#a phd is stressful enough why do i need to deal with all this other stuff too!!!!!

[usetheforce]

Waiting for it to be a reasonable hour so i can call my mom and bitch to her about all the lab drama im mired in

[60b3r]

Catching up with life.

It's been over five years since I graduated from university, and here I am, once again, applying for jobs like a robot. I have sent over 4 to 5 job applications per week, tweaked my CV individually once a month, and hand-crafted my cover letter uniquely for each jobs I applied to. To top it off, I have been doing this for 2 years combined. Assuming that is not an overstatement, I have been sending over 300 job applications to different schools, universities, and even across other industries. With this overkill—yet seems to useless—Masters degree, it does not serve as a selling point, since it is being considered inconsistent with the common practice prevalently found in Indonesian universities, that one's Masters degree should be linear in order to work in academia as a lecturer. I even had to consider dropping my Graduate degree and went with my Bachelors degree to apply for jobs. People kept saying that biotech is the future, that the sciences are dawning all over, technology grows at light-speed, but all I experience is frustration and anguish. People kept telling that I am overqualified, that there's no way I am always between jobs with such emotive motivation and carefully curated skills and my beautifully AI-tweaked resume. I’m seriously starting to consider giving up this life and trekking into the wild to make my new life, Randall Clark-style. Here I want to reflect back on my past few years' endeavor and remind myself that job-seeking is such a dehumanizing process and something must be done to fix this. But before that, a quick background on my life so far. Consider this as a short, catching-up telltale.

Right after graduating in 2018, I was so motivated to fix the education system. I applied to teaching jobs and got myself a first formal job teaching Biology and caring for a dormant Science Club back in my alma mater. Why not apply for the industry sector, you ask? There's not enough room for Biotech graduates in Indonesia, and despite what people say about the unique nature of the niche, most of the positions can either be filled with Chemical Engineering graduates, or just General Biology graduates. There's not enough value created by pursuing Biotech degree, apart from continuing in academia as a researcher. After one year, I didn't renew my contract and decided to pursue for higher education, which I thought it was necessary to create a bigger impact. I thought back then, "Here I am, teaching young generation Biology and the art of life, some of them might be doctors or environmental engineers, yes, but majority of them won't even need these stuff." I said that to myself, exactly like I was thinking back then when I was their age and learning mathematics. it was 2019 when I decided to pursue MSc/PhD Biotechnology abroad, to allow myself to engage with wider masses upon completion. This time, high-schoolers, next up, college students, or so I thought. But life is a bitch, and then we all gonna die anyway.

Luckily at that time, right after my resignation was granted, I got myself three Letters of Admission: from two different universities in The Netherlands and one from Sweden. I'd then applied for several scholarships program, one of them being the notorious LPDP. The task of simply qualifying for the first round of paperwork selection was very tedious and stressful. It was my first time dealing with a plethora of documents to prepare, and I could say the tears and blood was even worse than the process of getting an LoA from the three campuses. After two more selection stages, long story short, I didn't qualify after the interview process, and I plunged myself in depression. A month later, I collected myself to start over, and this time, applied for jobs in the edtech startups. My thoughts were somehow I could work for a while, save enough money while still creating impact, and fund my Masters off my own deposits. Well again, fortunately I told myself at that time, some unicorn companies contacted me, and somewhat early that year, precisely February 2020, I was called into one of the big edtech company to attend an interview. I scrambled to book a ticket and a homestay for 2 days and... Oh boy. Three days before my departure, Jakarta shut down the borders and Covid ruined my lifelong dream of studying abroad. Interview cancelled, plane ticket burnt, and that hotel bed never touched my back. No job, no credit, eat shit. All 2020 I cried myself to sleep.

The anxiety caused by the uncertainties was so dreadful, I fantasized going for a program—the one in the Netherlands—anyway. Talk about coping using unrealistic expectation. So I emailed the admissions office and requested to postpone my first semester to October 2020 or March 2021 (they granted the former but refused the latter). I even paid for the dorm room in the Netherlands, when I was very certain that this was just another viral outbreak that's gonna resolve on its own after several months (that was also a false hope). Then, my family business took a major hit due to lockdowns imposed by the local government, and everyone went nuts. All plans go bust, and out of nowhere, suddenly, all homeschool students I have been teaching stopped responding to my calls. All types of businesses from across all sectors took a hit. Purchasing power bottomed out. Monetary circulation grounded to a halt. In the midst of all this blazing hellfire that is a financial crisis, it was in the middle of 2020 when I applied for student loan to get myself into a campus in Jogja. I thought "Well, it can't be that bad, right, I can still go to Jogja and pursue another Masters here, domestically, without going abroad and waste lots of money." So did everybody else thought, when we all first had our online classes in October 2020. But fast forward to early 2022, It's like everyone skipped two years of their life, staring at the screen for several hours drying out eyeballs and get nothing from classes other than just one or two classes that are actually elective subjects, not among the core courses.

I greeted 2021 with much hope, a hope that someday I will be able to meet my classmates and hunt for Jogja food later in the day after classes. I would have scoured through the libraries of the renown, and I would have also joined several student councils during my studies. But no. Not even once we got a call from campus saying our classes would go from distanced learning to on-site learning. I spent 2021 lurking around Malang trying to find a closure, visiting many natural places where I used to enjoy, gulping so many unhealthy foods down my throat to ease the numbing pain, even engaged in some risky behavior of ████████████. The year ended with more student debt, an unfinished thesis proposal, a broken heart, and still, no single job interview landed. Yes, I even went through Masters fully online (including all of the phases of research). I spent all 2021 mourning the hundreds if not thousands of what-ifs while drafting my thesis proposal. A small ember light up in the darkness, I got myself a job replacing a science teacher in Surabaya during her maternity leave. I got the contract extended just before I finished my thesis defense, and I am stuck in Surabaya for another year of inconsecutive work experience. Not even a single time I ever stepped my soles on campus grounds in Jogja during my enrollment there. The only chance I got to be closer than ever to my supposed campus building is during my awards ceremony where I returned my graduation robes.

I got paid three times the amount I got when I was working in my alma mater. I got myself a small room not too far away, and after selling my family's car, I even got a small discount since I am not using the provided parking space anymore. Plus, after over half a year, I can save more than I could usually save because there are no more gas-hungry beast that is my 1.5L turbocharged CVT Medium SUV. The school itself was decent, I got mediocre lunch everyday and to be honest there are less paperwork than the previous jobs I had been working on, but oooh the lab equipment and the learning materials are very lacking. I requested for some upgrades here and there, and they didn't even bat an eye. I have to struggle and come up with weird hyper-crearive plans to deliver the lesson, which by the way are not just biology, but also physics, chemistry, and geography. I enjoyed most of my time teaching, but considering a majority of students would leave the school and continue somewhere else, the school management decided to cut over half of the staff earlier this year. By the time of writing, I still need to finish my contract, though. Fortunately, I got some leeway since there are less classes to teach now after Cambridge exams has passed. This is where the fun begins. Not another job hunting. So, wish me luck friends.

[thefaultinoursprinkles]

I like. I need to process everything that’s been going on and I need to talk about how I’m feeling to be able to do that but I don’t.. want to I guess. I don’t want to bother people with my issues and I feel silly talking about how I feel. So then I think that I should go back to therapy so I have someone to talk to but I honestly really don’t want to unless it’s someone with a PhD because at this point I have as much education and training as a “mental health practitioner” and I’m about 2 years of internships away from an “LMFT” or other “licensed therapist”.

and that’s the other thing like, I’ve been in therapy for a long time, I’m a psych major, I did DBT, I feel like I’ve gotten everything I can out of “therapy” basically. So then like pursuing therapy just to talk through my emotions feels stupid and like a pointless waste of money to me. But then I go back and forth like would it actually help? Am I avoiding this out of shame or not wanting to damage my pride? Or as a form of self harm? Or do i genuinely think I won’t get anything out of it? Idk.

a big part of it too is that a lot of the stressors like with money and stuff are temporary and therapy isn’t going to help them. Like not to talk highly of myself but I’m pretty self actualized and the majority of my problems/stressors stem from external factors like not having enough money or my fiancee trying to kill themselves or close friends dying or work being stressful, which like therapy isn’t exactly going to solve any of those problems. It’s just supposed to teach you the skills to deal with those kind of things or change them or tolerate them which like. I already have. So again, pointless.

Even then, the problems i do have outside of external stuff are ones that I’m pretty confident cannot be treated through therapy. Like I really think a lot of my issues stem from unmediated adhd, and like I have skills that I use and I have work arounds and hacks and whatever else that are supposed to help me manage it better but it doesn’t work. like I take the notes and I track the things and I put trash cans everywhere and have other people remind me of stuff like. I can get by. but every fucking day of my life I am so overwhelmed by everything at work and at home and in relationships and I feel guilty and embarrassed that I can’t do the things that should be so easy.

Like every few days to every few weeks I find myself exasperated and thinking “WHY CANT I JUST DO IT. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME. THIS IS SO SIMPLE. WHAT IS FUCKING WRONG WITH ME” and like on some level I know it’s because I have symptoms syndrome and it affects me but I feel like there’s nothing to do.

like I’m doing all the stuff I’m supposed to do, I’m doing all the stuff that therapists and counselors have told me to do and I’m doing all the stuff that is recommended in the DSM V and I stay up to date on the current research in the causes, management, and treatment of specifically adhd but also generally all psych topics because I’m just genuinely interested in them so I read peer reviewed journals for fun.

And there are some things like. Idk exercise. And I’m like oh I should exercise then I’m like well not “should” but I want to exercise because I know it makes me feel better and it’s been proven to help with focus and clarity as well as alleviate symptoms of depression. And then I find myself being like “I can’t I can’t I can’t” so they I think about it. Why can’t I? And it’s like well, I don’t have enough time, I’m always tired, blah blah blah. And I think really the root is that I don’t want to spend “my” time doing something I don’t like doing and I don’t have any way to do the exercises I actually like (like biking or swimming).

So then I get back around to like okay we’ll I’m not actually doing EVERYTHING I can I’m not exercising or watching my diet, I could be doing more. So then I try to plan out time to do it and I set reminders and then I fail and fail and fail and fail and give up.

And it’s like what is therapy going to do? I know they’re gonna tell me to sleep and eat and exercise and be mindful. I know I need to do those things and I want to do those things but I CANT and I don’t know WHY.

AND THEN I loop back around to like what the fuck is wrong with me I know I need to do these things I want to fucking do these things I LIKE doing these things SO WHY CANT I JUST DO IT WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME and it starts all over.

And how do you explain that to someone? I’m objectively successful. I’m well educated. I have a high paying job. I don’t get into extreme legal or financial trouble. I have lots of very supportive and close friends and family. I don’t have the “right” things wrong with me to have people understand or recognize the struggle going on behind the scenes to do any of it. Like I know what to do, I do most of it, and it’s, by all accounts but mine, working well because I’m able to live independently and maintain relationships and hold a job and even get promoted at said job. So to any therapist I talk to it’s like. “Why are you here?” And I have to explain like yes I know I’m making it work I’m doing impressive things but I’m DYING I’m constantly stressed and overwhelmed and anxious and on the brink of a panic attack. I spend hours of my day staring at wall screaming inside my head about all the stuff I have to do but unable to do it. I’m smart enough to be really good at doing what I need to do to get by or knowing where to focus my efforts but I constantly feel like I’m in an out of control car spinning out with no brakes.

and I feel so stuck because I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t think there’s anything else I can realistically do to have a better handle on things, this is just the reality. Like I feel like I just need to accept that this is how it’s going to be and this is how it’s going to feel because I truly do not think there is anything that could possibly help me get out of this internal mess.

and of course, then I start thinking like, that’s pretty defeatist, am I giving up before I even try? So then I feel like, even more than before, i just need to try harder and do better and get further because it’s my own lazy ridiculous fault that im in this position in the first place.

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

Howdy-doo, Kat! 11, 20, 22,23 43,44, 33, 39, and 49 if you please?🥰

ngl the fact that these weren't in order threw me off more than i'm willing to admit

im also sorry for posting late!!! i was dead af yesterday and it took me 3 hours to write this jakdfkdf

come bother me with some writer asks! :3

11. what’s something neat you’ve learned while doing research for something you were writing? also, how much do you worry about doing research in general?

so im bad at doing research LMAO. but also because i never write with the intent to publish so i've never stressed too much about it. tbh i write a lot of canon divergent self-inserts so most of my research is actually making sure i get all the details for that right. like for this college fic i'm barely doing research on it, basically just asking my husband what phd life is like lol. but for the canonverse fic after that, i'm going to be scouring the animanga to make sure i have the correct details

20. what is your favorite trope to write?

100% the shutting-you-up-thru-kissing trope jkdjfkdjf it makes me fall to my knees

22. describe your writing process from scratch to finish.

oh lord uh so i have an idea. usually through rambling to someone or even sometimes a dream LMAO. and then i write it down on my google docs because adhd-brain will make me forget it if i dont write it down. and then i just kinda...find myself daydreaming about it? i've always kinda coped with life by daydreaming about selfships/self-inserts so it naturally just happens. and sometimes when i daydream something that seems cool, i'll write it down to flesh into an idea later. when i outline, i focus on dialogue mostly. i feel like it carries more naturally and then i can make little comments in the margins over how to narrate it. (outlining chapters also makes everything so much easier - hence why i'm trying to finish outlining this college fic before i start publishing :3) when i actually sit to write, it's pretty easy with the outline already done. it just consists of making things sound smooth and not repetitive. sometimes I *really* get into the flow of it and diverge from the outline and that's when I need to step back and go like "what am I writing about again?" (this is why outlines are a godsend for me jdkfjkdf)

23. how do you deal with writers block?

idk HOW DO I, IM GOING THRU IT RN ok so when im writing for myself i just kinda give up and trust that i'll get back to it eventually but when im writing with the intent of publishing...idk. as i said before, i tend to daydream a lot at baseline, so a lot of the times, that's enough to rip me out of it if i come up with a good enough idea

33. do you start with the characters or the plot when writing?

characters! well, main characters. side characters i insert into depending on plot, like if i need a role to be filled.

39. are you an avid reader?

uh well, i have pulled allnighters just so i can finish reading a fic in one sitting so yeah id say so jkasdjfkdsjf

43. how did writing change you?

idk if it was just bc i started in my formative years but like it's kinda part of my identity at this point like who am i if not someone who writes porn and angst about a 2D man in all fairness, writing was like my way of coping when things got rly bad in high school, so i drew comfort from it and then at one point, i wrote regularly enough that i started doing it for real

44. any writing advice you want to share?

biggest thing i'll tell any writer whether they're new or experienced: write as if no one is ever going to read it. because then you'll just write it. prioritize writing for you. it's what gives you enjoyment, you just happen to sometimes share it for others as well. i found writing to be much more enjoyable that way and people just happen to like some of the stuff i post idk jadkfjkdf like i'm even trying to embody this when i write multi-chapter fics that i intend to publish

49. do you want to be published some day?

ehhhhhhhhh not for money in an official sense? i like writing fanfic. i like writing as a content creator, not as like as official author that gets printed copies and is subject to random critic comments. although the attention and appreciation for my writing would be nice (like if there's fanfic on it LMAO), it's never my intention :) i write for my enjoyment

[house-of-galathynius]

Inevitable

Rowaelin Month, Day 6: College or University AU @rowaelinscourt

Words: 3.4k 

Warnings: Sexual content

I mean technically they both are doing their PhD’s so it does include college/university... 

~~~

“For fucks sake.” Aelin swore at her phone screen, frantically swiping through the email she had just received— desperately hoping what she was reading was a joke. 

Lysandra was typing away at the desk and momentarily looked up to Aelin, her brow furrowed as she noticed the stressed look that Aelin had. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Aelin groaned and then tossed her phone onto her own desk and leant back, her head looking to the ceiling where she hoped it would cave in and save her. But after five seconds, she realised she’d have no such luck and she would in fact have to deal with what she had just read. 

“I’ve had another student switch.” 

Lysandra blew out a breath. “Yikes. To who?” 

Aelin gave her friend a pointed look. 

“Again?” Lysandra asked in disbelief. 

“My students now consist of five men, three of whom are certain I will go out with them. The other two stuck with me because they couldn’t stand to be surrounded by ten girls fawning over Rowan.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked at the email again, “remind me why I thought doing a PhD that included teaching was a good idea?” 

Lysandra shrugged. “It looks good on your record and you enjoy it?” 

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Rowan shouldn’t even be allowed to have that many of them at once. The whole point is that they get targeted learning and more time as individuals to ask questions.” 

“Just talk to Rowan, tell him you think it’s unfair on the students and that you should divvy them out equally.” Lysandra went back to typing. 

Aelin sighed. “I’ve tried to talk to him. But he just has this ridiculously handsome, smug grin on his face and tells me that if I was a better teacher they wouldn’t leave.” 

Rowan and Aelin had started their PhD’s at the same time just over a year ago. It had started out civil, the two of them working together when they needed to but keeping their distance otherwise. Despite the relative peace that was between them, Aelin had always thought of Rowan as a certain shade of stuck up and found him to be an annoying know-it-all at other times. But it had been hard enough to get this spot in the first place, she wasn’t going to ruin her opportunities for the likes of him. But when one by one her students had started to migrate to his classes and going to his office hours, her professionalism had faltered and she was being reduced to teenager-like actions, such as going home to her friends and bitching about him. 

It didn’t help that he was actually incredibly smart and he did have a way with the students, teaching them better than any qualified professor. It also didn’t help that he was fifty shades of gorgeous and Aelin’s line between hatred and like had started to blur— a little too much. 

“Honestly, I think you just need to get drunk with him and let him have his way with you. This tension and anger between both of you is clearly just pent up sexual frustration. He’s hot, you’re hot— I don’t see why you can’t just get it over with.” Lysandra said, a smirk on her face. 

“That is not helping.” Aelin ground out. 

“That’s what Aedion and I did. And now look at us.” 

“You and Aedion were not in the same position. You two never hated each other, you just liked to wind each other up and then go and have stupidly noisy make-up sex.” 

Lysandra grinned. 

Aelin looked at her phone again and just sighed. She replied to her student telling them that she couldn’t stop them from switching but she recommended they didn’t as they would not get the same level of care with Rowan. But she knew it would fall on deaf ears and she would be, yet again, another student down. 

~

Two days later, Aelin was sat in the shared office. She was chewing on a chocolate bar and going through her prep for the lecture she was giving on Monday. It was one she had done multiple times, but she liked to keep things new and updated— also she liked to try and be better than Rowan. Who was currently sitting in the chair next to her, glancing at her screen with a smile. 

She swivelled her head to him and glared. “What?” 

Rowan shrugged, “nothing. I was just thinking that the reference you used there doesn’t actually support the argument you’re trying to make.” 

She rose an eyebrow at him. “The point of using this reference is that he provides a good counter-argument, I know he doesn’t support it.” 

“Well it doesn’t make sense to talk about him there… you should put him in further along the presentation.” 

Unbelievable. “Why don’t you just concentrate on your own work.” 

Rowan laughed. The sound sending shivers through Aelin. “Are you cold?” He asked.

Aelin pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders. “No.” 

Rowan stood from his chair, tucking it neatly into the desk and then picking up his jacket and bag. “A few of us are going to the pub later. I was instructed to ask you if you’d like to join.” He said politely. 

Aelin released a hollow laugh. “Thank you for that heartfelt invitation, Rowan. But I have plans tonight.” 

“You finally said yes to one of your students then?” He asked sarcastically.

“Why, are you jealous?” Aelin retorted. 

“Unlike you, I don’t need to resort to my students to get a date.” 

She whipped her head and stared at him. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

He grinned at her. “No, actually. I don’t. And I find that tormenting you gives me great pleasure.” 

“Gross. Go find pleasure somewhere else.” She turned back around and ignored his chuckle. He didn’t say goodbye as he left the room, closing the door behind him as he did. 

Gods, he frustrated her to no end. And she hated the fact that every time they did this, she would feel her heart begin to beat faster and her skin go hot. The moment he mentioned pleasure all she could think about was the two of them together— just as Lysandra had said. Hot and heavy in the sheets, his strong body over hers as he did all the wicked things she had thought about for months. 

Fuck. 

She needed a drink. 

She promptly shut down her computer and grabbed her stuff. She headed straight home where she found Lysandra and Aedion lounging on the sofa making out. 

“You two need to get ready. We’re going to a bar. I need to get drunk.” 

She didn’t loiter to hear their response. She waltzed into her bedroom and found the shortest dress possible and put on make-up for the first time in a while, even going as far as to curl her hair at the ends. She surveyed herself in the mirror and thought that it would be good enough— good enough for her to find any guy who was somewhat good-looking and take them home. 

When she entered back into the living room, Lysandra and Aedion were still sitting on the sofa, both of them looking slightly puzzled— albeit, Aelin thought she could see a hint of smugness on Lysandra’s face, but decided to ignore it. “Why are you not ready?” 

Aedion relaxed into the sofa, “we weren’t planning on going out tonight. Plus, you can’t just waltz in here and demand we change our plans.” 

“Your favourite cousin is in distress and she needs distractions. That warrants a change of plans.” 

Lysandra smiled in defeat at Aedion and merely patted his knee as she disappeared into her own room. Aedion didn’t follow though; he studied Aelin for a moment before sitting forward, clasping his hands together. “What is this about?” 

Aelin was already rummaging in the alcohol cupboard and pulling out a bottle of tequila, pouring herself a shot and knocking it back quickly. 

“Aelin?” 

She poured another and handed it to her cousin and then sat next to him on the sofa. “I just need to have some release. Rowan is driving me crazy and I just can’t stand it anymore.” 

Aedion snickered and drank his shot. “I should’ve known.” 

“What does that mean?” She asked bitterly. 

“It means the two of you have walking that fine line of love and hate for far too long. It’s time that one of you caves and just admits that you’re into each other.” 

“That’s not true.” She huffed. Although her heart might not agree with that statement. 

Aedion gave her a knowing look and stalked off to the bedroom. Both him and Lysandra returning a little while later looking much more ready to go and have a night out. The three of them clambered into a taxi, and despite it only being seven, the bar was already beginning to fill as they made their way in. Lysandra and Aedion went and found them all a table, whilst Aelin made her to the bar and ordered a round of way too many shots. 

It didn’t take long for Aelin to feel the buzz of the alcohol and with the bar filling even further and the music getting louder, she found herself dancing along to it and dragging Lysandra out to the floor where a group of younger girls were already dancing away, drinks in their hands. Aelin didn’t think about the other people watching on, not as she lost herself in the song. 

Breathless and feeling a little giddy she excused herself to go to the bathroom. Lysandra seemed more than happy to traipse back to their table, leaving Aelin alone. 

The dark corridor was lined with other girls queuing to go in the bathroom, she almost groaned, but stopped herself. She was trying to have a good time, she wasn’t going to let the little things bug her— not tonight. 

The queue moved steadily forward, Aelin mere moments away when she looked up and her body went stiff at the sight to her right. 

Rowan Whitethorn. 

Stood there in all his glory. A grey t-shirt clinging to his muscular frame, jeans that hugged him in all the right places and a smirk that would drive Aelin crazy any day of the week. 

She didn’t think as she stepped from the queue and went over to him. 

“You said you were going to a pub.” 

He grinned. “You said you had plans.” 

She gestured around her, “I do. I am currently doing the plans.” 

“Good for you.” He returned to looking at his phone and Aelin crossed her arms, not moving. 

“What are you doing here, Rowan?” 

He didn’t even glance at her. “I’m out with friends. Is that okay? Or do I need your permission?” 

“Out of all the bars…” She murmured. 

“I could say the same thing to you.” 

Aelin narrowed her eyes at him and turned on her feet, marching back to the table. Aedion and Lysandra were deep in conversation when she returned and they broke apart when they noticed the sour look on her face. 

“What happened?” 

“Rowan happened. He’s here.” 

Lysandra clapped her hands together and bounced in seat as she announced, “this is amazing.” 

Aelin did not feel inclined to agree and flagged down a waitress and requested another round of shots and then quickly knocked them back one after the other. “I have to get out of here. Lys, help me find a man.”

Her friend rolled her eyes, then pointed to a random corner where a group of six guys were sipping on their beers and checking out the girls on the floor. She knew that they looked like the type of guys who would use you once and drop you immediately after, but that was exactly what she was looking for. She didn’t hesitate as she sauntered over to them, and introduced herself. They wasted no time in letting her join them and she soon had another drink in hand and was chattering away, getting cosy with them. 

She wasn’t sure how long it had been, but there was a tap on her shoulder and she rolled her eyes when she saw Rowan. 

“Can I borrow this lovely lady for a moment?” He asked politely. 

“Bring her back soon.” One of them laughed and Aelin attempted to disguise her slight disgust. 

She followed Rowan back to the darkened hallway, the queues non-existent now. She leant against the wall and brushed her hair from her face and neck, revealing her low cut dress and the glistening of her skin from the heat of the bar and the alcohol. She couldn’t help but notice the bob of Rowan’s throat as he surveyed her, much to her satisfaction. 

“You know they’re only after one thing.” He ground out. 

Aelin smiled. “Who says that isn’t what I was looking for too?” 

Rowan laughed incredulously. “You can’t be serious? They couldn’t handle you.” He stepped closer to her. 

Aelin tilted her head at him. “And you could?” 

There was a pause as he looked her over, glancing down her body then back to her face. “I would handle you very well.” 

She gulped and tried to put some distance between them. But the air was thick with tension and she could smell his intoxicating scent, she could see the darkened look in his eyes and feel the quickening beat of her heart. 

“What are you doing here, Rowan? To torment me some more?” Aelin looked away, trying to catch her breath. There was a commotion at the other end of the corridor and then a rush of feet as a group of people came staggering down, pushing Rowan into her further. Their chests brushing and Aelin couldn’t help but suck in a breath as she felt his hardened muscles against her body, the feeling of him sending jolts through her. 

“I think it’s only fair.” He said. His voice low and gravelly, his breath tickling her neck as he leaned in closer. “Because you torment me. Every. Single. Day.” 

Aelin shivered. “Rowan…” 

“I know, Aelin.” Her name rolling of his tongue, the sound of it heating her and she met his eyes. “I feel it. And I can’t let you go home with some guy who has no idea how to please a woman like you.” 

“That sounds like a challenge.” She whispered. 

Rowan smiled suggestively. “Maybe it is.” 

Aelin started to close the distance, her eyes darting to his mouth and then back to his eyes. He was smirking as she moved in closer— and then she was gone. Sliding from under his arm and back into the crowd. She immediately found the guy from before and pulled him to the floor where she let herself go completely, dancing and flirting like she never had before. She always had one eye on the corner where Rowan was watching her intently, his face schooled into neutrality. 

She took another shot and turned to whatever-his-name-was and offered him a sultry smile before dragging him to the doors of the bar and hailing a taxi. 

“Your place or mine?” She breathed. 

The guy shrugged, “yours. I just need to grab my jacket. Don’t go fucking anywhere.” He said, before disappearing back into the bar and Aelin stood there summoning up more courage and confidence. She felt an arm snake back around her waist and pulling her into the taxi. 

“You’ve made your point. Now let me make mine—“ Rowan ground out, “me and you? Inevitable.” 

And then Rowan’s lips were on hers and she was sighing into the kiss, their mouths moving together, tongues touching as they deepened the kiss, Aelin climbing onto his lap in the backseat of the taxi, his hands roaming her body as she pulled at his hair, trying to get closer. 

“Where exactly am I taking you?” The voice from the drivers seat interrupted. 

They broke apart and Aelin rested her head on Rowan’s shoulder, grinning as Rowan kept one arm around her, stroking down her back; all the while telling directions to the driver. Seconds later she was slipping off his legs and strapping herself into the seat next to him. Neither of them saying a word for the ten minute drive, only their fingers brushing occasionally. 

Aelin was on fire at the touches, from the kiss. Her body was alight with anticipation. The feel of Rowan against her was like fireworks and she didn’t care about the consequences— tonight she was going to get it out of her system. 

There was a moment of hesitation as they walked up to his door. She watched him put the key in the lock and she doubted this was the right thing… but then he smiled at her, extending his hand and he pulled her inside, promptly pinning her against the wall and kissing her with all his might. 

“Don’t think about it.” He murmured. 

She shook her head as he kissed down her neck. “This is not going to end well.” 

“If I have anything to do with it, it’s going to end very well. For both of us.” He chuckled. 

She playfully hit his shoulder and let him explore her neck further. Her hands held his waist tightly and then he was nipping at her skin, his hands going to her chest, squeezing gently. Then she was groaning and taking his shirt off, throwing it to the floor. Rowan hiking her dress up as she kicked off her shoes. 

There was stillness as he took her in. Her body on show to him. His eyes roaming her completely, a feral kind of look on his face— until he was feeling her again, and she was sighing into the touches. 

“We should have done this months ago.” 

Aelin could only nod. They were kissing again and Aelin had her arms around his neck as he lifted her to the wall, pinning her there as he ground into her. The feel of him sending lightening up her spine and earning a lengthy moan from her lips. 

“Bedroom?” 

She shook her head. “Here.” She kissed him, “take me here.” 

He lowered her to the ground, holding up a finger to her— telling her to stay put. He jogged to another room and came back moments later with a condom. His trousers and underwear were off within seconds, the condom ripped open and on him in seconds. 

“You’ve done this before.” She laughed. 

Rowan rolled his eyes and went back to her, picking her up again then positioning himself at her centre. 

“No foreplay?” She asked. Her voice shaky as she felt him brush against her. 

“We’ve been doing that since we met. I can’t wait any longer.” 

Then he slipped into her, slow and deep and she was gasping for air at the feel of him inside her. She couldn’t think as he moved slowly at first, then faster as they found their rhythm. Aelin’s head falling back against the wall as she let the sensation of him fall over her. Rowan’s own moans were deep and croaky and their breaths loud as they joined together. Her hands gripping his shoulders tightly, her nails digging into his skin as she felt the pressure building. 

“Fuck.” She moaned. 

Rowan kissed her neck, then across her cheek to finally find her lips. It was hot and messy and she didn’t care one bit. His tongue tasted of whisky and she was in absolute heaven with him. 

“I told you,” as he thrust into her harder, “this,” another, “was,” another, “inevitable.” 

Aelin groaned, biting down on her lip as she came undone atop him. Her orgasm ripping through her fiery and deep as she felt him continue to move inside her until he was moaning louder and then his movements slowed and stopped. He remained inside her for a moment, revelling in the feeling— then slowly let her down. 

Her legs were weak and she was still catching her breath. But Rowan bent down and captured her lips with his own as he took her hand and led her to the bathroom, turning on the shower and bringing them both under the stream of hot water. It was moments later when he was down on his knees and licking and sucking at her centre, Aelin only able to grip his hair tightly as she let him pleasure her once again. 

There was a brief reprieve of cleaning each other before he was taking her to his bed and they spent the night in and out of sleep, waking up to touch and feel the other until they were both utterly spent. 

She woke in the morning, his arm over her protectively, their naked bodies entwined. She didn’t move, relishing in the feel of the two of them. 

Maybe Rowan had been right… 

They were inevitable. 

