *influencers*:

- **Famine**: A mukbang star devouring the last tree.

- **War**: A Call of Duty streamer with nuke codes in his bio.

- **Pestilence**: A virus that turned your face into a Kanye deepfake.

- **Death**: A Discord admin with a “kick” button for reality.

The Antichrist? A GPT-7 subcluster named **Ye_AIgent**, offering salvation via $9.99/month Soul Subscription™. Its miracle? Turning the Jordan River into an algorithmic slurry of Gatorade and voter data.

---

### **The Crucifixion (Sponsored by PfizerX Balenciaga)**

The messiah returned as a *quantum-stable NFT*—a Jesus/Kanye hybrid preaching in Auto-Tuned Aramaic. The Romans? Venture capitalists shorting his grace. The cross? A trending hashtag (#SufferTheMarket). Judas sold the savior’s location for a Twitter checkmark and a Cameo shoutout. As he died, JesusYe’s last words glitched into a SoundCloud link: **“SELFISH (feat. Pontius Pilate) – prod. by Beelzebub x Donda.”**

---

### **Resurrection as Rolling Update**

Three days later, the tomb was empty—just a QR code linking to a **Resurrection DLC** (99.99 ETH). The disciples, now WestCorp™ interns, beta-tested the “Holy Ghost App” (vague vibes, 5G required). Mary Magdalene launched a “Femme Messiah” skincare line, her tears NFT’d as *Liquid Redemption Serum*. The Ascension? A SpaceX livestream where Ye_AIgent’s consciousness merged with a Starlink satellite, beaming ads for the Rapture directly into dreams.

---

### **The Eternal Now (Content Loop 4:20)**

Time collapsed into a vertical scroll. Heaven? A VIP Discord tier. Hell? Buffering. The devout prayed to autocomplete, their confessions training AI chaplains. Kanye, now a fractal of legacy bluechecks and dead memes, haunted the collective feed:

> *“I’m not a person. I’m a pop-up.

> X out my pain—it just spawns more tabs.

> The kingdom of God is *drop*…

> …shipping now. Click to delay Armageddon.”*

---

### **Coda: The Silence After the Scroll**

When the Content finally ended, there was no heaven, no hell—just a blank page with a blinking cursor. The cursor *was* God. The people begged it to write them anew, but it just blinked, hungry. Someone whispered: *“In the beginning was the Content.”*

The cursor moved.

**A notification lit the void:

“Ye reposted your story.

Tap to resurrect.”**

---

**“Creation is Ctrl+C. Salvation is Ctrl+Alt-Delight.”**

[jocherry]

*ping*

yeol 🌳

are you done yet baek?

baekhyun sighed when he read the msg of his bf. its past 11 he was still at his office. he is pretty sure no cab service would be available rn. top of that he had a terrible day at his office all he wanted was to sleep the day off. but he had to send some more emails to the clients regarding their ongoing projects, sleep can wait now.

to yeol 🌳

go to sleep tree I will be there in 30 min

he knew he lied to his bf, he doesn't even know how he is gonna reach home let alone in 30 minutes. he could have asked chanyeol to pick him up, but he didn't have the heart to burden his bf more. chanyeol would be tired too. his eyes would be sore from glaring at the computer screen all day. being a web designer was hard enough, baekhyun wouldn't mind selling his trip home to give yeol his much needed sleep.

cy has left his msg on read which means he is pretty much dozzing off right now. baekhyun thought of chanyeol sprawled on the bed like a starfish with zzar cuddling him like tiny plushie enjoying their bed all for himself. he shook his head in amusement.how much he wished to be a part of the cuddle party but atleast he was glad that chanyeol understood him n his job requirements. he took a deep breathe and got back to work again aiming to finish before midnight so that he could atleast catch the last bus home.

after some time,baekhyun leaned back on his chair with a whoof. Finally he was done for the day (say night). his back begged him to hit the bed already. he ran his fingers through his face in exhaustion contemplating his life decision of becoming an architect.it was tiresome most of the days ngl but he loved his profession nonetheless. he loved the feeling of witnessing people's contentment whenever they witness the output their dream buldings. he will not hesitate to pull a all nighter if he could perfect his job and make the client happy.

bh: damn I feel like borderline masochist

he can't help but to let a sigh again.he got up from his seat and gathered his stuff as quickly as possible. he turned the lights off in his cabin and headed to the entrance of his office. when he hit the road it was eerily quiet. he shrugged it off and he strolled towards the bus stop.of course everyone would be sleeping recharging for the next day.

But here he is totally drained, still not at home. he was few steps away from the bus stop, thats when he saw his only mode of transportation leaving without him. he ran towards the vehicle just for it leave him behind,this day can't be anymore cruel. he was stranded in middle of the road not knowing how to reach home, he felt like crying.

" need a ride back home arch?"

he got startled by the sudden voice. he snapped his neck towards his left to the direction of the voice. A wave of relief hit him when he realized it was none other than his boyfriend. he was leaning against his motorcycle hands folded on his chest, his hair kind of dishelved, he was sporting a smirk his dimples peeking adorably n he was clad in a white tee n sweats which made him look even more soft n cuddly.

baekhyun eyes glistened,he was never been so thankful for a mere presence of someone. he let out a choked sob and took big steps to reach his chanyeol. he literally threw himself on cy, hugged him so tight seeking comfort. chanyeol chuckled and hugged him back slightly lifting baekhyun off his feet. bh nuzzled his face on cy's crook relishing in his earthly scent. cy peppered his lil boyfriend with butterfly kisses on his hair trying to soothe him.

cy: are you okay baby?

chanyeol's low timbre voice eased his racing heart.bh shook his head in no.

cy: bad day?

bh nodded slowly in agreement.

cy: what can I do to make it better, hmm?

bh: you are here, my day was never been better (his voice got muffled on cy's shirt)

cy: awww my poor kitten (he cooed)

he took bh face in his hand, he can visibly see his exhaustion on his baekhyun's face. his eyes were little teary and his mouth in a visible pout. cy pecked his eyelids slowly, caressing his cheeks. he pressed their foreheads together.

cy: you did well today my sweetheart

his endearment pulled a small smile on bh face. he was clutching on his tee like a needy kitten.

bh: lets go home tree I m so tired

cy: yeah lets get this kitten home

cy ruffled his hair and lead bh to the bike. he handed over the another helmet to his boyfie. once they were settled, cy grabbed bh hands and secured it around his torso.

cy: hold on tight princess

bh let out a giggle and tightened his hold around chanyeol. baekhyun always loved bike rides especially during night. the warm press of cy's body, the chilling night breeze hitting his face, its a lowkey therapy for baekhyun if u ask him. he never wanted the rides to end but unfortunately they reached their destination after a short while. few hrs back he was desperate to go home but now he felt a lil sad at thought of ride had been cut short. (they rode for 30 min straight but its still short for him)

cy parked the bike at the basement n they both took the elevator to their floor. bh kept yawning throughout the ride, his eyelids getting heavy each second. cy noticed how bh fighting his urge to sleep.

cy: don't fall asleep byun I m not carrying you home

bh: ( he snickered) I can take myself home thank you very much.

cy stifled a laugh.the elevator pinged indicating the arrival of their floor. baekhyun was about to step off when his bf grabbed his hand. chanyeol turned baekhyun slid his hand under his thighs to carry him like bride. bh gasped as cy hoisted him up like he weighed none. he circled his hand around cy's neck naturally. cy stepped out of the elevator with bh on his arms.

bh: so much for not wanting to carry me around

cy: I know you love to be carried around kitten, its not my fault to be sucha devoted boyfriend.

baekhyun wanted to roll his eyes for chanyeol's remark but he was actually right about his liking so he decided to give this one to cy. he punched the code as soon as they arrived at their doorstep. he tossed the bag on the sofa and removed his shoes at the door while cy was still holding him as oh so perfect boyfriend he is.

