#What sorta bullshit do I have to brace myself for

[myiliterallyhavenolifegoals]

Hey @netflix, how come you've deleted all of your posts related to Dead Boy Detectives, hmm? What's going on there, buddy? What's up with that? :)

[softlights-citylights]

just coworkers

timeskip!akaashi x coworker!reader.

content warning nothing, just akaashi being a gentleman. gender neutral pronouns.

word count [567]

m.list

They had been car-pooling with Akaashi for a few months now. The arrangement worked great for the two of them. It was convenient for when they had to work overtime. With their workload, and the number of panels they still had to work through, they spent several late nights in the office together.

"Is it wrong to like and/or date a coworker?" they asked, leaning on their knuckles and staring out the window. It had been another late night, with a deadline looming over the two of them.

"Depends." Was his one word answer. The manuscript in the back seat jostled around as he drove over a speed bump on the way out of the parking lot. Akaashi gripped the wheel a bit tighter, the tension in his forearms was visible as his sleeves were rolled up.

They turned to look at his side profile, catching a glimpse of him loosening his tie. The shadows from the dim streetlamps only made the muscles in his arms look more pronounced. They asked, "On what?"

"Who you are asking for, department, and seniority," he answered. He had always been a no bullshit, straightforward person. Akaashi tried to keep that masquerade up despite his heart racing. The possibility that it could be himself made him giddy. And the possibility that it could be another, made his heart sink.

"I'm asking for myself, we are in the same department—sorta, and seniority is a bit complicated." They started to sound a little nervous now, and Akaashi picked up on it.

He decided to press further. This was really going to suck—or be the best day of his life, depending on their answer. "Who is it that you like?"

"Will you stop car-pooling with me based on my answer?"

"No."

They didn't want to make things awkward between them. He was the best editor a mangaka could ask for. And changing editors halfway through a series like this wouldn't be the best for publicity. Nor would it do the story any favors.

"It's you," they finally said. There was nothing but the sound of the road and blood rushing through their ears. "I like you."

Akaashi was silent for a moment and the haunting feeling of having made a huge mistake washed over them. The car grew dim as they left the warm light of a streetlamp behind. Then their faces were lit once more as they approached the next. Several moments passed with nothing but the sound of their heart racing in their ears. They took a deep breath, bracing themself for the worst. "It's fine if you don't like me back, I'll get over it."

Whether those words were the truth or a lie was unclear. Perhaps they really did feel that way, or they were just putting up a brave front for Akaashi. He couldn't tell. But it didn't matter. He was happy.

"I'll be courting you from tomorrow on, then." He decided. "I want to do things properly."

Their eyes snapped up to his face to find a slight smile. He met their gaze, only taking his eyes off the road for a brief second.

The next morning, Akaashi showed up outside their apartment. Nothing seemed to have changed between the two of them. They still followed the same routine. That was up until Akaashi opened the passenger door to reveal a massive bouquet of flowers.

m.list

a/n this is my first oneshot fic, hope its not too bad. i am still working on that tsukkiyama fic tho

[iluffyouxo]

𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚜 || 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚕𝚎𝚎

NCT — mark lee x black, female oc

November had quickly rolled into December—though, I was still stuck in a Halloween mood—and all throughout the city were lights and elves and white santa statues galore.

Every store was damn near a blinding declaration of Christmas cheer.

A strong gust of wind zipped past causing a strong shiver to spark up my spine, pulling my coat more against me, as snow glistened and crunched under my boots.

I grumbled and hissed and huffed.

I’m cold, my nose is runny and I haven’t even gone Christmas shopping yet. Christmas was just a week away. And if I have to hear Mariah Carey sing about how much she wants me for Christmas one more damn time, I think I’ll lose it! I just wanted all of this Christmas joy bullshit to be over with as soon as possible.

Call me a grinch but, Christmas and I don’t get along. Not since I was a child.

If I didn’t have to celebrate Christmas for the rest of my life, absolute bliss would be an understatement of the century.

As I continue to grumble about my misfortunes there’s a buzz in my pocket and I quickly fish out my phone. “Hey, Grinch!” A tiny voice cackled in my ear. I roll my eyes and chuckle, “Hey, Nelle, what’s up?”

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t lost in wonderland.”

At that statement I realized, in the midst of my self loathing, I forgot to pay attention to where I was going. I began to glance at my surroundings before sighing, I was most certainly…, “…lost. I’m lost in puke land.”

Nelle cackles loudly into the phone. “Soo Yeong, Juni’s lost—again.” As her laughter grows louder, my patience wanes thin.

“I don’t have time for this, I’ll call you later.” Before Nelle had a chance to reply, I quickly hang up, only so she could get a quick taste of my annoyance.

My surroundings are bright and colorful and, in the entrance of some random department store, there’s a robotic black santa waving at me. What the hell? My eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I-I dunno how to feel about that.”

In a city like Seoul, South Korea, that was quite a strange, uncertain thing to see.

I shake my head and decide not to think about it. Ever.

However, even minutes later, I can’t help but to think about it. It’s quite laughable, actually, how much that damned santa statue rubbed me the wrong way. Well, no…just surprising, I suppose.

And, in my wandering thoughts, I don’t notice a slick sheet of ice in my path until I’ve stepped on it. My eyes grow wide as my feet give way from under me. “Well, shit. I dunno how to ice skate.”

I brace myself for an impact that I quickly realized never came. Instead I feel a tight grip on both of my arms. I look up to be met with a panicked expression on a rather handsome face. An attractive man rescuing a clumsy woman on a snowy evening? I click my tongue, “How cliché.”

“Uh—what’s cliché?” His voice is rough as he questions me as if he hadn’t spoken all day. Or rather…as if he had just woken up. There was still sleep in his dark eyes.

I shrug. “Being lost in this stupid puke land.” I snicker at my own joke, but I’m only met with a confused look.

“What does that mean?” I chuckle, “It was a joke.” He nods slowly, his gaze confirming understanding, until he’s pondering my words again. “Umm…I still don’t get it.”

I pat his shoulder with a small shake of my head. “It’s not for you to get, my friend. It was more of an inside joke to myself.” I turn on my heel before bending my head back to look at him upside down. “Well, thanks for saving me but, I gotta go.”

As I begin to walk away, my ears twitch at the sound of fast-paced steps behind me in the loud snow. “Hey, wait! What’s your name?”

I turn around to look at him and glare, “And why do you care to know? Are you some sorta pervert?”

His face contorts into a look of disgust. “What the hell? No!” He raises his arms to his chest in the form of an X. “I can guarantee that I’m not a pervert. I’m just kinda…lost.”

I stuff my hands into my coat’s pockets with a shrug. “Can’t help you there, buddy; we’re in the same boat.” His face lights up at that and he drops his hands back down to his sides. “Then, can I come with you?” He gives me a hopeful look.

I look at him for a while before finally giving into his puppy-like gaze. “Alright, fine,” I sigh, “But, if you try anything, I won’t hesitate to hurt you.”

He gulps with a sharp nod of his head before quickly scurrying to my side. “Understood.”

•••

Snowfall. The cold blanket was becoming thicker. And the cute stranger had yet to leave my side.

In fact, he had gotten impossibly closer—to keep warm, he says—as he continued to have a one-sided conversation (every now and then I’d grace him with a bored hum of acknowledgment).

It’s strange, really. I should want to yell at this guy for being too close. But, I found his presence strangely…comforting.

“Oh! Fun fact!” He seemed quite excited over something. “Oh?” I raised an eyebrow at him. “Snowflakes all have different designs, isn’t that neat? Not one is alike.” I chuckle a bit at that; he was really, rather adorable. “That’s kinda cool.”

It actually wasn’t all that interesting a fact. Of course, I’d already know something about that. But, he seemed really happy at my feigning surprise. Maybe I should start indulging in his conversation?

I like to see him smile.

•••

“This is pretty good.”

“It’s pretty fucking hot,” I grumble.

We had stopped at a late night café in the middle of our aimless wandering. The mugs were huge and filed to the brim and smelled of sweet heaven, and tasted like it, too.

“So, where exactly were you heading off to?”

I look up at him from behind my drink and hum. “I was actually going back to my friend’s apartment, where I’m staying, from an audition I had.”

“An audition?” He repeats, I nod. “Yeah, as a head choreographer. But, it’s pretty hard to be accepted. I’m not surprised, though, this is Korea after all.”

His eyebrows raise at that. “Huh? What d’you mean by that?” I chuckle at him again.

He’s so oblivious. It’s cute.

“I say that because—“ I take a quick sip of my cooling coffee, “—I’m a black woman.”

He looks at me with cut eyes for a while before they grow wide in realization then, he scoffs. “Well, that’s dumb.” I laugh out loud this time, “It is dumb, isn’t it?”

•••

Once the snow had finally come to a stop, we continued our walk to nowhere. And I found myself more at ease with him.

We continued talking and laughing and staring at each other for a beat too long but never acknowledging it.

Though, somewhere along the way, we had taken a break from walking. I just so happened to look up and I, also, found myself under the mistletoe with a stranger.

“Ummm…don’t look up.” He looked up anyways.

It took him quite awhile to register what he was looking at but, once he did, his whole face turned cherry red. “EH!?” Oh, he’s pretty loud.

I huff, “I told you not to look up…, dummy.”

I was about to walk off until I felt a tight grip on my hand and, quicker than I can blink, soft lips met my own before he lets go of my hand and speeds off ahead of me. I stand there frozen, my fingers on my lips. “Oh.”

He kissed me.

•••

Somehow, in some way, I was able to find my way back home. “Hey, Nelle,” I speak into my phone, “I’m outside, make sure to unlock the door.”

I sigh once I hang up and turn to the cutie that never stops smiling. “Are you still lost?” He shakes his head with a shrug. “Nah. I know my way from here.” I nod and begin to open the door to the complex but he grabs my hand again. “Wait—I never got your name.”

I turn to him again. “Juni. My name’s Juni.”

He lets go of me to outstretch his arm, I take it into mine. “I’m Mark, nice to meet you.”

I stare at him for beat (just as I had been doing the entire night) and, before I could truly think about, I take a step forward and return his kiss from earlier. And he kisses back.

“Just pretend there’s a mistletoe above us,” I mumble between kisses.

“Okay,” he manages to giggle out.

It takes a long time for us to finally pull away from each other. I smile at him, “Merry Christmas, Mark.” His flushed face seems to glow in the fairy lights that I still loathed as he grins back. “Merry Christmas, Juni; I’ll see you on New Year’s?”

“Yeah, meet me here. Don’t get lost.” I wink. He lets out a loud laugh. “Okay, I won’t.”

He turns and begins to walk away in the opposite direction in which we came and I watched him for a while before heading inside. I spent a whole snowy evening with a stranger. “How cliché,” I snort.

Nelle and Soo Yeong meet me at the door. “What’s cliché?” I pat Nelle’s shoulder, “Like a hallmark movie.”

“Huh?” Soo Yeong questions. “It’s a joke, my friend.”

“Uh—we don’t get it.” I laugh at that. This is quite uncanny. “You’re not supposed to; it’s more of a joke for me.”

[bajablastwrites]

Pain. Agony. Suffering if you will.

Saiki k x reader

Reader’s gender not specified

Summary: You’re the new transfer student added to the plot, except this time you’ve got braces and are from America!….yay…

Authors Note: I decided to write a little about braces since I don’t see much being written about them in general. But to be fair it’s not like it’s this big thing that makes you stand out, the most you’ll struggle with is pain from the braces themselves since they slowly shift and move your teeth around, but that’s about it. Still wanted to write about it though since I have braces myself.

———————————————————————

So braces aren’t really a common thing in Japan, having straight teeth are more of a western thing. Unless it becomes a health problem, people in Japan don’t really get braces for cosmetic purposes as far as I know, so we’ll say that you’re the new transfer student from America.

So when you finished introducing yourself to the class and sat down, your new classmates obviously surrounded you since you’re a foreigner and a very cute one too. They’ve had lots of transfer students but not one from America, so you were unfortunately kinda treated like a zoo animal and asked you to say things in English and then laughed (idk why people do this it’s so annoying), some even wanted to take pictures of you— which for obvious reasons you politely refused (it’s been confirmed by lots of kids that moved to Japan that they’ve been treated like this so I’m not pulling this out of my ass). Saiki noticed that you were slowly becoming overwhelmed by the constant attention and questions from his peers and got Teruhashi to walk into the room to get the attention off you. It sorta worked because she introduced herself to you and did her “let me know if you need something” speech to keep up the appearance of the perfect pretty girl— but to you it just sounded like that customer service voice you put on when you work retail so you knew what she was saying was bullshit.

The excitement of a foreign exchange student won’t die down until like a couple of weeks so you’ll have to put up with random students from the school walking up to you and essentially harass you with questions and asking you to say stuff in English, with saiki of course being near by to keep things under control since he pitted your situation because you clearly didn’t want the attention.

But back to the main topic at hand, Kaido was actually the one to introduce himself to you during lunch and invite you to his group. He actually noticed your braces and asked about them, so you said they were for cosmetic reasons and were kinda a trend in America, having straight teeth is attractive after all. Obviously you didn’t leave out that having braces is a painful experience, what can you say but beauty is pain. In Kaido’s brain he sees your braces as this evil device that dark reunion forced upon you as punishment for rebelling against them, you didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about and kinda felt weird about it.

Once Kaido pointed it out Saiki now started to notice them. If you got a new color of bands for the brackets, saiki noticed and if you’re at the stage where they give you rubber bands for them Saiki noticed the rubber bands in your mouth— he originally thought they were really thick spit at first and asked you about it by pointing to his mouth, which you then explained to him that, no it’s not spit those were your rubber bands and showed him. In time you grew close with saiki and his friends and hung out with them on a regular basis, but mostly staying with saiki since he’s not all over the place. But back on track.

Obviously with braces you’re limited to what you can eat so anything like a whole apple needs to be sliced for you to be able to eat. Saiki is weirdly fascinated with your whole braces situation if he’s being honest. There’s something interesting (cute) about you having to figure out how to eat something whenever you and his friend group go out to eat, he can watch you all day.

God help you when your braces get tightened because he sees you struggling to chew because of pain you feel in your teeth. If you were invited to stay for dinner by his mom (which you 100% were) saiki telepathically told his mom that you can’t eat hard foods at the moment, but that’s all he told her. So she was under the impression that you had some sort of sickness or something so you had to explain to her that you have braces, not a dietary problem— you can eat hard foods just not at the moment because your teeth are sore. That sweet woman made a bento for you the next day with foods that were easy on your teeth or chopped up/in slices and made saiki give it to you.

There was a time where you made a sandwich for yourself two days after you’ve gotten your braces tightened and thought that you would be able to bite into it with little to no pain— but you were dead wrong and felt throbbing pain in your teeth for the rest of the day. When you told Saiki about it, after calling you an idiot (affectionate), he took it upon himself to make sure you don’t do something stupid like that again by keeping track of your appointments and then bringing you food you can eat for the next few days that your teeth are sore. You told him that he didn’t need to do that because you felt bad, but he did it anyways because he’s got a soft spot for you.

He knows you’re not stupid or something, you’ve had your braces for more than a year so you know the routine by now. You just made an impulsive decision and felt compelled to help you because of his growing affection for you. If you know about his powers it makes things ever easier for him since he’ll be able to chop up anything that’s too big for you to bite into or take meat clean off the bone for you to eat. He’ll do that and say you were taking too long to figure out how to break the food apart even though it’s not true, acts of service is just his love language.

After a while he eventually figured out that his feelings for you were more than just “I tolerate them” and eventually confessed to you, but it a way where it made you look like you were confessing to him?? He’s weird like that. But if you insist on dating him I guess he can’t say no— you can’t back out now he’s made up his mind so you’re going with him on a date after school.

When you got your braces off he felt weird about it, cuz he’s so used to seeing braces on your teeth that it almost feels wrong seeing you without them. Yeah you’ve got a really pretty smile now and can eat foods without having to break them down into small pieces, but at what cost. Now he can’t use your braces as a reason to feed you how dare you >:(! Now he has to find something else to use as an excuse to be nice even though you guys are now dating smh.

[adultswim2021]

Moral Orel #29: “Nature” | July 9, 2007 - 12:15AM | S02E19

This is an incredible episode. The first of a two-parter that caps off season two in a similar fashion to season one (if you watched it in production order and not airdate order, that is [this will always be a thing, sorry]). A Moral Orel episode where the facade of Moralton begins to crack and we’re let in on how real this world actually is. This one starts off slightly atypically: in Clay’s study, post-Orel-being-punished for some vague offense. The tone is pretty typical Moral Orel, bleakly-tinged darkly-comic dialogue and one-liners, a conventional story beginning to unfold that will soon have some wicked twist applied to it, strong visual storytelling and amusing background details, etc. All the shit you expect from Moral Orel.  

The plot is that Clay simply wants to take Orel hunting, as it’s about that time in a child’s/TV-show’s life when a father does that with his son. Personally, I’ve never hunted. But I came of age at a time and place when and where it was still fairly common shared experience among boys Orel’s age when I was also Orel’s age. Orel doesn’t have it in him to hunt down one of God’s creatures, despite Clay’s insistence that they are merely helping the animals take “nature’s shortcut”; God’s preference to man gave them the wisdom to flee from Nature, putting the animals in a pitiable position of remaining “ungodly”. So, taking them out as a part of a hunting expedition is akin to putting these damned souls out of their misery. It’s tortured logic, but that’s Christianity for you. (Penn & Teller Bullshit theme begins playing). 