~~~

Tags: 

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[bigskydreaming]

I’m of the opinion that trying to rank the Batfam by intelligence is dumb as hell because they’re all conceptually the smartest person in the room whenever the plot demands it and put any single one of them in any other group of people and canon defaults to treating them as the smartest one there even when other heroes present have multiple PhDs, so like....source for:

“Tim is obviously the smartest except for Barbara and also Bruce but also Jason is smarter than Dick because he likes to read and let’s all collectively presume that Cass is so obviously the least smart of all of them she never even ranks when talking about the Batfam’s intellects even though this is a girl who became fully socialized within like two years after previously having spent the first fifteen years of her life in varying forms of complete isolation with her education deliberately stunted until she began thriving at literally the FIRST opportunity she got to actually be afforded resources for expanding her mind”.....

So yeah, my official stance is and always will be every single member of the Batfam is a LITERAL genius and when you’re talking intellects of that level its pointless trying to rank them, like, they’re all smart as fuck, who needs them numbered past that point?

So I have no interest in trying to present any of them, whether Dick or anyone else, as SMARTER than the rest, but I do still have plenty of gripes about how often he’s marked for comparison and singled out to be specified as not AS smart as Tim or the others.....when literally the only thing that people ever actually point to - other than Dick’s own self-image and self-assessments - as for why Tim’s obviously so much smarter than Dick is like....Tim figured out Batman and Robin’s identities based on the fact that he saw Robin do a move that he’d previously been situationally aware of Dick Grayson doing. That’s it. That’s like.....the essence of plot convenience. Even WITH Tim’s obvious intelligence, if not for Tim having happened to be at the circus to see Dick Grayson perform that flip....he never would have been able to connect those dots, not because he’s not smart enough to, but because he simply literally wouldn’t have had one of the dots needing connection!

And also like, there’s also the fact that in plenty of Dick’s origin stories Dick is the one who figures out Bruce is Batman himself, Bruce doesn’t actually tell him....so.....why does that never come up as proof of Dick’s intelligence, y’know? Fair is fair, right?

But anyway, Dick Grayson speaks tons of languages, has hacked freaking alien spaceships, has also been called Detective by Ra’s al Ghul’s manipulative ass for whatever that’s worth but just as significantly if not more imo, is regularly shown BEING a great detective, in his solo titles, in Titans, on the Outsiders, as Batman....he picks up new skills like trying out a new hobby and had the equivalent of multiple college degrees while he was still Robin in terms of applicable know-how and understanding of science, criminology, history, politics and multiple other fields of interest. 

He’s tech savvy, creates most of his own gear and even machinery, and this really can’t be underscored enough but seems waaaaay too often glossed over - he’s considered one of the preeminent tacticians in the entire DC universe, that’s like....not a small thing. That IS intelligence! That’s like the very essence of it, not just knowing things, but applying things, figuring out the most optimal ways to piece disparate bits of knowledge and information together in actionable ways to achieve desired end results. Stop sleeping on Dick’s tactical brilliance, guys!

And again, NONE of this is intended to try and elevate him PAST any of the other Bat characters, as you’ll notice nowhere am I making any claims that he alone can be described in these ways.....I’m not saying these things are limited or unique to just him, I’m just saying....they very much describe him. So.....stop acting like they don’t, y’know? Don’t be a Tom Taylor! Be better than Tommy T! I believe in you guys!

Just.....I don’t think many people realize that they’re not actually saying what they think they’re saying when they stress how much smarter Tim is than Dick, for example, because like.....that’s not a proven quantity, and so it just comes across as like, needing to erase large aspects of Dick’s character just to prop up a personal fave and that’s the sort of thing that births the sort of negativity a lot of people remark on. 

(And it also carries a loooooot of not great implications if you factor in things like their respective origins, marginalizations, classism, etc - like, I can not stress how eyebrow-raising it is in the WORST possible ways that like, people make SUCH a big deal about Dick dropping out of college, when nobody ever seems to want to comment on the fact that like....Tim dropped out of high school. If its so obvious that the latter has nothing to do with Tim’s intelligence whatsoever - and it doesn’t, for the record - then you really should take a little more care with how you raise the subject and context of Dick’s dislike for specific educational structures and not weave in implications that this has anything to whatsoever with his actual intelligence or aptitude in skill acquisition - I’m just saying).

[i-write-boop-spoops]

Steven Stone Fluff Alphabet

To go along with my NSFW Alphabet, I decided to do some fluff for my favourite rock nerd. Hope you enjoy!

A = Activities (what do they like to do with their s/o? how do they spend their free time?)

He loves being outside with you, going for hikes, walks and sea swims. Likes to learn with you too, wandering around museums and discovering new things about science, history and culture.

He probably won’t take you mining unless you’re really into it, it can be quite tedious and dangerous, but he loves when you help him polish stones, or help make them into decorations or jewellery.

He has a soft spot for lazy days where you two are draped across his couch watching trashy reality TV shows and fun, animated films

B = Beauty (what do they admire about their s/o? what do they think is beautiful about them?)

Likes how kind and caring you are, not only to him, but to his Pokemon and almost everyone else.

He thinks you’re beautiful in every way, but he in particular thinks your eyes sparkle like the rarest, most precious gem he has ever seen.

C = Comfort (how do they help their s/o when they feel down? what makes them feel better?)

Steven is a little oblivious, so you might have to tell him that you’re down, but as soon as he knows, it’s his mission to cheer you up! Lots of kisses and cuddles, your favourite meals delivered, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen. If you’re sad due to an insecurity, he will wax poetic about how amazing that part of you is to him.

If you’re very stressed due to work or school, and you finally have time off, he’s going to whisk you away to a sun-drenched beach in Alola, the finest room in Hotel Richissime in Lumiouse, or his gorgeous villa by the Batte Zone in Sinnoh (provided he hasn’t given it to some ten-year-old yet lol) to help you unwind and enjoy yourself.

When he’s down, he needs reassurance, and lots of physical affection. He might also throw himself into his work/hobbies to an extreme degree, skipping meals and sleeping little, so you’ll have to ensure he gets fed and a good few hours of sleep until he starts feeling better.

D = Dreams (how do they picture their future with their s/o and in general?)

He would love a little family with you, a couple kids running around, maybe in Mossdeep, but he’s down with moving inland, or to your home region if you’re not from Hoenn, if you would prefer.

He definitely dreams about kissing you goodbye and ruffling his kiddos’ hair before he goes to work. Since his mother died when he was so young, he never really got to experience the classic nuclear family, so he longs to provide it to his own children.

He’d like to go back to college too, get his Masters and maybe PhD in Geology and work in that field. He really does not want to be involved with the Devon Corporation, so he hopes he can work with it as little as possible

E = Equal (are they the dominant one in the relationship or are they rather passive?)

I would say your relationship is equal for the most part, the only thing that tips the scales in Steven’s favour is his wealth and connections. He can get you things or into places that you, as a regular person, wouldn’t be able to at all otherwise.

He doesn’t hold this over your head, he finds people who do that rather gross, and he’s not your sugar daddy either. He does spoil you sometimes, but that’s just one way he expresses his fondness for you.

F = Fight (how quick are they to forgive their s/o? what are they like in an argument? who says sorry first?)

Steven is a reasonable man, so I think once he’s calmed down and thought about it more, he’s ready to forgive you if you’re sorry, Now, this all depends on the nature of why you were in the wrong, if that’s the case. He will let small things slide, and is willing to compromise on bigger things, but if you do something like cheat on him, he will never forgive you.

When he is in the wrong though, he will own up to it, your relationship is more important than his pride.

He doesn’t go for cheap shots or low blows, and he only raises his voice if he is really pissed. If this is before you live together, and the fight occurs at his house, he will get you to leave, but makes sure you get home safe.

G = Gifts (what kind of things do they gift to their s/o? are they spontaneous or do they stick to special events like anniversaries?)

So. Many. Rocks.

Seriously, your shelves will be filled with amethyst clusters and pretty pebbles. Some of this rocks will be jewels encrusted in some stellar accessories.

Beyond that, he’ll get you things he thinks you might need. Complaining about your coffee maker? He’s just gotten you a top of the line model with a prepaid subscription to receive new pods full of expensive Kalosian coffee every month for the next five years. Need a new bag? He’ll have one that costs double your rent shipped to you by the end of the day.

His gifts are expensive and high quality, but he does not buy you them for the sake of flaunting wealth. He just thinks you’d like them.

H = Heart Eyes (what are they like in love? is it obvious to others? how do they express their love? do they brag about their s/o to others?)

Steven feels like nothing can bother him. His smile is wider and his eyes sparkle whenever he thinks of you. He compliments you all the time and gives you lots of tender kisses and touches, spoils you a bit too. He doesn’t really brag, he thinks your amazingness stands for itself.

I = Impression (what first attracted them to their s/o? how accurate was their first impression to how their s/o actually is?)

He just thought you were very pretty when you first met, very sweet and cute. Evidently he was correct :)

J = Jealousy (do they get jealous easily? how do they deal with it?)

Steven rarely gets jealous. He’s not an arrogant guy in any way really, but he is confident in himself and in your relationship.

Things like money, power or status don’t threaten him, but appearance, particularity musculature, does. Steven’s quite the lean, slim guy, and sometimes he thinks he might not be strong or masculine enough for you, no matter how much you disagree. It honestly made him hurt a little when you jokingly called Leon, the Galar champion, a himbo.

When he is jealous, he gets a little stiff, he frowns, he holds onto you a little tighter if you’re around the person who makes him jealous. When he’s alone, he laments about it.

K = Kiss (are they a good kisser? what was their first kiss like? where do they kiss the most?)

Steven is a suave, smooth kisser, each kiss makes you feel like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

Your first kiss with him felt right, he gently cupped your cheeks and kissed you slowly in a manner that portrayed exactly how he felt about you.

He likes to kiss your cheek and forehead, and sometimes your knuckles if he’s holding your hand.

L = Little Things (what are the little things they love about their s/o? are they attentive?)

He loves how kind you are, loves how you treat his Pokémon like each one is the cutest ever, even if they are decidedly not cute. He likes how you look after him, making sure he sleeps and eats, showing up to his house randomly with treats or just to visit him. He really appreciates it.

M = Marriage (do they want to get married? how do they propose? what would the wedding be like?)

Making you his spouse would make him so happy!

His proposal would be very intimate, a night time picnic, either stargazing, watching fireworks or a meteor shower. He’d turn to you, with a soft smile, and tell you exactly how much you mean to him, and how much he loves you. Then, he would take out a small velvet box and ask you to marry him. The ring would be jaw-droppingly ornate, with your favourite gem in the middle.

The wedding would be intimate too, very swanky, with geode centrepieces and formal attire. He’d ultimately like to hold it in somewhere like Reflection Cave, but he’s down to hold it in a castle or hotel otherwise, with nice gardens of course.

N = Nicknames (what do they call their s/o? what do they get called?)

He calls you sweetheart, darling, love, my gem.

You call him Stevie, babe and dreamboat. Sometimes rock nerd or dork if he’s going on about geology.

O = Open (do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? is it easy for them to share?)

He’s pretty open, once you two have been together for a good while. He trusts you enough to tell you his insecurities and darkest thoughts, like how he feels burdened by the weight of his responsibilities, how his strained relationship with his father affects him, or how he still has trauma regarding the loss of his mother.

Just make sure to give him a big hug after he tells you, ok?

P = Pancakes (are they a good cook? how often do they cook for their s/o? breakfast in bed or fancy dinner dates?)

Steven cannot cook to save his life. He never needed to learn, they had a personal chef at home when he was growing up, and when he was older he would go out for food or get it delivered all the time. This continues when you get together, he always insists on paying.

That being said, he’s definitely up to learn, especially if you teach him, or if you can’t cook either, he’d love to learn with you.

Q = Quirk (a random quality/ability that is beneficial to their relationship.)

Steven has a super gentle, super careful touch, which means he gives the most amazing scalp massages. You have no choice but to melt when his fingers are caressing your head.

R = Romance (how romantic are they? are they cliché or creative?)

Extremely romantic, more elegant than corny. He wants you to know how beautiful and amazing you are, and he wants to put in effort to prove that point.

S = Sleep (who falls asleep first? do they need their s/o close to them? do they have any bad habits?)

You do usually, he likes to watch you snooze before he falls asleep. He likes to have you close to him, but he can sleep without you just fine, not waking up next to you is really more of a pain to him.

For bad habits? Steven has a tendency to lose track of time and go to bed very late. It can be frustrating when you need a good cuddle before bed, and when you have to deal with a barely-conscious, sometimes grouchy Steven in the morning.  

T = Thrill (do they need to spice up their relationship with new things or do they stick to a routine? how often do they do new things?)

If Steven wants to go somewhere or do something, he does because he has the luxury to. So when it comes to new experiences, like visiting somewhere new, trying a new activity, and you both want to go there or try it, he will have it organised straight away.

He only really has a routine when league business is in full swing, and when he is no longer champion, anything goes. Though if you have a routine, he will work around it.

U = Unity (did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? what traits do they share?)

Steven, due to his wealth and connections, had a habit of dropping everything to go on trips or rock-hunting whenever he felt like, which was detrimental to many of his relationships, mainly because he wouldn’t notify people before he left.

You, however, have taught him the importance of taking other people’s feelings and opinions into account. You’re so attentive with him, and in turn, he learns how to do just that with all the important people in his life.

You’re both kind people, who care deeply about each other and Pokemon

V = Value (how important is their relationship to them? what is it worth compared to other things in their life?)

At the beginning, the relationship is just a luxury for him, something he enjoys, but not something he needs in his life. But the longer you two are together, the more important you and your needs become to him.

You definitely become his point of focus, your happiness is his goal. He doesn’t stop engaging in his hobbies and interests, but he does do so in a manner that disrupts your relationship the least.

You are his rock, the love of his life, and he puts you before everything.

W = Wild Card (a random fluff headcanon.)

Cried while drunk at his Bachelor Party because he just really wanted to be married to you already and he could not understand why he had to wait to do so.

X = XOXO (do they like to kiss and cuddle? are they upfront about their relationship or rather shy when in public?)

Steven is quite affectionate at home, lots of soft kisses, hugs and long cuddles.

In public, his displays of affection are very elegant and appropriate. He wants you to know he loves you and finds you beautiful, even when in public. He likes to hold your hand, or rest his on your hip or the small of your back.

Will kiss your lips as a greeting or to say goodbye, but will mostly stick to occasionally kissing your cheek or forehead when you’re out.

Y = Yearning (how do they cope when they spend time away from their s/o? do they miss their s/o?)

Steven really starts missing you when there’s no way you can be together, like when he’s abroad and/or working. Usually during these times, he texts frequently and calls you at least once a day, provided he’s not stuck in some cave. He likes to gaze fondly at pictures of you, planning how he’ll make it up to you when you reunite

Z = Zoo (do they have pets? do they want some in the future?)-

Of course! He is/was a champion after all, so he has his pokemon team, plus some random beldum floating around. You treat his like your own, and vice versa, so it’s a very happy household.

[barnibumblr]

No Secrets Among Sisters

Pairing: Ina x Lillian 

Summary: Following the incident in the bookstore, Ina confides in her sister about the nature of her relationship with Bea.  

Warnings: Just fluff! 

Word count: 2607 

Tagging: @ikingsley @kaitlynliaofanxx @kwaj115 @sheepmomther-personal @swimmingshoebakerydreamer

*** 

Ina knocks at the door, muttering to herself nervously “breathe Kingsley, just breathe”. Almost immediately a familiar voice rings out from inside, “coming!”.

The door swings open and Lillian stands on the step, smiling from ear to ear at the sight of her older sister. “Ina! Come in already, I was starting to forget what you looked like”, she teased. “Sorry Lil, I have been rather... Preoccupied”. She scolded herself internally as she stepped inside, ‘preoccupied?! Is that really all you could come up with?’.

The truth was that Ina had been avoiding her sister since the night at the Speakeasy and subsequently, finding out Bea was her student. The evasion wasn’t ignored. “So where’ve you been for the last three weeks? I thought you may have eloped for some illicit affair?” her sister joked, waving her hands dramatically as she headed for the kitchen. For a split second Ina froze, her mouth hanging wide open, she only hoped that Lillian’s choice of scenario was coincidental. ‘WITCHCRAFT’ she thought, ‘it’s the only plausible explanation’. Thankfully Ina had managed to compose herself when Lillian turned her attention back to her, “well?” she laughed.

Ina was no good at keeping secrets, the pair were close enough that Lillian would see straight through her and she was certainly no liar. There was a moment’s pause as Ina contemplated how to respond, she was almost consumed by the awkward silence when the youngest of the Kingsley women bound in to the room, “Auntie Inaaaaa”. Charlotte came running through, jumping straight in to Ina’s arms. “Oh how i’ve I missed these hugs” Ina exclaimed, whilst Charlotte all but squeezed the life out of her.