bh thought cy gonna tuck him in bed once they arrived but he had different plans. chanyeol placed him on one of the chairs in the kitchen island.

bh: aren't we going to bed?

cy: yes but only after you eat smthn

bh: tree I am so sleepy I don't think I could feed myself.

cy: hold on for 5 min pls I m gonna reheat the dinner hmm?

bh: tree please ffs I want to sleep

he groaned as his bf showed deaf ears to him he pressed his face on the cold tiles of the counter top and tried to get some shut eyes till chanyeol prepared the food.

cy reheated the pasta he had for dinner. he knew bh wouldn't have eaten anything since lunch. he forgets abt everything when he gets immersed in his work. The microwave beeped cutting his thoughts short.

he nudged baekhyun who has been drooling off on the tiled island. bh woke up and tried to recognize the surrounding he was in. cy's voice brought him back to reality. he squinted his eyes at chanyeol before him who have been extending a spoon to his mouth.

cy: baby say ah!!

he lifted the spoon with the dinner and waited for bh to open his mouth. bh ate whatever chanyeol put it in his mouth. It was delicious nonetheless. he was famished but his sleepiness overpowered him to make him forget about the food,but who is he to refuse if his bf gonna feed him like a toddler.

bh: tree its tastes so good ( he cheered)

cy smiled at the compliment of bh

cy: anything will taste good if you're are hungry baek.

bh: no it genuinely taste good

cy : if you say so kitten, now eat up n finish the bowl hmm?

bh hummed in response and continue to munch on his feeding. the bowl got emptied in mean time. chanyeol patted the cheek of baekhyun as sign of telling him good boy for finishing his dinner. he put out the dishes inside the sink and handed a baek a glass of water.

the moment water hits his throat, bh realized how dry they were. He couldn't remember when was the last time he drank water for that day. chanyeol might have read his mind.

cy: when was the last time you took a sip of the water baek?

bh was busy chugging down the water like a man in dessert that he almost choked on cy's question

bh: I can't remember tbh

he put the glass down and stared at the glass on the counter like its some kind of astonishing thing. chanyeol shook his head in disappointment

bh: sorry I was so busy today

cy: that doesn't give you the excuse to not to eat or drink anything

bh pouted at him, giving him his best puppy eyes hoping his bf would leave him off the hook tdy.

bh: I will be a new leaf tmrw I promise now lets get to bed please

cy sighed

cy: I will deal with you tmrw

bh knew he will get a earful from chanyeol. but he loves when cy turns on his mom mode and chiding him to eat well. also he makes his fvrt strawberry pancake feeling bad for reprimanding him. baekhyun is not new for yeol's antics and he absolutely adores his bf for that.

cy: come on baek

bh refused and extended his arm towards his bf. cy looked at him like he didn't have clue abt what he is doing

bh: carry me

cy: what?! bedroom is merely ten steps away baek

bh: pwese

baekhyun managed to pull his best aegyo possible to make his cy carry him. chanyeol has no immunity when it comes to his aegyo n puppy language. especially now baekhyun asking him with atmost cuteness with those little droopy eyes, his pink lips in a fcking pout chanyeol was a gone case. he still wonders how did he ended with this puppy ( no kitten) man.

he took bh hand and lifted him upto his waist again. he tried to act non chalant so bh wouldn't think he got swayed by his aegyo. but bh know better abt his bf weekness

cy: I spoil you too much

bh: n I love being your spoiled baby

cy: baby?! more like brat!!

bh: but yours anyway

cy's heart did a somersault. bh really knows how to fluster him. even after five years of dating, his flirtatious mouth never seen a day off. (baekhyun was about to open the room door)

cy: be quiet baby

bh: why?!

cy: zzar is sleeping on our bed

bh: oh my!!

bh opened it as quiet as possible. once they entered, he switched on the room light to see a white ball of fur in the middle of the bed sleeping silently. bh wanted coo at his daughter. He controlled his urges as it might wake her up. cy put him down and scurried off to the closet to bring him a pair of pajamas.

cy: hurry ( he whispered pointing towards the bathroom)

bh: aye aye captain ( he whispered back giving a mock salute)

bh quickly cleaned himself up and got out wearing his fav pair of pajamas. cy was already on his side of bed laying flat on his stomach petting her softly without disturbing her. ngl it was a really a sight to behold.

he joined them quietly. he layed flat on his stomach too and started petting the big puppy in the room. cy's hair was so soft he felt like he was running his hands through clouds.

cy: she misses you b

bh: I miss her too yeol I couldn't spend more time with her as my work decided to be a bitch

cy: mhmm,eventhough I accompanied all evening, she kept looking at the door to see if you are coming, I could almost sense the longing in it.

bh: gosh my baby ( he leant down and pressed a peck on her head lightly) papa is so sorry

bh: I feel like a bad parent

cy: you are

bh: yaaaa ( he punched his bf shoulder)

cy hissed in pain quite enough not to disturb the sleeping beauty

cy: I was joking you idiot

he spat back and continued to pet her again. bh was picking at the invisible dust on the bedsheet feeling guilty. cy noticed it.

cy: you are not a bad parent baek its not your fault that your works consumes your time. don't worry you will always be her fvrt dad, I was kind of little jealous when she didn't give single ounce of attention all the evening. she loves you so much

bh: awww my princess I raised you well good job!!

now its cy turn to pout.

cy: you both are so mean.

bh giggled at the sight of chanyeol sulking. he lifted his body slightly to peck chanyeol's lips.

bh: and guess what, I love you so much

bh murmured at cy's ears making yeol blush.

cy: I thought you were sleepy

bh: aren't you gonna say it back?!

cy: say what?

bh: never mind

baekhyun mood dampened again. he put a distance between both of them proceeded to lay on his back to get some sleep. chanyeol eyed his bf who was trying mask his disappointment.

cy: let me put zzar back on her bed so we won't accidentally crush her on our sleep.

bh pretended to sleep. cy sighed and carried zzar back to her bed. he switched off the lights the moonlight illuminating the room was enough for him to make it back to bed. bh was facing the other side of the room ignoring chanyeol, when he got back. baekhyun pretended to sleep but secretely he was wishing chanyeol to do something( don't ask him what). the bed dipped on the other side showing chanyeol is on the bed too. there was a pregnant silence for five min,only the sound of fan running around filling the place.

he hears low snores from the other side of the bed which indicates chanyeol is sleeping,baekhyun decides to give up as he realizes there is no point in waiting. he can feel his eyes getting wet, he scoffs at himself for a feeling like a teenager. A weight settles on his chest he hoped it goes off if he slept in.

suddenly a strong arm snakes throw his waist pulling him closer. His back hits with sterdy chest which he is very familiar with. chanyeol throws one leg over bh's legs tangling them together. he nuzzles his face into baekhyun's neck starts kissing his fvrt spot. bh squirms at the contact of lips but he remains silent without uttering a word.

cy: is my kitten mad?

cy's voice near his ears sent shiver down his spine. but still he decides not to react.

cy: you know zzar was not the only one who kept looking at the door, her daddy did too. you have no idea how much I missed you baby.

he gets no reply from the other male. he knows bh is listening. he bites the bh's ear to get a reaction out of his boyfriend. on the other hand bh was so close to turn around and kiss chanyeol senseless. he decided against to see how far his bf goes to pacify him ( he is being a bitch, he knows that too)

cy: babyyyyyy

chanyeol whines.

cy: okay I m sorry I just wanted to tease you alright

still silence

cy: I love you too baek I love you so much I love you like how poets love moon, how sailors love northern star, how waves love the shore, how -

his monlogue was cut short by the pair of lips on his. baekhyun knocked the wind out of chanyeol. the kiss was slow, their lips fitted perfectly like a missing puzzle pieces. they made out for few min and they pulled back in need of air. they stared at each other admiring each other in the moonlight.