Clay gets drunker and drunker and more and more cruel towards Orel. Not only does he shoot a deer in front of Orel against Orel’s wishes, he also kills a random person’s hunting dog, which is terrible. Clay cruelly denies Orel dinner, because he didn’t kill anything himself. Orel eventually calls Clay out on his drunkenness, which causes him to sort of go manic, just dumping nihilism on his son. The show is now a harrowing psycho-drama. Orel is clutching a pistol, which happens to be pointed at his dad. Orel fires. TO BE CONTINUED…

This one is pretty brutal, in the same vein of “Best Christmas Ever”. When Orel hesitantly tells his father that he’s too drunk, and that they need to go home, it breaks your heart. You’re witnessing this kid grow up in real time. Orel is supposed to be an innocent kid. Furthermore, he’s supposed to be a smart-allecky parody of Davey from Davey and Goliath. How could the writers let this happen? 

One really important thing to mention about this episode: In addition to being a “bummer” episode, it’s also exceptionally funny. The jokes in the show are especially strong, and land exquisitely. Maybe I only think this because I was bracing myself for the darker aspects of this episode as a Clay-aged person whose since become less in-denial about how much of an asshole my own father is. I didn’t like, get emotional or anything, but I was just sorta like “DAMN, YES. HOLY SHIT IT DO BE LIKE THAT”. Mine has never been as bad as Clay, but I’ve witnessed a drunken downward spiral from him more than I care to have. 

The events of this episode (as well as the next) will set the stage for season three, which is thirteen episodes (cut down from twenty) of shows that either take place right before or right after the hunting trip, as well as flashback episodes that are spurred by individual moments within this episode. It’s an ambitious and often emotional journey. There are no less than four episodes of season three that have been known to make me sob. This makes me wonder if I remembered all these moments in this episode that tie into other episodes (Orel’s vague references to whatever deed got him punished in the beginning comes to mind). Complex, non-linear chronology and side-stories are explored. Mountain Goats songs are licensed. I’m not reading ahead so I won’t go too deep into what connects with what in this post. But like Jesus and me, it’s coming (I always immediately bust when I finish a write-up).

To Be Continued (this is me edging).

[evilmortys]

“Well, it’s great to have you back here in our chambers again. And by that, we of course mean that it’s literally the worst to have you back here in our chambers, C-136.” There’s a definite familiarity in the way Riq IV utters his indicative numerals that rings almost personal, but understandably, there’s little fondness behind his severe greeting. Jesus Christ, he thinks to himself sourly, this fucking Morty again. “You know how this goes, so let’s get right to it. State your name and dimension number for the record, turd.”

“Yeah, well, here’s somethin’ for the record: I’m not- I’m actually not too jazzed about it myself, y’know? Every time I get hauled here, I gotta- I gotta look you guys in the faces for like, an hour. And they’re really ugly ones.” Morty rebukes, arms folded over his chest defensively. His insides quiver like jelly. Deep down, he’s actually really not so good with this confrontation stuff, believe it or not. What Morty is? Still, he can’t half pretend to be unflinching when a situation calls for it. Nerves sufficiently steeled and outward appearance nothing short of done with this shit, he obliges the demand. “Mortimer Smith, Earth Dimension C-136. No additional numerals applicable.”

“Watch it.” Another council member snaps suddenly, already infuriated by the blatant lack of respect, and Morty’s gaze drifts to the secondary speaker. Hazel eyes rest upon the decrepit figure boredly, and he inwardly debates whether it’d be worth it to point out he doesn’t even know the name of any of these other assholes- that’s- that’s about how relevant their input is to him right now. Probably shouldn’t, he concedes grudgingly. Don’t bite the bullet when it comes to spitting snark, y’know? Employing restraint now leaves wiggle room to get away with saying more once this discussion inevitably goes to shit. He looks back to their spokesperson wordlessly, gaze expectant.

“Yes, Rick Prime, you’re absolutely right. He says what we’re all thinking! Now... let me see what you’ve gotten up to this time, C-136. While I’m reading the report over, why don’t you go ahead and tell me: who the fuck do you think you are? And why do you think you can get away with this shit? We’d all love to hear it.” Riq IV gathers up the loose-leaf before him and taps the papers against the imperial desk he sits behind, neatening the stack before beginning to look them over.

“I don’t think I’m anyone- anyone... look, I didn’t do anything wrong,” Morty protests defensively. “There’s nothing I’d even be getting away with! That’s- whatever’s written there, it won’t- it’ll all be a bunch of bullshit!”

“Really? Because let me tell you, this is all lining up very well with what we’ve come to expect of your character.” Riq IV heaves a world weary sigh, bracing himself for what’s to come (this particular turd, and the circumstance of his Rick being such a generous contributor, always makes everything so difficult), and passes the report along for the other council members to peruse. Can’t effectively threaten this one, really. But like hell he won’t try. “Here’s our working theory, turd. You believe that you’re special, and brave, or some shit, and- and you think that because your Rick happens to donate to us often that we have to tolerate this kind of shit from you and take it on the chin. That your actions here don’t have consequence. Am I in the ballpark, C-136?”

“Not even close!”

“Then do you want to tell us what the fuck happened?! Do you want to, oh, I don’t know--- clue the council in on why you saw fit to push a Rick to the ground, stamp repeatedly on his ballsack, and punch him in the face until... he- cried---? Jesus Christ, in- in hindsight- this geezer’s not reflecting on us well. How does this even happen? He got fucked up by a Morty? I mean, at that point, you pretty much deserve whatever happens, right? What the fuck was I even reading there, y’know?” 

Riq IV isn’t quite addressing C-136 come the end of that impassioned order for an explanation, and is instead glancing at the other members incredulously, brow knitted indignantly. The other four Ricks murmur heatedly in irritable agreement, though they’re keen to point out Mortys should never possess the balls to lash out at a Rick violently regardless. With a nod of his head, the spokesman looks down upon the yellow-shirted bastard beneath him, and snaps, “Whenever you’re ready, C-136. Take your time! I know you think this Citadel bows to your goddamn whims either way. Go ahead and phone a fucking friend- why not? You’re- you’re a little monster.”

“Oh, I’m ready, you stupid haircut having- you’re a- dumb ass motherfucker,” Morty spits vehemently, gritting his teeth, before catching himself. His gaze briefly averts, as if in wordless apology for his blunt outburst. He draws himself up slightly, gesticulating with his hands as he attempts to get across his reasoning. “Look, I know it sounds bad. It was bad! It was! I know. But that Rick, he- he was, he was pushing this Morty around, being such a dick, making fun of him, and- there was... he didn’t even have a reason! That Morty was mute, y’know? He’d- he’d had his tongue cut out, or- or maybe ripped out by some sorta alien... I don’t know. He was making this awful gurgling noise, he was frightened, and- what, was I just supposed t- to walk on by? Pretend I couldn’t see that happening?!”

“That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.” Riq IV says pointedly, as if affronted he has to clarify the obvious at all. “We can only assume that Morty was behaving in a way to make him deserve that, just as you should have assumed, turd. Besides, I’ll have you know that tongueless Mortys are in, uh- pretty high demand, for the more morally ambiguous Ricks. In fact, I’m pretty sure we offer services for a humane snip of the tongue. We do that, guys, right? ... Maybe it’s more of a black market thing? Yes. It’s- it’s just an adjustment that can be made to you little bastards, for a price, much like implanting chips into your spines and weaponizing you for efficiency. And let me tell you something: it’s one that I plan to recommend to your grandfather if you continue to push your luck. Our tolerance only goes so far, no matter how much of an asset Rick C-136 is to the development of our Citadel. We won’t exactly crumble without him.”

“Fuck you! Wh- what the fuck is WRONG with you?! Y- you wanna know something?! You wanna know what I think?! Don’t answer: I- I know you don’t, but fuck you, and listen up anyway! Every single one of you BASTARDS are DEFINITELY gonna die with each other’s dicks in your throat from how much you suck each other off! How can you sit up there, and say shit like that, and- and not hear how fucking awful you all sound?!” 

His gesturing hands have long since returned to his sides, and his arms are tensed where they rest- C-136 is acutely aware of the fact that he’s trembling, shaking with anger that has never felt more well founded. Despite himself, he curls his fingers and balls them into fists, as if- as if he could swing for those smug motherfuckers up there from all the way down here. Morty has to jut his chin just to regard them with all this fury, and there’s nothing to goddamn do with it- his breathing quivers from his lungs tensely, and there’s a challenging look crystal clear in his blazing eyes. Can’t do anything about it, the reminder bangs in his brain. The Guard Ricks posted all around don’t even motion to grip their guns tighter, because they fucking know it, and the council fucking knows it, and they know he’s painfully aware of it, too. 

Their broad, shit-eating grins say it all--- at least, they do, until Ricktiminus Sancheziminius sees fit to glance upward briefly by chance, and winds up visibly starting, and fixing his gaze on something else entirely. Somebody else. Somebody other than the spectacle of that notoriously difficult Morty having an outburst. Ricktiminus Sancheziminius nudges Riq IV sharply in the side, and upon gaining the other’s attention and irritable acknowledgement, indicates the new arrival to the spokesman. He soon sobers, flashing the figure at the entrance to their chambers a bemused look- and the others are quick to follow his lead. Morty’s brows knit, and he glances over his shoulder- heart sinking---no, outright dropping---deeply into his stomach the very instant he’s processed it. 

Fuck.

“Ah, your keeper’s here, C-136. Rick Sanchez, earth dimension C-136! We presume our message reached you in a timely manner... and yet, enough time has passed for your grandson to spit vulgarities at us for quite a while. I certainly hope we didn’t pull you away from anything important...” Riq IV smiles strangely, almost as if simpering. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and there is something deeply false to the curve of his mouth. Belching, he waves a careless hand, as if to dismiss his own backhanded, apologetic sentiment before the other can even respond to it. “... Though it begs the question of what could be more important than the Citadel. We both have this society’s best interests at heart, after all.”

“Yeah, y-eeeuurgh-eah, what-the-fuck-ever.” Rick replies, sweeping into the chambers and standing at Morty’s side, flashing him a deeply vexed look. He probably heard that whole last part, and out of context, it doesn’t really reflect well on the flicker of patience he's been trying to maintain all the while. “I was balls deep in the concept of time when you motherfuckers called me, so ex-cuse me if I’m not particularly chirpy about being called over this time around. He- he better have at least killed someone, is what I’m saying. I was getting action. Literally fucking with time. I- I don’t wanna fucking be here for anything less.”

Morty’s mouth falls open as he hastens to try and explain himself, ready to trip over his own spluttering words until Rick comes to understand that he was just trying to help- before he realizes, dully, that it won’t even matter. Huffing, the teenager simply looks askance, knowing full well Rick won’t take his side on this. Almost can’t take his side on this. Though it’s not like the other ever strives to have his back anyway. 

This train of thought is a bitter one, and it rattles through his head so loudly, all the biting reminders that he’s in a room full of people who don’t give a shit what he has to say in the slightest, that he briefly tunes out from the exchange between the council and his disapproving grandfather. Their words are little more than buzzing in his ears, but he doesn’t miss much. They’re just filling his companion in on what shit trick he’s pulled this visit. A sharp flick against the side of his head soon bumps him back to reality, and a deep scowl curls the sixteen year old’s lip as he rubs it, fighting the innate urge to bitch. Rick scoffs at him, before turning his attention back to the six alternates perched up there.

“See that? Not even listening. Look, this time last year, Morty was all over the Citadel, just like I am. Nobody’s saying anything about taking issue with this place. Nothing but support in the C-136 household. He’s just going through a little phase, in case you can’t tell. You ever had a sixteen year old Morty? Nightmare. Rebellion, he’s all- all stick it to the Ricks, y’know? He’s just being a c-eeeuurgh-ontrary little shit. Christ, the whole reason he’s here is to pick some crap up that I ordered- did you even fucking get around to grabbing that, Morty? Before you started swinging for Ricks?”

“Yeah. I got it.” Morty says shortly. “Laruxion ore.” 

He finds himself physically biting down on his tongue, as if to chastise it prematurely as it twitches to run away with him about what a nightmare even just grabbing Rick’s shit was, too. The shopkeeper glared down at him, and asked a few dozen hostile questions about what a Morty was doing picking up something so volatile, so potentially dangerous, for his Rick. If it were up to me, he’d declared, unwillingly bagging the package up all the same, you wouldn’t be running around with something like this. Taking it to your Rick or otherwise. Guy can’t pick up his own shit?

“Aw, jeez. Well,” Morty had shot back, unable to help himself, “don’t you all think we’re too stupid to do anything smart anyway? Either you think Mortys are capable of falling the entire Citadel with this ore, and you won’t fork that shit over to me because of that, or you think we’re dumbass, i- incapable, um, y’know- sidekicks. In which case, there’s- there’s no harm in handing it over to me. Right? Just saying, y’know. Y- you guys should pick a lane. Aw, jeez.”

Suffice to say, Shopkeeper Rick was not impressed with his take on the matter, and all but threw the bag across the counter into Morty’s fumbling hands, before angrily shooing him off.

“Might as well have done it myself. Can’t even run an errand without getting stirred up in shit. Look, council,” Rick grouses, pinching the bridge of his nose in a show of utter annoyance, “Let’s just call this square. We all fucking paid for his shit trick today, right? I got blue balls, you had to, uh... rightfully bitch at him, waste your... precious time on a dumbass Morty. And he’s gonna get a fucking earful. I’d- I’d say it won’t happen again, but, Christ- is- was he even entirely in the wrong? If a Rick can get taken out by a Morty, he’s not exactly a valuable member of this society. The society I funnel a lot of fucking cash into on a monthly basis, might I add. G- g-eeeUURGH-etting pretty sick of the same old bitchfest about every toe my moron puts over the line when he’s here. Do you guys do this for every Morty that acts out? I’m just sp-eeEUURGH-itballing over here, but- I kind of thought I was donating to people that had slightly better shit to do than pull my Morty up for being a little- a little angsty, or whatever the fuck, right now.”

“... We do this for Mortys that repeatedly cause issues within our citadel. Which yours does to the point of notoriety, C-136. If you’d only rein in your Morty, this wouldn’t be an issue to begin with---”

“Oh, my God- shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck UP---”

“Morty, YOU shut the fuck up. Sorry for him, as usual. Are we done here?”

“... Of course. We, uh, we’d like to reiterate our gratitude for your contributions to maintaining the-”

“Yeah, yeah, leave me another f-eeEUrrrgh-ucking voicemail about it. Come on, Morty. Y- you’re gonna- I’m gonna fucking kill you when we’re outta here,” Rick chastises, and reaches out to grip his forearm and pull him along as he paces away from his six alternates, muttering darkly under his breath all the while. Visibly nettled by the threat, the sixteen year old bitches top note and makes several efforts to wrench his arm free- and easily manages it once they’re back in the sea of alternates that is the main hub of this hellhole as Rick reluctantly eases his hold.

“Don’t grab me! And- and y’know what, don’t bust my balls about this, either. Would it kill you to be on my side? Like, ever? Wh- why would I beat on anyone for no goddamn reason, Rick?!” Morty explodes, and his grandfather rakes a hand through his tufts of blue hair and glares.

“You know exactly why, Morty. Besides. I’m not exactly in the business of backing you up- not sure if you’ve noticed. Because you’re never actually in the right. You’re just taking everything to heart and poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, as usual. Got that?” 

There’s a certain bitterness behind his words. How the hell do you think it’s going to reflect on me if they know I’ve never been able to put a lid on your shit, Morty? Rick sets off walking, and for a moment, Morty hangs back- hesitating to follow, eyes narrowed fiercely at the other’s retreating back... before he groans, and hastens to scramble through the thick crowds and catch up, demanding an explanation all the while.

“Why do you even put up with their crap, Rick? I- I don’t get it. You’re throwing money at a bunch of dicks, t- to support something you don’t even- to support the fucking Shitadel?” Morty gesticulates wildly, hazel eyes narrowed and gaze intent as he regards his older relative, forearms raised and fingers splayed out in a demonstration of utter bewilderment. “I’m just trying to understand why- why the fuck you would do that! Y’know? Y- you don’t even like this fucking hellhole! The people who live here don’t even like it! I just, I- I don’t---”

Rick’s shoulders slump under this bout of badgering, and, if only to quieten the idiot down, he caves. Lowers his voice and mutters quietly, so as not to be listened in on by anyone around them. 

“You don’t g-eeURRGH-et it? Yeah, I heard you the first time. Look, M-Bomb, if I know those assholes---and I am those assholes---being, y’know, blatant about hating their fucking guts isn’t the way to go. If I say what I think, tell ‘em to suck my balls and shove their society up their ass, how- how exactly do you see that playing out for me?” 

Rick pauses, as if awaiting an answer. Bewildered, the teenager beside him blinks a tad owlishly, and at long last, opens his mouth in preparation to fumble for some sort of answer. The very moment he begins to speak out uncertainly, his grandfather purposefully presses on with his point, much to the boy’s visible aggravation.

“I’ll tell you how it’s gonna play out for me. I- I know it’s a little beyond your, uh, limited understanding, Morty. They’re gonna scout for a new paypig, come in the night, haul us outta home, take my portal gun, and make me a fucking janitor, Morty. Meanwhile your dumb ass is gonna- you’ll end up in that shitty Morty School, taking classes on how to bark great idea, grandpa, like- like some mindless little moron who can’t think for himself. They’d parade you around as an example of how well they break you little bastards down into yes-man sidekicks, since you’re such a stubborn piece of shit. And that’d be if y-eeEUrgh-ou’re lucky, by the way.”