“Let’s get a good look at you” Ina said as she pulled back from Charlotte, turning her full circle and back to face her. Charlotte giggled as she went round, rolling her eyes as she lands back in front of her aunt. “Yes, you’ve definitely grown some” Ina concluded, eyes crinkling at the corners with the first heartfelt smile she had offered since arriving.

“Auntie Ina, will you come see my Lego? I’ve just finished building the Millennium Falcon!”. Charlotte was hopping on the spot in excitement, she really did take after her aunt when it came to her love of Star Wars. “I do really need to speak to Mummy a little first…” Ina started as she spared a glance at Lillian (who by now had stopped busying herself to listen), her attention was brought back to Charlotte when her shoulders visibly and quite dramatically deflated. “I have a mini Chewie?” Charlotte added, in a bid to sweeten the deal. Ina hummed, that’s when the young girl realised she needed to play her final card. ‘Is she giving me puppy dog eyes’ Ina thought to herself, internally appraising the mini genius, ‘oh god she is! Smooth move kid’. “You make an interesting offer little Kingsley” she finally answered.

Ina didn’t make a habit of saying no to her niece, she often felt the need to compensate for their lack of family, it really was just the three of them. That didn’t stop her milking it for what it was worth though, Ina convinced herself she was helping keep that super brain on it’s toes. “Do you think you could go get it ready and wait for me?” she finally caved, offering her pinky in promise. Charlotte smugly accepted before skipping back out the room.

Lillian moved to the table, “I’m guessing by your tone that I should probably sit down for this?” she asked. Ina couldn’t quite meet her sister’s eyes as she pulled out a chair “yes, that’s probably best”. Lillian shook her head, laughing silently “I knew something was off the moment you came in. You may have a PHD Ina Kingsley, but you are a terrible liar”. Ina finally looked up, “I am under no false illusion when it comes to my skills in lying” she replied, hands up in surrender. “However I really did think I had mastered the art of deflection!” She challenged, her expression mocking offence. “Not with me you haven’t” Lillian replied, pressing her lips firmly together as she slowly shakes her head.

“I’ve met someone” Ina finally admitted, turning serious.

“Ina! That’s great news, we should be celebrating? Why aren’t you happy?” Lillian questioned, eyebrows knitted tightly together. “Oh, make no mistake Lil, I am” Ina was quick to dispel that notion, sitting forward in her seat. Her eyes dropped back down, fixed on her hands, she twiddled her fingers nervously as she considered her next words.

Lillian focused on her older sister intently, giving her the space to continue. There were only two occasions she recalled seeing Ina this anxious, the first was when she came out to their parents, the second was when she helped Lillian tell them about the pregnancy. Neither conversation ended well.

The minute that passed had felt like forever and finally Ina continued, “I’m just not particularly sure you are going to approve of my decisions”. Lillian frowned at her accusingly, “I swear to god Ina, if you are sleeping with a married woman, I will disown you. You know how I feel about that. How you of all people should feel about that”. There it was, the conclusion Ina knew her sister would be jumping to, ‘two feet as always!’ she thought, huffing at the idea. “No Lil. I’m not, and will never be, the other woman” Ina spat, as if the words themselves were poisonous.”What then? Ina you couldn’t even play hooky at school, what could possibly be so bad?”.

Her wild imagination didn’t stop there, Ina would have almost found it comical if the situation wasn’t so dire. The older woman knew she should probably just come out with it, but it was so interesting to see where Lillian’s mind went. ‘Wow… I am a terrible person, this is not the time for subject analysis!’ Ina admonished herself, but it really was a force of habit.

“Is she serving time? Drugs? OH MY GOD… Please tell me it’s not a he?!” Lillian pushed, whispering the last part. That was it, Ina couldn’t stop the snort that escaped her. “Lillian stop!” Ina’s eyes were wide at the absurdities being thrown her way, although at this point she wondered if they were better than the truth. “For the record, absolutely not – on the males species I mean. Some things simply cannot be undone” she affirmed, a flicker of a smirk fading as quickly as it arrived.

Ina closed her eyes as if bracing herself “I need you to let me finish though. If I don’t tell you now I’m not certain I ever will” she pleaded, opening her eyes. She exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself and regain some resemblance of her usual composure. “She’s my…” Ina paused, summoning whatever courage she could from within. “She’s my student”.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Ina searched her sister’s eyes for a moment, eyes she knew well, eyes that mirrored her own. When Lillian eventually spoke, her voice was soft. “Oh Ina” she sighed.

The room was quiet, bar the ticking of the clock. Ina shifted uncomfortably in her seat, not really sure whether she should speak next or just leave whilst Lilian cradled her head in her hands. “Please say something” Ina breathed, “anything?”.

Lillian moved to prop her face on one hand before replying, “I don’t quite know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. This isn’t like you Ina?” she reflected, the disbelief evident on her features. “I know” Ina mumbled as she went back to toying with her thumbs. Another agonising pause left Ina rubbing her hand over her face, it was only then that Lillian noticed how tired she looked. In fact, this was a look normally reserved for a stressed Ina, the same Ina who wouldn’t have slept in three nights just to meet a deadline.

“Please don’t think for one minute, that I’m not already punishing myself for allowing it to get this far” Ina said as she met her sister’s gaze. “I know it’s inappropriate. Trust me when I say, I’ve tried to distance myself from her”.

“Clearly not enough!” Lillian immediately retorted. Ina winced. As much as it stung, she also knew it was true.

As difficult as she found the conversation, Lillian wasn’t about to let Ina off lightly. “Have you had sex with her?”. The question hung in the air.

“Yes” Ina simply replied, earning a groan from Lillian, who was now massaging her temples. “That was before discovering she was my student though” Ina quickly added, “not that it makes much difference at this point”. It was clear she had been berating herself enough, so Lillian eased off. “How?” Came her next question, much softer than before.

Ina leaned back her in her chair, relaxing only a little by the change of tone. “I was having a drink at that little speakeasy, when this young woman approached the bar. We only spoke briefly at first, whilst she was being served, but she was different. She had this air about her, she was just… Completely captivating!”. Lillian watched her sister smile fondly at the memory.

“Dare I say, I was devastated when she returned to her table. I was on my third old fashioned and feeling rather courageous, so I sent over a drink”. Lillian raised her eyebrows in surprise, it was’t like Ina to be so bold.

As much as Lillian tried to hide it, she was now fully invested in how the story would progress (she always was the soppier of the two). “Sooo? Did she come back?” she asked. Ina’s grin grew wide with triumph, “she did”.

“We must have spoken for a good couple of hours, it all felt so effortless. I knew I wanted to kiss her, but I wasn’t sure how I should go about it. I mean, I would consider myself a bit out of practice!” She chuckled, acknowledging her love life, or lack of. “Despite my earlier confidence, I just didn’t have the nerve. Thankfully that was something she wasn’t short of though, she seemed to pick her moment perfectly”. Ina started to rub the scar below her lip absentmindedly, as she recalled how they had shared their first kiss. The small gesture didn’t go unnoticed, nor did the light in her eyes as she went on. “One thing led to another and before I knew it, I was semi naked in one of the private lounges!” Ina finished in a rush. “I’ll spare you the details” she added, as a blush crept across her cheeks.

“So you really had no idea she was from Belvoire?” Lillian queried, her initial disapproval subsiding slightly. Ina shook her head, “I didn’t even know her name. I gave her my number but If I’m honest I wasn’t sure I would ever see her again. I was pleasantly surprised when she text me the next morning, and rewarded me with said name”. Lillian gave her sister an expectant look, “Bea” Ina breathed, answering the silent question.

Lillian could see the impact the young woman had already made on Ina, pushing her to almost feel sorry for her.

“Imagine my horror when I walked in to my first lecture the very next day, and Bea’s sitting three rows in”.

Ina explained that she had tried to stay away, but couldn’t ignore the connection they had. She joked how Bea might as well be living in her mind, rent free, only it wasn’t really a joke. Ina told Lillian how she had vowed to herself to keep things professional, however that was proving increasingly difficult.

Taking her older sister’s hands, Lillian prepared herself to approach the elephant in the room, the one they had both been dancing around for some time. “Ina, I’ve spent the last two years watching you bury your head in your career, helping you undo the damage she did”. Lillian paused as Ina interjected “you mean she who shall not be named?”. “Yes, Voldemort” Lillian replied, knowing Ina would appreciate her easing the conversation with some humour.

“You’ve barely been able to consider the possibility of love again, because of the pain she put you through. And the one time you do, it threatens to jeopardise the very thing that saved you”. Ina bit her lip as she gave Lillian’s words some real thought.

Lillian carried on “I know how much love you have to give and how desperately you want to give it. You have to ask yourself at what cost though Ina?” Before continuing, she stopped for a second to allow the message to sink in. “I want nothing more than for you to open your heart again, but you can’t be the only one making sacrifices. Especially not of this size, and not based on one night of passion”.

Although Lillian’s voice was one of warning, her eyes showed nothing but care. Ina pulled her hands away to wipe the tears that had to started to escape the corners of her eyes.

“I know you’re right Lillian. I have worked so hard for my career, I daren’t think about what I would do if I were to lose it”. Satisfied that she had highlighted the enormity of the risk (and that it had been understood), Lillian softened once again.

“You deserve the greatest love story of them all Ina. Do you really believe you are ready?”. Ina sighed softly as she thought about the prospect of some kind of ‘future’ with Bea. “I think she’s good for me Lil. In one breath she makes me nervous, but in the next she knows exactly what to say to put me at ease. She may be the cause of my turmoil but it’s like she is also the only resolution”.

“It’s wrong I know, but I can’t help wanting to explore this with her?” Ina said, running her hand through her hair.

“Okay enough of this” Lillian slammed her hands on the table, way harder than intended. “Here’s my advice Ina. You need to keeping working and keep it professional, as professional as possible. That doesn’t mean you can’t get to know her though. If this girl really is interested in you, she will put in the work, thus giving you the chance to work out how you really feel. Then and only then, can you decide where your moral compass wants to settle and if you are willing to put your job at stake”.

Ina nodded slowly, mulling it over, however Lillian wasn’t done. “In the meantime, why don’t you speak to Sam? She’s had her fair share of work place scandals after the whole Dalton/Russo saga, she might be able to offer you some sound advice”.

“That’s actually a really good idea” Ina replied, “she won’t judge me either”.

“Exactly, it’s always worth getting a second opinion from someone who isn’t blinded by sex appeal” Lilian teased as she got up and made her way round the table. “Wait a minute, isn’t that exactly what happened…” Ina was cut off by Lillian pulling her to her feet and giving her a tight embrace. “It’s going to be okay Ina. Thank you for being open with me”.

Breaking the hug and holding Ina at arms length, Lillian laughed at her sisters pout. “Now pull yourself together, get upstairs and see my daughter. I can’t deal with two mopey Kingsleys”, she added with a wink.

“Thank you Lil” Ina said earnestly as she straightened herself up, “I don’t know what I would do without you”.

***

[marveloussupernerd]

Miss Trustfund Kid - Zen x Han!MC

Chapter 2 - Dinner Nerves

Reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Synopsis: The younger sister of Jumin Han. An actor and model who thought he wanted nothing to do with the family. But you’re... different. And he could actually picture a life with you? If he wasn’t such an asshole

You were pacing the conference room nonstop. A negotiation dinner? Just sitting down with Zen to sign the papers made you want to throw up. You weren’t good at this

But what were you going to do? Jaehee had made reservations for the nice restaurant nearby, you were all dressed, you had sent Zen the information...

Jumin knocked on the door to the room, making you jump visibly. “Did I scare you?” He asked, closing the door quietly behind him.

You buried your face in your hands. “I messed it up, Jumin. He didn’t sign. He wants to talk more about it tonight.”

Jumin sighed, leaning against the conference table. “He’s always difficult. I didn’t think he’d be so bad for you, though. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve never done a negotiation dinner. This is so out of my league.”

He glanced over at you, eyes scanning your features. “You’re really stressed, huh?”

You pouted. “I just don’t like feeling like I’ve let you and dad down.”

He sighed, pushing himself off the table and wrapping you into a hug. “You’re not letting us down. You want me to go instead? I’ll whip him into shape.”

“I wanna go... I really do. But I’m just incompetent. And I messed it up already. I think I’d be better staying back and doing other work.” You felt dejected, but you had messed this up enough already. You didn’t want to risk the deal falling through because of you.

“Okay. Don’t worry about it.” He looked down at you. “You did great. Don’t feel bad.”

“I’m sorry...” you apologized again. Jumin just gave you a soft smile and excused himself, having to get ready for his dinner.

You settled down and got back to work, trying to avoid thinking about the situation. Hours passed, you absolutely refusing to look at your phone and trying to absorb yourself into your work to forget about the whole situation.

A knock sounded on the door, much later. The office that had once been lit up by the blue sky, now was illuminated only by the moon and the flourescent ceiling lights. You glanced at your phone: 9:17. Then at the door. You were surprised to see the model back, waiting for your beckoning to come in.

You stood up to meet him by the door. “Hi, come on in. I’m sorry I skipped out on our dinner; to be honest, I’m not fully confident in the negotiation sort of thing.” You flashed him an apologetic smile.

He chuckled. “I’m sorry for making you panic. I thought I was being upfront, but sometimes I just can’t get my point acros. I was actually just trying to ask you to dinner.” He pulled a bag of food from behind his back, holding it out in front of him. “Have you eaten yet?”

Oh. You were an idiot. You felt heat rushing to your face: you were pretty bad at picking up on those sorts of signs, huh? “I’m so sorry!” You buried your face in your hands. “I’m so stupid. Yes. I’d love to have dinner with you.”

“Good.” He strolled over to the table, taking a seat next to the one you had been working at, laying out the burgers and French fries he had gotten. “It’s nothing like the place we were supposed to go to, but still.”

“You went there anyways!” You giggled, happily taking some of the fries.

“Yeah, but I got out of there as quickly as possible when I saw who I had to meet with. You sent Jumin after me? Really? I’m hurt.” He held his chest in fake pain.

You shrugged unapologetically. “Well, he’s the one who signed me up to do this, so it was his job to clean up my supposed mess.”

“I thought you were ghosting me.”

“No! I’m just really bad at picking up signals. My relationship and flirting life has been very dry,” you explained, looking down at your food, embarrassed to admit it.

“Really? But you seem so fun to be around.”

You shook your head. “People take one look at me and run for the hills. I can’t say I blame them though. Everyone thinks I’m stiff and intimidating and snobby.”

“You genuinely look like none of the above. You seem like a nice, beautiful, down to earth person.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet,” you grinned, unable to hide the smile on your face.

The room fell into a comfortable silence for a minute, the two of you focusing on your food. You decided to break it and get to know him better. “So, do you have any siblings?” Obviously you had one, that went without saying, but you wondered if he was an only child or if he had to share the spotlight too. You could see either case.

“I have an older brother, yeah, but I’m not really on good terms with my family...”

“That sucks. I’m sorry about that. Could I ask why?”

You were afraid of him shutting you down, but he just looked at you and smiled. “Well, they’re really well educated and they didn’t really support my dreams to be an actor, so...”

“Oh. My family’s chaotic and all but they’ve always supported my career goals, so that’s nice. I’m sorry your situation is so different.”

You finished up your food, throwing the empty containers into the bag and throwing it away.

“Thank you for bringing me food. Sorry I’m embarrassingly bad on picking up your cues earlier. It was really sweet of you to come see me,” you told him. Nobody had ever gone out of their way for you. They just wanted you for the status or the money — well, it was quite possible he was the same, but he didn’t feel like it. You hoped you were right.

“Of course.” He stood up from his spot. “Uh, now I’m always a gentleman, but I’m not gonna lie, I’m super attracted to you and I would love to give you a kiss good night.” His ears were tinted red at his own statement, but his eyes met yours, no fear or hesitation in them.

You giggled. He was just so cute and chivalrous? This was probably a bad decision. “Of course you can.”

He cupped your cheek, leaning in close. He smelled like peppermint. His nose brushed against yours, taking his time to place his lips on yours.

“Miss Han, I hate to interrupt, but you have a call on line one,” Jaehee stated, standing awkwardly in the doorway and rubbing her arm.

You jumped back from Zen. “Oh! Thank you!” Flustered, you went over to the desk and picked up the phone, sending an apologetic glance over to Zen.

“Hello,” you started the call, grabbing your notebook and planner just in case you needed it, “this is Y/N Han.”

“Hi! Sorry for the late call. This is James Amei from NovaTech. I was looking over our contract and found something we wanted to talk over.”

“Oh! It’s no problem. I’m working late as always anyways. We’ll get you in here as soon as possible to discuss...” you glanced up at Zen, who was still standing where you left him, a look on his face that you couldn’t quite read. “Uh, how’s Tuesday at 2:30?”

A pause. “That’s great. Thank you so much.”

“No problem!” You flipped through your book. “Have a great rest of your night, and tell Shannon I said hi!”

He bid you good night then hung up. You looked back over to Zen. “Sorry about that. The work never ends.”

He was still blank faced, staring at you. You looked down at your hands, trying to figure out what the issue was.

“Oh! I write down details about all the people I correspond with in my journal. It’s nice to recall little things about them, like his wife or whatever.”

Nope. That wasn’t it.

“Are you okay? Do you need a water?”

He blinked hard, then shook his head. “I’m... your his sister?”

“Huh?”

Oh. Jumin’s. You nodded your head. “I honestly thought you knew.”

He shook his head violently. “I didn’t know. I- God. I hate his guts. How can you two seem so different?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Well we have different moms. And we were raised different. He was raised as the heir to the company. I was just raised as... me.”

“You’re Miss Trustfund Kid?”

Uh. So maybe he wasn’t as amused by this as you thought he may be.

“...an argument could be made for that, yes. I didn’t realize you didn’t know, and I didn’t realize it was such a big deal.”

You were almost... offended? That the second he found out who you were his whole attitude took a shift. It sucked. This is how it always was though.

He ran a hand through his hair, his face looking far more tired than it did a few minutes ago. “I’m sorry. I’m being rude. I just- you’re his sister!?”

“Yup.”

“Like you two... played together as kids!?”

“Jumin didn’t really like children’s toys all that much.”

Zen frowned. “Of course he didn’t. But still. You grew up together?”

“Yes. He’s a few years older though.”

“You grew up with V?”

“Of course.”

Zen took a seat. “I just... wow. Wow.”

“You look like someone told you you have a week to live.”

He glanced at you, then pouted. “I’m just surprised.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “What? You don’t like me now? What’s so different, I have money?” You grinned. “I’m a college student getting my PhD, so I’m definitely no Jumin.”

“I just assumed you were going to be in the family business.”

You grinned, shaking your head. You were proud of paving your own path. “Nah. I’m in law and I want to be a professor.”

“You’re so badass.”

“You so hate that you like me.”

He stood from his chair, leaning forward to lock his lips with yours. It wasn’t the chivalrous, gentle sort of kiss that you were expecting a few moments ago, but it was just as good, maybe even better? He was a fury of emotions and passion and he was handsome and witty and amazing. Even if this was a bad idea, it was a great one.

Until a voice broke you out of your spell.

“What in God’s name are you doing to my sister?”

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @imatalossforwords lmk if you want to be added :)

[beca-mitchell]

What do you think other ships between Beca/Chloe and the rest of the group would be like? Or how well would each relationship pan out? As in Beca+Aubrey, Beca+Emily, Beca+Stacie… and Chloe+Aubrey, Chloe+Cynthia, etc…

posting under read more because this got lengthy!!

Chloe’s Ships

Chloe/Aubrey: This is my favourite secondary ship. It’s such a good foundation for Bechloe in my opinion, especially in the angsty way. I love imagining that Chloe and Aubrey had some kind of relationship going on in the BBM (”before beca mitchell”) times. I think Chloe and Aubrey’s dynamic would have been stressful, but they cared for each other deeply. And they still do! I think Chloe loved Aubrey hard and loved her fast, while Aubrey’s love kind of built up over time, making the relationship feel very one-sided and eventually Chloe moved on when Aubrey finally figured out her feelings.

Chloe/Stacie: I envision this ship being primarily physical—something that starts off as FWB with the potential to be something more. I think Chloe and Stacie in fanon are typically written very similarly (both very physical and affectionate and forward). In canon, I think Chloe is more passionate and headstrong than Stacie. Stacie has a very laid-back personality (different from Beca’s personality) and I think that’s probably where Chloe and Stacie would clash a little in a relationship. I don’t see this being more than a fling if anything, especially during the Barden Years.

Chloe/Cynthia-Rose: I think there would definitely be mutual attraction. Chloe seems like she’s attracted to good energies and I think C-R would be good for Chloe in the sense that C-R probably wants a stable relationship. If she weren’t canonically married (???), I think I would explore Chloe/CR more because I think it would be interesting. And obviously CR thinks Chloe is hot because she’s a wlw with eyes. In fanon I love that CR might be a confidante for Chloe because I can see her doing that. I think most people think Chloe would talk to CR about any doubts she might have about her sexuality but I think CR seems to have had clear goals/directions in life (see PP2 and PP3) which is good for Chloe. If they actually dated though, I don’t think they’d necessarily last.

Chloe/Emily: I weirdly ship this a lot?? I know, it seems out of the blue, especially for me. It really does feel like cheating on Bechloe though lmao. But I think Chloe/Emily could be cute. It would never happen during Barden, but maybe years down the line. Even past PP3. Chloe working in NY and Emily finishing her MBA or PhD. I think they could use an opportunity to reconnect and maybe discover some attraction there. I think they’re both very optimistic and eager-to-please people so I think their honeymoon phase of a relationship would last a long time. 

Chloe/Flo: Interesting, but I’ve never really considered this. I think Chloe would find Flo cute and would be curious about learning more about her. I don’t know if any attraction would move in both directions though. Flo seems more concerned with getting through school, then building her business. 

Chloe/Lilly: I am sure it happened once in a dream. Both of them dreamt it at the same time.

Chloe/Jessica: I’ve seen a surprising amount of support for this on Twitter?? Like surprising being more than one person shipping this. Which probably has to do with Britt/Kelley if anything. I think Chloe probably showed Jessica affection once and Jessica had a crush for about three seconds.

Chloe/Ashley: Chloe remembered her name and her role in the Bellas a few times, but Ashley doesn’t delude herself into thinking that she has a shot with Chloe.

Beca’s Ships

Beca/Aubrey: This is such a classic UST ship. Like I absolutely understand why people ship this. There’s just so much tension and the sheer angst of breaking Chloe’s heart while we’re it...which leads me to my next point: I think Beca and Aubrey is a ship with a shelf life—it inevitably ends with Beca/Chloe getting together (perhaps similar to Chaubrey). I do think Beca and Aubrey won’t always see eye-to-eye, but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad ship. It would make for a super interesting dynamic. They both do some growing up between PP1 and PP2 and I suppose even between PP2 and PP3. We see that Aubrey mellows out somewhat but barely, but Beca is doing her best to be chill. So if they did start dating beyond a drunken hook-up, they would still have a lot of work to do on nurturing their relationship. And no matter what AU, I still hc that Beca and Aubrey, at some point, harbored feelings for Chloe. So we’d have to deal with that too.

Beca/Stacie: I love how Beca and Stacie are typically written in fic, especially their dynamic. So I base a lot of my characterization of Stacie on fanon. I can see them being a hook-up, likely instigated by Beca. While Stacie flirts with pretty much everything, I think she’s more careful about letting it go further when it comes to her friends, but if Beca pushed I think Stacie would accept. This of course does not mean I think Beca would be a top in any way, I think she would find a reason to want to hook up with Stacie. Maybe frustration from work, her family life, Chloe, etc. In terms of this dynamic evolving into a relationship, I’m still unsure where I stand. I think I’ve read too many side Staubrey to really read Stacie as being compatible with anybody but Aubrey (which is unfortunate because the movies and the fandom did such a disservice to CR/Stacie).