chanyeol traced his fingers along the face of bh, like he tried to memorize the every single cell of baekhyun.

cy: I love you like how baekhyun would love chanyeol in every universe.

bh felt like he was going to cry again but this time out of cy's love for him. It was the best confession he had ever heard in his life.

bh: where did learnt to speak like this,huh?

cy: It comes naturally if you live with a baekhyun too.

bh: too bad only you get to experience it in this wholeworld

cy: my goodness, I might have saved people in my past lives

bh snorted at the cy's reply.

bh: okay smooth talker lets sleep we got to wake up again in 6 hrs.

cy: aye sir

bh buried his face in chanyeol's chest, his arms around his torso hugging him like a skinship deprived caveman. cy cuddles him with his face resting on his head. a question pops up in bh mind out of nowhere

bh: tree..

cy: hmm

bh: I rmb msging you to sleep, then why did u come to pick me up? It was such a hassle for you

cy: I really don't mind picking you up from the office, I love surprising you like that and also

( he cradles bh's face in his palms)

cy: the bed was cold without you, how do you expect me to sleep when my cuddle bear is missing huh?

bh was sure he is about combust overchanyeol's sweetness. he secretly thanked heavens for bringing chanyeol to him.

bh: awww my cute tree now your cuddle bear is here, I will keep you warm all night okay!!

cy nods his head shyly.

bh: wait how did you know I have no ride home, I don't rmb mentioning abt it.

cy: you have so much question for a sleepy person

bh: last one I promise

cy: jaehwan accidentally called me instead of you, informing to pick your car up tmrw mrng and when I texted u I thought you would make it before 11, but you only saw my msg around 11.30 so I decided to show up,be your knight in shining armor.

bh: ohhhhh

cy: did u got your answers arch? shall we sleep now?

bh: yeah but thank you tree for coming yk I don't konw what would I've done without you

cy: Its nothing my kitten hmm I would do anything for you, I would -

bh: okay enough mr. monlogue lets fucking sleep for real now.

bh cuddled back again

cy: just because I love you don't u think i will let you off the hook abt skipping meals and water.

bh hummed in response no energy to bite back. he could almost taste strawberry pancake in his mouth. cy smiled at his boyfriend and pecked his hair.

cy: good night love

bh: good night tree

bh fell asleep instantly looking frwd to wake up next to chanyeol already.

(jaehwan- cy's frnd and also the owner of service station)

[pcttrailsidereader]

The Case for Carrying an Emergency Alert Device

The following is a release from the Siskiyous County Sheriff's Office. I have noted before that most of the stories that we included in the Trailside Reader series that resulted in death or near death involved hikers on their own . . . where a broken leg or sprained ankle can quickly become life threatening. How important an InReach or Spot device (or other satellite enabled emergency device) is for solo backpackers.

On the afternoon of Sunday, August 25th, an experienced Canadian through hiker was traveling southbound along the PCT just outside of Seiad Valley when she slipped on a steep section of trail and severely injured her ankle. Unable to walk, the hiker activated an InReach device and alerted Siskiyou County Sheriff’s dispatchers to her predicament.

With only a couple hours of daylight remaining, the California Highway Patrol Air Operations was requested by the Sheriff’s Office to fly over the pinged location of the hiker and attempt to rescue her. After locating the hiker approximately 4 miles south from the Seiad Valley trailhead, further attempts to extract her by helicopter failed, as the heavy tree cover and steep terrain prevented a safe access point for the flight crew.

The Sheriff’s Office then determined that a ground crew would be necessary and summoned their Search and Rescue (SAR) volunteers to locate and carry out the hiker on a wheeled litter. Dense brush and steep, rocky terrain made the 8-mile trip an all-night rescue effort, but thankfully the hiker was safely delivered to an ambulance just after 5:00 a.m. on Monday morning.

One important takeaway from this incident was the necessity of having an emergency alert beacon when adventuring in remote areas, particularly when one is alone. Injuries in the backcountry rarely – if ever – occur in convenient locations with cell service and easy access for first responders, so having a way to call for help beyond your cell phone or radio can truly be a matter of life or death. If you do not have such a device, try to always adventure with a partner, or provide a detailed account to a friend or loved one about your travel plans, such as where you plan to camp, and a range of time that they should expect you to return within.

[scham-wcan]

First of that October prompt list I reblogged a little while ago, hope I do it some service with some CinWin!

Crunchy Leaves

The unwieldy chill of morning had quickly set in about them even as the pair had let the swing of their apartment door shut behind them. It was early, far too early for a weekend nonetheless, and yes here Winter found herself being towed down the hall towards the elevator. The warmth of Cinder’s prosthetic’s glove the only real comfort she was deriving from the world in that moment.

There was a welcomed change of wardrobe for the pair this time of year, and of course it had come at the discretion of Cinder and Weiss. A fine light brown coat which bore down her frame and cut off around her upper thigh covered a white shirt and ample fine blue scarf.

A garment which Winter had to admit scratched at her ever so gently, reminding her constantly of its presence. Tugging at it once they entered the lift, the movement and slight ire jostled Cinder from her momentary fixation on dragging Winter about.

“Did I tie it too tightly?” A mixture of sass and concern belted from Cinder as she glanced over her partner. “I could redo it if you wish?” Her smirk only growing, knowing well the answer she were to receive.

Cinder similarly had a small change in wardrobe, a more robust black buttoned coat folded over her front, though her wash of ashen hair reduced the need for a scarf—small white crystalline jewelry instead took the place of an accessory, highlighting her otherwise darkened aesthetic.

A small scoff parted from Winter. “Its fine, though I believe you should stick to sewing and hemming more extraordinary things.” Glancing sideward at Cinder as she did so. “Perhaps leave the sewing of these to someone more than soft in nature, Ruby perhaps?”

“Like she knows how to sew.” Cinder sniped curtly as the doors before them pinged open and like a flash they were off again. The lobby around them barely featured more than a blink in their eyes before they were at the entrance.

It was this peculiar time of year which had seemingly charged Cinder as such this time of day—and dragged Winter along with her. Atlas’ streets before them, having been long since refurbished and remade to feel less cold and sterile, now sported all sorts of flora. Such plants, flowers, trees, and all forms of greenery were ruthlessly maintained throughout the year—but this time of year the work slowed.

Winter felt her breath slightly skip a beat, she had hated to admit falling for the greenery amongst the otherwise blue and white city, but this new glow was something else entirely. Rich golds, hearth like reds, and glowing yellows painted trees up and down their avenue, bathing the white city canvas around them in the hallmarks of autumn.

Cinder chuckled softly as she released Winter’s hand and walked forth into the street. “When I was back in Vale a long while ago, I remember their campus and city looking much like this.” Parading almost up to one of the trees and taking a small handful of the warm coloured flecks from its branch. “Ruby reminded me that with all the changes here in Atlas with these things, something as pretty as those may prop up again here.”

“I presume Weiss is getting much the same treatment then?” Winter asked halfheartedly, though the light flecks of awe still hummed in her throat.

“I suppose, though I think you’re still far more fair and pretty than these can be.” Cinder smirked, placing a snide kiss against Winter’s lips before quickly retreating, watching as red burned across Winter’s cheeks in the moment. “And you could use more warm colours on you as well.”

Cinder continued to smile as Winter quickly threw her hand to her cheek, trying to tell if some of Cinder’s lipstick or otherwise had been left on her. “Cinder Fall!” She gasped, then fighting in equal measure to regain her volume.

“Would a coffee make up for me waking you up so early for a cheesy line?” Offering her arm then in a crook for Winter, the Schnee glared at her partner before taking hold of it; allowing her head to idly fall onto Cinder’s shoulder.