“... Ha. Yeah, well, don’t- don’t talk like you wouldn’t like that. The last part, I mean.” He snorts, and a brief flicker of amusement brightens his companion’s resigned expression. Rolling his eyes, Rick rolls his shoulders into a shrug as they walk, moving through the sea of yellow-shirted teenagers and lab-coated fossils.

“Only if you don’t talk like you wouldn’t get a fucking kick out of seeing me scrub a toilet,” he snipes, and they exchange a glance. 

There’s a brief, strange moment wherein something shifts between them- all the unspoken anger, the seething temper, the typical wariness that clings to the air that hangs between them seems to all but ebb away. 

Morty cracks first. The corners of his mouth twitch upward slightly, a fit of snickers rises in his throat... and the second Rick clocks that he’s going to burst out laughing, he cracks up, too. They laugh, and they laugh, and just when it seems that they’re going to calm back down, they catch each other’s eye and lose it all over again. The other Ricks and Mortys waiting in line for a return portal to their dimension cast them strange looks as they all but giggle feebly beside each other, adamantly refusing to meet each other’s gaze in a fervent effort to recover, now; letting things lapse back into their norm. 

All good things eventually draw to a close, and sure enough, this temporary, shared moment of reciprocal sentiment is one of them. The teenager can’t help but push it, however. Let it last just a minute longer. I won’t hate you again, just for a fraction more time. Don’t hate me again, just for a bit longer. While Rick moves to procure his silvery flask from his pocket, amused grin easing in the corners as his expression becomes idly impatient once more, Morty inhales, picking at a loose thread on his sweater if only to busy himself with something, too.

“Hey, Rick?” His tentative broach at conversation is met with a grunt while the old man slugs back his potent alcohol supply. Casting his grandfather a tentative smile, he fidgets with his fingers. “... Thanks. And- sorry. I- I know you hate, y’know, this whole- paying off this shithole, so we don’t wind up here, and stuff. And seeing those motherfuckers, and their stupid haircuts, more than you have to.”

... The sentiment doesn’t quite have the effect he wanted. Rick doesn’t smile back, once he’s finished downing the last drops from his flask. His brow narrows as he shoves it back into the pocket of his lab coat, and he shakes his head dismissively, refusing to take the attempt to uphold their good mood at face value. Disdain creeps right back into his tone- that distaste and disapproval over Morty’s every choice today rearing it’s ugly head with a vengeance, it seems.

“Yeah. I do. So I guess you owe me b-eeUURGH-ig time, Morty.” 

He returns simply, and Morty’s heart sinks upon registering the snippy edge to Rick’s tone... before he soon finds himself frowning deeply, annoyed with himself for even trying; consumed with that aching anger once again. There’s a certain, undeniable comfort to be found in how familiar the feeling is. Losing the moment of enjoying one another’s companionship, of things being how they were some two years ago again, stings. Undoubtedly. But it’s better not to dwell on them. 

Part of him always wonders if it’s his fault they are the way they are. Keeping each other at arm’s length. Essentially communicating through picking fights over nothing, and bickering over absolute bullshit, with terribly occasional, painfully rare warm moments interspersed amidst all of their resentment. If he were only more wide-eyed and naive, Rick wouldn’t be like this with him. Right? Rick thinks that Morty doesn’t know precisely what his fucking problem is, but it doesn’t exactly take a genius to decipher why he’s so harsh with him most days. Read between the lines of his grandfather’s unspoken resentment. 

No. It takes a smart, capable Morty, unafraid to call him or anyone, really, on bullshit, and injustice. And he never wanted that. What sort of Rick fucking does? The entire point of a Morty is to stand beside you, go along with whatever you say despite their own rightful apprehensions, to freak out and struggle and be impressed, awed, and horrified by the shit you pull. They’re sidekicks, but they’re never supposed to be all that competent. That’s the role of the Rick, after all. C-136 was fearful and clueless when they adventured in his youth, sure. There was a time. But he outgrew it far too fast, picked up on things far too quickly, keen for approval he didn’t want to give purely because of how actually deserved it was. Jesus, even as a kid, he was perceptive. Intrusively so. Full of cutting observations--- with alarmingly poignant outbursts over how Rick conducted himself, dripping with disdain for his behaviour, being plentiful from the tender age of eight.

Rick speaks.

“... Quit pulling this shit.”

Morty snaps.

“Quit being shit, Rick.”

They fix one another with a long, lingering look. It feels like a game of chicken- daring the figure across from them to be the one to break the prolonged staredown they’re locked into... and in turn, out himself as the coward ultimately too afraid to face up to the other. It ends in a perfect draw; grandfather and grandson tear their gazes away at the same moment, scoffing over how stupid it was at all, deliberately shuffling to sit a few more inches apart from one another. 

Distance from it, the duo both decide sullenly. Never as different from one another as they like to insist, unbeknown to the two of them. All you can do. He can’t be told.

Rick and Morty, Earth Dimension C-136, await their assigned portal back home in silence; the balance restored in their uncaring world, and dynamic decidedly chilly once more.

[composerlost]

MASSIVE ndr/v3 spoilers under the cut so please Do Not if you havent played the game i just really want to yell about it

so i actually finished the game awhile ago but im workin on a thing right now and all the feelings are coming back all of a sudden long story short, i have to admit i was really wrong about it in general though i still have some complaints i had kinda dreaded playing it because it seemed like it was gonna go the route of most sequels to complicated plot games where it just mega oversteps every boundary of decency trying to twist itself in knots for the sake of being unpredictable to the audience. ive been through that scenario too many times and it hurts like nothing else. my fear was a little bit assuaged by the fact that besides the kinda cheaty ending, sdr/2 was an incredible sequel, though it is worth noting i on general principle dont really like the psuedo-retcon increasing influence of jun/ko and the way that the mostly ambiguous ending of the original d/r has been usurped over time. but for ndr/v3 my fear was also amplified by the excessively differential title of the game and the absolute stress my friend put on the “new” in said title. it just smelled like bullshit so i kinda put off playing it for awhile. (that and the game is just Expensive and never goes on sale, thanks spike chun/soft) anyway finally felt ready to play it and ended up playing it with the aforementioned [d/r fanatic] friend. i was bracing myself the entire god damn time and as i started catching wind of what the ultimate twist might be, i still wasnt sure how to feel about it but when i finally got to it, i actually loved it. like way more than i thought would be possible. my initial thought had been “this is some kind of actual tv show, not the forced broadcasting of the first game”, but i of course didnt know about the participants wanting to be a part of it, or of their personalities and existences being erased and replaced with something else so that they in effect become fictional characters. the whole thing was fully in the spirit of d/r, taking a fairly classic death game concept but changing it so it was just different enough without being too much, and just macabre enough that i absolutely fell in love with the concept of course i dont like the retconning of d/r and sdr/2 as now originally being shows like this (i also dont know why they didnt just say the the d/r series started off as fictional video games and eventually branched out into live tv but i digress). seems like most of the fandom agrees with that anyway, since it’s largely considered an alternate universe, as is sorta hinted in the title im also not a big fan of how they tried to wrap it all up by saying believing in hope would bring an end to the game. like this is the 53rd season you think this hasnt happened before? you didnt stop shit anyway, just the idea that the sort of world that would exonerate a show like that could wholeheartedly exist. and the idea that all these people we fell in love with wanted to be a part of it and chose to let themselves be overwritten in the name of despair. and just. everything about the premise is just so god damn interesting. it’s infinitely more interesting than jun/kos supposed world of despair. i find myself wanting to play the game again just to experience it all knowing everything. however its a bit early to be doing that and i know within a short(ish) amount of time we’ll be playing it again with another friend of mine, so ill wait until then. just. god. the ending of ndr/v3 packs the kind of punch that the other two games, great as they are, just couldnt achieve. and just the fact that by and large all three games are really solid is incredible too. im still scared to watch the animes because who knows what the hell is going on over there but damn. just damn.

[munchlax-musings]

Long post/rant:

A few years ago, I saw a neurologist. In the end, going there was a very good decision on my part. However, actually talking to the dude was a terrible experience. Every single time he would ask me a question, he would interrupt me before I could finish answering. It was something like:

Him: Do you know what your migraine triggers are? Me: Yeah. It's usually stuff within my control, so like my diet -- Him: Do you keep track of your triggers? Me: Not really, I just -- Him: How would you describe a migraine?

It was the most infuriating thing. It still pisses me off to this day.

He also was very skeptical of my ADHD diagnosis when I told him I'd been clinically diagnosed. I honestly felt kinda scared he would try to replace my diagnosis with something else or try to pull some bullshit. It was that sorta vibe. It wasn't until he saw the VERY thorough neuropsych report results in its entirety -- he sounded very impressed by it -- that he seemed to accept it. Even though I was sitting right in front of him, unable to keep still, staring at everything in the room besides him most of the time, rocking back and forth, swinging my feet, bracing myself against the chair arms and lifting myself up every now and then, having a difficult time understanding what he was saying and answering questions because I was so internally distracted and hyperactive. Baffles me, to be skeptical of my diagnosis.

"I Hear What You're Saying" Says Local Man As He Interrupts What You're Saying

[hysterialevi]

When the Devil Cries pt. 8

Author’s note: A bit shorter than my other chapters, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless :) 

From Arthur’s POV

NOON

BLUEWATER MARSH

Watching the gators feed on Middleton’s corpse as blood flooded through the swamps, I observed the morbid scene from a distance and bid farewell to the assassin, still thinking about the fight I had with him not too long ago.

I knew next to nothin’ about Thatcher, or what his business with Eddie was...but something in my gut told me I had just killed a man who was better off left alone.

After all, Middleton seemed like the type of feller to have friends in high places, and I could only imagine the sorta folks I’d pissed off by putting a knife in his throat. 

A troubled sigh escaped me.

Lord...what had I gotten my sorry ass into this time?

Not only did I murder a man today, I also just fed him to a bunch of beasts like some goddamned animal. I knew I weren’t no saint, but even then...I still had some twisted sense of honor to keep my sanity from deteriorating completely.

But perhaps...it was already too late. Perhaps my sanity crumbled the minute Dutch and I fled from Blackwater. Or even before that.

I just didn’t know anymore.

Turning away from the gators, I lightly snapped my horse’s reins and galloped out of the marsh, hurrying my way back to Saint Denis while the day was still young. 

I had left Eddie alone for much longer than I was comfortable with, and despite Thatcher being gone now...I still couldn’t stop myself from worrying about the pianist’s safety.

I mean, someone clearly wanted that man dead. But who? And why? What had Eddie done to get an assassin sent after him? 

Was this boy really who I pegged him to be?

Or was he just another crook wearing a mask...like the rest of this damned country? ...Like me? I certainly hoped not.

Whatever happened, I doubted our problems would end here. 

If I recalled correctly, one of the first things Eddie told me was that he was also lookin’ for freedom. But from what? Debt? Middleton? Both?

Well...Eddie did say he was gonna explain it all later, so I guessed I’d find out soon enough. 

I just had a feelin’ I weren’t gonna like the answer. 

A WHILE LATER

SAINT DENIS, RYAN RESIDENCE

Riding up to Eddie’s house, I quickly hitched my horse next to Thatcher’s mount -- who I didn’t think realized his owner was dead just yet -- and hurried inside, constantly checking over my shoulders to make sure no one was followin’ me. 

Barely half of the day had passed, and already I’d dug myself into a deeper hole than the one Dutch was currently workin’ on. 

I mean, technically, what Middleton said was right. None of this was any of my business. I had no need to get involved. No need to protect Eddie. And yet...I just couldn’t stay out of it. I couldn’t walk away...no matter how much I probably should have.

There was just somethin’ holding me back. Something preventing me from doin’ what I normally did, and leaving people to their own problems. 

Dutch, Hosea, and I...we was strugglin’ enough -- what with all the Pinkertons and lawmen and O’Driscolls on our tail. The last thing they needed was for me to go and throw some more bullshit onto their plate.

But...regardless of whatever regrets or second thoughts I had, it was far too late to back outta this now. 

Thatcher Middleton was dead. And Eddie Ryan was alive. 

All because of me. 

And I was just gonna have to live with that.

Rushing back into the house, I wasted no time in climbing the steps to where Eddie was, only to come across the most peculiar scene once I reached the second floor. 

Instead of wiping away a puddle of blood like I was expecting him to be doing, it looked like the boy had already cleaned up the mess and was now silently sitting at his piano, staring blankly at his notes while his head hung low in fatigue.

He weren’t playing any music...and I didn’t even think Eddie had realized I was there yet. He just appeared rather...depressed. Emotionless. Like the life in his body was just...gone.

It was the first time I’d ever seen him like this, and it...well, it concerned me. 

What was goin’ on?

Slowly walking into the quiet room, the floor creaked underneath me as I cleared my throat and knocked on the doorframe, alerting him of my presence before leaning on a nearby wall.

I hesitated for a moment.

“...Erm...Eddie?” I called. “It’s me. I’m back.”

Almost instantly, the pianist turned around at the sound of his name and faced me, his expression covered in distress.

“Oh...Arthur!” Eddie greeted, his mood lightening with relief. “You’ve returned. Are you okay? Did anyone see you? Were you followed?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. What ‘bout you? Anything happen here while I was gone?”

“No,” he replied. “One lawman showed up to ask me what the gunshot was all about, but I managed to shoo him away with a made-up excuse.”

“Good,” I said, stepping next to the piano. “...Now, you mind tellin’ me just what exactly is going on here? What did that bastard want with you?”

Eddie turned back to the piano, mindlessly tracing his hand across the keys.

“It’s a long story,” he explained, “but basically...I owed Thatcher a lot of money.”

I chuckled, taking a seat beside him on the bench. 

“I guessed that. But...why was he after you? What is happening, Eddie? ...Who did I just kill?”

The musician let out a defeated sigh, clearly not comfortable with talking about this. 

“Listen, Arthur. I appreciate what you did for me today -- I really do -- but the last thing I want is to drag you into this mess. I can’t risk your safety as well as mine.”

I persisted.

“If you’re in some sorta trouble, Eddie, I wanna help.”

“I know,” he responded. “That’s what worries me. Though, I suppose...after the way you saved my life...you deserve to know the full story. If you’re willing to listen, of course.”

I nodded in an understanding manner. “I am.”

Eddie glanced away for a second and took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for my reaction. 

Just how bad was his situation, exactly?

“Well,” he began, “first things first, then. Eddie Ryan...isn’t my real name.”

Nice to see he was easin’ me into this.

“Then what is it?” I asked. The boy looked me in the eye, his gaze filled with both freedom and anxiety. It was like he was finally takin’ off a mask, but scared to see what I’d think of the person hiding behind it.

Eddie gulped. 

“...Theodore,” he confessed. “Theodore Bishop.”

I shrugged. “Maybe it’s just ‘cause I ain’t never been to England, but that name don’t really mean much to me. You a...fugitive or something? A wanted man?”

He quickly shook his head. “No! Nothing like that. In fact, I haven’t done anything wrong. It’s just because of my father that I’m in this mess.”

I scoffed. “O’ course. It’s always the father, ain’t it? Believe me, I know what that feels like. But...what’d your daddy do?”

Eddie’s shoulders slouched a bit with calmness, and he didn’t appear as tense as before. I guessed he had been waitin’ for a while to get this off his chest.

“Well, when he was still alive, my father worked as a criminal. He always got involved with the local gangs in London despite my mother’s protests, and there was one man in particular that he befriended. A man named Atticus Rose. He’s a gang leader who originally came from America, actually.”

I quirked a brow. “That so?”

“Yeah. I don’t know too much about his past, but apparently Rose used to operate in a place called New Austin.”

I let out a soft laugh. “That doesn’t surprise me at all. Even now, New Austin is next to lawless, and the word ‘civilization’ don’t even exist out there. Makes sense that someone like him would come outta that desert. But...you said your daddy befriended him?”

Eddie nodded. “Right. Or, at least, he thought he did. See, Atticus and my father were mates for years. Half a decade, I would estimate. They were almost like brothers. And despite being a criminal, Atticus always treated me with kindness. Though...it’s clear to me now that it was all just an act.”

I had to admit, that seemed like a bit much even to me.

“Wait, Rose pretended to be your father’s friend for half a decade...and it weren’t even real? Why?”

“Because my family had money,” Eddie replied. “And Rose wanted it. So, he got close to my father, bled him dry of all his wealth, and then...assassinated the man when he was done. Thing is, though: Atticus only planned to kill my father in the beginning.”

I readjusted myself on the bench. “What changed?”

“My father exposed him. That’s what. Just before he was murdered, my father managed to unveil Rose’s true intentions to me and my family, and told us to run. That’s why I came to America. But, of course, Atticus couldn’t let us get away. Loose ends, and all that. So, he sent Middleton to hunt us down. Another ‘good friend’ of my father’s.”

I glanced at the notch in the wall from where Thatcher’s knife stabbed through the wood, thinking back to the whole mess with him.

“But...Middleton didn’t kill you?”

“No,” Eddie confirmed. “And I don’t know why. That bastard killed my father, my mother, and my sister, but for some reason...he was willing to spare me. At least, in exchange for money. Still though, I always found it odd that he agreed to my deal. I may not have known Thatcher that well, but he never struck me as the kind of man to make exceptions.”