Beca/Emily: Okay, I like Bemily to a certain extent, but I don’t actively ship them. I think a lot of the groundwork for this ship comes from Emily’s admiration of Beca and her cheerful, good-natured personality. This is typically seen as a good contrast to Beca’s serious, awkward nature. In terms how well this relationship would pan out if it happened, I think it could work. I think this relationship is a good base for angst, especially if you combine both Beca and Emily’s insecurities—both of them seem to stem from not feeling like they’re good enough. They a pairing that works because they have potential and room to grow, I think. And they’d be a pretty good musical super duo!

Beca/Cynthia-Rose: You know? I think this would be really stable? Like CR, apart from her gambling problem in PP1 and her literal wife in PP2, seems like she’s one of the calmer members of the group. And Beca needs that stability in her life. I feel like Beca would be nervous around CR though, especially if it came to a relationship between them.

Beca/Flo:  I don’t recall them interacting much or at all, so I’m working with close to nothing here. I don’t think Beca and Flo would ever date.

Beca/Lilly: I think Beca likes the quiet she gets with Lilly. She’s seen as fairly affectionate towards Lilly in the movies (though that might be Anna Kendrick/Hana Mae Lee), and Beca is rarely affectionate. It’s hard to fully imagine a romantic dynamic between them but I think they’d both be really into bringing each other food and lil shoulder massages while studying. All without talking much.

Beca/Jessica (or Ashley): Beca could not tell them apart. I don’t think this works out.

[everybodyscupoftea]

this is the life

ole miss rafe x reader

you and your boyfriend deal with your ~futures~

literally no one asked for this lol, i’m sorry

(warnings: cursing)

Your animal and dairy sciences seminar had a report due that you’d stayed up very late making last minute edits to because you were stressed it was really bad. The next morning was brutal. Not only was in an 8 a.m. lecture, but your coffee machine was out and you overslept, barely giving yourself enough time to get to class before the professor checked attendance.

You slid into your seat, out of breath, just as started scanning the seating chart for attendance. The boy who sits next to you turned to ask, “Library was backed up this morning?”

“What?” you asked, halfway paying attention, still scrambling to get your notebook out.

“Since you’re running late, I’m assuming it’s because the library was busy when you went to print your report.”

Your stomach dropped and you swore, “Fuck. I forgot to print it. Fucking fuck. I submitted it online but I forgot we needed to hand him a physical copy too. Oh god I can’t afford to fail this class.” You were getting worked up and the boy was starting to look more and more like he regretted talking to you in the first place.

“I mean he’s pretty chill, so I’m sure if you explain he’ll let you bring it by his office later.”

The boy had a point, but you were already too far gone. For the rest of the class, you were unfocused, and if someone asked you what he lectured on, you’d have no clue, so preoccupied with rehearsing how you were going to beg him for an extension. You only had one other class, and you’d definitely be able to print it out and run it to him between them, but that was depending on if he let you.

Just as class was ending, your phone vibrated in your hoodie pocket, and you checked it, immediately calmed at seeing a text from your boyfriend. Rafe sent Can’t wait to see you this weekend and whatever had a grip on your chest loosened enough for you to take a full breath for the first time since waking up.

After speaking to your professor and his reassurance that you didn’t really need to worry much about the written report, that it was just to ensure everyone had it turned in prior to class, you left, much happier, but the exhaustion hitting you straight in the gut.

Thankfully, all you had left that day was a communication elective and then to drive to Rafe’s apartment in Oxford. He’d convinced you to make the trip because he wanted to show you around the place he’d called home for four years after leaving behind his “hometown trauma.” His words.

Your class flew by, people were giving speeches and you’d given yours Wednesday, so you sat there mindlessly, half asleep, until she dismissed the class for the weekend. Stopping back by your apartment to pick up your overnight bag, you decided to last minute check your PO Box, it had been a while. To your shock, you actually had mail, and when you saw the return address, the sick feeling returned to your stomach.

There was about a two-hour drive to Rafe’s apartment from Starkville, and you had the option of opening the letter containing either the best news or the worst news of your life before the drive or at Rafe’s apartment. Part of you wanted to know then, but a stronger part of you wanted to be with Rafe so he could comfort you if necessary.

Instead of making a decision, you felt your tired brain could not, you called Rafe. He answered before the second ring and you couldn’t help yourself.

“I see that receptionist job taught you some useful skills.”

“What?” he asked, sounding confused.

“Answering my calls fast, that’s good because my time is money.”

Rafe sighed, “Can I help you?”

“Someone’s mad. But, yes, should I open the letter from the vet school now or wait until I get to Oxford.”

You heard some shuffling around before he answered, “You think you can wait? I actually have something to tell you too.”

“Yeah, um, sure,” you were a little worried, “Is everything okay?”

“I think so. We just need to talk.”

“Right, talk, are you sure everything’s good?”

“Yeah, stop worrying. Just drive on over.”

You had been excited to go visit, but after that phone call you wanted to go back to bed. With a deep sigh, you rubbed your eyes with the heels of your hands and slumped backward. Blinking away the spots, you buckled up, pit in your stomach, and drove to your favorite coffee shop in Starkville. If shit was going to go down in Oxford you were going to have your comfort drink.

StrangeBrew’s drive-thru was packed and you tapped your fingers anxiously on the steering wheel as you waited to order your blueberry cobbler cold brew with soy milk. Right as the barista handed you the to-go cup, your phone vibrated and Rafe had sent drive safe!! <3. The fuck did that mean in the context of your earlier phone conversation?!

The drive to Oxford was boring as hell. You’d made it before, a band you liked had played there one night, and you and some friends had made the reluctant trip to see them. Turning on your podcast, you focused on nothing but the drive, pushing aside relationship doubts and the growing anxiety about the letter sitting in your passenger seat.

You called Rafe when you got close, and he was waiting outside his building when you finally found a visitor’s spot. He jogged over to grab your overnight bag and bent down to give you a quick kiss, before greeting you with, “Hey, baby, how was the drive?”

“Boring as fuck, nothing new.”

“Went smoothly?”

“About as smooth as possible. I’ve had to pee for the last like 40 minutes though, so it’d be great if I could do that now.”

He laughed and turned to walk to his building, motioning for you to follow him. You did, scampering a little to keep up with his long strides, and he unlocked a door on the first floor, holding it open for you, “Bathroom’s down the hall to the left.”

Rafe was sitting on the couch when you made it back out to the living room, and you finally took a good look at him. His laptop was on the coffee table and he was wearing a pair of Ole Miss sweats, a worn-out t-shirt, and a pair of glasses you were unaware he needed.

“Take a picture,” he interrupted your train of thought and you rolled your eyes.

“Shut up, Cameron. Now, tell me what you want to talk about so I can open my letter.”

“No, open your letter first and then we’ll talk.”

You weren’t sure why he was so insistent or why your heart rate tripled, but you were pretty sure it wasn’t the coffee. With shaking hands, you held up the letter from the MSU Vet School. All of your undergrad work came down to that letter, whether you’d have to take a gap year and try to find work to apply again or whether you could move forward in your career path.

Rafe watched on eagerly as you carefully tore it open and started reading. Eyes jumping across the page, unable to focus, you barely made out, Congratulations and We welcome you and We look forward to seeing you next fall.

With a gasp, you launched yourself at an unprepared Rafe and latched on, arms wrapped around his neck. He ran his hand up and down your back soothingly and asked, gently, “Good news?”

“I’m going to Vet School,” you whispered, voice cracking in the middle of your sentence.

“Fucking right you are, my little Rockstar.”

Your face heated up and you buried it in the crook of his neck, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. Only to come crashing back down a few seconds later as you remembered Rafe wanted to talk. Pulling back slowly, you asked, “So, what was it you wanted to talk about?”

His face lit up and he leaned forward, hanging on to you so he didn’t accidentally dump you onto the floor, and grabbed his laptop. Clicking to his email, he showed you the message he had pulled up from Mississippi State University Department of History Admissions.

“So, you know I’ve been interested in teaching,” he started, “and I’m debating whether I’d like to teach college or not.”

“Yeah, last we talked, you were leaning toward college professor, right?”

“Right. Well, I applied to a few schools that had a PhD program I was interested in, and I heard back from my top choice.”

Your mind was racing, still not connecting the dots, until he motioned at his laptop. Looking back down, you skimmed the email, telling him that he’d been accepted into MSU’s PhD in European History program and gasped, turning back to him in excitement, “No way?!”

“Way,” he told you, wide grin on his face.

Jaw dropped, your mind raced to put together a coherent thought, “How long have you been planning this?”

“The program is good, this isn’t a new thought, but MSU obviously jumped up my preference list to the top after we got together.”

“Fuckin whipped,” you teased and he tilted your chin down to kiss you.

Pulling away he brushed some of your hair back, “Only for you.”

As he leaned in again, you were the one to pull back, “Wait, we have to celebrate!”

Rafe groaned, “No, let me kiss you.”

“No! I want food, I spent the entire ride thinking I was going to get dumped when I got here.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “What?”

“We need to talk,” you quoted, “that’s one scary fucking sentence, Cameron.”

He smiled sheepishly, “Sorry, sweetheart, I just wanted to keep it a surprise.”

“Well you did.”

Rafe leaned in to kiss you again and pulled back to add, “You really think I’d make you drive all the way here, just to break up with you. I’m wounded you think that lowly of me.”

“You are an asshole.”

Rolling his eyes, he pinched your cheek gently, “Be nice to me, I’m sacrificing my dignity and lowering myself to Mississippi State’s standards.”

Blinking a few times in surprise at his sudden switch, you told him back, “Fuck off, I’m sure you were last choice as soon as they saw where you got your undergrad degree.”

Without saying anything else, he kissed you again, gripping behind your knees and shifting so your back was on the couch. As he lowered himself down on top of you, you decided that food could wait. You had your future to celebrate.

[thorne93]

The Stars Made Us (Part 1)

Prompt: In this world, you’re one of the “lucky” ones who got a soulmate, but what if the universe gives you more than you bargained for?

(Prompt challenge -- You live in a world where your soulmate can write on their skin and you will get the writing on your own and vice versa. Where they can wash away the ink on their own skin, however, the writing is forever scarred onto your skin until you meet face to face)

Word Count: 1857

Warnings: angst and language throughout

Notes: This was supposed to be for @sorryimacrapwriter and their challenge like a year ago, I think? I still loved the prompt though and have been working on this story for quite some time. This aesthetic was made by @dontshootmespence, thank you so much! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes, couldn’t have done it without you, as well as @carryonmyswansong and @arrow-guy and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo

Also, I’ve never really liked the whole soulmate AU thing idea, but this felt so right and it was amazing to write. I hope y’all love it too!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ever since you were little, you’d heard the legends. The legend of soulmates. It was as common as Santa Claus or winning the lottery. Some weren’t sure they believed it, because although it was real, it was so rare that people didn’t know how to feel about it. Perhaps it was like believing in ghosts. Documented cases, proof, eye witness accounts weren’t enough to sway some skeptics. Yet, it had to be real because there was a registry, much like when you go to get your license or file a birth certificate or a social security number. There was a system in place to keep track of soulmates.

While others, mainly hopeless romantics, truly believed in soulmates. You heard whispers of it when people talked of their grandparents “perfect marriage” and how they just had to be soulmates. You’d heard some kids on the playground swear their cousin just got their soulmate. 

Now, it wasn’t for everyone. It was a rarity, and much like winning the lottery, it only happened to a select few. 

The few were seemingly random. Everyone from celebrities and CEOs down to starving artists and people who managed grocery stores. It touched all races, religions, and economic status. It was global. It wasn’t unheard of for a South American woman to be mated with a French man. Or one Australian to find their mate within Africa. 

Stories of epic journeys to find their love and mate had been told as bedtime stories. Heart wrenching stories of soulmates who never got to be together. 

The idea of soulmates was so endowed in the world and in history that it was rare enough to be celebrated, but common enough to be easily accepted. That’s why, when people walked with scars all over their body, formed in words, people didn’t even think twice.

That’s how it worked. On people’s 18th birthday, their soulmate was assigned, if they had one. Writing on any part of your skin would show up on your mate’s skin as a scar, and vice-versa. For two days out of the year, their birthdays, they could communicate this way. 

The only downside was that you couldn’t give out your information to your mate -- that part was up to the universe. When they needed you most, their name and address would show up on your arm. It could be life or death, it could be a mental breakdown, it could be that they’re hurt and need a friend. But until then, you shouldn’t share personal information. People had done it before, met their mates before the universe decided it was time, and awful things tended to happen. 

But if they were patient enough, willing enough to wait for the right day, it would all be worth it and they were usually guaranteed a happy life. 

Even though you grew up with this knowledge, you’d let it fall to the wayside in your mind. School and friendships took precedence, and you led your life normally. Every now and again, like on birthdays, a fleeting thought of the prospect of a soulmate would run through your head, but for the most part, you filed it away as a fantasy. 

That was, until your best friend Jenny reminded you of it on your 18th birthday.

You were having a party at your house. A group of about ten friends and you went out and played mini-golf, then had pizza at your house with cake and gifts, then watched a new movie. Your parents gave you money to buy a lottery ticket for fun, and gave you some money for college. 

Nearly everyone had gone home, and your parents already wished you a happy birthday with hugs and kisses before going off to bed. All that was left were you and Jenny, and she was about to walk out the door.

“I’m just saying, you’re 18 now,” she stated as she walked. 

“Yeah, I gathered that when I counted 18 candles on the cake, what’s your point?” you asked with a smile.

“My point is, maybe you should try and see if you’ve got a soulmate.” 

You shook your head and rolled your eyes. “Jenny, the odds of me having a soulmate are like 1 in a million. It’s a silly idea.”

“That’s been true. You know it and I know it. What’s the harm in finding out? I just had a cousin last year that found out. She wrote some appointment down when she was 21, her soulmate got it and wrote back.” 

You perched an eyebrow at her. “How romantic.” 

“I’m serious! Come on, how cool would it be?” 

“It would be kind of neat,” you admitted sheepishly, grinning. “But if no one writes back--”

“Then you haven’t lost anything, and you’ll find someone great later in life. No harm, no foul. Right?” She gave you that super convincing gorgeous smile before dropping her pushiness. “Alright, alright. Just think about it, okay? Happy birthday,” she said before hugging you tightly. 

“Thanks,” you said back.

With that, you cleaned up the kitchen and living room, gathered your gifts, and headed up to bed.  You pulled on your pajamas and crawled into your bed, you sat there, thinking about what Jenny had said.

What would be the harm in writing on your arm? If no one spoke back, it was no big deal, right? 

But if they didn’t write back, would you be saddened? You’d always secretly hoped you had a soulmate out there, so to find out you didn’t have one would be a little devastating. Of course, your life wouldn’t be over, and like Jenny said, you could always find a partner just like you normally would. 

Ultimately, it was just a schoolgirl fantasy… but what if it wasn't? you wondered idly as you sat with your leg propped up on the bed. 

You grabbed a pen off your nightstand and took a deep breath, trying to think of the best thing to ask - this would be scarred on them indefinitely after all. 

You thought, and you thought, pondering anything you could say. But what do you say to a potential soulmate? Finally, you decided there was no perfect way to go about this, and you put your pen to your arm, writing: Is anyone out there? 

You held your breath for a second, wondering if you’d get a scar somewhere in response, even bracing for some form of pain, but after a few moments -- nothing. Nothing happened. 

You sighed. Well, it was a long shot anyway.

After lying in bed disappointed for a while, a feather light sensation came crawling across your arm. You frowned for a split second before glancing down and seeing the letters. Instantly, a grin grew wide across your face. 

“Hi there. : )” 

You wanted to jump for joy. Immediately, your heart soared at the sight. Someone out there was actually fated to be yours? You couldn’t believe this. Why you? You weren’t special. 

“This is my email, if you would like to talk more,” you offered, scribbling on your skin before adding in your email. You opted for email since any other form of communication you might be tempted to find out their name.

Within two minutes, a ping noise came from your computer. You sprang from your bed, not even caring that you were the epitome of a school girl right that second. You dashed the cursor over to your inbox and read the new email. 

“Hello. So I suppose this means we’re soulmates...”

“I suppose it does,” you wrote back, a giant grin on your face. 

“We should probably get some of the formalities out of the way. What should I call you? How old are you?” 

“You can call me… Y/F/I. And I’m 18, today is my birthday. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories of people giving out their information before their time. I think we should stick to initials.” 

One minute later, in the same penmanship, you felt something on your bicep -- Happy Birthday

The smile on your face lit back up. 

“That’s my gift to you. And yes, I have heard of the stories. I would rather be safe than sorry as well. You can call me X. I’m 21. I’m in college, actually in graduate school.”

“Wow, that’s amazing. You’re already in grad school? How? What’s your area of study? I’m going into college in the fall - psychology.” 

“I think I should be surprised, but I’m not. That’s what my PhD will be in,” he informed. “As well as genetics and biophysics.” 

Well, the universe is funny, isn’t it? 

You continued to read his message. 

“Long story short, I graduated college at 16. Harvard, if you can believe it.”

Instantly, you were hit with a wave of surprise and shock. Your soulmate was a genius? He was a Harvard grad at 16? In what universe was that possible?

“That’s… really impressive. God I wish I could do that. It’d be amazing to be already done with college. I haven’t even gone there yet but it seems like a lot of work and a lot of stress. Hopefully, the pay off will be worth it though.” 

“What are you wanting to do with your degree?”

“Psychiatry.”

“A noble profession.” 

“I think so. I’d like to help people, as corny as that sounds.”

“I don’t think it sounds corny at all. Quite admirable, in fact. If people didn’t feel that way, we wouldn’t have good people in the world.”

He already thought you were a good person? you wondered, warmth spreading over you.

“I guess that is one way to look at it. I just want to help people and be a voice for people who don’t exactly have a lot of advocates.”

“That’s precisely why we get into these professions, darling,” he wrote.

Darling? Wow, so far, this guy was the jackpot. 

“I suppose it is. So what are some of your favorite books, if you don’t mind me asking? And movies. I feel like a quick way to get to know someone pretty well is through their interests.”

“Indeed it is,” he replied. “I happen to favor T.H. White’s The Once and Future King, as far as books go and I don’t particularly have time for many films.”

“Oh, I see,” you started, and then explained your favorite books and film. 

He had asked you why you liked those and you went into a rather lengthy explanation of why you enjoyed them more than others. After that you two talked music, actually having quite a lot in common there. 

You stayed up all night emailing, until the sun came up. It wasn’t until the glare hit your computer screen that you realized it, either. You didn’t want to end the magical evening, but you did need rest, and you were sure as a grad student, he needed all he could get as well. 

That morning you went to sleep with this newfound relief. It was one less thing you’d have to worry about in life. Worry about finding a mate, a partner for life. They were already there, already perfect, already waiting…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[kingofthewilderwest]

Are you really happy without the conventional work? How do you deal with feeling like a failure compared to your peers? How the fuck do i adult i'm so tierd and stressed and don't know what i'm doing

I'm really sorry about how tired, stressed, and uncertain you may be feeling. <3 That's really hard stuff to feel. And I mean that with every ounce of sympathy I wish I could express better beyond this stiff text. Sending you all the love.

I am happier without doing conventional work. It might be less stable because my jobs are short-term, and the instability does make me nervous, but I feel like it has more pros than cons for my personal happiness. It will not be for everyone, though, and I would not recommend it for everyone.

I'm assuming when you ask about feeling like a failure, it's both in concern to how I feel with it, and how you might feel yourself. <3 <3 I hope that this answer ends up helping. It's the best I can try. <3

As for myself, I don't for a second believe I am a failure. I've always been a cocky bitch, and here the cockiness reigns supreme: I'm pretty awesome whether I do anything or not. When I'm exhausted and unhappy and Depression takes over (and hooboy Depression can take over like demon possession), my mind might stray to unbearable self-hate and self-deprecation, but I argue against those voices rather than let them enter my everyday language about myself. (It's a dangerous habit to ever repeatedly insult yourself; it ingrains those thoughts in you worse, it really does.)

There's nothing that makes me a failure compared to my old peers. They're pursuing jobs that society traditional deems "successful." So what? They're irrelevant to me and my life, and my life is irrelevant to them. Society's ideas of what is and isn't good has always been complete bullshit anyway... why should I care if I amount anything to what broader society feels? Broader society is stupid and I don't give a damn about it. I'm not saying this out of bitterness or rejection or something; I honestly don't care because it's irrelevant to me.

I'm here to pursue myself, pursue what I personally like. If I feel happier, if I make a milestone that's relevant to me and myself and I, then that's awesome. In many ways, if I'm different than my old peers and not following into their notion of success, then I know I'm doing right by myself. ;) It's proof of my own growth, isn't it?

The truth of the matter is, nobody is a failure for being different than someone else. Every person has a different life path. I know for many people, they are more self-conscious about how the world around them operates, how the world sees them. If the world doesn't find them successful, beautiful, etc., they feel like shit. Maybe you feel self-conscious about not meshing with society or being "as good as" other people around you. And I'm here to say: your life is your life. <3 <3 I know it can be hard to stop comparing yourself with others, but in the end, I do believe we have to understand our own innate value is permanent. Our value is there no matter what. You are beautiful. Period. There's no ifs, ands, buts, accomplishments, actions, or choices that will change the fact you are innately incredible. <3

The people whose heart meshes with yours, the people who lift you up, those are the people that matter, and those people will never believe you're a failure. Those people will see you as the diamond you are. If people judge you and are cruel to you for that, then their voices are the irrelevant ones to be discarded, because they aren't valuing you, and so they don't have good life advice or good values. There's no value listening to idiots, fools, and castigators. Now, that's not to say that good friends and acquaintances won't tell you you're doing something wrong or struggling or making a bad choice... a good friend is someone who protects you by speaking honestly and warning you if they think you're stumbling... but they aren't going to put you down as some failure, either. They're there to help you move forward with your life's journey for yourself.

We all struggle. We all stumble. We all fall. We all fuck up. We all get tired. We all don't know what we're doing. We all flail around aimlessly. We all make the wrong choice. We all look "better" to outside viewers than we see of ourselves. We see the sloppiest parts of ourselves whereas most others don't, so that's why it's easy to be the most critical with yourself and start bashing on yourself. But I guarantee that my peers, shiny as their PhDs might look, have probably had nights where they've cried into their pillows, or been frazzled, or been at bad low points, or wished they were anyone else. And I wish them the best and emotional security, but what it means is: we're all some level of fucked up anyway. Some people have worse struggles than others, and that needs to be respectfully recognized, but at the end of the day, we're all human and we all struggle and our pains are all real things we experience. The pain is real and it's valid to feel bad over it. The best we can do is give ourselves a break, stop tormenting ourselves internally over our natural inability to be perfect, and when we have the strength, to give love and support to others so they don't stumble as bad as we did.

I want to relate to you by saying... I think I was constantly clueless, confused, anxious, and apprehensive in the first half of my twenties. It sucked and I'm sorry if things suck for you.

Somehow....... I think a switch was flipped somewhere when I got more years of "adulthood" under way. The switch flipped from "I hate that I don't know what I'm doing" to "ehhh, whatever, life is life." Now, it's not to say I'm more organized. I'm not. My refrigerator has more mold than food. There's a horrible smell coming from the kitchen sink where water's been resting in a dirty pot for several days. My laundry is scattered all over the floor and I've run out of pairs of clean underwear... ran out several days ago. Don't ask what I'm wearing. I don't know the last time I've vacuumed and my place looks like a tornado zone. It took me several months to have the mental energy to schedule my first COVID shot, and I often have to cancel my banjo lessons like an unreliable buttfart because something Came Up In Life Just Now. In many ways, my life is still a chaos zone. I think I'm getting better (I've earned a ton of money in my savings account the last two years, victory!!! I'm no longer living month-to-month!!!). But I just want to say in all this.... it's okay. It's not preferable that my house is disorganized piles of crap on the floor, but I can continue to live. If we manage to wake up, get ourselves food, do hours of work, then we have achieved adulthood, and everything else is icing on the cake.