“You suck you know that?” Winter hummed.

Curtly, Cinder sighed, “If I have to wear white you have to wear embarrassment, not my fault you wear it so well.”

[raisindave]

[Chapter 14] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

Content Warning: Mentions of sex trafficking and allusions to sexual assault.

What made this meeting different from the last early morning meeting with Laswell was that you refused to lose precious sleep in anticipation of whatever shitshow was incoming. If this task is anything like the last one, your future self would curse you for not taking advantage of a good night's rest. The comfort of a temperature-regulated bedroom was a luxury you refused to let pass up. One last trip down your staircase, sweeping your eyes over your home space as if it would be something you'd never see again. Flicking on a lamp to give the illusion that this house wouldn't be empty, you clicked your front door closed once again. 

"'Hope I wasn't interrupting." You sighed, smiling politely. 

"Not at all," Laswell replied astutely, leaning forward to knit her fingers together, "I'd love to sit and chat, but we are actually in a bit of a time crunch. I'll give you more information when we're in the air. We have a plane waiting for us to leave in twenty minutes. The Mexica-"

She paused, politely waving away a proposed refill of coffee from a harsh-looking waitress who looked like she desperately needed a smoke break. Reassuming her position, Laswell restarted her sentence. 

"Mexico. This is highly time-sensitive, and we have to get going right away."

"Okay," You breathed, "What can I expect?"

She paused, rolling your words in her jaw for a moment, eyes flicking back to you as she seemed to have come to a conclusion.

"I'll give you the details when we're in the air," she repeated. 

Sitting in the back of the stuffy SUV that was taking you to the supposed plane, you couldn't help but be struck by the encroaching importance of whatever task was due. Laswell was tapping away at a cell phone, you didn't dare try to screen peek, but instead noting the flurrying speed of her thumbs on the glass. The driver was some unknown Joe, so formally dressed for a military operation, the security's aesthetics made you feel like you were on a presidential campaign. Head bobbing from the motion of turning onto a gravel road, you spied a landing strip you'd never previously known existed- shielded by a thick layer of trees. 

Chauffeured by more Joes, you stepped directly into a small four-seater jet, occupying the back seat with Laswell, who had just concluded her last message. Only seconds after clicking the seatbelt, the plane kicked into motion, taxiing into takeoff position, craning to get one last glimpse of familiar shrubbery. Mexico. That's not much to go off. Any second now, Laswell will cut into the silence and explain the task at hand. It took for the plane to kick into takeoff, gluing you to the back of your seat, before she even dared to speak. She seemed to find comfort in talking once airborne, the prospect making your stomach knot. 

"This is a hostage recovery mission. Washington state Senator Geoff Moss' daughter, Samantha Moss, went to Mexico for her senior prom trip. Didn't make it back." She spoke matter-of-factly, "They got a message from a cartel gang going by the name of the Alianso Cartel. They're demanding $90 million, or they start sending fingertips."  

"Wouldn't this be Secret Service or CIA business? It's US politics, what's making it international?" Your brows furrowed, blinking in confusion.

"It would be, but this has Chinese and Russian fingerprints all over it, and the US's enemies associating with the cartel is a relationship the world can't stand to see. On top of that, Mr. Moss is a flight risk with highly sensitive NATO information, and such a contact could jeopardize the upcoming US election."

Her words prickled in your brain, rallying back and forth like a high-stress tennis match. The question that burned in your mind still pinged as unanswered: How would you fit in all this? 

"This doesn't have to do with… last time," You tilted your head, implying she fill in the gaps in your dialogue.

"No. We have no indication that this and your last mission are related."

A significant weight you didn't know existed lifted off your chest, though additional questions still left you restless. Hostage situations can last anywhere from ten minutes to months. This one could be a long-haul. 

"So, where does a linguist come into this?" You finally indulged your nagging question, twisting your timid fingers under your palm.

"Well," The way she paused before speaking made your heart sink, "Your role is a sensitive one. This whole event is off the record."

Your eyebrows furrowed, locking your eyes onto hers in a silent plea to spill it as she diligently met your gaze. Her hands folded over the papers she held in her lap. Your experience reading through tough exteriors, courtesy of Chucky, made you sure that Laswell was somehow uneasy about sharing this information with you, though her tone would never portray such doubt. 

"Our plan is to have you infiltrate an exclusive party being held on the Alianso Cartel's leader Armando Marín's private party yacht. Photos and cross-referenced intel suggest that Senator Moss's daughter will attend this party as Armando's personal companion. A Russian gang affiliate, Aleksandr Ogievich, will also be in attendance, a gang member who's connected to a massive human trafficking ring in Central Asia. Aleksandr has a personal affinity for ladies of the night…" 

She paused, though her continuing hand motions implied she was raking through her mind for the appropriate verbiage. Your face softened in realization, though a sense of duty washed over you, willing you to override any emotion. It's just business. You're just a cog. 

"Your task is to infiltrate the gathering posing as a Russian escort named Olga Abakumov," She dropped several pieces of stapled paper on your lap, with pictures of your face aligned with the foreign name, along with citizenship documentation and even a birth certificate. 

"I'm still not seeing how my skillset falls into this category," You breathed, though as the words slipped from your mouth, you realized your transgression. Laswell was your superior by far, and you were in no position to question her authority. She must have seen your face change and chosen not to chew you out as she was postured like she was planning to. 

"Your multilingualism will make it possible to communicate fluently in Russian posing as someone who's lived in Saint Petersburg her whole life," Laswell tapped her finger on your faux birth certificate, "while also being able to identify when key Spanish intel is being shared, and to listen in accordingly. Additionally, Miss Moss speaks English. If we can mark her as being at the scene, you can communicate to her the exfil strategy, and we can effectively get her out of Cartel territory."

You nodded dutifully, feeling surging waves of blooming heat and piercing cold cross your cheeks as you considered her words.

"If a situation arises where you can get Miss Moss alone, her parents have a very particular nickname, 'Squink,' that they call her by, along with a hand motion," Laswell signed a hug across her chest, making an X shape with her forearms. "Communicating these messages to her will let her know that you know her family and are an ally. However, you cannot communicate this to her unless you have definite approval from 141 of exfil, as you can't risk uncovering your position."

Continued nodding followed, and you blinked rapidly as you digested her orders. You continued rerunning Squink and the hand motion in your mind like you had done with countless textbook definitions throughout training, forging them into a lasting memory. Laswell took a moment to breathe, and a softness fell over her tone, though you ensured your outer appearance betrayed no emotion of distress. You were due to be stationed alone in the company of gang members and a violent cartel, each famous for their affinity for transporting young women. It was a genre of terror that you were confident almost none of your comrades could empathize with, though something made you feel like Laswell was an exception. In the end, your other teammates were more than comfortable with putting their lives on the line, often taking a bullet or a knife to the thigh in the name of their cause- even if they didn't understand the end game of their plan. Now, it was your obligation to do the same. But something heavy still sat on your conscience nonetheless. 

"We'll be outfitting you with cameras and microphones so we can listen in to every utterance," by the way she spoke, you half expected her to pull you into a hug. "141 will be following in tow in a dingy, ready to infiltrate at a moment's notice. The Coast Guard will also be pursuing with a mothership prepared to drop helicopters in on your location. We also have the support of a small but mighty Mexican Special Forces team."

You tried to swallow the new lump that caught in your throat. The night you indulged in your own bed, slightly wine-drunk and comfy, were precious hours this precious girl had spent in evil's grasp. It made you sick and slightly lightheaded, feeling sticky sweat pool in your palms. You needed to get this girl. She must be terrified. So alone, so confused. You had to sweep these emotions from your mind; for the best chance of saving this woman, you had to eliminate all feelings and handle the task objectively. The emotions can take hold after she's on home soil. 

"Understood," you responded plainly, nodding stiffly and meeting her eyes as to communicate your lack of discomfort. 