I let out a breath in place of the absence of words, unsure of how to even respond.

“I...don’t really know quite what to say,” I admitted. “I’m sorry you’re goin’ through all this, Eddie.”

The boy beamed at me, bringing back that smile I had grown to be so familiar with.

“Don’t be. I know you weren’t aware of who Thatcher was when you killed him...but you avenged my family, Arthur. Somewhat, anyways. After all, Atticus Rose still lives. And he’s the one who’s truly responsible.”

I leaned in slightly. “You think Rose will retaliate if he finds out Middleton’s dead? And you’re still breathing?”

Eddie’s expression dimmed with fear. “...It’s...certainly a possibility. I mean, Atticus doesn’t come across as the type of man to grow attached to his allies, but I know he and Middleton had a long history together. And on top of that, he wants everyone in my family dead. So, even though I doubt he’ll come after me personally, he could very well send another assassin.”

Without even thinking about it, I placed a comforting hand over Eddie’s and looked him in the eye, making him a sincere promise.

“Then I’ll kill another one.”

The pianist paused at that and met my gaze, the confidence steadily returning to his drained face once he realized he was safe around me. 

It was pretty obvious that it had been a long time since Eddie had anyone he could trust, and when he affectionately squeezed my hand in return, I instantly knew damn well that I wouldn’t be able to leave him behind like I kept sayin’ I would.

Christ, not again, you moron... I cursed to myself, scolding the hopeless romantic inside me.

I didn’t have the strength to do this for a third time. Not after how things went Mary. And Eliza.

...I just couldn’t handle that pain again. 

I couldn’t lose someone else.

Retreating my hand with a certain fear, I awkwardly backed away from the boy and put some distance between us, scooting towards the end of the bench as I stared helplessly at the floor. 

Even though I wasn’t looking at him, I could still sense Eddie’s somewhat hurt gaze falling onto me, and I felt terrible for reactin’ the way I did. But...no matter how much I disliked it, it was for the best. 

Eddie’s life was already a disaster without me fanning the flames. The last thing he needed was for me to come crashin’ into his life, trying to play the hero when we both knew the boy was better off without a lowlife criminal dragging him down.

I finally decided to tear myself away from the man and reluctantly rose from the bench, still avoiding eye contact with the musician.

“I, um...” I stumbled over my words, suddenly feeling more alone than I had in months. “...I should get going. I won’t keep you any longer. ...Good day, Eddie.”

Fleeing from the scene without looking back, I rushed out of the house like there was no tomorrow and sped through the front doors, immediately mounting my horse the minute I saw her before sprinting back to camp.

I didn’t know what the hell just happened, or what I was so damned afraid of...but something in me just...broke back there. 

The way Eddie looked at me...I had seen that face enough times to know what it was. 

That poor fool was falling for me. Slowly, but surely. 

And like the selfish bastard I was...I was lettin’ him do it. 

God...why couldn’t I just push him away? I mean, sure it would hurt, but at least he’d be safe. And I’d be able to focus entirely on the gang. We’d just go our separate ways, and pretend the other person never even existed. I could’ve ended this, here and now.

...But I didn’t. 

Instead, I simply ran away like the coward I was and left with more questions than answers, hoping that Eddie would somehow forget about me and build a true career for himself now that Thatcher was dead.

I scoffed to myself, laughin’ at the dolt I was.

Geez...I had really gone and done it this time, hadn’t I? 

I just had to get involved, and bring on whatever storm was coming our way. 

Well, no matter what happened in the future, I would always stand by what I said to the pianist, and protect him regardless of how distant we was forced to be. 

Theodore Bishop may have had a price on his head, but that weren’t the man I knew. 

His name was Eddie Ryan...and I wasn’t letting anyone lay a finger on him ever again.

ONE HOUR LATER

SHADY BELLE

Climbing off my horse, I hitched my companion with the rest of the gang’s mounts and gave her a friendly pat, feeding the girl a small treat before returning to my business.

Even with Karen and Grimshaw at each other’s necks again, things seemed mostly calm at camp, and it didn’t look like I had missed too much during my time away.

Javier was sittin’ at the campfire with his guitar while Uncle enjoyed a beer next to him, the two of ‘em singing songs as Pearson chopped away at some meat, preparing today’s stew.

Meanwhile, Mary-Beth and Tilly worked on their typical chores while enduring Swanson’s drunken ramblings, chatting to each other about the romance novels they was reading, and giggling at how silly the stories apparently were. Psh, if only they knew mine.

On top of all that though, Dutch and Hosea were keeping each other company on a balcony overlooking the camp as they discussed something -- probably the bank in Saint Denis -- while relaxing in the shade cast by the roof.

But...of course, outta all the people in the gang, the first one to greet me had to be the second grumpiest son-of-a-bitch to ever walk by our side.

“Hey, Morgan!” Bill’s sharp voice called as he paced towards me.

“...Williamson,” I said back in a blunt tone, lighting a cigarette. “What you want?”

The man studied me for a minute with that permanently sour face of his, eyeing me up and down.

“I wanted to ask you something.” He said. 

I was silent in response, urging him to go on.

“Back at the theater,” Bill recalled, “why’d you go soft on that boy? Y’know, the one who was holdin’ a gun to your head.”

I puffed out a cloud of smoke. “What you talkin’ about?

“I mean,” he reiterated, “what was that shit you was tryin’ to pull off with him? When I found you two, you were approaching him like some fool trying to tame a wild horse. Why didn’t you just beat him like you normally do?”

I furrowed my brow in annoyance, cocking my head to the side.

“You just answered your own question, dumbass. ‘Cause he was holdin’ a gun to my face. If I had done anything else, that boy woulda put a bullet between my eyes.”

Bill was unconvinced. “Oh, I doubt that. Look, Morgan, I know I ain’t the dullest tool in the shed--”

“--Sharpest.”

“Whatever. Point is: even I could tell that boy hadn’t shot no one before. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have shot you.”

I sighed. “Well, there’s a first time for everything. But -- why are we even arguin’ about this? What point are you trying to make?”

Bill gave me a cautionary glare. “I’m just saying, Morgan...it’s dangerous to make a move like that. That boy, whoever he was, nearly botched the entire robbery. If someone ever tries to do that again, we gotta beat ‘em down.”

I took a step towards Williamson, glaring directly back at him from under the rim of my hat as smoke danced from my cigarette.

“...I got it.” I whispered.

Bill backed down at that, unsure of what to say next.

Before he could do anything else though, I threw my cigarette to the ground and squished it under my boot, walkin’ away as if the conversation never happened.

Things was tense enough between me and Eddie. I didn’t need Bill to jump into the chaos with us. And Lord knew the pianist didn’t neither.

I was just concerned about what would happen if anyone in the gang actually met Eddie. I mean, Dutch was already suspicious that there was a rat among us. If he learned I was in contact with someone outside our little “family,” I could only imagine what his reaction would be. And I certainly didn’t want to find out for myself.

Regardless of the mayhem in his life, Eddie was the only person I knew who weren’t involved with this disaster. The only person who had yet to let this world’s struggles take him down. 

As for the rest of us...we were pretty much more ghosts than people. Just fightin’ to survive, but never actually living. And I sure as hell didn’t want Eddie to become like that.

His previous life as Theodore Bishop sounded harsh enough. The least I coulda done for the boy...was ensure no harm came to him in this one.

Especially not from me. 

[dannissa13]

NaNo, day 28

So as it turns out, I was wrong but that’s not a surprise to anyone at this point. My evaluation is today and I’m a mess, honest to god fucked up mess.

Let me start from the beginning. I really thought that no one will touch me before my lead comes back from vacation, which would have been next week, and I’ll get a metaphoric “get out of jail free” card for now at least and I’ll figure out what to do next later this weekend. I’ll have plenty of time to think things through and will definitely be ready for anything that may come. Boy oh boy was I wrong. First of all - I would’ve procrastinated the actual living shit out of this “getting ready” period and wouldn’t have been ready at all, second - I was fucked the moment I came to work. So as it turns out, my psychic powers are at it again - the previous few days I had this strong and reoccurring feeling that this thing was coming and it would be earlier than expected. Which came fucking true. And even though this clairvoyant premonition came upon me (it was definitely just my logic telling me “bitch get your shit together, the doomsday is coming and you’re not doing shit about it” so yeah, I’m joking about it like it’s some kind of divine revelation) I did nothing about it, just wasting my time and nervously chilling - it’s when you ignore the impending problems instead of solving them and just do nothing while dilly-dallying your time away until that shit from before inevitably catches up to you and it’s suddenly a big surprise when you get a bite in the ass from your responsibilities that you’ve neglected. I’m a pro at this.

So, I wasn’t preparing myself in any way, shape or form for this and I truly wasn’t ready to find a notice email in my inbox about that evaluation that was going to happen today, at the last hour of my work day and everyone’s invited (except that one person who’s out of the country). That was fucked up. They should’ve warned me 24 hours in advance like they are actually obligated but no, it wasn’t even 12 hours of time before my execution. I’ve panicked immediately as I saw the text and I’ve stayed in panic mode for the whole morning.

The thing is, knowing what was about to happen only made it worse. If I had to go to that meeting immediately it would have been so much better and so much worse at the same time but ultimately easier on my nerves. I was so jittery that I honestly had to go to the bathroom and coaxe myself into a state that resembled anything close to being able to function for about fifteen minutes which is both worthy of praise and ludicrous. So, not only I needed to calm myself down, I’ve also had to have some help from the outside so I’ve called my mom who had basically recited back to me all those things I made my mind on about this work situation, reaffirming me and supporting me through a crisis. That helped a little, I’ve stopped catastrophysing for a moment and had some clarity for a brief period of time which I used wisely and frantically texted my best friend all about the situation. She listened and supported me too, which carried me through the threshold of panic back to the realization I’ve had some time ago - the world’s not gonna end if I loose this stupid job, my world is not going to end, I’m not gonna die immediately or anything, I’ll be okay, it’ll be fine. So with that though I’ve decided to do the best thing and started a boring and mind numbing task of comparing different legal requirements in two different documents. That calmed me down real fast, I was so focused on figuring it out that I’ve honestly forgot about the time.

Well, the thing is, I saw and heard the omens of my future firing all day long and became both pissed about the situation and impatient to finally get a clear answer, some resolution to this whole thing. I was pressed for so long I just wanted this to be over no matter the results. So I did my job the best that I could and today was no different. Just before we were supposed to head out to the same meeting room I was interviewed for my job the last time (when I got it, how fitting, it was going to end where it’s started, like a cycle coming to an end and I like those clear endings, when everything comes to the beginning) I have finished my task and sent it to my nine boss, mentally braced myself for the worst and got ready to be fired.

Spoiler alert: I got the job. I’m fully a part of the team now. That was, honest to god, a surprise for me. I didn’t actually believed it for a second when my asshole boss started with “you’ve passed”. I was so ready to just filter everything they were going to say that I was barely able to hear what was actually being said. So, he started with kinda praising me but in a condescending way, which is perfectly reflective of what kind of person he is. Than, a lot was said about my performance and other stuff that was actually legit and real this time around. Like, none of the personal attacks I received the first time around. Mostly because our main creative guy, who’s my mentor here, spent an entire month by my side and saw with his own eyes how I work. It’s hard to bullshit a person who knows what’s up. And I was really trying, so nothing could have been said about this aspect of my performance at this job. And my asshole boss had to be sorta nice to me and talk to me like a person. That was fun. All of them said things to me that hurt, not because those were attacks but because the issues they’ve brought up were true. That’s what made it so hard to swallow, they knew all about my flaws and put them on blast. I’m not a perfect person. That’s shitty but I always thought that was only my problem. Not anymore though, now I have to deal with people who are allowed not to like me and I have to be okay with that. I’m so used to being surrounded by people who love me and support my worldview, my mindset and everything I stand for, that it’s now incredibly difficult to comprehend the mere existence of people with different albeit incorrect and unjust opinions and not only do they exist but that I’ll also gonna be forced to coexist with them and deal with their shit. I know I need to work on myself and I have a lot of issues I need to confront, but knowing is a one thing and hearing it from the people you can’t stand to the point of despising them is the completely other. The fact that I hate these assholes and them being so right about my flaws is a punch to the gut. I was disheveled after the conversation ended even though in my head I made snarky comments about everything that bugged me even a little bit. I put on a hard exterior even though I’m all bark and no bite. That’s pathetic really but I can’t help it.

So my asshole boss had to acknowledge my attention to detail as well as my writing and narrative skills. It was difficult to not comment on the fact that I know I’m good at it because I’ve had to work for it. Of course I would be great at that stuff because not only did I already have a talent for it but I’ve also put an immense amount of time and effort into getting better and growing said talent to be something bigger. Like, dude, I know I’m good, I’m doing it for three years now, tell me something I don’t know. And, sadly he did, they all did, but I’ve already talked about that. Still, being recognized for something you do best felt good. It felt right, it felt like it should’ve happened and when it happened everything fell in the right places. It was correct.

It didn’t feel like a victory though. I felt like I’ve been smeared with shit, like actual fucking disgusting shit, and was left to marinate in it. When the meeting ended I was uplifted and okay, somewhat angry at them, but ultimately holding it together. But on my way home I just bursted into tears and couldn’t stop. I’ve cried on an off again for hours, discreetly, like a wounded animal, hiding from my family members because I didn’t want anyone to see me this way. I like being in control, I like being tough and in charge. On that goddamn meeting I was told that people want vulnerability from me but I cannot give them that. I won’t give them this pleasure of seeing me be weak. I don’t trust people because I have my reasons and I don’t want any of them to get an easy leverage on me by exploiting my low moments so I won’t give them any. I might be better off just gritting my teeth through it than acknowledging that it’s hard and it’s getting to me. I’m surrounded by people who won’t miss a chance to mock me. I can’t just give them this.

I felt really dirt-low and I know why now and I’ll need therapy after all of this to properly process everything that has happened but overall it wasn’t a catastrophe and ultimately I’m fully okay, fine and functioning. It was a tough ride though, not gonna lie, I felt every emotion possible in a span of one day and I was fully exhausted. Ended up crying myself to sleep. What a winner, right?

Understandably I didn’t do much in the writing realm, but can you blame me? See ya later, I guess. I’m out.

[lpdwillwrite4coffee]

Breaking Free (I Feel Violent) pt.2

{Post-TPS Kastle fic written for @purelyfueledbycaffeine‘s birthday and Beta’d by @kteague. Don’t let the holiday timeline fool you, there’s plenty of angst to go around.}

{Part 1}

* Thanksgiving came and went, and soon Karen was noticing more and more Christmas lights decorating shop windows. Small plastic trees with tiny ornaments on her co-workers’ desks and in the break room, shiny garland hung around the office, even Ellison had multi-colored lights around his door, and he was Jewish.

“Everyone enjoys twinkle lights, Karen,” he’d told her when she saw him hanging them up. She’d just giggled and walked by to get another cup of coffee.

Things almost felt normal again.

Almost.

She still woke up in the middle of the night to the sounds of exploding doorframes, metal doors being wrenched from their hinges, the feeling of a solid arm and calloused hand gripping her head, her neck, tangling in her hair.

A sandpaper voice asking, “You okay?” through the ringing in her ears.

Karen was back to old habits and she couldn’t muster up the energy to care. Staying late at the office, going home and refusing to sleep until it was necessary to be able to function the next day. She was drinking too much coffee, eating too little, and when she wasn’t overloading her system with caffeine, she was having a glass of wine for dinner. The glass usually turned into a bottle on weekends, if she didn’t have anywhere to be the next day.

It was like looking in on herself from outside a window. She could see herself making the same choices—ones she’d once declared self-destructive after Matt died and tried to give up—but she didn’t have the willpower to stop herself.

At least she knew how to operate in these patterns. She knew this dance. She even knew how to cover up her missteps.

Her work never suffered. In fact, she thrived on the strenuous deadlines, the constant hum of adrenaline in her system. Thrived on it because she could hide in it.

You’re gonna break, you know, that voice warned. You’ll break, and no one will even know why.

Karen swallowed her tepid coffee, imagining that voice drowning in it, and got to work on her next story.

***

The company Christmas party was always on the 23rd, and Ellison demanded Karen take Christmas Eve, Christmas, and the following two days off. She’d been pumping out article after article and he thought giving her time off was a reward. But Karen’s heart started beating double-time, the edges of panic closing in. She didn’t want the time off, she didn’t want to be in her apartment, alone, for 4 full days. Foggy was up to his neck in briefings, and Karen’s fledgling friendship with Trish Walker wasn’t exactly to the level of ‘come distract me from myself over Christmas’ yet, which left Karen precisely in the Party of One category.

She tried, and failed, to convince Ellison she didn’t need the time.

“Nonsense,” he said, shaking his head in that way that could only be described as ‘dad-like’. “Take the vacation. You’ll be getting paid for it anyway, so it’s not like you really have an excuse not to.”

Karen opened her mouth to respond and then quickly snapped it closed. It felt like another trap, a way to get her to slip up and tell him what’s really on her mind.

“Alright,” she said, flashing a quick smile. “You’re the boss.”

“Don’t remind me,” he said, leaving her office to deliver edits to a couple other staff writers.

Karen was surprised she enjoyed the office party as much as she did. As she sipped her punch, spiked with something much stronger than she was used to, she absently thought if she was soaking up as much social interaction as she could, knowing she was about to be thrust into isolation come the morning.

Way to be a Debbie Downer, she thought, snorting at her own joke.