In the end, I think "stability" in adulthood is being semi-comfortable with instability. Adulthood just means handling unstable shit, and if we're novices with it, so be it. Maybe as your life goes forward, things will be less tiring and less confusing. Maybe things will be more stable. Or maybe not. Maybe the same problems will keep coming around. But I think adulthood is the ability to accept that these problems come around, and handle them, even if you aren't 100% a master at the novel circumstances.

And over time, I do believe it gets easier. <3 It takes more to rock the boat. It takes more to daunt you. The things that were initially anxiety-causing become a part of everyday affairs, and when a new novel circumstance comes up, you're more mentally prepared to try on something new. I encourage you to keep at it, my friend. I hope things feel better over time. It's okay that you aren't sure what you're doing right now. Maybe someone can help you in the present day. Maybe in the future you'll know what you're doing with tasks that previously confused you. Maybe in the future, the new weird tasks won't feel as daunting. Adulthood is weird and we don't know what we're doing, but that doesn't mean that life is going to fuck us through that.

In the end, you will still have beauty in your life. No matter what, beauty will exist in its simplest forms, and the simplest forms are the best. You don't need to achieve anything to get there. You don't need to be put together (although being put together is nice and something I want to help my friends feel <3 ). You don't need to look impressive in society. If you see a beautiful sunset, if you see a cluster of cute mushrooms, if you pet a cat or dog or animal of your choice, if you spend twenty minutes talking with your friend on voice call, if you read a good book for half an hour in the morning, if you buy yourself a tasty $4 drink to treat yourself, then your adult life is worth it, and your adult life is enough. <3

[ectora]

REVIEW 311

Screen time

Macy : 23m26s

Maggie : 20m07s

Mel : 18m25s

Harry : 13m20s

Abigael : 5m02s

Jordan : 4m28s

Here is a table with the details of the time shared

Opinions

In a general manner I enjoyed the episode. It was entertaining and well passed. I don’t think it was their strongest episode so far but it was an entertaining one. It finally started to connect the other characters to the main storyline but also felt almost like a filler for the sisters. I also think the show should have maybe showed more consequences and different good things for the sisters. Because except for Mel (and I’ll come back to that later), the good things that happened to Maggie and Macy are pretty normal. It’s not like Maggie didn’t work for that internship. It’s not like a free legal clinic would get bad press. Or that it can’t happen to be upgraded in a hotel. Like yes what happened to antonio and that old man was really bad but at the same time it just didn’t feel like the sisters were gaining that much from it. Maybe if they had sticked to only it being the consequences of what they had to do to get the allergy off or something, rather than good things that could have normally happened, happening. I’m not sure that nakes sense but well lmao

Positive points:

The perfecti. They’re actually really entertaining on screens and are just funny. I think they were a great idea and a good addition to the story. And I’m genuinely excited to see more of them and how they’re story is going to unfold.

Josefina getting her powers. I’m glad they ended up giving her her powers with “wakening spell” similar to the one the sisters needed when they became witches. I really like her powers as well it’s so fitting.

Macy smiling. I have my issues with how the whole thing happened and I’ll take about it later but I’m glad she was finally able to catch a break. The show is often giving her storylines without a lot of time for her to just breath and I’m glad she finally got the opportunity to do so.

Abigael and Jordan. Listen, I just have a soft spot for their friendship. I just enjoy watching them. Tbh they both have easy chemistry with everyone but these two together just gives me good vibes. I just like them together on screen. I also liked how absolutely soft he was with her. And how she easily recognise his qualities. I just love them individually and together.

Maggie finally getting some therapy. I’m glad they’re finally giving that to her. Now can they extend that to like ... literally every single one of their main characters cause they all need it.

Josefina and Mel. As always their scene were really enjoyable. I think it’s always nice to see Mel show other people magic isn’t their only power. And I like how it shows how understanding and empathetic Mel really can be.

Mel and Maggie. Once again, their bond is so sweet and feels very natural. I just love seeing them share normal sisterly moments.

Negative points :

those are only going to be the actual negative points I have. Others that are more like annoyance, I’ll put them with the remarks.

Ruby. I’m just tired of this show giving zero effort to that relationship. I’m a big time abimel shipper but the treatment they give melby is just disrespectful at this point. They had one little moment where they said “oh she isn’t here” and then that’s it. Not even pretending to be on the phone. Or a text message. Nada. This needs to be fixed. Either get on it or get rid of it. But enough. Especially when you compare it to how they treat the straights.

Abigael’s story. Apparently some people don’t make the connexion with self harm, but to me said connexion is pretty obvious. More and more obvious especially after last episode where they showed us Abigael hurting herself directly. It was graphic and kinda unnecessary imo. I think the story itself, of having Abigael’s sides fight each other is interesting but the way they approached it was very careless and if they continue being so adamant about showing us how broken abi is, they need to actually be careful how they handle this.

Things that just don’t make sense:

Did no one tell Maggie about Jordan being cured ? I’m so confused 😭

Mel. Again, is no one ever going to talk about the fact she never finished her phd in season 1 ? Or didn’t have any teaching experience. I know it’s a small things that’s probably never going to be brought up but it’s been nagging me djdhd

At the end of the episode when they go back to putting the egg, suddenly the air isn’t toxic anymore and it’s small but i realised right away and just haven’t been able to get it out of my head.

Same with Josefina and the book. Mel was right there. Couldn’t she have taken it ? 😭

Why did Harry and Macy took the portal to Paris ? Why just not orb.

I’m still confused by the whole demon trying to kill the witch side of Abby to be honest. Like I’m not sure how hurting her physical body is going to do anything ? Isnt her demon part gonna die too then ? Parker’s made more sense because it was like a sickness, you could say the magical cells were killing he humans ones or something. But here ? I’m confused.

Talking about demon abi, ... why this ugly ass dress. I understand the reason for different noticeable clothes but why does it need to be this ugly. Abigael Jameson-Caine is too fashionable for this.

The entire book of shadow thing like ? Did we just forgot Mel presented the book to Josefina the episode before ? Are we just erasing that from our memories ? What’s happening.

How they gonna freeze the therapist and then just leave a note like is she not supposed to unfreeze ? Maggie is just gonna be gone ? And with a sudden note on her laps ? What.

Remarks & speculations

Hacy. I don’t dislike the couple don’t get me wrong. I think they’re sweet. But the show focuses too much on that relationship. Macy barely feels like she has a story outside of it at this point. At least Harry has the whole white lighter thing but again the reason he wants to be mortal is Macy so ... if just feels like the show continues to centre these two characters toward each other first. However it was great to see Macy happy. But again like The sisters had one hug and then that was if.

I’m really sad we didn’t actually see Macy and Josefina interact. Or that we won’t see her reach them a bit more about her magic and the whole new side they don’t know about.

My babies in the tomb. I’m just really wondering what the deal with the perfecti. Are they so big on duality, good and bad that it’s to an extreme that is dangerous ? Abigael in some ways I can understand. She’s the demon overlord. She’s powerful. Her demon form tried to go after TCO. But Jordan ? Was he just a collateral damage ? Did they judge him bad because he was with abi ? Because he was cursed ? Or is it a plan they have that involved isolating TCO ? (I doubt it but still a possibility). I mean he was probably out there cause he was helping abi but then it being strong questions about the perfecti’s moralities and visions of the world. Cannot wait to see more.

Abigael was ... broken to say the least. Kudo to poppy for that, Abigael looked absolutely exhausted. You could feel the fear and exhaustion in everything she did. And I feel bad for her because she’s not only mentally exhausted but physically too. She can’t sleep safely. And I don’t know if everyone realised the level all this must have reached for Abigael to be ready to give up everything. Because she is different from the sisters on this, she grew up as a magical being. That has been her entire life. What has been defining her since birth. For her to be so ready to give everything up so she could finally just find some peace ... she’s literally at her limits.

Talking about abi. We know the sisters are gonna try to help Jordan in episode 13 but does that mean they don’t realise Jordan is gone until then ? So it’s easy to assume 312 will also have abi/jordy mostly and in the tomb. Speculations - if the synopsis of 312 is indeed about saving Jordan from the tomb and not something else - is that they’ll realise on site than Abigael is stuck too and will help her as well. Unless she does something good to help jordan and because of that they decided to get her out too. That could connect both story and have a start on the redemption.

Also while abi is gone are the demons just gonna wait around ? Like the fact they all just willingly followed her rules doesn’t seem realistic but even less when the girl is no where to be found.

I just want Mel to get a proper storyline. And Macy too. Maggie I feel is actually the best written one development wise out of all of them.

I think they brought the storyline of Harry being worried about his age and waiting to be mortal too early. He has a good ten years on Macy anyway. And they barely started dating. There are already a lot of things going on and I genuinely feel like they should have left that for next season at least.

Highlights

Maggie in therapy. “You seem like you have a lot of demons” “are you under a lot of stress” was genuinely funny. Maggie is so naturally funny I really love her for it.

Mel saying there isn’t another shoe to drop and demon Abigael saying hold me beer.

The dogs that does math. Don’t ask me why it’s just funny.

Josefina using her powers after realising she still has them

Macy’s face when Harry told her about becoming mortal as if he isn’t constantly talking about it djdhd

Abigael’s soft “jordy”

Celebrating later, running now

The entire witch ceremony at the end.

[unholyobsessions]

And life goes on (though not always in the right direction)

Spencer Reid AU

Description: Spencer Reid has lived a horrible life, and every time he thinks it’s getting better, it somehow gets worse. 

Warnings: Bullying, Self harm, Suicide, Kidnapping/blood, Rape/Sexual assault, Depression, Death, Cussing, Drug use (if there are any others please message me and I will gladly add them. There is no warning too small.)

Word Count: 5.4k

The first time Spencer gets beat up it is his eight birthday. He doesn’t celebrate. His dad gets “stuck at work” (in reality he is out cheating on his wife with his assistant) and his mom forgets. He goes to the park with a book knowing that would be the best way to spend his birthday. A group of neighborhood kids walks up to him and asks him if he wants to hang out. He, of course, says yes.

Oh stupid and naive little boy.

They guide him to the bleachers and push him to the ground. Spencer looks up at them through teary eyes and they laugh. The first punch breaks his glasses and the second breaks his nose. The kicks against his abdomen bruise his ribs and cause him to throw up his breakfast. They all keep laughing. It isn’t until an hour later when they finally get tired and leave. Spencer curls himself into a fetal position and tries not to swallow the blood gushing from his nose. 

He walks alone to the hospital. His mother doesn’t notice he’s gone until the doctor calls her and asks her to pick up her son. His dad shows up with her. Spencer thinks he looks embarrassed. He refuses to meet his eyes. At first he thinks it’s because of his now crooked nose that will certainly need surgery but he later realizes that he is embarrassed of him. He is ashamed of who his son is. That is the first time that he cries himself to sleep. He gets beat up regularly after that. 

. . .

Spencer is ten when his father leaves. He tries to convince him to stay. He keeps reciting statistics about how a divorce could affect a child but all his father does is look at him with disgust and walk out the door. His mother has one of her episodes later that same night. Spencer can’t bring himself to calm her down so he locks his door and picks up his physics text book. Half way through the chapter he feels tears falling down his cheeks. He does his best to wipe them away but it’s no use. He allows himself to cry as he thinks about what his father leaving will inevitably cause. His mother is in no condition to hold down a job and he has no way of making money to pay for food and electricity. He’s glad that their medical insurance takes care of all of his mother’s medication. He eventually settles down and brings his blankets over his body, the distant sounds of his mother practicing for a lecture that will never come lulling him to sleep. 

The next day he goes straight to the local newspaper station and asks if he could have a job delivering the papers to the local neighborhoods. The owner is apprehensive at first until Spencer explains his situation. The man sighs and hands him a bag filled to the brim with the day’s news. Spencer rushes out of the building and jumps on his bike. He delivers newspapers everyday at six in the morning for the next two years.

He becomes used to hunger. He can’t buy books anymore as he is barely scraping together enough money to have a decent meal everyday. He never complains though. He forces the tears away and keeps moving forward. Things will get better. 

. . .

When he’s thirteen when he leaves for university. Cal-Tech. It’s the start of a new life. He enjoys his classes and regularly converses with his professors. Every time he gets the chance he takes the trip down to Las Vegas to check on his mom. She always assures him that she is perfectly fine (even though she isn’t) and he needs to stop worrying so much. 

He gets a job at the library. He puts the books back in their respective shelves and his eidetic memory certainly makes it easier. It isn’t fun, not in the slightest, but it pays better than selling newspapers and he’s in desperate need of money. He stays at the library between shifts and works on his homework. He uses the library’s computer since he can’t afford his own. 

He excels in all of his classes and makes extra money out of tutoring. The older students don’t take offense to a fourteen year old correcting them on their mistakes, for that he is extremely thankful. Still, it doesn’t mean he has friends. Most twenty-year-olds don’t want to spend their free time hanging it out with a know it all pre-teen. 

. . .

He slides a razor blade against his arm for the first time when he is fourteen. He doesn’t know exactly what makes him do it. The stress of college at such a young age or maybe the fact that he is completely alone in California. He considers the fact that it may be from the bruise forming on his lower abdomen, courtesy of a group of Frat guys. Maybe it’s all of the above. 

The only thing he knows for sure is that he relishes in the pain it gives him. It isn’t the same type of pain he feels whenever he gets beat up, no this feels better. He gives himself two cuts before hiding the blade and cleaning himself off. He wraps a bandage over his forearm and goes to class. 

The next day he sits in the bathroom and debates whether he should do it again. He knows he shouldn’t. He is aware that this is not good for him. He thinks about going to the campus therapist but quickly shuts down the idea. He can’t talk about what he is going through. He has no right to feel the way he does. He is going to a prestigious college on a full ride scholarship. He is passing all of his classes, he finds them easy. But he can’t help the way he feels. He looks at himself in the mirror and feels disgusted with what he sees. 

He has no one. No one to take care of him. No one to talk to. No one to ask him how his day went. He understands why his father left. He wouldn’t want to have himself as a son either. 

He slides the blade three times. 

Two weeks later he is up to six cuts per day. The scars are ugly but Spencer can’t bring himself to care. He avoids looking in the mirror, it only makes the desire to feel the cold blade on his skin worse. No, he isn’t suicidal, at least he doesn’t think so, but he can’t help but throw his head back as blood gushes down his arm. 

. . .

He is sixteen when his mother dies. He has just finished his first PhD and comes home to visit and celebrate. At one point he goes out to the store and comes back to find his mother on the floor. 

She isn’t breathing. 

He eyes the bottle of pills on the floor and then looks to the counter to see another one. 

They’re both empty.

He cries. He cries for over an hour before he gets up and starts packing his stuff. He takes all of his money as well as some clothes and other necessities. He calls the paramedics on his way out the door. He takes the first bus out of Las Vegas and never looks back. 

He doesn’t return to Cal-Tech. Social Services finding him will be too easy if he does. He’s a minor and his guardian is dead. He has two options. He can either find a way to contact his dad (which social services probably does) and go live with him. He doesn’t dwell on the thought long. Option two is to allow himself to be turned over to the state and be inevitably placed in an overcrowded foster home that only takes children in for money. He dismisses the thought quickly. He ends up choosing option number three. 

He runs away. He ends up in Arizona. He doesn’t remember how many buses it takes him to get there. He stays at a cheap motel and has to resist the urge to walk to the bathroom and open old scars. It’s been months, he tells himself, you have to be strong. He makes a call to the University of Oxford. They had offered him a scholarship when he had originally applied when he was thirteen. He declined their offer, obviously, and decided to stay closer to home. Closer to his mom. Who is dead now. He shakes his head and forces himself to stop thinking about it. He requests to talk to the Dean. He gives his name and he is quickly transferred to his office. 

Yes, they do have a place for him in school. Of course, they would be honored to have him complete his studies there. 

Spencer hangs up the phone and calls the airline. One way ticket to England please. The next day he lugs his belongings all the way to the airport, not having enough money for a cab. He boards the plane and stares out the window officially saying goodbye to his life in the states. 

. . .

Maeve is dead. He is twenty years old and he is tied to a chair staring at his dead fiancée. He sees the blood pooling around her body and his throat feels raw from all the screaming. This isn’t supposed to happen. His life was finally good, stable. The first real glimpse of happiness he’s had since he was ten. Life can’t have gotten this bad. 

They have both been held captive for four days. Spencer being forced to watch as the man who took them repeatedly raped the woman he is in love with. Forced to endure having the shit beat out of him. Having to endure the feeling of the needle piercing his skin and ultimately enjoying the high that came afterward. 

The man smirks at him, the gun still in his hand. 

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” His voice comes out hoarse, not even he can recognize it. The man simply laughs and walks over to him. He holds the gun to his head and Spencer closes his eyes. He’s going to die. He wants to die. He craves the feeling of vast emptiness that came with death. He doesn’t think that he can deal with any more pain. 

The pressure of the gun leaves his head. He looks up and the man smiles at him, but there is no sincerity in his eyes. He hears the man saying something along the lines of “death is too easy” before plunging another needle in his vain. Spencer’s eyes roll back as a feeling of ecstasy overcomes his body. He hears the man walk away before he passes out. He wakes up to see officers untying him. He sees paramedics close the black bag over Maeve’s face. He feels tears fall down his face. 

“No,” he repeats over and over. He hears paramedics ask him his name. Does he remember how he got here? Can he tell them where he lives? Their questions fall on deaf ears. All Spencer can think about is how when he eventually gets out of the hospital he will have to go back to an empty apartment. He will have to pack up Maeve’s stuff. He will have to face her parents and tell them what happened. He will have to tell her dad that he will never get to walk his little girl down the aisle and her mom that she would never take her dress shopping. Spencer would never meet the eyes of the woman he loves as she reaches the altar. He will never get to say ‘I do’ and call her Mrs. Reid. 

He finds a dealer as soon as he gets home. 

. . .

He’s twenty two when he gets his fifth PhD. He has been clean for a little under a year and it is all thanks to his boss. He’s been living with him since he moved out of his apartment. He works at the local police station. He gives profiles on serial criminals. No one is ever going to have to go through what he went through. Not if he can help it. 

He based the past two years of his schooling solely on his new career choice. He gets an internship two months after the incident. 

He’s high most of the time. 

He still passes all of his classes with flying colors but his new boss knows that something is up with him, even if he has only known the kid for a month. The police chief approaches him one day when Spencer is sitting on his desk going over a cold case file. He invites him to dinner at his house and Spencer is both relieved and worried. Relieved that he wouldn’t have to go back to his god forsaken apartment for a few more hours and worried because he doesn’t know how bad his craving will get. He has developed a routine. Shoot up, go to school, go to work, come home at five, shoot up again. 

An hour into dinner and his boss asks him the question. Are you okay? It’s a loaded question, they’re both aware but Spencer notes that the man is genuinely concerned for his well being. He breaks down. He tells him everything. He doesn’t know why he is sobbing in front of a man who he has only known for a short while. Why he is telling him all of his problems. Why he rolls up both of his sleeves and shows him the scars that graze his inner elbow, and the ones that have healed over his forearm. 

From a psychological perspective he knows why he is doing it, why he allows himself to be so vulnerable in front of the man. He longs for a father figure. For a man to comfort him and care for him. He wants what his father never gave him as a child, what he never gave him as a teenager, what he never gave him as an adult. 

“I’m sorry sir,” Spencer sniffles. He is being unprofessional.

“You don’t have to call me sir, you know? You can call me Roger.” Spencer nods, not having the strength to speak up again. “You’re staying the night and then tomorrow we’ll go to your apartment to pack up your stuff and you’re moving in. I’m going to help you get clean.” 

Spencer is shocked but can’t bring himself to argue. He is exhausted. The next day they do just what Roger said they would do. It is a long journey. He will stay clean for about three weeks before something happens that makes him fall back to his disgusting habit. Roger will sometimes come home to see Spencer sobbing in the bathroom, a syringe lying next to him. He immediately pulls him close and assures him that it’s okay.  

He beats it though. It will be a year next month since the last time he had any drug in his system. He’s proud of himself. 

Roger walks over to him as he closes his phone. They are in one of their co-worker’s backyard. They all insisted that they needed to celebrate his new achievement. Spencer had rolled his eyes but accepted their kind gesture and is now sipping his drink and making conversation when Roger calls his name. 

Roger takes a second to mull over the progress Spencer made. He’s proud of him. He loves the kid like his own but the future of their father-son relationship will be determined what he is about to say. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Spencer asks casually, pushing a hand through his long hair. 

“I just got a call from Interpol,” he pauses, Spencer freezes. “They have offered me a position.” He waits for Spencer’s reaction. 

“You’re leaving.” Spencer can’t believe this is happening. Not again. He starts to wonder if life will ever allow him to have even a sliver of happiness. 

“I am.” Spencer avoids looking at him. “But I want you to come with me.” That catches his attention. 

“What?”

“I told them that if they want me then they will also have to offer a position to the smartest and most hard working man I know. I made it clear that I am not going to take the position unless they put you on my team. So what do you say? Want to work at Interpol with me?” 

Spencer is shocked to say the least. It’s a great opportunity. Tears well up in his eyes as he looks at the man who cares for him like a son. The man who encouraged him to beat his addiction, who makes him feel like he is worth something. He nods his head and hugs him. He hears their co-workers cheering behind them and he lets out a laugh. Maybe life will allow him to be happy. 

. . .

Wrong. Life always likes to give Spencer a nice kick in the ass. He has been working at Interpol with Roger for about a year and a half and at the ripe age of twenty-four he is one of their most valued members. He is seated quietly at his desk, nursing a horrible migraine when a file is dropped in front of him. He looks up at Roger and sees the sympathy in his eyes. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion before picking up the file. 

His breath hitches in his throat. 

Couple kidnapped and held for four days. Woman shot execution style with evidence of repeated sexual assault. Male beaten brutally with traces of narcotics in his system. 

He can’t breath. He tries but he can’t seem to make his lungs work. He starts to hyperventilate. He can hear Roger saying his name but he can’t focus enough to respond. He’s back. It’s been four years and there has been no cases with even a similar M.O. He is aware that he is having a panic attack but he can’t bring himself to even try and match Roger’s breathing. His inner elbow itches. 

No.

It would make things easier. No dealing with the pain. 

No. No. No. I won’t do it. Not again.

It’s only once. You want to. You’re weak. 

No. I’ve come so far, I will not give it up. 

Then how about the blade? Just like when you were fourteen. Weak little Spencer Reid. You’re pathetic.  

NO!

He doesn’t remember passing out. 

He wakes up with Roger standing over him. He apologizes and Spencer reassures him that he is fine. He wants to work the case. No, not wants, needs to work the case.  Roger refuses. But he knows the case better than anyone. They argue for a while. In the end Spencer wins (he always wins). 

Roger informs him that a team of profilers from the FBI is coming to help solve the case. The killer wasn’t dormant, he went to the United States and continued killing there. Same M.O. Only last week did he return to the U.K. 

“The FBI has worked this case and they want to continue working it,” Roger explains. 

Spencer nods and walks back to his desk. He starts going over the file and victims. He realizes that his name isn’t listed. The victims start with his first kill in the U.S. He feels relief at the fact. He studies the file for a few more hours before Roger tells him to call it a night. They walk to the car together and head home. 

The next day the FBI team arrives. The Behavioral Analysis Unit. Spencer has heard of them, he even studied some of their cases when he first started profiling. They walk in and go straight to Roger, completely ignoring Spencer. He’s not surprised. Strangers never seem to realize that he actually works here. He doesn’t exactly have a sign over his head that reads “I have an IQ of 187 and have five PhDs. I also have an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute.” 

Roger greets them and introduces them to Spencer. 

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid, he’s my lead on the case and my second in command. If I’m not available, anything he says goes.” The team all wears various expressions of shock. 

A white male with dark hair, who Spencer assumes is the leader, breaks first and introduces himself and the rest of them. “I’m Agent Hotchner, these are SSAs Rossi, Morgan, Jareau, Greenaway, and Prentiss and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia.” He holds out his hand and Spencer hesitates. 