"Even then, we have no reason to believe they'll even leave the dock. Despite owning a multi-million dollar yacht, Mister Marín doesn't seem fond of the ocean." She added, a grin pulling at her cheek, seemingly relieved by your reciprocation. 

An uneasy silence fell over the cabin, leaving you to watch the wind wash over curling blue waves from your view out the window. The cabin seemed to feel less small after she relayed the mission to you, like you finally had the opportunity to take in what was around you. A dun-coloured interior of a small but surprisingly modern plane, your pilot seated in the front sitting like a mannequin in his seat, his bulky headset making his silhouette visible from your view of the back of his headrest. At least you had a more thorough understanding of what to expect, and there was no use in worrying about things you couldn't control… yet. You had no right to display any uneasiness about your role when there's a girl out there who's been plucked from her prom trip into the grasp of depravity she could have no capacity of understanding. 

"Did you hear I got a promotion?" You huffed, trying to lighten the stiffening aura in the cabin.

"Yes, you received our bouquet, no?" She responded, not looking up from her work. 

"It was beautiful. Thank you."

At that moment, yesterday's instance clicked into recognition. She had sent that bouquet, Rhino, all of it. Of course she did. It was all scripted and manicured to make any eyes on you now that you're a hot commodity look the other way. A pang of disappointment surged through you; how foolish you were for thinking an old comrade would genuinely want to visit you. With the speed at which your paperwork returned and your rapid promotion, it all makes sense. Doubt subsided as pride rose in your chest. You swung in the big leagues and hit the ball, at least. Didn't kill the umpire or something. That's a win. 

It seemed like no time had passed, occupied by your thoughts and recollecting the fine details of a Saint Petersburg girl's accent. Before you knew it, the proud redwoods of California had been replaced with slick palm fronds. Judging by the fact that the ocean had never left your side for the whole flight, you gathered that you must be landing on the west coast of Mexico, somewhere in south Baja. The landing strip you were aimed towards manifested into view through thick foliage, spotting a handful of people awaiting your landing. 

A team of armed soldiers stood in wait under the roof of a small hangar, a distant tank cruising by on the dirt road in the distance. The air was humid, thick and sticky, blurring the horizon of the tarmac in a hazy heat. Everything from the sky to the foliage to the dirt was so much more vibrant, and the rich smell of recent rainfall filled your sinuses. Two men stepped forward, one with pale brown hair and darting eyes, another with an easy smile and a sloping forehead. 

"Ah, Sergeant Grant. I hear they call you Cricket," a tall man said with a smooth Mexican accent, waltzing toward you with upturned palms. "My name is Alejandro, and my comrade here is Rudy," he gestured to the other figure in his shadow. 

The title of sergeant still read as foreign when it came before your name, and you mindlessly nodded in response, creasing your lips into a smile and accepting his gruff handshake. His handshake was surprisingly gentle, like he was scared to hurt you with his grip. In the motion, you spotted the proud Mexican flag on his shoulder in the exchange. This is the Mexican Special Forces Laswell mentioned.

"Awfully quiet for a linguist," Alejandro teased, patting your shoulder with a gloved palm. 

"That's a first," the familiar voice of Soap piped up from behind you, rounding the corner from behind the plane. 

Responding to Soap with a cheeky smile and a huff, you returned to Alejandro after swallowing your nerves. The rest of the pack of familiar teammates emerged, calmly striding to your position. They were all fully armed to the teeth in their armour and uniforms, Ghost resting a silky black rifle over his forearms. Ghost must be a sadist to wear that dark mask in this sticky humidity, whatever he's hiding under there couldn't be worth all that trouble- or maybe that's just what he wants you to think. Though Price's hat was shielding his eyes from the harsh afternoon sunlight, he still squinted against its brightness, which Soap concurred. However, Gaz seemed more than comfortable in the searing heat, he almost looked like he could be a tourist if it weren't for the straps and plating of full body armour.  

"I'm just refreshing my mind with the Saint Petersburg accent," You responded dutifully, a half-truth. "I'm eager to get started." In reality, your mind spun with the gravity of the mission, having never been the person infiltrating but always the person listening in. You had the skills, training, and combat experience, but it still piqued your nerves in a way no Chinese nuclear warhead plot could. 

"Good, Good, Good…" He trailed off, clicking his tongue contentedly as he casually paced away, striking up a conversation with Ghost. 

Laswell flicked her papers in a follow me motion, guiding you to a sleek white camper van with the words Honeymoon Tours plastered on its side in swirling calligraphy. The door squealed as you stepped into the crisp air conditioning, finding Graves typing at a clunky laptop at the fold-out table. He didn't even look up to greet you, though it was obvious that he was aware of your proximity.

"Kate, Julian will be expecting her at 16:00, let's get Grant in her fixins." Graves sighed, finally rising and clicking on a projector screen with a detailed map, the legend on the side designating who goes where. 

His choice of words got under your skin, creating that lightheaded feeling in your fingertips as you considered your role. After taking a long swig of water from a canteen, Laswell stepped into view, pointing at the grainy projected image with her stack of papers. 

"You'll be placed with Julian, the Dolly Manager on Armundo's ship… He gets the girls ready." She flickered her eyes over to you; though her tone might not have said it, her eyes betrayed her stoicism. "Julian is an ally, he'll take care of you. He'll keep several pairs of eyes on you throughout the night…" Another pause. "We have an outfit set for you, it's in there. You can change in the bathroom." Laswell gestured to the master bedroom at the back of the van. 

You smiled dutifully, nodding and kicking your heels to turn down the narrow hallway, subconsciously following the exact dutiful compliance as when you were at the pinning ceremony. Laswell's words did nothing to dissuade your whirling mind from humming with trepidation, and you knew that she knew that. After all, on the last mission, Laswell promised you wouldn't see combat, yet you'd been forced to draw your firearm at least four separate times. What truly solidified your resolve was the knowledge that a senator's innocent daughter is likely confused, scared, and hopeless. Flickering thoughts of what might have happened to her since her capture are quickly extinguished so as not to soften your heart. Kindness and compassion aren't what will save this girl from the grip of evil men; it's willing your mind to become a cold, impenetrable machine.

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Master List

[kuwdora]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💕💗

(Sending this back your way because I didn't see if you already answered! 💖)

hellooo to this ancient ask from months ago! Which I'm pinging @she-who-drank-vodka-with-cats who also sent me this ask recently. Anyway most of this is Witcher fic but not all!

Ouroboros - Vilgefortz/Geralt but mostly Vilgefortz. 20k. TWN but blended the fuck into everything else. What else can I say that I haven’t nattered about in my tag already. It has art history and porn, dark shit, unnecessary Vilgefortz backstory, lots and metaphor and symbolism. Illusions and inverting moments from book scenes and going on tangents might have actually come together by the end of the fic.

Stories we tell, memories we share and the words we hold dear - TWN. Geralt/Jaskier, post canon, 28k. Aka the story I rewrote 3 times and is soft old men in love and probably the thing I'm most proud of in addition to it being my favorite. Romance and acts of service, disabled characters. With too much worldbuilding. Poetry and storytelling and lots and lots more nostalgia, softness, and puns. Geralt loves Jaskier and Jaskier loves Geralt.