Maybe she should switch to water…

Karen and a few others were the last to leave, sharing a cab instead of marching through the snow and slush.

Warm from her buzz, but still in charge of most of her faculties, she made it up the 4 flights of stairs to her apartment with only a little swaying. Keys jingling in her hand, she took a moment to steady herself before attempting the lock, pressing her forehead to the door.

“Go, go on.”

“…Take care.”

A knot swelled in her throat, choking her.

She’d told him to go. She’d pulled herself away.

Maybe if she’d hung on a little longer, a little tighter… Maybe if…

Karen slid her key into the lock and twisted with such force she thought the key would snap, and was thankful it didn’t. Finding a locksmith two days before Christmas would be nearly impossible.

Flicking on the light, she dropped her purse on the entryway table, and shucked her coat, ready to fling it over the back of the couch. All she could think about were her warm flannel PJ bottoms and her fuzzy socks—a gift from Foggy for her birthday.

She left a trail of clothes and illumination as she moved through the apartment-- shedding her heels by the couch while she turned on the lights of her Christmas tree, her sweater over the back of a chair as she clicked on the lamp, her skirt and tights as she moved into her bedroom and turned on the reading light.

Before redressing, she dug a hair band out of her jewelry box and pulled her hair into a high ponytail. She caught herself humming a Christmas song—Last Christmas, the Wham! version—while she searched for a sweatshirt to go with her sleep pants. Eventually, with only one dramatic tilt to the side as she pulled on her PJs, she was comfortable and warm and ready to crash on her couch with a bad movie playing on the tv.

She made it three steps out of her bedroom when she saw black boots, dark jeans, dark��� everything.

Karen gasped, hand flying to her throat.

Lamp light and the reds and greens from her tree gave the figure dimension. And finally, she could make out the face under the dark hat and hood.

She’d know that nose anywhere.

“Frank?” She breathed.

Hands lifted to push back his hood, to remove his hat. A smile started to curve his mouth.

“Merry Christmas, Karen.”

She blinked. She blinked again.

He wasn’t disappearing.

“What… What are you doing here?” She could barely hear herself over the roar of her pulse in her ears.

He twisted his hat in his hands. “You didn’t close your door all the way…”

“How did you know my door was open?”

“…It’s not safe, Karen, you should know—”

“Frank, where have you been?” She snapped, cutting him off. She was suddenly feeling soberer. Shock will do that to a person.

Shifting on his feet, he glanced down, avoiding her stare. “I, uh…”

“I had business, Karen.” She expected to hear the same answer, in the same tone that made her cringe away from the prospect of prying.

Frank looked up at her, going still. “I’ve been around.”

Pinching her lips together tight, Karen inhaled steadily through her nose. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from a reunion with Frank, but this… this wasn’t quite it.

If she was honest, he was ruining her buzz.

“Around, huh?” She asked, fighting the urge not to sneer. Turning, she went into her kitchen for a glass of water. She felt him take a couple steps closer.

“I guess you-- you heard about what happened at the carousel,” he said, voice like gravel swirling around a glass of whiskey.

Karen nodded, chugging the tap water and refilling her cup. “Yup.”

“They, uh… They wiped my prints. My records. Gave me a clean slate… sorta.”

“Heard that too.” Karen said, turning to brace her hip against the counter so she could look at him.

Frank smirked. “You talked to Madani.” It wasn’t a question.

“Sure did.” She knew how she sounded. Knew her voice was cold and unforgiving, but any urge to be compassionate hadn’t quite caught up yet.

The sliver of a grin still on his lips fell, and his brows furrowed. “Karen, hey…”

“You wanna know how that meeting went?” She interrupted again, anger fueled by whatever clear liquor she’d spent most of the night drinking rushing to the surface. “We got to have a special sit down with Madani, got to see the inside of her place—nice apartment, by the way—and she tells us, first about the drugs being smuggled out of Kandahar and Billy Russo’s involvement and then she says you’re alive.”

There was a beat of silence as she gauged his reaction. He was frozen, watching her. Waiting.

Pushing away from the counter, she continued. “Not just alive, but free. You’re not being prosecuted. You’re not going to jail. You’ve been given a new identity and have been out in the world for days.” She set her cup down on the kitchen island, next to the white roses that were wilting from lack of sunlight. “And then she had the nerve to use our… relationship as a veiled threat to stay in our lane and not pursue the Cerberus story or anything about Rawlins. To keep quiet.”

An almost imperceptible wince made the corners of his eyes wrinkle.

Karen locked her gaze on him, refusing to let up. “And you know what my first thought was? How good of friends could we possibly be if I didn’t even know he wasn’t in prison?”

Frank sniffed. “Ghosted on you before,” he said, voice impossibly deeper. “Didn’t seem to bother you much then.”

“Bullshit,” she snapped. “That was before, that was—”

“What? What was it, Karen?”

“That was different!”

“Different, yeah. You tellin’ me I’m dead to you now, that’s what made it different.”

“No, it was—”

“You just like gettin’ to call the shots,” Frank cut in, taking a step forward. “People can fuck off, but only on your terms, is that right?”

Karen’s face heated up, anger spiking her temperature. “That’s not what I’m saying!”

“No? No, then what are you saying?”

She stopped, taking a deep breath. “We were… Things changed, Frank. And I just thought…” She went to drag her fingers through her hair, only to remember she’d put it up. “I thought maybe if someone was worth a phone call, maybe it would’ve been me. But I guess… I guess I was wrong.”

Frank’s gaze softened, and she caught the movement of his lips as he mumbled incoherently under his breath before saying louder, “I wanted to. Thought about it. But…”

Karen braced herself for whatever explanation he was about to give her that would cancel her out of his life. Again.

“I… I wanted to get myself a little more right first.”

Confusion doused her anger and drew her brows together.

Frank looked down at his hat still in his hands. “Been goin’ to Curt’s group… It’s, uh… It helps. I think.” He shrugged one shoulder, glancing up. “Maybe what helps is that I want it to help… so…”

Karen’s lips parted. “I… I’m not sure I understand.”

“I wanted to tell you,” he said, with as soft of a voice as he could manage. “Thought about showing up with pizza and beer or some shit, like a surprise, but…” His head tilted, in that very Frank way of dismissing everything, even himself. “I, uh, I didn’t think… And then you started back at work—”

“How did you—”

“I’m a loyal reader of The New York Bulletin, Miss Page,” he said, tone a little lighter, a little jovial. “I saw you didn’t have any new articles for about a week, and then your name was on a front-page story, so I figured…”

Karen’s anger went from a rolling boil to a low simmer. “Still could’ve called.”

“Oh yeah?” He flashed a lopsided grin. “Wouldn’t’ve hung up on me, huh?”

Despite herself, Karen smiled. “Well, you did save my life. Twice.”

The tension from their argument evaporated, floating out of the room through the air ducts.

“You want something to drink?” She asked, feeling the need to do something with her hands.

“If you’re offerin’.”

“Beer?”

He grunted his agreement and she turned towards her fridge. Frank took to slowly wandering her living room, taking note of her decorations.

“Must’ve been a bitch gettin’ a tree all the way up here,” he said, jerking his chin at her Douglas Fir.

“Foggy helped,” she said, smiling as she brought him his beer.

Taking a swig from the bottle, Frank quirked an eyebrow. “Hm.”

“What?”

He shook his head and Karen could practically read what he wasn’t saying on his face.

She chuckled. “Foggy’s stronger than he looks.”

“For a suit, maybe.”

“He offered to help.”

“At least he’s got manners.”

Karen folded her arms over her stomach, still unsure of what to do with her hands. “You… wanna sit?”

She got to the sofa first, folding herself into the far corner as he took the opposite end, legs open in a wide V, back slouched just a little. She wasn’t used to seeing him in such a relaxed posture. It was… nice.

“The suit help you decorate too?” He asked, sipping his beer.

Karen shook her head, propping her elbow up on the back of the couch. “Nope, that was all me. So keep your criticisms to yourself.”

Frank grinned. “Nah, none of that. It looks great.”

They sat there for God knows how long, with Frank staring at the Christmas tree, and Karen staring at him.

He shifted a little on the cushion, resting the bottle on his knee. “Maria, she… She loved decorating for the holidays. She went all out too. Day after Thanksgiving it was like waking up in the North Pole.”

Karen giggled, and Frank turned his head to look at her.

“You… you got a favorite?” He asked, gesturing to the ornaments shimmering in the multicolored lights.

“Hmm…” Karen thought, looking up at her tree. “Maybe the fuzzy reindeer? Up there, near the top.” She pointed out the worn, handstitched reindeer.

“Yeah?”

She nodded, resting her head on her fist. “My grandma made it for me. She made ornaments for all the grandkids. The reindeer is mine, my brother got a snowman, my cousin got… um, I think she got a Christmas mouse—"

“A what?” Frank asked, bottle halfway to his lips.

“You know, a little Christmas mouse,” she said, trying to pantomime. “It’s a little mouse with a Santa hat.”

He arched a brow, looking at her like she was nuts. “A mouse with a Santa hat? Is that… that a Vermont thing, or…?”

Karen laughed. “It’s a thing, I promise.”

“Alright, guess I’ll take your word for it.”

“Guess you will,” she retorted, feeling warm again, but this time it wasn’t from the alcohol. “Did you have a favorite ornament growing up?”

Frank sipped his beer and thought. “Not an ornament… but my mom, she had this set of nutcrackers. They all were characters from the play, you know? I loved the Toy Soldier one the best.”

Karen laughed softly and Frank chuckled, glancing at her.

“Yeah, I know, some kinda cliché bullshit, right? The Marine loving the solider one the best.” He smiled into his beer. “I always got in trouble for sneaking it up to my room to play with.”

“I used to steal my mother’s best outfits to play dress up in,” Karen admitted, smile still on her lips. “The expensive cocktail dresses she’d have to wear to company functions, her designer shoes, her pearls…”

“Uh oh… Y’didn’t lose those, did you?”

Karen shook her head. “No, no, but I’d hide them under my bed and my mom would get so mad.” She laughed at the memory. “She’d ban me from her closet but the second she was out of the house…”

“Went right back, didn’t you?”

“Oh yeah.” She nodded, grinning at him.

“Seems like you’ve always been a tenacious one, huh?”

Karen lifted her chin with pride. “Since day one.”

“Atta girl.”

They stayed like that, chatting easily long into the night. Karen even got to tease him about how he was letting his hair grow long again, calling him ‘hipster’ a couple of times just to see him smile. Frank held onto his long-empty beer bottle, refusing to get off the couch for another, or to make her get him one. Soon Karen was drifting off mid-sentence (Frank’s or hers) and he started to excuse himself, telling her he shouldn’t have kept her up so late.

“Stay?” She asked without thinking. Her eyelids were half-down, but she would have sworn she saw genuine shock flash across his face. Straightening up a little, she decided to ask again. “Will you stay?”

He regarded her a moment, dark eyes catching the glow from the Christmas tree. “Not still mad at me, are ya?” He asked, tilting his head. “Don’t wanna wake up with my hand in a bowl of warm water or somethin’…”

Karen’s laugh exploded from her and she covered her mouth. “I’d never!” She said, still laughing. “Scouts honor.”

“You were a scout?”

“Um… no…?”

Chuckling, Frank shook his head. “Then that don’t mean much, does it?”

“I promise not to fuck with you in your sleep,” she said, as earnestly as she could. “So… will you?”

He was quiet, staring down at the empty bottle still in his hands. “Okay,” he said, nodding once.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

***

Karen awoke with a start—the sound of metal banging being too similar to the sounds from her nightmares. Blinking rapidly, she glanced around her room, remembering where she was.

She rolled onto her side, stretching as she stared out into the living room. Details from the night before started filtering back, just as another metal bang sound made her jump.

Quickly rolling out of bed, she hurried into the kitchen, bare feet instantly freezing on the cold linoleum.

“Frank?” She called, voice rough from sleep.

Standing up from where he was crouched, Frank turned to face her, holding a frying pan. “Hey, mornin’,” he said. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I was gonna get breakfast going for you and then I knocked over the leaning tower of Pisa you got in that cabinet.” He pointed with the end of the pan.

Karen flashed a tired smile. “Oh, yeah… Been meaning to reorganize.” She finger-combed her hair back from her face. “Coffee?”

“Already made.”

She cast him another look, noticing he’d rid himself of his jacket and hoodie, and was only in a black henly and his jeans and boots. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she got a mug from her cupboard and poured herself a cup of coffee.

“You want some?”

Frank’s answer was to lift his own mug—one she hadn’t noticed—and quietly grunt. It made Karen grin.

“So what’s on the menu this morning?” She asked, leaning against the counter to watch him dice a bell pepper.

“You had a bunch of vegetables that needed to be eaten,” he said, gesturing to the selection next to the cutting board. “What, you go to the store just to buy stuff to let it rot?”

Karen pulled her mug away from her lips. “I’m busy, Frank, I don’t always have time to cook.”

“Hm. Seems to reason you shouldn’t buy food you don’t have time to cook then.”

“Seriously?”

He sniffed. “Just a waste, is all.”

“Someone woke up on the lecture-y side of the bed this morning.”

“Sofa. And… sorry.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I think I’ve been around David too long.”

She sipped her coffee and smirked. “You didn’t happen to pick up any computer smarts did you? ‘Cause my laptop has been a little glitchy.”

Frank shook his head and she caught the corner of a smile. “Nope. You’re on your own.”

“Damn.”

“How’s an omelet with spicy sausage sound?”

Karen nodded, stomach already growling. “Sounds perfect.”

Frank gestured towards the lone barstool by her kitchen island. “Have a seat, it’ll be done shortly.”

“I didn’t know you could cook,” she said, watching him as she sat down.

“I’m a man of many talents, Miss Page,” he told her, graveled voice surprisingly sweeter. “I can also sew.”

“Fabric or flesh?”

“Both.”

Karen chuckled into her coffee.

“You sleep alright?” He asked, scraping the vegetables into the frying pan.

Flattening her lips into a line, Karen hummed a ‘yes’. It was the best she could do to deflect. She wasn’t sure she was ready to tell anyone—let alone Frank—about her nightmares.

“You?” She asked quickly.

“I’ve been sleepin’ on a cot about as thin as a sheet of paper for the last few months. Your couch was a cloud compared to that.”

“I’ll have to leave a review on IKEA’s website then. ‘Better than a basement cot’.”

Frank chuckled, turning the heat up on the pan and adding salt. An amenable silence enveloped the room, with Karen sipping her coffee while Frank cooked. Occasionally they’d catch each other’s eye and duck their heads, almost blushing.

It felt strange having Frank in her space, being so surprisingly domestic with a KBAR still strapped to his belt. But it was a strangeness Karen found herself wanting to get used to. Wanting more of.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” she announced, breaking the silence. “Got any plans?”

She realized how ridiculous that question must have been, as if she expected previously-assumed-dead-Frank-Castle to turn around and tell her he was going to a Christmas party.

“Nope,” Frank said, graciously sparing her a sarcastic glance. “You?”

“Ellison gave me 4 days off from the paper,” she said, distracting herself with one of the shopping mailers she’d gotten with her stack of junk mail. “I was thinking of attempting a real Christmas dinner for myself. I make a mean Thai curry.”

“Thai food?” Frank looked over his shoulder at her, halting his sautéing. “How the hell is Thai food Christmas-y?”

“It can be,” she retorted, hands cupping her warm mug. “If it’s food you eat on Christmas, then it’s Christmas food.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“Oh no?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Ya gotta have the real deal stuff. The… the ham, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, that nasty-ass cranberry jelly from a can—”

“I actually like that stuff.”

“’Course you do,” he said, looking over his shoulder again and smirking. It made Karen’s stomach tremble.

Or maybe that was the 2 cups of coffee on an empty stomach.

“Well I can’t make all that just for me,” she told him primly. “It would be a waste.” She arched an eyebrow at him when he turned to look at her again. Two can play that game.

She wondered if he’d catch her double meaning. She couldn’t make all that food for just her… but if he stayed…

“What about the suit?” Frank asked, cracking a couple eggs into a bowl to scramble.

“Foggy’s working and then spending Christmas day with his girlfriend—”

“Suit’s gotta girl, huh? Good for him.”

“Marci. She’s… Well, Foggy likes her, so…”

Frank chuckled, a sound Karen still wasn’t used to hearing. “Not a fan, I take it.”

“As long as Foggy doesn’t ask me to be her new BFF, we’ll be fine.” Karen hopped up for her third cup of coffee, and found Frank there, a little too close too quickly.

His large hand covered the top of her mug. “Need somethin’ more than just that,” he said, graveled voice even lower. “Here.” He handed her a water glass and nodded to the sink.

Karen flattened her lips in a line. “Didn’t realize I needed a babysitter.”

“Gonna make yourself sick, all the coffee on an empty stomach.”

“Well maybe if someone hurried up with the food…”

Frank pegged her with an unyielding stare. “Indulge me. One glass of water.”

Karen’s shoulders stiffened but she took the water glass. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

She filled it in tense silence and chugged it down. Walking back over to where he stood, she made it a point to turn the glass upside down on the counter next to him before grabbing the handle of the coffee pot and pouring herself more.

Frank shook his head. “More stubborn than a mule,” he muttered, barely audible but Karen still heard it.

“Pot, meet kettle.”

He grunted, flipping the omelet in the pan.

Karen returned to her seat, aimlessly looking over the holiday sale ads as she drank her coffee defiantly.

A plate of food appeared under her chin and she lifted her head.