“Oh uh I don’t shake hands.” Roger snorts fondly while the team all assumes the Dr. to be a pretentious asshole (he isn’t) (most of the time). They were all led to the conference room which Spencer has already set up. There are two maps on the walls, one of England and the other of the U.S. There are tacks placed at the places where all the victims were held. 

The FBI has been here for three weeks and are no closer to catching the killer. Two other couples have been taken. Spencer never goes to the crime scene. He is barely holding it together, the itch on his arm getting stronger as he clutches his sobriety coin, he can’t bear to look at the scene that is almost identical to the one he found himself in four years ago. Of course the team doesn’t know this. They all think that he doesn’t have the guts to do the job. They often find themselves discussing the young man’s incompetence and how if he can’t handle the case then he shouldn’t work it. They always stop the conversation when he walks in though. One day however, they don’t hear his approaching footsteps as they make fun of him. 

“How old is he? 15? The kid is too damn young to be working a job like this.” Morgan pops a peanut in his mouth after speaking. 

“He probably fucked his way into his position,” JJ says. 

“I mean the way he handles the files. He can’t even look at the pictures. He looks like a baby watching a horror movie,” Prentiss laughs. 

“I still don’t understand. Who let him in here? This isn’t a daycare or a kindergarten.” All three agents laugh at JJ’s comment before a voice shuts them up. 

“You don’t know me.” Their heads snap up to see the man in question standing in the doorway. “You have no right to judge me.” The glare he is giving them is scarier than Hotch’s. 

“Kid we-” That draws the line. 

“I’m not a kid Agent Morgan. The only people acting like children in this building are you three. You have no idea what I have been through. I’m sure you wouldn’t even be able to handle a fraction of the shit show that is my life.” His breathing is heavy and his voice is rising along with his temper. 

“We’re sorry it’s just that you’re so young. We didn’t think-” Spencer cuts Prentiss off. 

“Exactly. You didn’t think did you? Well let me enlighten you. I was brutally bullied since I was eight. My father left me and my paranoid schizophrenic mother when I was ten. I had to work to pay the bills and to be able to have a meal at least once a day. Then I went to college and things got better right? Not really since I still had no friends so I decided self harm was the way to go. Oh and my mother died when I was sixteen. The only person who ever gave a shit about me, killed herself. I came home one day and she was lying on the ground with an empty bottle of pills next to her. I packed up and left because I refused to go with my father or go into foster care. Do you think my life got better after that?” He waits to see if they will answer. They don’t. 

“Well for a while it did. I met the love of my life and we were going to get married. And then we were kidnapped. I was tied to a chair and drugged regularly as I watched my fiancée get raped. Then the psychopath put a gun to her head and shot her in front of me. I watched as the blood pooled around her body and I kept wishing that he had killed me as well. I kept doing drugs. Believe it or not, four days of getting shot up with dilaudid made me an addict. It took me a year to be able to get clean. And when I finally thought it was over a file got dropped on my desk. He was back. The reason for my nightmares, the man my therapist keeps trying to make me forget, was back,” he paused and took a deep breath. “So I’m sorry agents if I can’t go and examine the scene. I’m sorry that I get a little jittery when looking at the case files. But don’t you ever accuse me of not being able to do my job. I’m damn well good at what I do, despite my age. Yes I am only twenty-four but you three have made it quite clear that I am much more mature and capable of doing this job than you are.” With that he turns around, only to come face to face with Roger. He nods at him, a sign that he can leave. Spencer walks out of the conference room and toward the elevator. He gets in, waits for the doors to close and bursts into tears. 

Back in the conference room Morgan, Jareau, and Prentiss are faced with an angry Unit Chief and a fuming Director. 

“I want you out of here,” Roger looks at the three agents before turning back to Hotch. “I will not allow you to continue working this case with us unless they leave right now. They should get suspended for the trouble they have caused. Dr. Reid is one of Interpol’s greatest assets and I will not tolerate three strangers who got here three weeks ago to stand here and insult him. So Agent Hotchner unless they are sent home, your team is no longer welcomed here. And I will make sure to report this to your Section Chief and the FBI Director.” Roger walks out of the room and goes after his son. 

Hotch turns back to his team and none of them think they have ever seen him look as angry as he does that very moment. “Prentiss, Morgan, Jareau, pack your bags, you're leaving. You’re suspended two weeks without pay, effective immediately. After your suspension is over you’ll have a meeting with the director to discuss your future at the Bureau. If it were up to me the three of you would be fired, but sadly it isn’t. You have shamed and dishonored the reputation of the Bureau and frankly I wouldn’t be surprised if Interpol severed ties with us. Now I am going to apologize to Dr. Reid and Roger and I hope to see you gone by the time I come back. I do not want to hear another word out of you unless it is an apology.” Hotch leaves the room but not before sending them one last glare. Rossi, Elle, and Garcia all look at them and follow after Hotch. To say they are disgusted by their teammates’ behavior is an understatement. 

Spencer is inside his car, sniffling and trying to get himself together. He doesn’t know what came over him inside the conference room but all the stress from the past three weeks took a toll on him and he found the perfect outlet to release it. A knock on his window startles him. Roger smiles before opening the door and sitting in the passenger seat. They sit in silence for a while, neither of them sure how to approach the conversation. 

“You’re not in any trouble,” Roger starts. “If you hadn’t yelled at them son, I was going to and we both know how that would have ended up.” They both chuckle and fall into a comfortable silence. 

“Do you think we’ll catch him?” Spencer speaks up. 

“With you working the case? There is no doubt in my mind.” 

They do catch him. Two weeks later Spencer is standing in an abandoned warehouse in front of the unsub with his revolver raised. The man, Tommy Montgomery, had his gun at the woman’s head, a sick smile on his lips. 

“I remember you,” Montgomery exclaimed. “I killed your fiancée four years ago, didn’t I?” 

Spencer could kill him right now. “Put the gun down. You don’t have to do this. We can help you if you just put the gun down.” Spencer recites the speech that he has said dozens of times to dozens of criminals. 

“Help me?” the man laughed. “You don’t want to help me. You want me to rot in a cell for the rest of my life. We both know there is only one way this can end.” Montgomery raises his gun at Spencer but he isn’t fast enough. 

Spencer unloads three rounds straight to his heart. He lowers his weapon and rushes over to him. He places two fingers above his collarbone--he will never admit that nothing brought him greater joy than realizing that he had no pulse. He goes to untie the male victim as paramedics rush inside. Roger walks over to Spencer once they are outside and pulls him into a hug. 

“It’s over son.” 

Spencer cries and clings onto him as sobs rack his body. He separates himself and takes a few calming breaths. He walks over to the BAU team, which now only consists of three members and their tech analyst. He thanks them profusely and the three of them reassure him that he has nothing to thank them for. Hotch looks at the young genius for a second before making an offer. 

“You know we have three spots open on our team now. If you want to, you are always welcomed at the FBI.” 

“Oh,” he doesn’t know what to think. He hasn’t gone back since he was sixteen. Was he ready? “Thank you really. I’m not sure I’m ready to go back to the states at this moment but maybe in a few months or years, if you’ll still have me, I’ll gladly join you.” Spencer holds out his hand and Hotch laughs before taking it and giving it a firm shake. 

“Good luck Dr. Reid.” 

“You too.” 

. . .

Five months later Spencer goes back to Oxford. He’s doing better. His cravings don't come as often and when he looks in the mirror, he isn’t ashamed or disgusted at what he sees. His therapist only requests to see him once a week now and Roger doesn’t hover over him at work.

He stands in the cemetery next to the church he was going to be wed at. He walks across the wet grass, scrunching his face at the squishing noises his shoes make. He faces Maeve’s grave and a shaky breath leaves his lips. He sits down next to the tombstone and starts talking. He tells her about everything that happened in the past months and how he finally avenged her death. He tells her about his progress and how his mental health has improved so much since he last talked to her. He sits there for hours during the day and well into the night until he runs out of things to say. 

“You would be so proud of me sweetheart. But now to what I actually came here to say. I came to say goodbye.” He takes a deep breath as a few tears roll down his cheeks. “I will love you forever and I will keep missing you every single day. But it is time that I move on. I need to find happiness and maybe that happiness isn’t here. I ran away when I was sixteen and I don’t want to run away anymore. So this may be the last time in a while that I come and talk to you. I love you Maeve Reid, to the moon and back.” Spencer stands up and places the ring he was going to wear for the rest of his life on top of the tombstone. He walks away as he takes out his phone and dials a number he never thought he would actually call. It rings for a few seconds before a familiar voice comes through the receiver.

“Hotchner.” 

“Does the offer still stand?”

[b4kuch1n]

The Future Is In Space! (and so is the rest of you)

Okay, so. Gordon should’ve seen this coming. 

And he did, to be fair: Joshua’s always loved space. Joshua loved the idea of flying cars when he was a tiny little thing, if the fact that all of the toy cars he had were thrown with intense force at one point or another meant something, and he clapped at the night sky once when Gordon got them both stuck at a gas station in the middle of nowhere due to… circumstances… which was super, ultra, uber cute as fuck . Especially because Gordon had just applauded him for singing along to a song on the radio when they parked, and that was very possibly the first time Joshua registered clapping as a possible positive reaction to something he likes, or whatever like that. Gordon Freeman has a PhD in theoretical physics and theoretical physics only.

The point is that Gordon loves Joshua so fucking much. No, the point is that Joshua has always liked space. He chose for himself a set of space-themed PJs when Gordon took him to the mall, and he likes food with weird colors because that’s “alien food”, and he has given away all of the toy cars he had to make space for toy space ships of many sizes, and Gordon has had to have a conversation with him once about upending a dusty fish bowl onto his own head so he could look like an astronaut. He doesn’t do that anymore, because Joshua is genuinely a really smart kid who just needs the required pieces of information to put things together by himself. 

Gordon loves him so much. 

Gordon also has only experienced a single year of relatively radiation-free, sludge-free, organic, non-Black Mesa- poisoned air and also freedom (to an extent) since. You know. Almost dying and also losing his right arm in Black Mesa. Where he jumped into a few portals, one of which leading to an alien world called Xen, where he had to kill what seemed to him at the time a spiteful god against his own existence. 

That, and not the Joshua-loves-space part, is the part he didn’t see coming. Hadn’t. Still doesn’t, if he can be honest for a minute. There are days it still doesn’t feel real, just to contrast nicely with the days when what’s left of his right arm and his right shoulder hurt, and days when power outage hit unexpectedly and the lights went out without warning, and days when he fights to not let some stupid fucked up slights against him go because that’s just how the world is that’s how things are now keep your head down and don’t think Gordon just shoot just let your trigger finger pull itself in you are in a comedy of error a laugh track a monkey on a leash just dance just move your feet j

Hey, no digging your heels in there. Throw yourself off your rhythm, Gordon. Joshua. Joshua loves space. Joshua is going to an elementary school now. Joshua just came home from a “career” day, and the parent invited to speak is a retired astronaut. 

Joshua said: “I wanna be an astronaut when I grow up!”

Joshua likes numbers. Somewhat. He’s not averse to them, at the very least, and homework’s kind of bullshit from the concept to the execution but when Gordon and Tommy and Coomer sit down to keep him engaged while he does it he has fun with math homework. He likes video games, he likes the puzzles in the youth magazines they signed up for at his school, he likes messing with shape blocks and pulls out some cool combinations Gordon doesn’t see coming sometimes. Joshua is a smart kid that enjoys a fair challenge. Joshua is totally astronaut materials. 

Joshua is going to space. 

Joshua is absolutely going to space. 

Xen is, coincidentally, also in space. 

Gordon is calm. He totally has a good poker face. He performs well under pressure, especially very specific types of pressure, e.g. when there are rules in place he can cling to and ground out an appropriate plan of action. He could improvise a presentation in class in a pinch, because he knew what presentations are and what he’s been working on and what the teacher expected. He could jimmy his car out of an ice patch, because he knew how cars work and how ice acts. He can smile and say “That’s great, Joshie! You just gotta work hard for it, and then you’ll be in space in no time.”

Gordon has an image he can provide to show how he feels.

[Picture ID: a drawing of Gordon Freeman standing in front of his son Joshua, cut off at their chest. Gordon is a tall man, a bit heavyset, with tan skin and mid-back length, messy curly brown hair that’s greyed at his temples due to stress from surviving the hellhole that is Black Mesa and Xen. He’s wearing his comfortable worn-and-faded t-shirt, which is orange with a very faded graphic printed on the front. Joshua is a young boy with brown skin and short dark curly hair, brown eyes that’s brimming with light and happiness, and a wide happy smile. He’s wearing a light green t-shirt. Gordon is smiling at him, with another shot of his face enlarged and superimposed on the drawing right next to his head. This Gordon is screaming. This Gordon is screaming his heart out, and his face is scrunched up while his mouth opens wide, and he’s screaming a silent scream and he will never stop.]

---

Contrary to how it appears to everyone, Benrey doesn’t live full time at the Freemans’. 

Well. He does “sleep” there. If he actually sleeps. That’s one of the questions that Gordon has had ever since Black Mesa that he never got to or bothered to ask, and then when they had to defeat Benrey in the final boss fight he thought that was it with his chance to ever ask. And then Benrey came back and the situation took a hard left into throw-the-whole-suitcase-out awkwardness and Gordon thought it better to never bring those questions up ever again. It’s. Ongoing. Like his climb back into being a normal, mostly law abiding, neutral good citizen, who has no ties to that research facility that blew up and opened a portal to hell in space. 

It helps that Benrey really is just… a dude. Now that he’s not eighty feet tall and clipping through walls anymore, he can definitely pass as someone who just really loves to mess with people for a laugh. Which… well, Gordon’s judgement of character is probably better discarded in the kitchen trash compactor now, but he’s not gonna lie and say that’s all Benrey seems to him. He doesn’t even mess with people for laugh, not really. He is just. Like that. He’s an alien, but in the sense that’s… 

Well, to Benrey, humans are alien. So that’s that. 

And also Black Mesa did stretch the definition of ‘human’ in the physical sense pretty thin. So, again, that’s that. It all fits together like sliced pita bread. 

The other thing that helps is that Gordon has the tendency to forget about risks or consequences when they are not directly in front of him, which he sometimes overcorrects, but this time around it helps move the sentiment into the philosophical window pretty quick, and then he can throw a brick through that one, because philosophy sucks ass. Gordon’s moving along well! He only had to change prosthetics twice because the first two were in order too heavy for his shoulder and too energy consuming, and all three are fully covered by the overlords that didn’t want Black Mesa to become a Thing in history, and now he works remotely for a uni that just lets whatever happen. It’s chill. It’s mostly chill. 

He could’ve just chugged along never thinking even an inch deeper about Benrey’s Benrey-ness again, and Benrey makes that easy, because Benrey loves walking around and looking at things and being a bit of a spectacle with a straight face. Okay, Gordon doesn’t know for sure if Benrey loves doing those things, because he’s not Benrey. He just knows that Benrey does those things, frequently, and with an expertise that baffles even him, who knows full well how Benrey is. Well enough. Awkward territory, all of this is, really. The Point Is that Benrey actually doesn’t appear at home too much! He plays games through the night sometimes, sure, and ever since he called second dibs on any cereal in the apartment he always appears at the right time to claim that, but the whole thing is. Balanced. Benrey doesn’t seem to have physical personal belongings outside of the PS3 and four copies of Heavenly Sword he lugged back one day (the rest of the game library everyone kinda chimed in here and there to build up, because console is common ground fair use for everyone, while PC is where Gordon streams and also works, so it’s off limit), and he rarely uses utensils to eat anything, so to anyone but the team it’d seem like he’s barely there at all. Except for his presence of course. That’s… a lot harder to negotiate.

Gordon’s gotten very, extremely good at it though. It’s his life. Things fit together, mostly. He can deal, he has been dealing, and it’s even been fun. It’s definitely really funny here and there. 

Gordon’s about to break the equilibrium. Introduce a nasty new specimen into the scene.

“Bro I knocked for a hot minute,” Benrey says, at the same time as Gordon’s blurting out, “I need to go back to Xen.” 

“Huh.”

“Wha- Why do you knock? You’ve never knocked. You’ve literally only ever broken in.” 

“Wanna… start now.” Benrey intones in that exact way, and then knocks on the door again. It doesn’t even sound good. These doors are all made with the weird thick composite that makes a dull plastic sound when knocked on. 

“Don’t do that, just use the doorbell if you want to-” Gordon catches himself. “No matter. I need to go back to Xen. As soon as possible, but anytime in the next… twelve years… will work.” 

Benrey just looks at him for a long time. An extended minute. Maybe even two. 

Gordon is just staring back. 

“You’re at. The door.” Benrey says, in a low voice. Gordon blinks. “Rude… rude little boy Freeman, huh.” 

Gordon takes a deep breath. “Benrey-”

“Gonna let me in? Soon? ‘s bad etiquette… greeter… doesn’t even let guests in. Bet your wares aren’t even good.” 

“Alright! Alright.” Gordon snaps, but he also does step back for Benrey to walk in, which. Really, that’s never been necessary. Benrey’s always come in and out as he pleases. Usually Gordon just walks out into the living room and Benrey’s already on the couch playing whatever game catches his eyes on that day. The decorum of knocking and walking in is simply never present. 

Well, Benrey does knock on Joshua’s bedroom door. But that’s it. 

They walk together into the living room, then Benrey situates himself on the couch, and Gordon settles on the carpeted floor next to the table to observe him. He’s never seen Benrey actually fold his limbs up into the position he’s usually already in when walked in on before. It’s mostly normal movements, which still catches Gordon off-guard a bit.

“Nice couch you’ve got here,” Benrey says, and pulls out his phone to fiddle with. It’s a Nokia 2700 Classic, with a theme downloaded from the Ovi Store, and a firefighter-themed 2D platformer that does get insanely hard in places. Tommy got him a snazzier Blackberry a while back, but he refused that one. Gordon didn’t really get it, but. Whatever. 

“It’s always been here,” Gordon replies on reflex.

“Liar… Gordon Lie… man.” Benrey seems to need to chew on that one for a second. “Gordon Lieman. This building’s like. Ten years old.” 

“That’s practically forever dude.  That’s longer than they sent me to MIT for. Joshua’s not even that old.” 

“He’s gonna. In… seven… years.” 

Gordon remembers what he needs to talk with Benrey about again. “Goddamnit,” he slaps his own face - not with the hard prosthetic this time, thank you very much. Took him six months of HEV training and a year with a prosthetic to get it to heart. “Okay, so. Xen.”

“Wait. Math’s wrong… eleven. Years.”

“Don’t distract me! Xen!” Gordon throws his arms up, finally making Benrey actually look at him proper. “Joshua wants to be an astronaut when he grows up.” 

Benrey puts his phone down. 

“Yeah,” Gordon scrubs his face, with his flesh hand. “So I need to… do something about Xen. I have a plan. I need to find materials, and then I need a way to Xen…” 

“What’s an astronaut.” 

“A- no.” Gordon sits up straight. “No, you’re fucking with me. You’re doing this on purpose. I’m fucking about to go nuts, dude.” 

Benrey looks him up and down, makes sure his head movement is clear in the dark living room, lit only by the lamppost outside the window. “Yeah,” he says, “no shit. You wanna go back to… Xen… and stuff. Freeman lost his mind.” 

Gordon opens his mouth to retort, but then closes it with a click. “Okay,” he mumbles after a moment of thinking it over, “okay. I get where you’re coming from.”

“Haha, get it. ‘cause I’m from. Xen. And shit.” 

“Not funny, dude.” It is a bit funny. “But I’m not- okay, so, listen, Joshua’s a determined kid, alright? He’s smart, and he’s healthy, and he likes space. He’s… the chance of him becoming an astronaut is not zero.” Gordon pulls his legs up to his chest. “If it’s up to me, it’s gonna be a hundred percent, ‘cause that’d make him so happy. But even if I’m not the one writing the almighty script I’m still gonna do my best to help him if he’s serious.” 

Benrey continues looking at him. “Uh-huh.”

“And… that includes. Never letting him near Xen.” 

“Mm.”

“And I know, I know Xen’s like. Ten fucking floating rocks at least a million Texas lengths away from Earth, but it’s still there, y’know? It’s still there. You’re from there! You know it’s still…” 

“Yeah?”

“... I. Want to blow Xen up.” 

Benrey settles into the draw-me-like-a-French-girl pose. “Sounds good. How’re we doing that.”

“Well, we’ll need explosives that can actually detonate in Xen’s climate, and acquiring that’s gonna put me on so many shitlist-” Gordon almost physically grabs his own hand to yank himself back to Benrey’s answer. “Wait. Are you really just… relenting? Are you actually in this now. Benrey?”

“Say more about the explosive though.” Benrey blinks innocently at him. “Please? Explosive cool. Maybe illegal. Super cool though.” 

Gordon is not doing the frog mouth thing. He’s not. He’s totally not. He sighs a long sigh; there, no more rude expression. “I am only thinking about using explosives, because it’s costly and we’re gonna have to transport it. So you have nothing to snitch about. Who would you even snitch to, anyway? Fucking- we are under an indefinite two-way nondisclosure clause, if any of us ever open our mouth to a stranger about that we’re gonna get sacked, but. Wait are you even involved in that? You came back after we signed those papers. Well Tommy’s officially ‘representing’ us, so it’s all tangential kinda, so maybe he can just add you, but why would you-”

“No explosive run huh… What’re you gonna… use. Then.” 

“-subject yourself to the law- alright, yeah uh. To be honest I was thinking raw force? Because I do have around twelve years to make this work, and Coomer has insane strength that has leveled a Xen island before, and Bubby is… I think he just isn’t aware that there’s supposed to be a limit to human strength at all. They forget to put that in when they pumped him with knowledge juice. He can- wait, Bubby can just make fire. He can maybe negate the climate conditions for us, so explosives are still in the question here, and- Darnold, last I heard he’s doing some ‘Sour Patch Kids but real’ stuff… sounds like seriously corrosive stuff… We can. We can have a plan.”

Benrey is on his phone again. “Nice.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Gordon dry swallows some dust from the carpet. He realizes he’s gripping on it pretty hard with his prosthetic; he’s close to ripping a chunk of it out. He takes a deep breath and relaxes the plastic hand. “We’re gonna need to make and test the explosives, and we’re. I need to tell everyone. Convince them to help. And we’ll need a portal back to Xen.”

Benrey’s still clicking away on his phone - probably playing that firefighter game again - but he’s looking at Gordon at the same time. Gordon looks up just in time to catch the sharp grin disappearing from his face. 

Alright. Maybe Benrey does love doing Benrey things. At least one of them’s actively enjoying this.

---

Gordon’s well aware how ridiculous he is. Is sometimes seen as. Perceived as. Terminologies.

Mostly he copes fine with that. He’s lived it for as long as he’s alive. Most decisions he makes are met with a raised eyebrow at the sublest and outright laughter at the rudest. Transitioning, that was a long, long period of his parents going from “haha funny joke but don’t tell it in public yeah” to “oh shit that’s for real huh? That’s for real” to confused, but silent, silence. Him applying for MIT and seeking a scholarship was definitely the career advisor at his high school laughing uncomfortably for a long time, because Gordon’s never held down a project properly, has he? How’s he doing this? And then him adopting Joshua officially was at least ten separate conversations with Joshua’s grandparents patting him on the back, it’s okay if you don’t! We can care for him. It’s nice to have children around the house again! We know you’re busy! We know there’s things youngsters like you want to do before getting tied down with children. Trust us, we know. You don’t have to . 

Gordon knows. He’s never had to make any of the decisions he actively made, but one, that’s why they’re decisions and not punishments , and two, in many ways including cerebral, he did. Kind of have to. In many ways those are the only steps that make sense for him to take. They were the foundation to who he is as a person, with a sense of self that must be supernaturally obscure, because he’s. He’s got a lot of things to balance. A lot of tight ropes to walk. 