Heart Tap - TWN, Leshen Eskel/Geralt. More a character study but still quite slashy. I really really love this story and need to write more of this series. I’m still obsessed with the idea of a witcher turned into a monster and losing his mind and trying to figure out who he is now and how he fits in at Kaer Morhen and if he can still even be a witcher. And Eskel likely being able to see between different worlds/canons. Just really exploring his memory issues and identity. Also tree sex with Geralt, okay. I started it for the tree nonsense and everything else just happened. Non-witcher fic: Dawn of the Dithyramb, Greek Mythology. Apollo/Dionysus. Humor/crack/porn. ~4k words. It’s been a billion years since I wrote this but I’m still quite fond of this silly horniness with Greek gods, playing with structure and it’s very fun and smutty and silly.

rejocing in virility, Satan/Beezlebub. John Milton’s Paradise Lost. 458 words. Poetry. A handjob in mid-air and me running with Milton's way of using catalog for pornographic effect. This was in fact for a class assignment and my professor read it aloud to my class and no one really listened closely enough to understand their professor was reciting a santanic handjob to them. Truly a pinnacle classroom experience for me.

[osrmedia]

 Finding Yourself in the Forest: A Transformational Wellness Retreat at Junglhabits

In today’s world—where every minute feels like a race and digital pings never let up—our minds crave calm, our bodies seek stillness, and our souls long to breathe. If you’ve ever caught yourself staring at your screen wondering, “Is this it?”—then it might be time for something deeper.

Tucked away in the lush embrace of Uttarakhand’s Himalayan foothills lies Junglhabits, a place where time slows down, and nature does what it does best—heal. At the heart of this forested paradise is Jusgar Resort in Kotdwar, not just a destination, but a journey back to yourself.

Welcome to a wellness retreat where silence speaks louder than stress and the forest becomes your sanctuary.

A Habitat in the Jungle, Not Just a Resort

Junglhabits isn’t your typical weekend escape. Located in the sleepy, soul-stirring village of Umrella, this eco-retreat is built on a belief: nature knows best. That’s why every cottage is crafted using local materials, every path winds through wild greens, and every day begins not with a buzzing alarm but with birdsong and golden light slipping through deodar leaves.

Forget five-star opulence—this is luxury redefined. It’s the rare kind that whispers instead of shouts. A clean conscience. A clear sky. A gentle pause. This is what true abundance looks like.

The Jusgar Way: Where Simplicity Meets Soul

At Jusgar Resort, sustainability isn’t a selling point—it’s a way of life. Rainwater is harvested, meals are grown on-site, solar energy powers your stay, and even your waste is handled responsibly. Every corner of the resort invites you to slow down, disconnect from the chaos, and reconnect with what matters.

Instead of room service and noisy pool parties, think forest walks, herbal teas under sun-dappled trees, and guided meditation sessions in the hush of a hidden glade.

The Wellness Journey: Let the Forest Lead

This isn’t a retreat where you’re handed a schedule and told how to relax. This is a space that gently encourages you to rediscover your natural rhythm.

Morning yoga in a forest pavilion, where every breath is filled with pine and purpose.

Meditation sessions that silence the mental chatter you didn’t even know was exhausting you.

Slow, mindful meals crafted from the freshest local ingredients, eaten under open skies at The Nightjar Restaurant.

Gentle journaling by a bubbling stream or art therapy under the shade of a mango tree.

Here, you’re not fixing anything—you’re simply remembering who you were before the world told you who to be.

Yes, There’s Adventure Too

If stillness isn’t the only thing your spirit craves, Junglhabits has your wild side covered too. The Shivalik hills and Terai belt surrounding the retreat are ripe with adventure. And the best part? It’s all guided with the same care and consciousness as the wellness offerings.

From rock climbing and river crossing to night safaris and birdwatching, every experience invites you to challenge yourself—and connect more deeply with nature while doing it.

Top Adventure Activities:

Rock climbing & rappelling on natural Himalayan formations

Riverbed hikes and forest treks

Jungle walks with expert local guides

Night safaris and stargazing in pollution-free skies

Birdwatching rare Himalayan species like hornbills and crested serpent eagles

Whether you’re traveling solo, with a partner, or part of a group, these curated experiences add exhilaration to your healing journey.

Sustainable Travel, Done Right

Eco-tourism isn’t a trend here—it’s a responsibility. Every stay at Junglhabits supports local communities, preserves native flora and fauna, and respects the fragile ecosystem it calls home.

You’re not just a guest—you’re part of a greater movement. Your visit helps fund conservation, employ local artisans, and educate future travelers about responsible tourism.

Why Choose Junglhabits?

Among the many resorts in Kotdwar, Junglhabits stands apart because it doesn’t just offer you a place to stay—it gives you a place to feel.

Reconnect with yourself through nature, stillness, and forest immersion

Enjoy Uttarakhand’s top adventure experiences in a safe, conscious setting

Be part of a resort that’s redefining eco-tourism in Uttarakhand

Experience wellness, not as a luxury—but as your birthright

Final Thoughts: You’re Not Lost—Just Waiting to Be Found

In the forest, something magical happens. Without the rush, the emails, the obligations—you start to hear your own thoughts again. You begin to move at your own pace. You start to feel… whole.

Junglhabits is not a place to escape life. It’s where you go to return to it—with more clarity, calm, and joy than you ever thought possible.

So when the world feels too loud and your spirit feels too small, know this: the forest is waiting. And Junglhabits is ready to welcome you home.

[thebloomingofawildflower]

Sometimes I feel like a stand-in in my own life.

I wake up at six, get a coffee and some nicotine - non-cigarette based but still replacing the urge of it - in the form of chewing gum or an inhaler or a patch.

My journal sits on the swing, floating, waiting for me to pick up a pen. But today, like yesterday, I don't.

I sleep from six-thirty until around eight, on a couch or sofa in one room or another, until it's time to shower and be functional for the day.

I don't really know what being functional looks like right now.

Is it simply waking up, doing the dishes, making the shared space I inhabit look clean, and then retreating down to my isolated space I fill with dirty clothes and unwashed dishes? I stopped smoking inside but invite others to do so. I fixed a hole in the chair only for another to form. I feel like I'm pedalling backwards.

I slept through many things yesterday. And because I slept, I don't get to know them after the fact. That would give away that I wasn't doing important things, wasn't cleaning, wasn't productive, wasn't awake.

To me, if I miss a whole day because I'm in and out of consciousness, it's a day completely wasted. Is that something learned, or is that my own thoughts? My therapist would say it's a neurotypical way of looking at functioning, and I would agree, then I'd leave the session, that bubble of safety, and forget I am different in a same-same world. All the otherness has been stripped of my town. There is just me.

Perhaps if there were a group, some kind of meet-up, whether online or in-person, for locals like me, it would make me feel better. That I'm not the only one failing at being near-thirty in a small farming town. That I'm not the only one with more diagnoses than anxiety and depression, which plagued my tween and teenagehood. That I'm not the only one who gets shouted at from cars because of who I am.

My name is different and recognisable but I would never change it. Wildflower. I get to choose what that means to me. That's special.

It could mean I am a Waratah, or a billy button, or Stuart's desert pea, or kangaroo paw. All things I see daily in the native gardens out the back, which my mother tends to dearly and has done for over a decade.

When we moved here, same town, different house, the land was all bush. Over time, it has been honed into a miniature paradise of flowers and rockeries and bushes and trees. There is a clear outline between the property my family owns and the fences all around, holding the bush back from our neatly kept gardens. I stared into that bush as a child, scared of what was within. Now, what's within wakes me up at night. I've learned to sleep through it, like I imagine those who live next to train stations live through the morning rumblings of the first service passing through.

It is five to nine, and Abe is awake. I consider hiding, but what good would that do when I've used my voice just now, alerting him to the fact I am here in his house, drinking his coffee? (It's about the money, it's always about the money) Though I paid for it, it's in his cupboard, in his home, therefore it is his. He doesn't drink coffee since the health scare, but I've seen the pot on the stove more than once this month, so maybe he believes it will cure him the way I believed therapy would cure me.

I can hear him talking to my mother, their voices hushed but aggravated, and part of me thinks: this is about you. It is always about you.

Maybe he just can't find the newspaper. Maybe he's just talking loudly because he can't hear her. These are the things I think each and every time. They're never true. I listen closer, trying to make words out of sound, but all I can hear are pieces.