“Bon Appetite,” Frank said, holding out a fork for her.

“Thanks—Wait, where’s yours?”

“Not hungry,” he said, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

She thought he’d sit with her, but he walked around the kitchen island and into the living room, grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch. Karen watched, her stomach dropping. She’d run him off already, she’d irritated him into leaving, she’d—

“Where… where are you going?” Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears.

“Told you, y’can’t have Thai food for Christmas dinner. Just ain’t right,” Frank called, yanking his jacket on. “Bet if I hurry I can find a decent spread for us, even if it’s all picked over.”

Karen blinked. “You… So you’re…” She swallowed thickly.

“Be back in a little while, yeah?” He held her gaze for a moment before offering a smile. Jerking his chin at the plate, he added, “Better eat before it’s cold.”

Relief flooded her system as she nodded weakly. “Okay.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” he said as he headed for the door. “Hate to have to pick your lock with an arm full of groceries.”

Karen laughed, and he glanced over his shoulder just before closing the door behind him.

***

She heard him come back in as she was getting dressed after her shower. Heavy boots and the rustling of bags, a grunt as he nudged the door closed. She scurried to close her bedroom door, a towel being the only thing covering her. It probably wouldn’t have been in either of their best interests if she accidentally flashed him before noon.

“Be right out,” she called, seeing his silhouette move into the kitchen.

“Take your time.”

Quickly digging out a pair of leggings and an oversized cream-colored sweater, she scrambled to find a pair of underwear that wasn’t terribly lacy… Laundry day was fast approaching if all she could find were her ‘date night’ panties.

She dug through her drawer, suddenly and intensely aware of the man moving around her apartment.

Jesus Karen, get it together, she thought, grabbing her last plain black pair and a bra and pulling them on.

“You got a package,” Frank called, making her jump.

Frowning, Karen looked at the door as she finished dressing. “Huh?”

“Left by your mailbox, so I brought it up.” She listened to him pace across the living room. “Not very big…”

She opened her door, working a comb through her hair. “Does it say who it’s from?”

Frank shook his head, holding the box out for her. His eyes drifted down to where she brushed her damp hair, but his expression was neutral.

“Thanks,” she said, taking it and going to the couch to sit. “So, I see you were able to get more than just a couple cans of beef and bean soup, huh?”

“Yeah, didn’t make out too shabby.” Frank wandered back to the kitchen to continue unloading. “Even found a decent sized ham to bake.”

“Ooh, with brown sugar?”

He grunted a ‘yes’ and she smiled softly, folding her legs under her. Looking down at the box in her lap, she stopped, fingers trailing over the familiar lettering.

“Need scissors?”

She didn’t answer, hardly heard him if she was honest. She was too busy deciding if she even wanted to open it.

“Karen?”

“Hm?”

Frank was a little closer, holding a can of green beans, brow furrowing as he watched her. “What is it?”

“Oh… uh,” she faltered, glancing down at the box. “It’s… nothing.” She set the box aside on her coffee table. “So are you one of those ‘no one is allowed in the kitchen to help’ kinda cooks or is there room for two in there?”

“Why didn’t you open your package?” He asked, completely blowing passed her attempt to change the topic.

Karen bit her lip, shaking her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

Frank’s jaw ticked as he stared at her. He set the can on the counter and strode into the living room, sitting on the arm of her reading chair. He was staring her down, waiting for her to crack under the weight of his dark gaze.

“Really?” She scoffed. “It’s nothing, Frank, just drop it.”

She stood up, about to walk into the kitchen, when Frank grabbed her wrist. It was the first time he’d touched her since… Since the elevator.

Karen’s head whipped around, glare hot. “Frank.”

His only response was to lock eyes with her, thumb over her pulse point.

They stayed like that for what felt like ages until Karen yielded.

“It’s from my dad. And I don’t want to open it right now, nor do I want to talk about it, okay?” She looked to where Frank’s hand was still wrapped around her wrist. “Is that answer satisfactory enough for you?”

Frank’s jaw ticked again but his gaze was softer. After a beat, he released her, and her skin was troublingly cold from the lack of touch. Karen didn’t waste any time walking away from him, but Frank didn’t move from his perch on the chair.

She got herself a glass of water just to busy herself, and stood at the sink to drink it.

“You… you can, y’know…” Frank said, voice deep and raspy. “Talk about it, I mean. If… if you want.”

Karen swallowed the last of her water and smacked her lips. “Nope.”

Sighing, Frank nodded once before standing up. “Alright.” It was barely loud enough to hear over the clink of her glass in the sink.

He went around the kitchen island, picking the can of green beans up. “Ya got any objections to slivered almonds?”

Karen turned, frowning at him. “Huh?”

“On the green beans,” he said, rolling the can in his palm. “Only way I really know how to make ‘em.”

The knot that was tightening in her chest loosened enough for Karen to breathe. The topic of her father was dropped… for now.

“No, not at all.” She shook her head. “You want some help?”

“Nah, I got it,” he said, pulling out all her pots and pans from her cabinets. “How about you play bartender though.”

Karen arched a brow, smirk playing at her lips. “Do what now?”

“Can’t have Christmas Eve dinner without a little holiday cheer,” he said, tone lighter. “Check that bag over there.” He nodded to the paper bag he hadn’t unpacked.

Karen grinned as she pulled out two bottles of wine—one red, one white—and a fifth of top shelf whiskey.

Lining them up on the counter, she said, “Merry Christmas indeed.”

***

Frank Castle was a fucking lightweight.

One glass of wine had him pink at the tips of his ears and apples of his cheeks. Two and he was smiling a lot easier, laughing a fraction louder, fine motor function not nearly as finessed.

Karen covered her mouth, suppressing a giggle as she watched him cook.

“That’s some strong shit,” he muttered, looking into his glass after another sip.

“You sure you don’t wanna eat something?”

“We’re gonna eat soon.”

“You gonna make it to ‘soon’?”

“I can hold my liquor, Karen.”

Smirking, she sipped her wine. “If you say so…”

She decided not to comment when she saw him nibble on the carrots he was cooking on the stove.

It was only three o’clock in the afternoon and they were both buzzed. Now this was a Christmas tradition Karen could get behind.

“We need some different music,” she said, jumping up from her bar stool to go pick a new Spotify station. She changed it from non-descript Christmas classics to a Rock Christmas station, in need of something with more pep.

“Y’really listen to this?” Frank asked, scrunching his nose as he tasted the sauce for the ham.

“Sure,” she said, turning. “And you don’t?”

“Can’t say I’ve listened to much of anything the last few months.”

The comment made her sad for reasons she wasn’t sober enough to really put together.

They chatted a little as he checked on the multiple dishes he had in the oven and as Frank drained his wine glass. She’d never thought she’d ever see Frank get tipsy… But then again, she never thought she’d be friends with the Punisher, of all people. Or having him cook her Christmas dinner. It was a holiday full of surprises.

The opening bars of Bruce Springsteen’s “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” filtered through her computer speakers and Karen smiled. It was one of her favorites. She glanced up to see Frank bobbing his head a little as he stirred the carrots.

“Fan of the Boss, huh?” She asked, grinning.

“Who isn’t?”

She saw the shift immediately. Frank’s shoulders going rigid, his back straightening, hand gripping the wooden spoon like a vice.

Incoherent mumbling got a little louder. “Can… can you turn that off?”

“What?”

“Turn it—turn it off? Or change… Just change the station?”

Karen frowned. “I thought—”

“Ple-please, Karen?” He didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to for her to know the tormented look in his eyes.

As quick as her inebriated fingers would allow, she turned the volume down and changed it back to some jazzy Christmas station. She stood there, leaning on the table, running her fingers through her hair as she exhaled slowly. Her heart was racing, like she’d just kicked a grenade away from them.

Maybe she had…

She waited until she could breathe normally before going back to her seat at the island, clutching her wine glass by the stem.

“My… my wife…” Frank faltered, clearing his throat. “Maria, she… For my birthday, she got us Springsteen tickets.”

Karen didn’t dare move an inch or make a sound.

“’Sposed to go the week after I got back,” he murmured, keeping his back to Karen. “We, uh… That didn’t…” He shook his head.

He didn’t need to finish. Karen knew.

She knew too well.

“I’m sorry, Frank,” she whispered.

He nodded jerkily, stirring the pot.

They listened to the new station—a little too much Michael Buble for Karen’s taste—in relative quiet.

Finally, Frank turned to face her. “I have a confession to make.”

Karen’s eyes widened.

“I can’t bake worth a damn,” Frank said. “So I bought the pie.”

Karen had to bite the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t laugh. “I think I can forgive that.”

“Alright then.” The corner of his mouth twitched, and she felt a swell of relief in her chest.

Some memories of Maria Frank welcomed, and some tore him asunder, bringing his very being to a screeching halt. Karen understood that implicitly. And she was more than willing to bear witness to both-- to listen or to change the station.

It was the least she could do, Karen felt.

***

“You didn’t!”

“All over the house,” Karen laughed, fork bumping her plate. “I thought my mother was going to have a heart attack.”

“Who was watching you?” Frank leaned on his forearm, eyes sparkling. “Was anyone watching you?”

“The babysitter was trying to get my brother to stop coloring on the walls.”

“You were terrors, both of you,” Frank told her, shaking his head and grinning.

“I thought it would be funny!”

“Cutting a hole in the flour bag and tying it to the dog is not funny, trust me.”

“It was a little funny,” Karen giggled, sipping her wine. “Besides I was 5!”

Frank took a bite of ham and shook his head again. “Poor Sparky…”

“I think he was more upset he had to have 2 baths just to get all the flour out of his fur.” Karen speared a carrot and gestured to Frank with it. “Alright, your turn. Worst childhood antic.”

“Oh man…” He chuckled, setting his utensils down and rubbing his right hand over his left fist. “Uh… Let’s see…” Tilting his head, he considered her a moment before nodding. “Alright. The time I filled the washer with bubble bath instead of laundry detergent.”

Karen nearly choked on her food. “Oh god!”

“I was trying to help,” he said, grin splitting his face apart. “I didn’t know they were different. Soap is soap, right?”

“No, no they’re not,” Karen shook her head and giggled.

“Yeah, well, I figured that out pretty damn quick.” He hid his face a little with his hands. “The laundry room is filling with bubbles and I’m, shit, I’m freakin’ out, right? I’m 8, standing there in wet socks and slippery from all the soap, and I’m about 3 seconds from losin’ my shit, and that’s when my mom comes in the house.”

“Uh oh…”

Frank shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “Ma… She walks in, hears the machine going berserk, calls for me, and when she comes around the corner and sees the gigantic mess I’ve made she…” He chuckles, hands falling to the tops of his thighs. “She just bursts out laughing.”

“What?”

“She’s doubled over, she’s cracking up so hard. And I’m standing there—probably with bubbles comin’ outta my ears—and I just…” He ducks his head, still grinning but obviously a little embarrassed. “I just start wailing.”

Karen covered her mouth, her ‘aww’ still very much audible.

“I… I guess I was just so overwhelmed, I just had a meltdown. And Ma, she just laughed even harder.”

“You poor thing.”

“She said I looked like the angriest bubble monster,” Frank commented, picking up his wine. “Looking back… I don’t—I can’t even remember half of it, or how we got it all cleaned up. But I swear, to this day, I remember the feeling of wet socks and soap bubbles up to my little bare arms.”

“Your mom wasn’t angry?”

Frank shook his head, swallowing the last of the wine in his glass. “Nah, she was… She took things in stride, ya know? A little bubble bath in the machine wasn’t gonna upend her.”

“And you were trying to help…” Karen added, smiling over her glass.

Mumbling in agreement, Frank tucked his chin. “I didn’t touch that washer again until high school.”

Karen laughed, enjoying how easy it was to laugh now. Sure, the wine helped, but it was more than that. It felt important to laugh with Frank. To embrace the goodness, the levity, because they both knew that things could change in an instant. And that they most likely would.

“You liked the yams?” Frank asked, nodding to Karen’s plate.

She looked down to the clearly vacant section. “They were amazing.”

“There’s more,” he murmured.

“We have to have left overs for tomorrow,” she countered.

“Ah, right,” Frank said, lifting his head. “You save room for pie?”

“There’s always room for pie.”

“Atta girl.”

Their knees bumped as he got up from the table to fetch the store-bought pumpkin pie, and at the same time the legs of his chair scraped sharply on the linoleum. She tried to hide it, but Karen flinched. Hard.

Frank hesitated at her shoulder, holding both of their empty plates, but Karen couldn’t bring herself to look up at him. She tilted her face away, pretending to stare at the Christmas tree, until he huffed and walked into the kitchen.

The plates clattered in the sink and she jumped again, but that time she was pretty sure he didn’t see.

Her skin crawled, sensing the impending questions about to pour from Frank’s mouth, and she dodged with all the agility of a scared rabbit.

“You want coffee with your pie?” She asked, already standing and making her way to the coffee maker.

Frank turned from where he was cutting a thick slice and watched her a moment before humming in agreement. As he finished serving, she made them a pot and leaned against the counter, listening to the gurgling noises.

“We should watch a movie or something,” she told him as he handed her a dessert plate. “You got a favorite?”

Frank shook his head, fork already diving into the hunk of orange. “Pick whatever you want,” he mumbled around the food in his mouth.

Biting her lip, Karen wandered into her living room, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and turning the tv on. She channel-surfed for a minute before finding A Christmas Story on a cable channel, already about 10 minutes in.

“This okay?” She asked without looking at him.

Frank grunted what sounded close to a ‘yes’, and plopped himself down on the end of the sofa. Going back for coffee for the two of them, Karen came back and handed out a mug to Frank.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, taking it from her.

Karen laughed softly at the title. “No need to be formal, Frank,” she said, curling up on her end of the couch. “You’ve seen me in my PJs now. We’re beyond ‘ma’am’.”

“Dunno about that,” he said, smirking as he took another bite. “Decaf?”

She shook her head, watching the television. “Regular.”

Frank’s silence felt heavy, but she didn’t react, didn’t comment. She stared so hard at Ralphie’s face on her screen she was certain she’d memorize every freckle the kid had. She would not budge.

Karen finished her pie and took their plates to the kitchen and refilled her coffee. She offered to do the same for Frank, but he declined.

“You plannin’ on stayin’ up to see Santa?” He asked after her second cup.

She pulled her mug away from her lips. “Huh?”

“Gonna be up all night drinkin’ that,” he commented, nodding to her coffee.

“Says the guy who lived on the stuff.”

His response was a quiet hum followed by turning to stare at the tv once more, dropping the topic. They watched the movie, chuckling lightly and steadily relaxing back into the way they’d been during dinner.

When Karen shivered slightly, Frank pulled the throw off the back of the sofa and unfolded it, tossing it over her knees without a word. She whispered a thank-you, tugging it higher around her waist and leaning back against the cushions.

A Christmas Story ended, and Karen found them another to watch—Frank vetoed Miracle on 34th Street so she put it on Elf.

“Never seen this one,” Frank commented, threading his fingers together behind his head, spreading his elbows wide.

“What? You’ve never seen Elf?”

“I was a little busy, Karen,” he retorted, rolling his eyes. “Didn’t have time to see every bad movie—”

“Okay well that’s your first mistake there,” she cut in. “Elf is not bad. It’s a classic.”

“That right?”

“Mm-hm,” she nodded, propping her head up on a pillow. “Just watch, you’ll see.”

Despite chugging nearly a full pot of coffee, Karen’s eyelids drooped and she caught herself drifting off to sleep during several scenes. She blinked, glancing over at Frank, but he didn’t seem to notice. Either that or he was purposefully keeping his comments to himself.

Just before Buddy saved Santa’s sleigh, Karen fell asleep with her head at an awkward angle and the throw blanket bunched around her.

In those few moments though, the noise came back—screeching, exploding metal. People yelling. The taste of blood in her mouth.

Different memories, different events, all patchworking together.

She jerked awake, bolting up from the pillow and ramming her foot into the coffee table.

“Shit,” she cursed, bending to rub the soreness.

Frank was next to her again, too close, too suddenly. His hand was on the middle of her back, the heat and weight of it grounding her.

“Hey, hey, you alright?” His voice was soft, a little smoother like cigar smoke.

She nodded, wincing. “Fine. Just… clumsy.”

“You want some ice?”

“No, no, I’m okay,” she told him. “Promise.”

She caught his slight nod from the corner of her eye and offered him a smile. “See? All better,” she said, leaning back.

He grunted, but didn’t say much else, and they continued to watch the end of the movie. The next one up was A Charlie Brown Christmas, and even Frank nodded off during that one a couple of times. He blamed the music—too mellow.

Karen glanced over at the clock and sighed. 2am.

“Guess Santa skipped us this year,” she joked.

“I’m shocked,” Frank murmured, voice rough from exhaustion. “I’ve been a very good boy.”

Karen laughed, and he tilted his head to look at her, grinning slightly.

Reluctantly, she withdrew from the blanket and stood up. “I guess I’ll let you get some sleep,” she told him, dropping the throw back on the cushions.

“Karen…”

“G’night Frank,” she said, avoiding the topic once again.

His voice was quiet as he said, “Merry Christmas, Karen,” just before she closed her bedroom door.

***

Karen rolled onto her side, staring at the sliver of dawn outside her bedroom window.

She slept—she was sure she had—but given how her whole body ached, how unbelievably exhausted she still felt, she didn’t think it was very good sleep.

The nightmares still plagued her. They were a constant now, just something to accept. Taxes and death and all that.