Gordon’s many things, a lot of those he doesn’t fucking recall himself. Maybe that’s by itself absurd enough. He’s had a lot of time to learn, and a bit of time to relearn, being okay with being absurd. 

Black Mesa “helped”, in the same way it spared the rest of him when it got his arm cut the fuck off. It’s a horror comedy. It gave him a bit of a new perspective on absurdity. 

“Don’t you dare,” Gordon grouches, because he’s learning. He’s always learning. “Don’t use the a-word.” 

Bubby puts his arm together in front of his chest. “I’m not about to! Don’t presume you know what I will do.” 

In a way Bubby’s incredulous look stings worse than Benrey’s deflection, Gordon reasons, because Benrey has emotional (?) stakes in Xen’s existence. Maybe he has an external heart or something that’s still beating and keeping him alive on Xen, though Gordon hopes he’d’ve at least been transparent about that when they talked about blowing the place up. Bubby though, Bubby doesn’t have emotional ties to many things altogether. Bubby’s also a tube baby who sets himself on fire with his thoughts. Himself and other people and/or objects. Not as absurd as Benrey being Benrey, but absurd enough to be way above Gordon on the a-scale, and thus has no rights to call Gordon absurd. 

“You have to admit though,” Bubby says after a moment of silence.

Gordon takes a deep breath. “No, actually, I don’t have to admit shit,” he says, with what he can call patience with just a little bit of definition stretching, “you ever thought of that? I actually can just never admit that blowing up a whole planetoid system is a bit out-of-the-box thinking of me. I can just say that it’s totally normal and expected behavior of me, and what’re you gonna do with that? Huh? Do go on.” 

“Oh don’t be pissy at me,” Bubby huffs, and goes back to staring at the buoy bobbing on the water surface, tied to his fishing line. “You’re scaring away the fish, Gordon. Everyone knows you don’t talk and stomp around on the piers while people are fishing. It’s rude.”

“You’re literally only trying to see if you can set a fish on fire as a prank,” Gordon points out, more for his own sanity than to prove anything to anyone, least of all Bubby.

Benrey looks like he’s ignoring Gordon and Bubby’s exchange, just sitting at the edge of the piers, legs swinging evenly, but Gordon well knows he’s listening in. If not because he’s somewhat invested then because most things that frustrate Gordon is great entertainment to him. 

He is, maybe, a bit, somewhat invested though, must be. He brought Gordon to where Bubby and Coomer are camping, afterall. No reasons else to do it, especially when they have time to wait for them to come back to civilization. Twelve years, in fact. 

Gordon can wait (he can forget, but in his book that’s the same as waiting, really), and he doesn’t begrudge Bubby and Coomer’s “honeymoon trip”, which has consisted thus far of them trampling about in ~~nature~~ , e.g. deep ends of the world that they do not and should not have access to, but somehow end up in anyway. Gordon only knew because Coomer’s grown fond of taking pictures, and once in a while if they get wifi he sends everyone some. The most memorable one was a pitch black square except for two dots of light in the distance, with the geotag pointing to them being in the Mariana trench. 

They’re having fun, and Darnold and Tommy take effort to “decontaminate” them between trips, as well as make them learn wildlife interaction guidelines (Bubby probably already knew, but he didn’t care, and still nobody’s sure if he cares now), so Gordon doesn’t mind. Has no reason to mind. Until now, but only a tiny bit. 

They decided to stop in a seaside town somewhere up North three days ago, and wifi’s spotty at best but Coomer still managed to send them pictures again - of him fighting a dolphin and Bubby making fun of a goat skeleton in a museum - and then Gordon got tired of staying up thinking about Xen at night and shot his shot. It took them another day to check their message again, and Bubby replied saying “don’t third wheel other people, weirdo” and Gordon just sighed and resigned himself to staying up way too late for another week or so. But then Benrey asked him to go to GameStop with him, which. Admittedly that was suspicious as hell, but Gordon reasoned Benrey knocked and asked to be let in the other day, so what the fuck, right. And then he stepped through the GameStop’s door, noticing the glass being darker than usual, and ended up on this piers where Bubby’s been trying to have a laugh at some poor fish’s expense.

Bubby made fun of him for third wheeling again, despite Benrey also being right there, and despite Coomer not even being there. 

“Did you guys have a fight or something?” Gordon asked, because maybe he can be a little bit spiteful. He’s allowed. 

“No,” Bubby grumbled. “Harold impressed Gregory with his punching power, so he’s invited to the Punching Tournament. I don’t like being in water for a long time so I stayed. Their sandwich’s not even good.” 

Gregory turned out to be the giant squid that lives a few kilometers off the shore, and another few kilometers under the sea level.

“I’m gonna issue an a-word ban, actually,” Gordon declares, when he comes back to where Bubby’s sitting on his journey to wear a track into the piers. “I think that’s more conducive to real conversations.” 

He’s being distracted, he knows. And maybe he’s letting himself be a bit distracted, so he can have a minute to improvise a script. Benrey just fast traveled him here, he did not prepare any materials, he doesn’t even have his notebook with him. That’s where all of his plans are! And his doodles. Mostly his doodles, but that’s a part of his thinking process, so he’s allowed. 

“Alright, Mister Fucking-Insane-Person,” Bubby shrugs.

“Doctor.”

“Oh, my bad! Doctor Fucking-Insane-Person.”

“Also that’s a ban dodge and you know it. Also you still don’t have any rights to call me anything! I refuse to submit in this matter.”

Bubby turns around fully to put his hand on crossed legs and stare at Gordon. “You sure, Gordon? Are you very sure about that, when you warp out of thin air to where I am missing my husband very much and not torturing fishes for fun, saying things about blowing Xen up ? Is that not ragingly absurd, Doctor ?” 

Gordon takes another deep breath. For his own benefit. For his own wellbeing. “Okay, one, Benrey warped me here, I was not responsible for that. Two, you’re trying to set fishes on fire, and your husband is punching more fishes while a giant squid cheers him on, probably. And three, which part of blowing Xen up is absurd, now? Feel free to elaborate on it. I’m all ears.”

“The very idea of it!” Bubby exclaims, accidentally shoving his fishing rod off the optimal position, chasing away the few fishes not shunned by his radiating malicious intent yet. “Who even thinks of that?”

“Me,” Gordon snaps back, “and you guys kinda ruined what ‘absurd’ even means at all for me, so don’t try me at it.”

Bubby shuts his mouth with a click, but his brows are still furrowed in the exact way that claims, loudly even if soundlessly, that he thinks that’s stupid.

“No, go on, Doctor Bubby,” Gordon presses. “You’ve got the quiz. Try your hand at it again, go ahead.”

“Alright, then, how are we even doing it? If we’re doing it. And there’s no we yet, mind you.” 

“I- okay.” Gordon holds his hands up. “I’ll admit I do not have the specifics yet. But logistically at least, it’s entirely possible. We’ll need,” he calculates a number real quick, “thirteen hundred pounds of column charge slurry, but if we have something high corrosive we can wrap up safely until detonation we’ll need even less. We can. Make that much. If we have Darnold’s help. We need access to Xen itself, which Tommy has the biggest chance to get. We’ll need to put the explosives deeper into the ground than surface level, so we’ll need to dig some holes, but with Doctor Coomer’s strength we can take care of that. And then we’ll need to trip it, and that might pose a problem in Xen’s climate, but we can manage a chemical fuse, or. Y’know. Just burn it hot enough to explode, which.” 

He ends that speech with a vague and a bit jerky wave of his hand towards Bubby. 

Bubby just blinks. “Huh.” 

Benrey snickers under his breath, either at a fish or at Bubby’s reaction, Gordon doesn’t know. He wouldn’t even be able to guess, since Benrey still has his back to the entire commotion.

Gordon catches himself holding his breath, so he consciously exhales slowly. It’s okay. It’s whatever. He has twelve years. He can take some detours if necessary. He can forget, even. Maybe.

“That Doctorate turns out to be for something, huh,” Bubby continues. “That does sound pretty plausible, afterall.”

“Huh,” Gordon’s turn to blink. “Wait, that’s it? You’re in now?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Bubby swings his arm out, “even though I’d like to be testy for a while longer, I also want to blow things up. Outside is very large, but it severely lacks opportunities to see things explode, so I’ll have to make it happen myself now.” 

That’s a tiny bit worrying, but Gordon’ll take it. He’s used to Bubby being a tiny bit worrying anyway. Wouldn’t be Bubby without it. 

“Now shoo,” Bubby turns around to fiddle with his fishing rod again, carefully moving it back to the optimal position, “you chased all the fishes off. Gonna have to start my work from the beginning now. It’s hard work tricking fishes, you know.” 

“Don’t tell Coomer,” Gordon warns, “I want to let him know myself.” 

“Sure, sure.” 

“I’m serious.”

“Aren’t you ever.” 

Gordon figures he’s done all he can on that front. 

Benrey catches up with him when he’s walked away dramatically for a few minutes and is now at the main street of the town. “Rudeman.”

Gordon did forget him at the piers, so that’s on him. “Sorry, but also, do you have a plan to get us home, or what? ‘Cause I don’t have my car and I’m not hitching a random ride if I can help it.” 

“Gotta... find a GameStop first. Score some Sports Champions 2 for the. PS3.” 

“Alright.” Gordon nods. “Wait, do you need a GameStop to transport us? Is that a thing?”

“Huh,” Benrey just looks at him, and then pulls out his brick phone.

Gordon rolls his eyes, but then catches a glimpse of the screen, and sees the digital clock. “It’s- fuck, it’s almost five! Joshua’s almost home.”

“Oh look, no GameStop on the… roadside. What’re we gonna do.”

“Benrey, you- goddamnit,” Gordon frantically pulls his phone out of his pocket. He tries to yank his right arm out of Benrey’s hold to hold it steady, but Benrey doesn’t yield. “Fucking, let me,” he unlocks it and finds Joshua’s number, which is on top, because he added ‘01’ before his name, because he’s had plenty of experiences with arranging files so they don’t disappear on him, “c’mon, c’mon… Hey Joshie! Are you at school right now?” 

“Hi Dad, yes,” Joshua answers, at the same time Gordon registers that he’s walking, Benrey pulling on his arm. 

“Sorry I called in the middle of class, buddy, but we’re gonna. I’m gonna be a bit late home, okay? I’m outside right now, but I’m on my way- oh, no, we.”

They’re in his living room. Gordon puts his arm, just released, on top of the couch. This is his couch. The bowl of cereal he finished right before Benrey dragged him out’s still on the table. The PS3 lays silent in the TV cabinet, as it’s always been. He does go around the table to put his free hand on all of these things just to be sure. 

“Dad?” Joshua asks from the other end of the line. “Are you okay?”

“I.” Gordon dry swallows. “No, yeah I- I got home. Me and Benrey were out for a bit and we got? Lost? But we found our way back, and I’m. I’m home now. I was really worried I wouldn’t make it back in time to open the door for you, so I called! But I’m home now.”

“That’s good!” Joshua says, even though Gordon can still hear worry in his voice. Sweet kid, his boy is. “Thank you for telling me in ad-advance.” 

“I’m sorry I interrupted your class. Dad’ll be more careful next time.” 

“It’s okay. What are we having tonight?” 

Gordon takes a deep breath, holds it in for a moment, and then breathes it out, slowly. “We can have mac and cheese again, or we can try our hand at naan and make some soup to go with it,” he says, willing his voice to calm down. “We still have the yeast Ms. Juney gave us last month, right? We can go get bread flour when you’re home.”

“Okay.”

“Go back to class, buddy. See you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah. Can we have chowder tonight too?” 

Gordon laughs. “We’ll look into it, but sure! If we can find the ingredients for it. Alright, bye now. Love you, honey.”

“Okay,” Joshua says again, and when Gordon’s about to move the phone from his ear, he adds, “Love you too, Dad.” And then he hangs up. 

Gordon goes to the couch and sits down. He’s maybe cradling his phone a bit. It’s still warm from him gripping on it way too hard. Deep breath in, deep breath out. 

“That went well, huh,” Benrey says, from the hallway. Gordon looks up to see him closing the door behind him, what looks like a copy of Sports Champions 2 for the PS3 in hand. 

Gordon laughs, again, for real this time. “That’s- where'd you even get that?

---

They did make naan, or a version of it. Joshua likes messing with flour, Gordon caught him walking his fingers through the bowl, leaving tiny “footprints”. They couldn’t agree on a fish to put in the chowder, so they shelved that plan and bought some canned beef-and-vegetables soup instead. The naan turned out… fine. They tasted enough like naan, and Gordon only burned like two. Which was maybe thanks to the apartment’s stove top burning a bit less hot than it did the last time they used it; Gordon made a mental note to check on the gas or. Whatever one does. When that happened. He just needed to look up a number, call it, and stand next to the (hopefully) professional who would come while they did their work. 

Benrey sat at the couch while the Freemans cooked and ate their dinner, either being on his phone or scrolling idly through the PS3’s library. Joshua asked if he could try and throw naan pieces into Benrey’s mouth from the kitchen table, which Gordon allowed, but with the preset limit of only three pieces, and the condition that he picked up the ones that missed himself. He then asked Benrey very politely if he could open his mouth to catch the bread, and then made a lot of mental calculations before throwing each piece. The first one missed, but the other two were snatched up by Benrey in a somewhat shark-like display, which Joshua clapped excitedly for. 

Gordon heard Benrey come to the kitchen table, which Joshua was wiping off with the designated kitchen rag (the fourth one this month alone; it feels like someone’s eating them as they’re replaced sometimes), while he was cleaning the dishes. “Hey lil’ gamer dude,” Benrey said, and Gordon could hear him rustle around in a pocket of his puffy vest. “Scored big in the. Minigame.”

“Thank you,” Joshua replied politely. 

“Here’s your price,” Benrey said. Gordon assumed Joshua was holding out his hands to receive whatever Benrey gave him, because he couldn’t hear any noise that thing made, just Joshua’s little excited gasp. 

“It’s like the... Intarna-Internation… nal… Space Station!” 

“Huh,” Gordon could hear Benrey blink, “that’s what it is…” 

“Yeah! These are, here, they’re solar panels! They charge the batteries in here.” 

“Nice.” 

“Thank you Benrey!” 

“Yeah, GG.” And then Benrey shuffled back to the couch, if Gordon interpreted the noises correctly. 

Joshua held onto the price trinket until he asked Gordon to put it in the tool cabinet, along with the cake moulds and decoration kit courtesy of Gordon’s hectic MIT years. It was… Gordon could see why Joshua thought that was where it should go. It could be considered a cookie cutter, if the shape weren’t kinda suboptimal for a cookie. It also did look like the ISS, with wings and all. 

Nobody in this household’s baked anything sweet in this apartment for at least a year, but. Well. Never say no to free, reusable stuff.

  Gordon’s phone vibrates when he’s just sat down at the kitchen table again, a mug of garbage instant coffee in hand. He abandons it to go get his phone from where it’s charging on the living room table.

It’s Coomer. “It’s Coomer,” Gordon says out loud. “That’s weird- he’s. He doesn’t call.” 

“He’s calling. Now.” Benrey says from where he’s sitting, on the couch. Gordon takes a deep breath and doesn’t deign it worth a rebuttal. He accepts the call instead.

“Hello Gordon! I heard you want to blow Xen up.” 

Gordon pinches the bridge of his nose. “Bubby told you.” 

“He did! In great details!”

“I- alright, whatever, I didn’t expect actual results with that one anyway.” Gordon remembers about his coffee. He comes back to where it’s waiting for him on the kitchen table, and takes himself a generous sip, letting it burn his mouth. “Fuck!” He sets the cup down maybe a bit forcefully. “Oh that’s a bad decision. What did- what did he tell you?” 

Coomer takes a moment to gather his thoughts, leaving a blank minute where sounds of the wind and waves on the shore come through his mic. Gordon hopes he isn’t thinking about sleeping out there tonight, for the full nature flavor or whatever. “ A large part of his speech was about explosion! And how big and grand it would be. And also about how much he fucking hates Xen!” 

“Glad we agree on that front,” Gordon mumbles. 

“So am I! I also fucking hate Xen!” 

“That’s. That’s fair, really, it’s a garbage place. But- did he, like. Have you heard anything about the actual plan? Did he tell you anything about the actual plan I definitely mentioned to him?”

Coomer pauses for another moment, probably to recall. “Nope! Not a word about a plan-”

“I fucking knew it,” Gordon mumbles.

 “-though that is very thorough of you, Gordon!”

"Okay, listen,” Gordon picks his mug of coffee up and starts pacing. “I actually don’t… have all of it yet. I know me and Benrey are in,” he flicks his gaze to Benrey again, who does nothing to deny the statement, “and Bubby’s now in as well. I still need to- okay, the plan’s basically that we find or make enough explosive for the ten asteroids on Xen, we bury it at the core of said asteroids, and we blow that up so it blows Xen up. I have- I don’t know the specifics of how to make that much explosive yet, but I’ll convince Darnold somehow, and if he sits this one out then we’ll borrow his lab when he’s not using it. And I’ll ask Tommy about a way back to Xen, his. His dad’s done that plenty. He doesn’t seem to like Xen much, right? That’s the impression I got, so we can spin this into us doing him a favor or something. And then we transport the explosive to Xen, I can borrow a truck for that, I know someone, and then we dig into the ground there, that’s where we can really use your superstrength, and then we put the explosive in and. Set it on fire. Bubby, uh, agreed to take care of that.” 

Another beat of silence follows Gordon’s speech. He seems to have been making that one a lot recently, mostly to himself, in his room, while writing things down in his notebook. He finds himself chewing on his own lip, so he makes himself stop and takes another gulp of the coffee, which has thankfully cooled down to gulp-appropriate temperature.

When Coomer speaks again, he seems to have chosen his words carefully. “I will need to ‘sleep’ on this, Gordon. You are right in your assessment that you do not have your plan together yet!”

Gordon takes a deep breath. “It’s okay,” he says, as much to Coomer as to himself. “It’s true. It’s half-thought up right now. I still need to figure out- figure out Darnold and Tommy and Mr. Coolatta. I, yeah,” his voice’s dropped to a mumble by now, “I think I need to sleep on it too.” 

“Gordon.” The rustles that accompany Coomer’s voice gives the impression that he’s sitting down onto the pebble-littered beach as he speaks. “I would like to see Xen obliterated, and I think we can get it done.”

“That’s,” Gordon stops on his pacing in the kitchen, “That’s not. It’s okay if you’re not interested, Coomer. You don’t have to walk it back on me.”

“Please do not question my fucking hatred for Xen, Gordon.”

“O-okay.”

“But I am not in favor of hazy dreams anymore. I have gotten to see a lot during my ‘honeymoon’, and now I have broken free, and mere words on a script cannot placate me. I would like to see proof that it’s possible before I participate.” 

Gordon takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“I believe you can do it, Gordon!”

“Thank you,” Gordon says, a little bit dazed, while Bubby’s voice comes through from a distance at the same time, “Are you reciting poetry again?” 

“In what distant deeps or skies, burnt the fire of thine eyes?” Coomer answers. “On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire?”

“Stop praising that tiger while I’m right here!” 

“I’ll,” Gordon says before Coomer can get fully caught up in Bubby’s antics again, “I’ll come back to you with. The details. When I’ve hashed it out. Thanks for,” he exhales, “thanks for holding out for me, Coomer.” 

“So it is, Gordon, so it will be!” 

Coomer hangs up there, and Gordon sits down at the kitchen table again. He finishes the mug of coffee in one long gulp. It’s gone a little bit more room-temperature than he likes. 

“Sleep on it,” he mumbles, “good advice.” 

“You should. Do that.” Benrey says from the couch. “Sleep good for body for soul.” 

“You know what, when you’re right,” Gordon says, and stands up and goes brush his teeth. He then sits down at his work table and writes down questions until four in the morning.

---

Gordon used to suck at making phone calls. He’s kind of a champion at it now.

Funny thing is there’s an epiphany to it as well: he didn’t grow up with cell phones, so making phone calls was a hierarchical thing for him until he was like. Twenty years old. Kids used the landline when absolutely necessary only, and adults used it whenever they damn well pleased, because they paid for it and they had businesses to take care of . And Gordon was… not much of a rule breaker, surprisingly enough. Oh he fell short of where rules lay plenty, but he didn’t really intentionally break them. So he took calls when his parents said he could and when he absolutely needed to, and that habit persisted well into his adulthood. 

He might also just be not very good at holding his tongue when speaking and. That was no good for phone calls. Kiddies phone calls. ‘cause he just realized one day that adults said whatever the fuck they wanted on the phone really, and nobody chastised them for it, no divine punishment, no sudden death round. 

A sermon on self-love, that was; Gordon just takes phone calls now. Worst case scenario, he just turns his brain off and lets his mouth do its work. When people don’t presume they know better than him, they don’t presume he’s talking out of his ass ninety percent of the time. 

That’s- that’s what he thought. Gordon’s wrong, a little bit. He can be wrong. Has been wrong plenty before. He can correct himself, here, he’s gonna do it right now: worst case scenario, he has to recite his plan, conceived so far in total isolation from anyone he knows and whose opinions he cares about, to the person who’s the most skittish and averse to what his plan is bringing about among those people, over the phone, where he can’t see and gauge body language and facial expressions. 

Gordon would… like to meet Darnold face to face for this. But. It’s work. It’s, well, it’s closer to work than to play, given that he’s gotten mildly stressed out over it, and their lunch at the only Taco Bell in the whole desert is strictly pleasant, not-work talk only. And Gordon really, really enjoys those lunch dates, because he never has to think about damage control or having an identity crisis in the middle of one. They’re just nice, normal, a tiny bit shouty (the Taco Bell is usually packed and the acoustic’s not good, but it’s a Taco Bell, and it’s a ritual now), mostly jovial, lunch with a friend, eating subpar food he’s learned to enjoy. They don’t talk about what happened at Black Mesa, they don’t talk about work in general, they don’t even talk about soda outside of appraising the gaudy color combinations for any new sponsored drink. They talk about Joshua, about Darnold’s cat Lumbar Support, about Coomer and Bubby’s travelling, about new game releases, about Sega vs. Nintendo, about the weather. 

Gordon doesn’t want to fall short of where the rules lie, not this time. So he calls. 

“Doctor Freeman?” Darnold answers with the title, which sets the tone pretty well. Gordon takes a deep breath and steels himself. 

“Doctor Pepper.” He pauses. “Darnold. Hey. I, uh, I’ve got a thing I wanna ask.” 

“Go ahead!” Darnold goes quiet for a moment, to finish his sandwich, Gordon’d guess. He’s called in the middle of Darnold’s lunch break. “I must preface however that we’re working outside of office hours, and I can only advise you at the moment. Anything further will have to go through the… official channels.”

“Okay, that’s alright. I just.” Gordon worries his lips. He realizes he’s tugging pretty hard on his left sleeve; he makes himself let go. “I have a. Plan. That’ll need your expertise.” 

“I’d be delighted to help then! Feel free to share more.” 

“It’s about, uh.” Gordon takes another deep breath. He’s been consuming a lot of oxygen recently. “IwanttoblowXenup?”

Darnold goes, predictably, quiet for a moment. It doesn’t sting less when it’s predictable.

When he speaks again, it’s in a clipped, professional-but-barely tone. “Please say that again, but slowly.”

Gordon closes his eyes against the sunlight streaming in from the window in his bedroom. “I want to. Blow Xen up.” 

“Gordon,” Darnold sighs. “Doctor Freeman.” 

“I know.”

“Your megalomaniacal tendencies have grown since we last met.”

“It’s not- I’m not doing it for fun!” Gordon throws his free arm up. “Okay, this is genuinely a lot of effort and stress for something I’d do for pleasure, Darnold. I also couldn’t care less about fucking Xen - okay that’s not true, I’ve lost like a week of sleep over blowing it up, that’s not not caring, but like. I can’t. I need it to not be there,” he stands up from his bed and starts pacing, “and I have. A plan. Half of one. About that much. So it’s not hopeless-”

“Gordon, please slow down.”