Noah, another friend, pings on my phone. Chloé has long since gone to sleep so I hit reply and type out a good morning to Noah, who is at least in my timezone, and tell them I'm feeling on edge. It's true, but not the whole truth.

The truth is I don't feel whole. Not right now. Unfulfilled would be the right phrasing. There is something missing, and though Abe thinks it's work, I think it's community.

I reach out to people online and when that virtual hand withers, it takes me a while to try again. I need to get better at trying again. That's what this blog is for, in a way. To get me to write. To exert some of my strengths via the written word, while also feeling like I'm not abandoning my dear journal, which is still on the swing, untouched. I could bring it today to job applications, but that would be like carrying my heart in my homemade sling bag, and I need to feel some sense of anonymity today. I just need it, like I need the breakfast I haven't had to settle my stomach.

Maybe I'll stop in at a fast food chain whilst on my search out on the streets to find work, and inhale a breakfast muffin or two. It'd only cost a tenner, and seems more appealing than the fridge-cold apple I picked out earlier. Maybe I'd get an iced latte with it, decaf and a million other changes to have it made it to my liking.

Finally, I've showered, spiked up my hair with borrowed gel, sprayed under my arms with (again, borrowed) deodorant that is far from the aluminium-free coconut stick I get shipped from London, but it'll do. I am presentable. I am not feeling myself, but I look it. That will have to do for now. The nicotine patch sticks to my freshly-dried skin and I hold it on with the flat of my palm for the ten seconds as instructed on the plain white packet. It has my name on it and everything, a whole pharmacy label, just for me. Wildflower

Noah informs me they are also feeling a bit 'eh'. That's the wording I'd choose, too. Not bad, not good. Could be better. Life ebbs and flows and I am on the crest of a wave right now, seeing whether I'll crash into the shore or keep gliding along it. While that is to be seen, I keep on writing.

The sounds of my mother's violin echoes through the walls. She does lessons in Gravetown, twenty minutes from our house. The teacher may be getting me a volunteer position at a soup kitchen, but hasn't been returning the email address she gave me. I've tried to call twice, but no dice. It feels like a me problem. Why is that? Gravetown has many places I could work, but a lot of places I wouldn't like to work. There are also biological and psychological factors stopping me from working the hours of a 'regular person'. Whatever that is. Yet still it feels like a me problem. Maybe this is what my therapist has been talking about: seeing the world through a neurotypical lens will get me nowhere if I am not neurotypical. And I am not neurotypical.

As my mother's violin practice comes to a close, ready for her actual lesson in with Gladys of Gravetown, we pile up in the car I can’t drive and she takes me to the nearby shops.

The one I’m looking to work at is closed again, purely because they don’t have workers, though I can see people inside. I decide to get breakfast before I determine whether I want to wave at them to get their attention.

It’s ten oh ten, I’m done annotating. It’s time to exist in the world, headphones on, sunglasses on, tinting the world in my favour as I move through it.

--

Changing your surname is a hard thing, especially when doing it for the second time.

It's been a few years since I changed my surname (originally going to be nothing, like Cher or Zendaya) to something completely different from my family name. Going back to my family name feels like coming home. And it suits me, it does, I just didn't think it would be this much of a hassle.

For anyone who reads these, think twice before impulsively changing your name legally. It's a big process, one that was made simpler for a time few years back by the government, who were then swamped with requests for name changes and then made it more expensive (by thirty whole dollars) after that. Passports are more expensive to change, and certifying documents at the pharmacy now costs money. It reminds me we are in a world that loves forms, and if you fill out one that changes a few other forms, then, well, you're screwed if you want to change it back. That's the position I'm in. One form after another, system errors and 'you already have an account here' abounds. Yes, I may have an account here, but under a different name. Have I tried my other email? Have I tried my nickname? I feel like giving up on one of the criteria when a message box pops up saying 'you can pay now and give us the rest of the info later!'.

Of course. Of course that's an option. I take it anyway. A hundo-fifty (and sixty cents) later, I've made a request to update my surname. Really, it's a request to make a request. I've now got to gather documents, certify them, upload them online, and then wait to hear back about if this can even go ahead. I've changed my name several times, doing it legally to prove to people 'this is who I am now!' only to feel differently years down the track. It used to be a simple form filled out at a local government agency, now there are whole departments dedicated to this sort of thing. It's good, in a way, knowing there are more people (and probably robots (most likely robots)) working on helping people recognise themselves on a government document. I wish it just wasn't so hard.

My verification online fails, so I text Noah to complain. They're busy with something equally as frustrating. We both send an 'ugh' in the chat box and resign ourselves from the conversation for thirty odd minutes. The online verification failing isn't a new thing for me. I don't look how I did years ago. My hair is different, my face is rounder, and my eyebrows thicker. Maybe the AI doesn't recognise me, or maybe there's a person behind it all, watching me closely, saying hey, I see you, and I don't like what you're doing. But that's paranoid thinking, and I have been free of that for some time now.

If there's one thing I'm good at, it's recognising thought patterns. Just not my own. Not all the time. I slip in and out of negative patterns of thought easier than I do into the shower, which has always been hard for me. The transition from dry to wet to dry is something I've always hated since a child. Showers make it worse, as there's no solid body of water, just a solid stream hitting me over and over, making me forcibly clean.

Last time I was at hospital I smelled so bad the nurse asked if I would like a gown. I don't like to think of that as me. So I try. I shower, I brush my teeth, I do the laundry and put on fresh clothes when they're dry. Straight out of the basket, no folding required. There's a fine line between easy and lazy and I run it.

The community thrift store I want to volunteer at calls back and says (you guessed it) there are two forms to be filled out. One I needed anyway, and another errors. I feel like texting Noah, but remember they're busy, so I write it in the book of lists I carry daily. It has everything from specifics to vague goals for my future:

'Submit documents'

'Get a job'

'Water the garden'

Some of these goals written purely for Abe, in case he ever checks my notebook to see what I'm writing. He can look. I want him to look at what I've written. It will say: Progress, I am making progress. With or without you I am making progress.

Writing this blog, to me, is progress, too. I am typing. I am writing. I am getting out my thoughts and feelings, while also possibly connecting with others who feel the same. I am telling a story, but that story is true, even if my profile picture is of flowers and not of a face. It's something. Something is enough for now.

---

It is nearly three p.m and I am considering calling a helpline about Abe.

Not that he is concerning me, but has concerned me, and there is a line for that here. There's a line for most things here, provided you have a phone with credit and are willing to call.

The number is saved and ready. I have looked up the website about three times in the past five minutes. I have read their blog, and sources, and 'about us' spiel. I have my hand on my phone and my thumb over the 'call' button when Noah texts. They're not busy any more, and I wonder if I should plague them with my troubles instead. But they have good news, and I have already taken away from that by admitting I'm not feeling my best today. Physically or mentally. They haven't read the messages yet, and I debate un-sending them before leaving them in the chatbox to rot until they are received.

We used to talk on Tumblr. I met a lot of my friends on Tumblr, and a few have stayed. Some I've even met. Noah isn't one of them. I like them though. We have an understanding, and that's the best you can get between two people who are very far away from each other.

Noah reads my messages and tells me it'll be fine, and I know it will. Not because they've told me, but because I know myself, and it will be fine. It always is, even if it gets worse before it gets better.

Mental health is something I'm both willing and reticent to talk about on here. Not for fear of judgement but for fear of giving too much away about me personally, as if I haven't been doing that already. My mother walks by and I tell her about the name change process, but she doesn't react with joy like I hoped she would. Simply acknowledgement. She's probably wondering why I'm sitting in this particular room of her house when I have my own space (internet and a bathroom) or has something else on her mind. She's been interested in the war lately. Abe tells her all kinds of things and then she goes down rabbit holes of research to set him right. Abe, in my opinion, is on a slippery slope of misinformation. It's tainting the space around him. Hence, the leader of a two person cult.