She watched as the faint blue light turned pink, then orange, then yellow.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispered to herself, hugging a pillow to her chest.

Through her door she heard the shower turn on and the clinking from the rod as the curtain moved. She thought about going out, asking Frank if he needed anything, getting him a couple towels and a wash cloth, but she realized he’d probably found all of that already if he was turning on the water.

She opted for 5 more minutes in bed followed by getting up to make coffee strong enough to strip paint. She didn’t think Frank would complain.

Karen was on her second cup when Frank came out of the bathroom, redressed and toweling his hair dry.

“Mornin’,” he said as soon as he saw her. “Hope you don’t mind, I—”

“No, no, not at all,” she told him. “I should have offered. You’re welcome to anything here.”

The small smile threatening to curve his lips made Karen blush and duck her head.

“Do you… need any extra clothes or anything?” She asked. “Not that I have a lot of men’s clothing lying around… And I don’t think yoga pants are really your style.”

Frank’s chuckle was deep, a little rough still from sleep. “I had a change of clothes in my pack.”

“Sure, right.” She nodded, lifting her mug. “I, uh, I made coffee.”

He glanced passed her to the coffee maker. “Smells strong.”

“It is.” She smiled but even to her it felt sharp.

Folding the towel in his hands, Frank wandered over to pour a cup. Something was different between them… Her stomach had taken to trembling when he looked at her. He was smiling more frequently. Her hands shook slightly when he was close. His gaze was warmer, softer. She didn’t quite feel comfortable in her own body, like she was a teenager again.

Inhaling deeply, she gulped her coffee and forced herself to remain still and calm, and to get a grip.

“Breakfast?”

His voice brought her head around. “Hm—uh, yeah.” She nodded so fast her neck popped. “Whatever you want.”

“Want me to do something with these left overs?”

“Those are for later,” she told him, reaching to playfully swat him away from the Tupperware containers. Frank chuckled and tilted his head.

“Alright, alright, eggs it is,” he said, pulling the carton from the shelf.

They fell into their familiar routine—Frank acting as chef while Karen sat on one of her stools, flipping through the paper and drinking coffee.

“You sure are giving my stove a work out,” Karen commented, reading the last bit of an article. “It hasn’t been used this much since I moved in.”

“That’s just depressing.”

Karen snorted. “You eat MREs and cold cuts, you can’t judge me.”

“I had an excuse,” Frank said, glancing over his shoulder. “But you?”

Looking up, she pegged him with a stare and rolled her eyes. That got him to laugh, which was worth the antagonizing.

“Merry Christmas, by the way,” he told her as he flipped the eggs in the pan.

She smiled. “Merry Christmas.”

“Did… d’ya sleep alright?” He asked, poking the food with the spatula.

Karen took a sip of coffee and hummed. “Fine. You?”

“Oh yeah, dreamt of sugar plums and all that shit.”

Her laugh caught her by surprise. Covering her mouth, she muffled herself.

Frank turned, carrying a plate of fried eggs and toast. “Don’t on my account.”

“Huh?”

“Been in a basement with a neurotic spook for months,” he started. “Hearing someone’s… Hearing you laugh is… it’s nice.” He faltered as he handed her the food. “Feels nice. Normal.”

The confession slammed between her ribs, nestling in tight.

“Oh,” was all she could say before he turned away to get his own food.

They were quiet for a long while, eating and drinking their coffee, occasionally turning to look at the Christmas tree or skim sections of the paper.

“I forgot this part,” Frank murmured from behind his mug. “Christmas morning…”

Karen’s chest ached as images of what Frank’s old life must have been like, how Christmas must have been for him, with Lisa and Frank Jr, flooded her mind.

“I… I didn’t get a lot of them… With the kids. Y’know?” He sniffed, nose scrunching before he took another sip of coffee. “Deployments. Training. Lisa’s first Christmas… I was in a tent in the desert. Got pictures though. Lots of pictures. When… when Frankie was, God, 4? 5? We, uh… We did it up right. Full blown Hallmark Christmas. Big tree, family came over. We… There was tons of food, and…” He chuckled to himself. “So much fuckin’ wrapping paper you couldn’t see the carpet underneath.”

Karen had gotten accustomed to his reminiscences tumbling out, a little broken, a little messy, stalled in parts, faded and unsure in others, but still very Frank. Each word curled up in her lap, held there to be cherished by someone else who understood.

“Did… did you have a favorite Christmas tradition?” She asked softly, not wanting to push. His memory was like fractured glass—if you pressed the wrong spot, it all came crashing down.

Frank glanced into his mug. “I was hopin’ you’d indulge me a little,” he said quietly. “Tell me somethin’ about yours? You have a favorite?”

“As a kid?”

He shrugged, muscled shoulders shifting under black fabric. “Sure.”

Karen leaned forward on her elbows. “Well… We’d usually go to my Grandmother’s,” she started. “She lived outside of Burlington, so we’d all pile in the car and drive down to see her. And my mom would always fight with the radio to get a good Christmas music station, even though we had CDs.” She smiled, moving her hands as she talked. “We’d get there, and it was just like out of a Thomas Kinkade painting, you know? Wintry and the windows all lit up, wreaths on the doors, and you could see the tree from the street.”

She glanced at him and laughed to herself. “Probably sounds cliché, right?”

Frank shook his head. “Nah, it sounds nice.”

“It was,” she agreed, nodding. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she continued. “There were presents all over the living room, but we had to wait until after we ate to open them. It was torture.”

“D’you do the Santa thing? Opening gifts in your PJs?”

“We always had Santa and stockings at our house,” she said. “Mom would make waffles while we tore into our new toys.”

Frank nodded, seeming to enjoy her story. But he watched her like he was waiting for something, searching for something between her words.

Karen kept talking-- describing her family Christmases, her cousins running around making a mess, building snowmen while the adults finished cooking, taking their Santa-delivered toys out to play…

“Who’s ‘we’?” Frank asked, cutting in on her last sentence.

“Oh, uh, me and my cousins, and my brother.” She punctuated it with a long swallow of coffee.

“Did your dad cook?” Frank asked, catching her off guard. “He in the kitchen or was someone out there watchin’ you?”

Karen struggled to laugh through her bewilderment. “We were old enough to play by ourselves,” she said, getting up for more coffee. “It was Vermont. Unless there was a moose nearby, we were safe.”

Frank grunted, clearly feeling the urge to judge. Overprotective to a fault. Karen smiled as she brought the coffee pot over and topped him off.

“It was a nice way to spend Christmas. I… I miss it sometimes,” she told him. “But I love holidays here too.”

“Amid the garbage and the slush, huh?” Frank arched an eyebrow, teasing her.

“It’s not all bad.” Karen sat down, facing him fully. “There’s Rockefeller center—”

“Tourist trap.”

“And Central Park—”

“Crowded.”

“And all the stores and their window displays.”

He hummed. “Yeah, alright. Those are kinda nice.”

“So you agree.”

The curve of his lip over his coffee cup made Karen want to giggle. She felt buzzed and she was stone cold sober.

After a moment, Frank’s gaze darted over her shoulder to the Christmas tree. “Y’gunna open your gifts?”

“Don’t have any.”

“Says who?”

Karen frowned at him. “What are you…?” She twisted, looking behind her. She couldn’t see anything from where she sat, so she stood up, wandering over to the living room. Under the tree was a lone wrapped present—green paper and red ribbon shining under the twinkle lights. Karen blinked.

“Frank…” she whispered, emotion building in her throat.

“It’s not much,” he said. “Just something to… to say thanks.”

“Thanks? For… what?”

He was silent as he watched her pick up the gift. She shook the box gently, hearing the contents rattle.

“I didn’t get you anything,” she said it a little teasingly, but the beginnings of guilt churned in her stomach.

Frank shook his head. “Nah, don’t need anything. Shit, you kept me from sleepin’ in a rathole apartment for a few nights. That’s gift enough.”

Glancing down at the tag— her name written in his tight, neat script—she took a breath.

“Go on,” he urged. “Open it.”

Sitting on the edge of the couch, she balanced the box on her knees, pulling the ribbon off and tearing at the paper. She read part of the label printed on the cardboard and her brows shot up in delighted surprise.

“You got me bullets?” She laughed, looking up.

Standing, Frank started towards her. “Figured you’ve been going to the range a lot—your aim is too good to say you don’t practice.”

“I practice,” she confirmed with pride.

“Thought maybe I’d get you something to help practice with.”

Smiling, she finished unwrapping the box and opened the lid, finger running over the shells. “No one else would ever think to get me ammunition for Christmas.”

“Glad I’m not someone else then,” he told her, tucking his hand in his pocket and sipping his coffee.

“Me too.” She said it quickly, earnestly, and with enough warmth to heat up her own cheeks.

Frank took a few more steps into the living room, hovering near the end of the sofa. “You… you gonna open your other one?”

“You got me something else?”

He shook his head. “Meant the one from yesterday.” He paused, waiting for her to catch on. “Said it was from your dad…”

Karen’s face fell. “Oh. No, I’m not.”

“Karen…”

“I don’t want to open it, Frank.” She stood up, placing the box of bullets on her coffee table and going to brush passed him.

“Why?” Frank tracked her. “Hey, hey, talk to me. Why--?”

“Because I already know what it is,” she snapped, pegging him with a hard stare. “I already know, and I don’t want to be upset on Christmas, so…” Pushing her hair out of her face, she turned to walk away.

“What’s the deal with your dad, huh?” He asked, tilting his head, eyeing her. “Does he… Is he bothering you? Did… Karen, did he do something to you?”

So much was implied in the question, she didn’t know where to start, and her frustration came out as a bitter barking laugh.

“Depends on what you mean.”

Frank was eerily quiet, watching her. The violent urges always simmering under Frank’s surface began to bleed into his features, the rims of his irises, morphing him into The Punisher right in front of her.

“No, Frank. He didn’t do something to me… not like you’re thinking.” She fully exhaled with relief as his darkness faded, Frank coming back little by little.

“Then what? What’s the deal?” He asked, jaw working.

She planted her hands on her hips. “Why are you so concerned about this, Frank?”

“Because…” He mumbled incoherently for a moment before clearing his throat and saying louder, “I don’t… I don’t like seeing you upset.”

She didn’t mean to scoff, but the harsh sound erupted from her anyway. “Since when?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know what, this has nothing to do with me being upset.” She gestured to him, emphasizing her words. “You just don’t like not knowing something—It’s driving you nuts that I’m keeping something from you, so you’re trying every tactic you can to get me to spill my guts.” She shook her head, anger beginning to boil. “This isn’t empathy, it’s an interrogation.”

“Hey, that’s not—Look, I am concerned, okay? Don’t tell me I’m not—”

“Then why does it have to be on your schedule, Frank? Why can’t you just accept I’m not ready to talk about it?”

He set his mug down on the coffee table next to her box of bullets. “’Cause it has nothin’ to do with being ready—”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“C’mon, Karen, you really want me to say it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Karen,” he said her name almost like he was chastising her. “C’mon… You— I mean, I’m not an expert but—”

She scowled at him. “Spit it out, Frank.”

“You… You’re not doing well, Karen.”

The laugh that erupted from her was like ice shattering on concrete.

“Oh, that’s fucking rich,” she snapped. “You’re lecturing me now, is that it?”

“’Course not,” Frank said, shaking his head. “You know I’m not, I’m—Look, this shit with your dad, whatever it is, it’s just one part, okay? What you went through… The hotel with Lewis… losing Murdock—”

“Don’t,” she warned sharply.

He didn’t even blink. “All the other shit you’ve gone through. You don’t have to carry all that alone.”

“Wow, a month of therapy and you’re Dr. Castle now, huh?”

She regretted it the moment she said it. Frank needed therapy, needed to connect with other people, needed to talk about his trauma. She was proud of him. But he had his calloused, unclean fingers pressed against a vein she was barely able to keep closed on a good day, and that pain had to go somewhere.

Frank’s lip curled, a little too vicious to be a sneer. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what, Frank?”

“This, this backbiting bullshit. This ain’t you.”

“Oh yeah?” She snapped. “And what if it is?”

He shook his head, starting to wave her off, when she grabbed him by the bicep, yanking him back.

“What if it is, Frank?” Wide blue eyes locked on his nearly obsidian gaze. “What if this is me now?”

“So you—You wanna spend your life runnin’ on coffee and no sleep, diggin’ that hole deeper for yourself?”

“Stop! Stop presuming to know me, Frank! You weren’t here, you don’t—”

“I watched you every night through that goddamn window, you think I didn’t see you??”

His admission brought Karen’s thoughts to a halt. “You… what?” She breathed.

Frank started to shake his head, looking to the floor. “I… nothing, I just…”

“Goddamn it Frank, for once just—”

“Alright, yeah,” he interrupted. “Yeah, okay, I watched you. I didn’t… It wasn’t like that. I just… I’d walk by every night, wait to see you in the widow, see that you were okay. For a while, you were… I dunno, it looked like you were okay. But then… That light stayed on longer. I’d see you still movin’ around. Sometimes you’d be up at 4am—”

Karen gaped, unsure if she should be horrified.

“You were putting out a story in every issue of the Bulletin. You were doing interviews. But you weren’t even fuckin’ sleeping,” he said, sandpapery voice an octave lower. “Then, I’m staying here, and I’m seeing… I mean, Jesus, the last 2 nights… all fuckin’ night you’re tossing and turning—”

“What?”

“You talk in your sleep, Karen, y’think I wouldn’t hear you? You’re 5 feet away.”

“I didn’t…” She released him, backing up half a step. “I didn’t know I…” Her hand went to her mouth, fingers trembling against her chin.

Frank took half a step forward. “Look, I’m… I’m not…” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Just… Who’s Kevin?”

Karen’s breath caught in her throat so painfully tears welled in her eyes.

“Y-you kept saying his name, over and over, you were crying it…” Frank’s voice cracked. “Is he… He important to you?”

Hand clutching her mouth, she tried to suck down air and couldn’t. She stepped around Frank, trying to get some space, some footing, something.

“Hey, Karen… hey…”

She waved him off, still battling the sobs lodged in her windpipe.

“I can’t…” She mumbled finally, shaking her head. “I can’t talk about this right now.”

She spun, marching into her bedroom. Finding her sturdy boots and thick socks, she yanked them on before grabbing her winter coat off the hook near her door. When she emerged, Frank was standing there, looking at her with concerned bewilderment.

“Hey, hey, wait, hold on,” he started, trailing after her as she searched for her purse.

“I’m going for a walk.”

“Karen—”

“Stop it,” she nearly screamed. Two tears streamed down her face as she blinked up at him. “Leave me alone, Frank!”

“I… Just—Please, Karen…"

She shook her head. “I gotta go.”

She could hear him call her name again, but the slamming of her apartment door cut off the rest of his sentence entirely.

. . .

[dalsethel]

Hybrid bit three

Heres the third section. Not much to say other than THIS WAS A PAIN IN MY ASS. @probablyhybridrpgideas The rest of my classes were mostly uneventful. Lunch was the cafeteria’s excuse for pizza. A tabaxi was caught with catnip in his bag during sixth period (Algebra- I take to that bullshit like a salamander to a desert), there was some of the usual orcish taunts in the halls… yeah. Boring. The bus ride home was quiet for once, giving me time to think. How was I gonna tell Val about all the changes I went through? I knew she knew something was off. I could hop on Lightwave, hang out with her for a bit on there, break it to her gently…? No. It needed to be done in person. There just wasn’t anywhere private enough at school, and she’d probably get the wrong idea if I invited her over while mom wasnt home… maybe invite her over while mom was home? I dragged my hands down my face, feeling the slight roughness the illusion hid. I’d figure it out. Just not here. My mind kept racing through ideas. Maybe just come into school without the stud in, let everyone know at once? I cringed at that one. It would either get me beaten or…. Nope, wasn’t gonna think about that, no ma’am. Stupid brain, pulling up that scenario. Just what my confidence needed. I took a deep breath. My brain subconsciously registered that we’d reached the third stop, which was where I got off. I stood and exited the bus, increasing my pace to a jog as I stepped off. Home sounded good. Home, my room, hanging out on my computer in nada but my panties… that sounded really good. Before you ask, no I don’t do livestreams. Ok, I do sometimes, but with clothes on. Anyways… my friends and I were gonna meet up tomorrow after school. Maybe I could tell them all at once? Jom was half tabaxi, so he definitely wouldn’t judge, and Mehet didn’t judge anyone. Yeah, that was probably the best option. I damn near jogged past my house while thinking, and had to make a pretty sharp turn. I ended up failing and actually skidding a few feet on my side. I braced for the pain… and nothing happened. I stood up and checked myself over. No scrapes, no blood… oh, right. The scales. It was good to know they were at least useful, although I was divided on how they affected my appearance. Ah well. I walked up the drive and went in through the garage. Mom didn’t get off work for another hour or so, so I had some time to myself. I hung up my bag and went up to my room, putting up my ‘do not disturb sign’ and closing the door behind me. I looked at the mirror and carefully removed the earring. The illusion dissipated with a slight snapping noise, and the scales were there again. I checked over my hands and forearms. They looked like fancy armored gloves. Sitting down, I took off my boots and socks. Something had felt awkward near my heels all day. I slowly checked over the foot. My toenails had almost completely changed, becoming black and clawlike. A line of overlapping scales traced down the middle, looking almost like a boot, but leaving the sole uncovered. With a bit of effort, I managed to look at my heel. There was a black claw, about an inch long there that I could’ve sworn wasn’t there this morning. Heh. Lizard feet. I found this hysterical for some reason and had to take a minute to collect myself after falling over laughing. I slowly stood back up, feeling how the claws dug slightly into the carpet. I looked over at my blinds and curtains. Both were closed. Satisfied, I slowly reached down and pulled off my shirt. I felt like I was fourteen again, just getting comfortable enough with my body to look at it fully. I looked at my torso, noting the way the scales left my belly exposed. I reached around back and undid my bra. It took a second for me to get the clasp. I sighed as it came off. The feeling was glorious. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was probably a full cup size bigger. The scales covered the sides and bottom, leaving most of them exposed. The flesh was still the same pale pink near my sternum, turning paler towards the scales. I looked down at my legs. I wasn’t sure I wanted to strip off entirely. I’d already gotten a good look at my legs this morning. It wasn’t like much could change, right? Suddenly, my phone dinged. I picked it up, looking at what it was.