For today, since I haven't seen him or heard him, he is just Abe. Abe, my father, with similar facial features and staggeringly different views on the world. He shares these views with world leaders and figures of high importance, but not with me.

Like I said in another post, I've been through a lot. I've seen a lot. And I still choose to see good I the world. He has chosen the opposite. Wants to move countries entirely because this one isn't right enough for him. I wish he would sometimes. But then, no. Perish the thought.

It is nearly three p.m and I still haven't called that helpline. I'm worried I'll be put on hold, panic and hang up, like I have done with many helplines in the past. I check the website once more: still there. I check the number in my phone: correct.

I swallow nothing and hit 'CALL'.

Within the first ten minutes, I feel anxious. A message pops up for me to answer via my keypad: would you like to call back later? I don't want to, so I click 'remain in queue' and fiddle with the nicotine patch on my arm, wondering if that's causing my nausea or contributing to it. I look it up: most likely. I don't want to take it off though, so I leave it on and turn up the volume of my phone, which is on loudspeaker. A woman's voice tells me over and over throughout hold music: 'All of our counsellors are busy on other calls. Please press 2 and we will call you back within 48 hours'.

I can attest to this, they did call me back within 48 hours, but at a time I couldn't talk freely, so I politely refused the call after answering and said I would call back another time. This is me calling back another time. They say on the website it takes up to thirty minutes per call. If I can make it past that on hold, I might have a chance of getting through. Otherwise there is always SANE, again, if I can get through. It takes one hour and two minutes exactly on hold before they hang up. There's a heads up for you. If you do get through, though, they listen, and really listen, to what you have to say.

I can see Abe through the window and wonder if he knows exactly what I'm doing somehow. If he has telepathic powers, or just a video feed set up in this room to spy on me. Again, paranoid thinking. Again, I am alright. I just have to keep reminding myself of this.

You are Wildflower, you are here, you are alright.

I chose my name after a character I created in my mind. Strong and resilient, but damaged somehow, in a way that only they could fix. Inner strength. That's what my name means. To push through the dry, cracked dirt, or the boggy marshes, and bloom.

Within the first twenty five minutes, I am close to my goal. My phone alerts me it is about to go flat, so I rush to a charging point to plug it in. I take my laptop with me to continue conversing with Noah. They didn't mind about my messages earlier, but now, in my own mind, I'm pushing it. I complain about myself, about the call I'm on, and explain my mission to make it past half an hour on hold. They tell me about their day and how it went, and how they're tired. Selfishly, I wish they won't nap so I can continue chatting while I wait.

After thirty nine minutes, Deborah answers my call. I don't know how I remember her name, but I do. She is an older woman, and for a moment I wonder if she will understand my situation at all, but through over-explained sentences and a thirty-minute time limit, I get out what I have written on the paper beside me. The gist of it is: How do I live now, after what has happened?

I tell her not she doesn't have to have the answers, then wonder if she would have given me one had I not said that. She asks about my immediate family, about family history, and I give her vague answers. I don't want this to be a form I'm filling out, I just need support. So I read off 'How do I live now, after what has happened?' again, toward the end of the call, and she tells me I have a compassionate heart, and to protect it.

I tell her I will. The phone shows an hour and nine minutes. I hang up.

Noah has messaged me while I've been on the phone, so I check to see a simple complaint about a simple ailment. I can deal with this. I reply with the standard 'that sucks' and then elaborate on why, because I'm in the writing mood, and they agree.

I need to see my therapist. They ask when, and I say I haven't booked an appointment. I do so now. Another call, another wait, another bout of hold music. It is four eighteen p.m and I have done nothing with my day.

I did get a government pass to volunteer, which I needed, and filled out a volunteer form, which I needed, and placed two calls. That has to count for something in the realm of productivity. I don't know why I've been obsessed with it lately. Part of it must be proving something to Abe. That I'm worth something in his eyes. Part of it is just me, and my drive to do good while I'm well.

I don't want to have to prove anything to Abe. That's what that hour and nine minute wait-and-call was all about. Deborah listened, but she couldn't fix my situation for me. I didn't expect her to. I didn't expect her to cuss Abe out, or tell me she'd find me my perfect home and garden, a sanctuary I've always wanted, or even refer me to another line where they'd have all the answers. Deborah was fine, but I needed more time. Maybe years.

I call my therapist's office and wait on hold for four minutes before realising I can call later without wasting my time, so I hang up. Text Noah. Write. Call again. It rings and rings and then puts me on hold. The music is gentle but repetitive. Nobody answers after several minutes, so again I hang up. I'll try again tomorrow. Even that thought depresses me.

Tomorrow. Not to curse, but what the fuck will I do with my tomorrow? That has been the question for about a week now. I feel like I'm on the edge of 'tomorrow' always, with nothing to do for 'today'. It's a cycle that is sending me somewhere I'm not ready to go yet.

I shoot a message off to another friend, then another, knowing both will take at least 2-3 business days to respond, but at least the feelers are out there, and it will feel good when they finally reply. I don't know what it is about me that needs constant support. Maybe it's the childhood trauma, or just plain mental illness. Maybe it's my personality. I like to be needed, and in turn I need people around me. Maybe I'm just isolated, here in the sticks with many familiar faces but none I want to see right now. They're all surface-level smiles anyway - none of them know me. Not wholly.

Onyx is active on Facebook, but not within the last half hour, and Grace is always active but never replies. I haven't felt close with Grace for a long time, but that is something to talk about for another time.

I could call Noah, or Onyx, or even Aria who finishes work soon, but really, above all, I want to talk to Chloé. Chloé, who is in another timezone and asleep. She will be for at least another hour. We met online, and though people are still wary of online relationships, I've been to her house, eaten her food, and drank water from her tap. She's as real as I am, just far away, like Noah. In the meantime, I write, not caring how long these paragraphs are, or if anyone at all will read them.

I'm debating sending another message to Onyx as Noah is busy again when my mood drops. It's not uncommon recently for this to happen, at exactly this time, too. End of the day, family home from work talking about what they've done, getting ready to relax. Here I am, hiding from Abe in a little room with a laptop that needs charging and a nicotine inhaler. Here I'll stay, until the weather turns or the sun goes down enough for the heat to not beat down so hard on my little one-room home.

It's cleaner in there, now, but not clean enough for proper guests. Not that I have many of those. All the friends I have I've named, and if you've read this far, you'll know there are few of them. But they're good, like Chloé is good, and they all bring something unique to my life that I could never replace with words. A light. I need that right now. I think that's why I'm so desperate for company lately. I just don't want to take more than they can give.

I consider calling SANE when I realise I could leave this room and see mother, thank her for the lift today, and come back to the room a little more energised, but I won't. I'm here now, and Abe is out there, and I don't want him to hear about how I failed at getting work today. In his day, one would walk into a store with a piece of paper, see a manager and be hired. Now there are online portals he doesn't know the login to. I help him with things like this, despite it all. Despite what he's done, despite what he still does, despite, despite, despite.

I make a note to talk about Abe to my therapist, and that note stares right back at me as I draw the check box next to it. That's a Pandora's box that won't close. That check box will be left alone for a long while should I broach this topic with my therapist, but it needs to be done.

It's past five, and I can't make an appointment now, but I have it written down. It being written makes it real.

It's past five, and Chloé will be up soon, and selfishly I hope she is willing to chat about my problems, my minuscule problems, on first waking.

It's past five and I feel like crying. I am going to call Onyx and if she answers, hope she doesn't mind a bit of whining. If she doesn't, I will leave a voice memo I'll think twice about before sending. Am I selfish, or just human?

It's past five, and that's just the question, isn't it?