“Val Do’urden-deus wants to live chat. Pick up?” Shit. I quickly unlocked the phone and sent a quick text.

“Can’t pick up. Not decent. Srry.”

She replied within seconds. “Oh rlly? Did u get lonely? ;)” I’ll admit, I liked when she talked like that, but now really wasn’t the best time. My phone dinged again. It was a picture message. I opened it up. Lo’ and behold, there she was in nothing but short shorts and a sports bra. My eyes traced the ebony skin, noting the apparent muscularity. Female drow, despite having a reputation as 'the sexy elves’, are also in way better physical shape than most elves. They also tend to be at least half a foot taller than other elves of comparable age. I don’t know what her workout routine was, but I enjoyed the results more than a little. Third ding. I looked cautiously. “Want to return the favor? Or do you need more? ;)” Curse her winkies. I walked over to my desk and slipped the earring back in, wincing at the coldness of the illusion. I picked my phone back up and crossed one arm over my chest, getting the phone in position. Click. Dear lord that felt dirty… and sorta nice. Message sent. Ding. “Nice… when did you start working out? Also, trying to one up me?” I stared at the message for a second, then looked over at the mirror. Sure enough, I had light shadows of abs.

I quickly sent one last text. “That’s all I’m comfortable with for now, alright?”

“Alright. BTW, I noticed the new jewelry. Any specific purpose? Not trying to glamour people are you?” Dammit, perceptive girl.

My fingers were flying across the screen before I knew what I was doing. “It does have an illusion programmed in. It’s hiding something I’m not sure about. I’ll tell/show you and the rest at the meet up alright?”

“Alright blue. Sounds good. You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Yeah I know. Anyways… I’m gonna hop on light wave. I’ll be playing Lin’es if you want to meet up there.”

“Sounds like a plan. Play Vi-era?” Vi-era was her character. Shadow monk. I played a warlock myself.

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

“Don’t call me Stan. You know i hate that.”

[haviators]

Four score and seven years ago, I was tagged to do a thing by @circleofclouds @fourstomlinson and @feellikehome-o. Sorry y’all. I legit wrote it out and everything I just forgot to post I hate myself anYwAY

How tall are you?

- 5’4, you can google the conversions yourself lmao

What color are your eyes?

- Brown

Do you wear contacts and/or glasses?

- Glasses mostly but I’ve started wearing contacts every now and again I really like em

Do you wear braces?

- Nah thank God

What is your fashion style?

- Uh. Joggers. And. Other clothes??

When were you born?

- July 26 boi

How old are you?

- I’m only 17 I love green beans (no I don’t but I do love Liam Payne)

Do you have any siblings?

- A small sister she’s like 12 and I can’t stand her but touch her and I kill you

What school/college do you go to?

- I’m a victim of the American public school system >.< last year of high school and I’m up on out

What kind of student are you?

- A sleepy one? 🤷🏾‍♀️ I dunno

What are your favorite subjects?

- I’d say English sorta kinda. And any science that’s not microbiology of chemistry they can both choke

What are your favorite movies?

- Should I be listing genres right now? If so, comedy and action. And anything gay, so long as it has a happy ending Bc sad endings are for cold hearted losers

What are your favorite pastimes?

- Reading, writing, sleeping, texting. Watching bullshit internet videos. Take your pick

Do you have any regrets?

- Too many for how old I am trust me.

What is your dream job?

- Equine veterinarian cuz I love horses very much a lot and they deserve the world

Would you like to get married?

- Possibly. Dunno yet. Really depends.

Do you want kids ? How many?

- Lmao 0 that’s not the move

How many countries have you visted?

- Ummm 2? Assuming that in this moment the Virgin Islands count as a separate country from America

What was your scariest dream?

- I’d say when Michael Jackson popped out of my locker one time.

Do you have a significant other?

- Oh how I wish :(

Put your playlist on shuffle and without skipping list the first 15 songs :

1. Old Ways - Demi Lovato

2. Light - San Holo

3. Stitches - Shawn Mendes

4. Clarity - Zedd feat. Foxes

5. Neverland - Zendaya

6. Drag Me Down - One Direction

7. Stronger - Clean Bandit

8. From Now On - The Greatest Showman

9. Thief - Ansel Elgort

10. Fire - Camp Rock 2 (don’t come for me alright that song goes hard af)

11. Call On Me - Starley (Ryan Riback Remix)

12. The Sound - The 1975

13. YOUTH - Troye Sivan

14. I’ll Find You - Lecrae feat. Tori Kelly

15. Symphony - Clean Bandit feat. Zara Larson

I’m. Not even gonna tag anyone lmdkshdhs this was circulating like two weeks ago sorry lol but if u wanna do it still!! Just say I tagged you I’d love to see (@ all my silent mutuals 👀)

[fmlfpl]

Lineup Lamentations - GW15

Our Transfers, Captains, and Starting 11s for the week!

—

WALSH

TRANSFERS:

OUT: N/A

IN: N/A

Gonna save this midweek. Team looks okay and while I am expecting a bunch of fuckery from Pope the cuck I feel like having two frees into the weekend will give me more flexibility to figure out what I'm doing with my life.

GK:

Pope (MCI)

Pope, perhaps farewell game, fuck you.

DEF:

Alexander-Arnold & Robertson (EVE)

Trent and Robbo go in the 1 goal conceded darb. Hopefully I find an assist between the pair lest I receive two blanks instead. Welp.

Lundstram (NEW)

Poinstram home banker looks like a good home banker. Not much to say here besides everyone owns him and no one cares.

Kelly (BOU)

Last friend is my actual best friend and his name is Martin Kelly. His name is Martin Kelly. His name is Martin Kelly. His name is Martin Kelly.

MID:

De Bruyne (bur)

Kevin remains as my sole citeh asset. I continue to be generally underwhelmed by him but he keeps returning. Fine guy to hold I guess.

Son (mun)

Swan goes to OT in what could be a goalfest game. Seems okay...not expecting the world but also not expecting United's defense to be able to handle these.

Ozil (BHA)

Last but not least is the bug eyed mantis god himself mister ozil. Easy game easy life..haul incoming.

FWD:

Kane (mun), Lacazette (BHA), and Vardy (WAT)

Lotta beef up top for me with Kane, Laca and Vardz. Hopefully Kane bangs and Laca does a better job of doing shit. Vardz...like Pointstram..no one cares.

CAP:

Lacazette (BHA)

Laca. Fuck you, up the arse.

—

ALON

TRANSFERS:

OUT: N/A

IN: N/A

Full blown 8am panic this morning for me before packing and heading to the airport with what to do with Salah...

Like I said on the pod I’m fairly certain that he’ll be out of my team soooooon (Maddo too probably) but also I don’t know for who, Son or Raz or Mane or Alli being the likeliest lads.

In the end when I’m this unsure of myself and unsure of life and rallying off red arrows for fun it’s sometimes better to just save and roll the transfer and with more time and info and better fixtures I can figure out my moves next week. Probably fuck off three players for a hit and get in Son/Alli and a premium and one other swap maybe Tomori to Kelly or something for the funds...

For now saving feels sorta stale and bad but it’s fine and normal and what I’m used to. Much of life, FPL, and bread is both stale and bad.

GK:

Gazzaniga (mun)

Can’t wait to see how many goals they concede this time.

No faith.

DEF:

van Dijk (EVE)

Clean? Dong? Hopefully something... VVD is forever a legend though the one prem match I go to this season he braces what an actual god.

Lundstram (NEW)

Yeah yeah everyone has him everyone is starting him his points are basically null.

Söyüncü (WAT)

And now everyone has Soy or at least one Leicester defender too so also feels like sort’ve an empty spot in my team which sucks but I duno it’s a good cleanable fixture and maybe Soy will get on the end of one.

MID:

Salah (EVE)

Don’t ask just leave me alone.

De Bruyne (bur)

City will keep scoring goals and Kev will keep trickling points.

Pulisic (AVL)

I had my Pulisic rant on the pod and also there’s this StatsBomb article and basically TLDR Pulisic is a great fucking pick and he’s gonna fuck.

Maddison (WAT)

Fucking Maddo. Also had my Maddo rant :(...

One time can I get a Maddo corner to Soy dong? One fucking time before I fuck this kid outta my life??? Watford concede set piece goals like it’s their day job... I can dream...

FWD:

Kane (mun)

Was a very sad acceptance on the pod of Kane possibly still just being a slow donkey piece of shit bad pick worst pick of the lot on Spurs but... Again... I can dream.

Vardy (WAT)

Auto.

Connolly (ars)

Had no numbers to speak of vs. Liverpool but he was a little live-wire and almost got in behind a few times if it wasn’t for VVD saving tackles. Eye-test in. And against Arsenal I like his chances.

CAP:

Vardy (WAT)

Whatever.

Would love some smart stats person to figure out the game theory behind what to do when everyone is going to be capping the same player.

Is it actually better to consistently go against the grain on these? Or is it better to follow the field and get your points elsewhere? My brain isn’t big enough to figure out the maths behind that but surely there is someone out there who can do it...

Game theory in.

—

RANDOM SLACKER OF THE WEEK: DEWITT

The words of Random Slacker are not officially endorsed by this website nor any employees of FML FPL LLC.

TRANSFERS:

OUT: N/A

IN: N/A

Moves are fun and hits are great so that was tempting but I’ve decided to roll a free this GW.

The move that stood out was upgrading Dendocker to Grealish in a straight swap but that sounded better in my head and less good after talking with some guys. Grealish wouldn’t be starting for me and that’s a little too much money in the bank. Also, che, LEI, shu aren’t the best upcoming fixtures.

Probably gonna look at a double move next GW and strongly consider moving Maddison to Alli’s brother.

GK:

Gazzaniga (mun)

Who in the hell knows how this match is gonna go down? I’m definitely not expecting a clean but United is still a shitshow so anything could happen. Spuds could also concede like four goals and I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised.

I’ll give Gazz a few more weeks and reassess his spot in my squad.

DEF:

Alexander-Arnold & Robertson (EVE)

I say this every week and then I’m always disappointed but this should be an easy clean IMO. Everton are clinging on for dear life and played a super defensive lineup and formation against Leicester. I’d expect a similar lineup against Liverpool and that shouldn’t be a problem for the Reds. WHO THE FUCK KNOWS THOUGH? Adrian might just not give a shit and nothing matters.

Lundstram (NEW)

Probably the best clean shout fixture in the division so feels good starting Lundy boy here. He also doesn’t even play defender so starting him as one feels awesome still. Twitter has shouted him as a cap shout and I still think that’s pure fuckery.

MID:

Mané (EVE)

Mane is just in amazing form and honestly not even a bad cap shout this week. With Salah still not back fully fit, Mane is their primary means of attacking and supplied by the best fullbacks in the world so smiles all around.

Maddison (WAT)

Leicester are good and Watford are very bad. This is easy.

Pulisic (AVL)

Disappointed in the lack of returns against piss poor WHU but Pulisic still looked their best attacker and Aston Villa aren’t world beaters, but not terrible. Let’s go Captain America.

Son (mun)

Even with me being pretty new to EPL and FPL, Son is a fucking joy to watch. Just running 24/7 and grinning ear to ear. He may be due a rest soon but Mou doesn’t typically rotate a lot and will want to demolish United.

FWD:

Vardy (WAT)

The crackhead man is on fucking fire. He just keeps scoring goals and now he’s finally shooting more too. I don’t exactly love Vardy as person or player but you can’t avoid having him now, he’s just bad. Best FPL striker right now.

Rashford (TOT)

Rashford is another player in great form. United still don’t look too great but Rash continues to tick. Had a goal stolen from him last week but I’m not upset about it at all.

Ings (NOR)

Home Norwich is still a great attacking fixture and Mr. No Knees is ticking along, even with his bullshit non-involvement goal last weekend. I’d expect at least one attacking return this week but he could easily be rested too. What do I know though?

CAP:

Vardy (WAT)

Easiest decision I’ve made in a long time. Let’s go crackhead.

[thebeckychronicles]

Post 18: coping mechanisms

I’m the type of person who as a coping mechanism has to imagine the best and worst case scenarios and then think of how I would react to each scenario and what the plan of attack would be in each case. This has served me well in many different situations.

Back in January I confided to my close friend and mentor about the whole process I was going through to try to figure out why I was suddenly sick. We were at a teriyaki place across my neighborhood, and in a moment of frustration I cried to her about how it wasn’t looking too good according to the specialists and that whatever my illness was, was pretty serious. I told her how they said best case scenario, my symptoms were the result of some infection related to my thyroid. Worst case scenario- I had cancer (they thought it was thyroid cancer- lol wrooong).

What I appreciate about this friend is that she keeps it 100; and she isn’t thrown by how blunt I am. As in many of our conversations when I need to get a grip on myself she asked me point blank, “Worst case scenario- it is cancer- what would be the follow up to that?” My response was I’d probably get chemotherapy and radiation done. Before my own diagnosis I had very minimal experience with cancer and its treatments, my friend’s mother on the other hand, had been diagnosed with cancer and gone through the whole treatment for it. Again, this friend doesn’t bullshit me. So when I told her if I did have cancer, I’d have to probably treat it with chemo and radiation, she told me it’d suck. Hard. Granted, at the time I definitely didn’t know just how much it would suck but I appreciated her being straightforward and not trying to make light of the (at the time possible) situation.

So that is how I deal with difficult situations. I think about what’s the worst that could happen, then I think of the plan, and then I try to come to terms with the fact that I possibly have to deal with that. I guess this may be why my reaction to my diagnosis wasn’t as severe as I thought it would be. It’s not that I accepted the fact that I had cancer before the diagnosis, it’s more that I accepted that was a possibility and braced myself for that confirmation.

I’m feeling a lot of fear right now, guys. Truly. As I get closer to the end of my treatment I’m starting to feel more and more anxious. And I think that has to do with the fact that never in my life did I expect to go from a healthy, 20 year old young woman, to a 20 year old cancer patient. You go through 19 years of your life being healthy and then the 20th year you’re suddenly faced with a life-threatening disease. That identity shift is jarring, and in truth most days I can’t believe it. One day I was fine, the next I was not. Life’s weird. Once I’m healthy and cancer-free I’m afraid I’ll think, “Cancer has its chance to get me again.” I’m afraid I’ll be stuck thinking that healthy is the precursor to sick. And that fucking sucks. Point is, I have a lot of anxiety right now that I’m trying to work through because I know it’s not healthy to think solely in what ifs, but considering my coping mechanism using has me contending with what ifs I’m kind of in a hard place.

Thought process in my head right now: Me: Okay Jenni, so what are you anxious about? Me: That the cancer will come back, either the same or a different form. Me: Okay, so worst case scenario, you get cancer again, what then?

This is where I get hung up. I can’t imagine going through this bullshit again. To even imagine it has me a panicky and grief-ridden mess. Becky got me good this week, and while I’ve tried to maintain my sarcastic but otherwise positive disposition- it’s been hard as of late. So much so that at times I don’t know what’s stronger, my love for my life and body or my desperation to escape it. Maybe that makes me weak, both mentally and physically, but fuck that I’m being honest here I don’t think I could endure going through this process all over again. And so this is where my coping mechanism fails me. Usually I can tell myself that I can endure the consequences of the worst case scenario- but in this case? Going through cancer and chemo again? Nope, don’t even want to think about it, so here I just stay with this anxiety trying to figure out a different way to deal with it.

The future scares me. Cancer isn’t what defines me but it has so drastically changed my life, my plans; it demands so much of my time and attention. It’s hard to see myself and think past the cancer. Cancer is the heaviest part of me right now, so it’s hard to ignore.

I want my life back. I want my health, my house, my hair, my appearance, my bed, my room, my identity, my peace of mind back.

It’s like I was so focused on just getting better physically that now that I am I’ve had time to think on how I feel emotionally. And in case you haven’t realized, I’m not doing well. Not at all. For cancer there’s a plan and steps and a timeline (sorta) on getting better. For all this emotional stuff? There is no blueprint, there is no plan there is no definitive timeline. I’m feeling as though someone dropped me in the middle of the ocean in a rowboat with no paddle. And I have no idea where the shore is, much less how to get there.

I’m okay with cancer being a part of my story. Shit happens, that’s life. But I don’t want it to be something that forever propels the plot of my life or weighs me down. I want it to be a footnote I don’t always think about.

Keep me in your prayers because I’m struggling friends. Real hard.

Yes this is life. Yes it hurts. Yes it is amazing. All because it hurts doesn’t mean it’s not worth living. I’m trying to remember this.