“-as long as I have your help and- and Tommy’s, okay, I will. uh.” He taps on his thigh with his free hand too, for good measure. Go the whole nine yard with fidgeting, why not. “I. So, Joshua wants to be an astronaut,” he intones, and for the first time in a while he’s reminded again of how this started, how it took over his life for a hot minute, and it almost gives him the hiccups, “and. Y’know. Xen is in space. So it needs to not be there anymore. So I want to. Blow it up.” 

Darnold goes silent again. Gordon thinks he can hear the epiphany punch the air out of him. Fuck, he hates phone calls. 

“As much as I want to berate you about how you’re treating this matter and yourself,” Darnold resumes primly after a moment, “my lunch break is ending in exactly fifty-two seconds, and this sandwich will take me another two bites to get through. I’ll see you in the Taco Bell’s parking lot at three AM this afternoon, Gordon. Drink water.”

He hangs up. Gordon goes drink water.

Benrey clips into the apartment when Gordon’s on his third mug of iced water. “Whoa, hydration streak,” he says, settling himself on the kitchen table. 

“I can go a bit crazy,” Gordon mumbles. “I’m allowed a little bit of funk and insanity. This is my house.” 

“It’s… actually. MFA’s.” 

Gordon groans. “Don’t fucking remind me. I tried to forget that. Also it actually belongs to the NRC, since they apparently can just scare MFA into giving employees housing, which I’m really fucking horrified by, but I’m choosing to not think about it, and you can’t make me.” 

“It can be mine soon.”

“Do not attack and dethrone Nils Diaz.”

Benrey huffs. “Killjoy Freeman.” He shifts his pose so he’s sitting up straighter. “You wanna… try out Premium Water? Free trial for a week, you can manually cancel your. Subscription. After.” 

Gordon stares at him. “What’s Premium Water.” 

Benrey opens his jaws, wide, showing his teeth. He points inside as if there’s anything Gordon wants to find at all in there at the moment. Then he closes it with a click and stares back at Gordon. 

Gordon just sighs. “No, Benrey.” 

“Guaranteed beddy bye time, no charge,” Benrey blinks at him. “Black Mesa Sweet Voice™ a hundred percent effective. Five stars… satisfaction… rating.” 

“You’re fucking lying, because I’d never leave it five stars. You get three at best.” 

“Gonna catch you when you fall off the. Chair. Gonna be romantic.”

Gordon laughs. ���No, not allowed.” He sighs and finishes the mug of water like it’s mead and he’s some Dungeons and Dragons elven ranger. He gives himself brain freeze. “Ah, fuck, oof,” he slaps his own forehead, “bad decision. Bad decision. Okay, I. I appreciate you asking instead of just going for it, but that’s the reality of asking, right? The person you ask can say no. And you’ve just gotta learn how to deal with it.”

Benrey just keeps staring at him, but he’s used to that now. It’s only a tiny bit unnerving. “How’s learning’s... satisfaction rate.”

Gordon sighs again. “It sucks ass. Fucking hate learning.” 

Benrey grins at him, and then he checks his phone and it’s already time to go.

“Drink this,” Darnold says immediately when Gordon climbs into the shotgun seat of his car, and holds out a beaker of bubbling purple liquid. 

Gordon just stares at it. “Darnold, what is this.” 

Darnold sighs. “It’s the Potion of Not Telling. I also drank a sample before coming here,” he holds up an empty beaker with some of the same purple liquid at the bottom. “It blows us up if we tell our employers what we’re up to.” 

Gordon ponders this very carefully. “Does. Tommy, for example. Does he count as my ‘employer’?” 

“No,” Darnold says. “‘Employers’ only cover people and/or establishments you’re currently under an employee contract with and receiving salary from.” 

“Alright,” Gordon intones carefully, and downs the whole beaker. It tastes like… the jello packaged like seahorses Tommy brings over sometimes. The red ones, specifically. It makes him feel a bit bloated, immediately, and he rubs his side a bit anxiously when he sits down in the car. “You’re actually under NDAs at all times, huh,” he says, as an opening line.

“Same as you, Gordon.” Darnold takes the beaker back from Gordon’s hand and puts it in with the other one. “Black Mesa seeked me out and offered to find me a position in a brewery, as well as fund any of my independent ventures, as long as I do not say a word about what… transpired… back there. The official record’s that I was stranded on an island with curious dino-esque creatures for four years, instead of worked in Black Mesa’s mixology department, and honed my craft with their help, using the fruits native to that island.”

Gordon laughs, and rubs his face with the prosthetic hand. It’s like putting your face on the car’s dashboard. “Sounds like them alright. At least yours sounds exciting, instead of fucking insane. They said I was ‘chasing an entropy in the desert’ and it ‘ate my hand’. What the fuck does that even mean?”

“We attempted feats of miracle, only it was not under their accountability,” Darnold says, “and we were punished for it. No matter, we have more important things at hand. What is this plan you’ve cooked up, Gordon?”

Gordon takes a deep breath, finding it easier than it’s been for a while, and relays what he’s got down of the blow-Xen-up plan to Darnold. They never look at each other meanwhile, both staring at the cars lined up haphazardly in the lane across from them, Gordon in a barren calmness as words leave his mouth, Darnold with his arms crossed in front of his chest, his whole presence compacted into a contemplative, silent piece. 

“That is an intense reaction to a faraway threat, Gordon,” Darnold says when Gordon’s speech is over. “Xen is not only at least a galaxy away, but also a few dimensions over, if I understand the briefing right. I haven’t thought about that wretched place for almost a year.”

“Sorry,” Gordon says, not really feeling any of it, but making the effort. 

“You don’t have to. I understand where you’re coming from.” Darnold taps idly on his own arm. “I was… extracted… swiftly from Black Mesa after I met you and your friends. I did not witness what happened after, but I saw… enough.” He takes a deep breath as well. “We can all have intense reactions to anything.” 

“Doesn’t mean it’s not maladaptive,” Gordon says. He’s gone to therapy. It was really good for helping him build a system that filters out the things that actually fucks him up and makes some sense of the rest, but it doesn’t lift him out of the comedy of his life itself. It can’t. That’s not what therapy’s for. 

“Indeed,” Darnold says. “But I can’t be the judge of that. My domain lies with potion mixing, and I dare say I am a true expert at it, but I can’t claim expertise at other people’s life. Especially not yours.”

“I get it,” Gordon nods. The world kinda bobs a tiny bit when he does that. “I. Know not to indulge my impulse mostly. But sometimes decisions come back to haunt me, and those are usually just about choosing one furniture over another, or tying my shoelaces in the bunny ears way instead of the circle way and having them undone in the middle of a meeting and stepping on them and falling on my face, but this time it’s. It’s Joshua’s life. And there’s just no limit anymore to what can happen, not since.” He swallows. “Black Mesa.” 

Darnold nods. 

Gordon blinks. “I know it’s a little bit crazy.” 

“It might be,” Darnold says, “but as a famous mixologist once said: nothing ventured, nothing gained. Even if that gain is just your peace of mind.” 

Gordon lets out the breath he isn’t even aware he’s been holding. “Thank you.” 

“You do not need to,” Darnold smiles, “I do stand to gain from this as well, since I really need to test this flavouring that’s supposed to land on pleasantly tart on the taste scale but goes into intestine-destroyingly sour territory instead. I need to know what makes it that corrosive, and testing on humans is entirely unethical.” 

---

Gordon got home before Joshua. Benrey’s also not home. He lays down on the couch and takes a nap. 

He wakes to a quilt over most of him, light turned on in the living room and in the kitchen, and silent chatter. His sense of smell kicks in a minute or so into him still laying on the couch, blinking up at the ceiling; he smells fish sauce and sugar cooking. 

“Tommy’s over,” he mumbles. 

“He awakes,” Benrey says, seemingly into thin air. Gordon feels the couch shift minutely as Benrey makes to stand up from where he’s sitting leaning back on it. “Good eatin’. I’ll go get the. Food. Coloring.” 

When Gordon’s gathered enough of himself to sit up, Benrey’s nowhere to be seen. Tommy’s shifting something animatedly on the stove, while Joshua carefully carries one bowl at a time to the kitchen table. 

“Hey Dad!” Joshua says when he catches Gordon’s eyes. He puts the bowl he’s carrying down to free his hand for waving. Gordon waves back. 

“Hey Joshie, hey Tommy. What’re you guys making?” 

“Caramelized pork b-belly!” Tommy says from his stove station. “And... sautéed vegetable medley.” 

“With rice!” Joshua adds.

“A perfectly balanced meal.” 

“I picked the vege-ta-bles!” 

Gordon folds the quilt to busy his hands. This one’s definitely not his. He may have one somewhere in the closet, but it hasn’t made an appearance in… six months. He thinks. “What did you get for us, buddy?” 

“Carrot!” Joshua holds up a finger. “It has a lot of vita- vitamin… A.” 

“Awesome,” Gordon says and goes over to the kitchen table to high five Joshua. “What else did you choose?” 

“String beans!” 

“Oh?” Joshua hasn’t been much for that. 

“Uncle Tommy’s gonna teach me how to eat them!” 

“A dash of- of flavour, packed in one Kn●rr’s Complete Seasoning packet, is all you’ll need!” Tommy switches to a lower voice when Gordon peers over his shoulder at the pan on the stove. “That is not true. Kn●rr is only… fit to be- be on the floor.” 

“Are- you’re not putting that in then?” 

“No, I just use salt and pepper.” 

Joshua giggles. Tommy extends a hand that Joshua can slap on in place of a high five. 

Gordon gets out the utensils - spoon for Joshua, chopsticks for him and Tommy - and brings the rice cooker to the table once the light’s jumped to orange. He plates the pork, scooping Joshua’s helping into his personal plate first, while Tommy finishes with the vegetables. Tommy lets Joshua choose which vegetables to go on his plate; Joshua bravely gets a little bit of everything. 

They eat dinner on top of companionable conversation, Gordon and Tommy taking turns asking Joshua about school and other things. 

“I heard you want to- to be an astronaut,” Tommy asks. Joshua dutifully finishes his mouthful before answering. 

“Yes! I want to go to space!”

“Do you want to meet- aliens?”

“Yeah!” Joshua’s excitement cools down a little bit as he scoops up another spoonful of rice with a piece of string bean carefully balanced on top. “I read the Wiki-pea-dia about it though. They say there’s no dis-discernable e-vidence of aliens yet. We sent the Voyager Golden Records an’ they haven’t… answered yet.” 

“That’s how p-physical mails are,” Tommy smiles while getting himself a piece of the caramelized pork. “It used to take… weeks... before we hear from our friends who are far away. And the- the universe doesn’t have a… an Everywhere Wifi Network yet.” 

Joshua shares a conspiratory look with Gordon and mouths not yet . Gordon laughs. Gordon’s clutching his bowl maybe a bit too tight. 

“You can become an astronaut and- meet aliens. In space,” Tommy waves his chopsticks with a flourish. 

“I’ll teach them what- what e-mails are!” 

“It’ll take a- a lot of hard work, and you have to be able to eat string beans.” Tommy takes an exaggerated look at Joshua’s plate, now cleaned of food. “Oh! Would you l-look at that! Mister Joshua Freeman is… perfect astronaut materials, according to… the NASA guidelines.” 

Joshua beams with a pride that knocks something loose in Gordon’s chest. 

They finish dinner and clean up together, then Gordon sends Joshua back to his room to do his homework, agreeing to an hour of video game after if he can get it done before nine. Gordon cleans the dishes while Tommy puts the kettle on and makes them both hot chocolate. 

“I bought some-something for Joshua today,” Tommy prompts. Gordon looks back to see him hold up the exact same cookie-cutter-thing Benrey gave Joshua the other day. 

“Oh- oh my god.” Gordon laughs. “Holy shit?” 

“Wh-what’s the matter, Gordon?”

“Do you guys have like a hivemind or something?” Gordon pulls off a glove to open the tool cabinet and pull Benrey’s gift out. “Benrey gave Joshua this. I don’t even- what’re these supposed to be? Where d’you guys even get them from?” 

“It’s the- International Space Station Biscuit Cutter!” Tommy puffs out his chest, slightly indignant, but definitely bemused as well. “They’re issued by- NASA, cut from the s-scrap metal of the hulls of… prototype spaceships. They’re very rare!”

Gordon stares at the one in his hand. “And now we have two of them.” 

“They’re… very valuable! You can sell them for a high price.” 

Gordon smiles. He puts Benrey’s apparently rare and expensive gift back into the tool cabinet and puts the glove back on. “You’ve gotta ask Joshua about that. It’s for him, afterall.” 

They fall into a comfortable silence, crumbled into grains only by the click-clack of dishes in the sink and the water running from the faucet. Gordon weaves himself into a solid piece of nerve, bracing, bracing. 

Tommy’s… better acquainted with the crazies of these things than most, maybe. He’s apparently said “fuck it” to the administrative work that his dad would’ve liked to hand back to him at one point, and just. Got a PhD in nuclear physics instead. Gordon’s been through something like that, and from experience he can tell that it would’ve taken real nerve to do it. He also can tell that no matter what it still rubs off on you, and you don’t recover from that kinda consistent exposure to idiosyncrasies, because you don’t ever feel like there’s anything to recover from , really. It’s just how it is, and the world’s off-kilter, not you. Like Benrey, Tommy’s world runs on a different axis, and he and the rest of them are, in many ways, looking both through strange eyes. 

Gordon’s a little bit jealous of that. He’s honestly not sure if he can ever fully get Tommy, but then. Plenty of people never get him, and here he is. He can learn to wear it as well as Tommy, one day. 

Right now though. Tommy’s important to the plan. Gordon knows that, in a theoretical way. Ha, theoretical… 

“I would like to not be insane,” Gordon says, more to himself, at the same time as Tommy setting his cup of hot chocolate down and saying, “Benrey… told me.” 

“Oh… I. That’s? Good?” 

“Wha- you’re not insane , Gordon!” Tommy waves his hand. Gordon can hear it, even if he can’t see it. “You’re… creative.” 

“Thanks Tommy,” Gordon says with a huff of laughter that he doesn’t think reaches Tommy at all. “I. I get it though. I got Bubby to turn around on it, but everyone else did say that it’s a little bit fucked up that I thought of doing that at all.” 

“But they… agreed on helping you anyway.” 

Gordon taps on the metal wall of the sink. “That’s… yeah. Well, other than Coomer.” 

“Doctor Coomer doesn’t think you’re crazy,” Tommy protests. “He just has... boundaries.” 

“That’s fair. He’s allowed that. He more than deserves that.” Gordon blinks. “Wait- why am I arguing down on my side? I need you to be on board for the plan to work.” He laughs, bowing down over the sink. He’s shaking a little bit. “Wow. I’m a little bit gone. Can I be a little bit gone?” 

“You’re… totally allowed, Gordon” He feels Tommy tug on his elbow. With a deep breath, he lets go of where he’s gripping on the edge of the sink with white knuckles, and lets Tommy lead him to the kitchen table. He dutifully sits himself down on a chair, lets Tommy take off the gloves, and holds the cup of hot chocolate Tommy pushes into his hands carefully. “It’s your house.” 

“It’s MFA’s.” 

“It’s yours,” Tommy says, determinedly, and Gordon takes a deep breath and sidesteps every implications that has. “You can have your fears, and… and your plans, and your hopes. For Joshua. It’s your place, Gordon.” 

Gordon takes a shaky sip of the hot chocolate. Tommy puts on the gloves and finishes washing the dishes for him. 

“Sorry,” Gordon says, mostly aiming at the dishes thing, but. He also just kinda wants to put that out there. 

“There’s nothing to be… be sorry for,” Tommy replies, amidst the noises of the dishes and the water running. 

Tommy talks while Gordon drinks his hot chocolate; in the end, whether he wants to or not, he’s accepted a bit of the job the Gman holds. Gordon knows this, that’s how Tommy vouched for and kept the Science Team from a much worse fate than relative freedom except for a story no sane man’d believe anyway. Mister Coolatta Senior seemed to be impressed by the choice, aside from all the worries that come with it. 

“He’s… he’s proud of me,” Tommy says, softly. “I know he only wants what’s best for me.” 

“He’s been awfully accommodating,” Gordon says, remembering about the movie night they had after Tommy’s birthday bash last year. That man pulled a gun on him. As if he’d walk out on Tommy, if Tommy’d asked for him to stay around. 

“He… doesn’t involve me… with his problems,” Tommy says. “Some parents do that.” 

Gordon can’t find anything to say to that, so he finishes his hot chocolate. 

“I got a vote when they brought Xen up the-the other day,” Tommy says, when the dishes have all been cleaned and put on the rack to dry. He pulls out the chair next to Gordon and picks up his cup of hot chocolate. It’s still steaming, somehow. “I-they were thinking it was- it’s too risky to leave a bridging point open like that. They want to… demolish it.” 

Gordon chuckles, and then it becomes a full body laugh, and then he’s curling up on himself, the empty cup between his hands. He shouldn’t clutch it like this, it might break. He’s broken the handle off of a mug before, when one of his old prosthetic wasn’t calibrated perfectly. He can’t stop laughing though. Not enough to let go of the cup now. 

“Holy shit,” he wheezes. “holy motherfucking shit. We’re doing it. We’re doing it? Xen’s fucking going down.” 

“It sure is!” Tommy says, and claps a polite golf clap for Gordon’s victory.

---

Gordon does have shit he needs to do for the online classes he teaches, but outside of it he’s still way too idle. He and Joshua go to the aquarium and the museum whenever the schedule works out, and once in a while they drive by Roswell to catch a plane taking off into the sky, and he does grocery runs and tries to clean around the house and do laundry on a timetable, and there’s always the PS3 Benrey dragged back that’s now public good, as well as his probably too long Steam list, but. Gordon’s shit at talking himself into and out of doing things. Sometimes it just doesn’t feel right to start doing something, so there’s a black hole of time between him thinking “I should get to this” and him actually doing it. And Joshua’s life isn’t just him; his son’s going to school now, and he’s made friends at school, and he talks to them on the phone and goes hang out with them on weekend afternoons.

Gordon’s not as good at holding onto time anymore, now that things’ve. Changed. 

So figuring the explosives out’s been good for him. It’s just what he does back in uni again, except without a supervisor, without having to write anything down properly (just legibly’s enough), and without peer review. It’s mostly math, but with the spirit of two middle schoolers stealing sodium crumbs from the school lab to throw into puddles. It’s closer to play than he expected. Closer than playing Horse Simulator 3D on the PS3. 

He and Darnold spend the day building the corrosion rate equation, pouring Darnold’s concoction on rocks Gordon figures have the same make-up as the ground on Xen. Benrey doesn’t bring the venture up often, but every other day Gordon finds clumps of dirt and random rocks that weigh suspiciously little for their size in his glove compartment. He brings those in for the pour test as well, and they build a simulation based on them. 

Balancing the corrosion with the heat’s a bit tricky; Gordon needs to know how hot Bubby’s ignition can go, since their number’s high. He was about to shoot Bubby a call when Coomer’s latest photo arrived. Gordon recognized the street in it. 

They put the project on hold for an afternoon so Tommy and Darnold can have the lab to decontaminate Coomer and Bubby. Gordon spends that afternoon getting the air fryer he ordered last week out of the box while Benrey reads the manual out loud wrongly. He calls Joshua to let him know they’re having guests over that evening, thankfully in the middle of the school recess this time. Gordon tries to remember Joshua’s exact timetable at school, he really does. It’s just not fruitful a task.

When Joshua arrives home, Gordon’s in the middle of arguing with Bubby over how much water’s left in air fried food. “Hey Granpa! Hey Bubby!” Joshua waves at Coomer and Bubby, “hey Uncle Tommy! Hey Doctor Darnold! Hey Benrey! Hey Dad!” 

Gordon steals the chance to close the air fryer while Bubby’s joining in with the “Hey Joshua!” chorus and distracted. “We’re making spring rolls and egg rolls!” He calls after Joshua, who’s in his room putting his backpack away. “You can choose the filling yourself!” 

The kitchen barely fits everyone, so comes dinnertime they move the living room table up next to the TV cabinet to make space for the spare straw mat, and lay out a tablecloth on top for good measure (Gordon’s had enough experience to remember to do that). They sit on the floor in the living room together, almost shoulder to shoulder, and at some point the conversation gets away from Gordon entirely. He just nods when Joshua points at something he wants and gets some in the bowl for him. 

“I’ve heard somebody wants to become an astronaut,” He hears Coomer say at one point. 

Joshua puffs out his chest proudly. 

“Doesn’t everybody at some point,” Bubby says. “I wanted to be an astronaut too, when I was forty.”

“Oh I have seen the photos,” Coomer continues, a gentle light in his eyes, “It is very beautiful out there.” 

Joshua asks for help with his homework after dinner, and Tommy and Darnold sit down with him for that. Benrey joins Gordon at the sink while he’s pouring dish soap into one of the large bowls they used. He doesn’t know what to do but blink at him, dumbfounded. 

“Check this out,” Benrey says, and spits lime green into the sink. When the light clears, the dishes have become spotless. 

Gordon stares at the sink. “I- you- th- is that- you can do that? ” He points at the plates. leaning on the sink’s edge. 

Benrey grins. “New… new skill acquired bro. Just got the EXP for it.” 

“You spent your EXP on dish cleaning ?” 

“We should conserve water, Gordon!” Coomer declares from behind him next to the kitchen table. “Water shortage is caused by corporate greed, but with certain individual actions we can improve the situation ourselves!” 

“Please don’t kill Mark Schneider.” 

“Worry not, Doctor Freeman! His death will not be by my hand directly!” 

Gordon laughs, helplessly. “Everything happens so much,” he laments, only semi-jokingly, as he takes off the cleaning gloves and puts the plates on the rack. 

“Keep up, Doctor Freeman,” Bubby says. 

“They certainly do,” Coomer says, much more nicely. “I’ve heard your plan is soon coming to fruition!” 

Gordon nods. “Yeah, it’s. Yeah. We were,” he swallows, “Darnold and I, we were about to ask for Bubby to let us test his fire. Figure out if he can reach the ignition point we need.” 

“Well now, that sounds like a challenge,” Bubby says. 

Gordon finds a price tag still stuck on one of the bowls that he’s very sure wasn’t there when it was brought out. “Benrey,” he groans. Benrey just gives him a shit eating grin. “You’ll need to hold a temperature for about three minutes, and then the mixture takes care of the rest,” he says to Bubby, while swatting Benrey on the shoulder. 

“Just three minutes, isn’t it.” 

“Do not try and stay for more. I’m serious. When it explodes it’s gonna turn seriously corrosive. You’re gonna be sludge ten seconds after it gets on you.” 

Gordon can hear Bubby blink. “Oh- oh. This is serious huh. We are blowing Xen up.” 

“We are, darling,” Coomer affirms. 

Bubby shifts on his chair. “I’ll need. A minute.” 

When Gordon’s done with the dishes, he turns back to the kitchen table to catch Bubby letting go of Coomer after a hug. “Son of a bitch, you went for it, you motherfucker,” Bubby says, a bit too loudly, fixing his glasses. 

Benrey sings a very high note over his voice. “Language!” Gordon hisses. 

“Oh, sorry.” Bubby pats his own mouth. “Forgive a man, I’m still working through it.” He switches to a mumble, seemingly only to himself. “It’s real. I’m gonna set Xen on fire. Gonna show Black Mesa what for. It’s really gonna happen…”

Coomer pats Bubby on the back lightly, making him almost hit his face on the table. “We’ll finally move fully away from the game, my dear Professor,” he says, and he’s smiling. He’s smiling very wide. 

“I can be your Professor,” Bubby mumbles. “I can blow Xen up.” 

“ We can blow Xen up,” Gordon corrects him. “Me and Darnold didn’t agonize over a- darn modifier for a week and a half so you can set our work on fire and take all the credits.” 

“Hush, let me process things, you rude bastard.” Benrey censors bastard with another burst of pinkish light.

“I can see the other end,” Coomer says, cheerfully. “Now, Gordon, I’ve heard you need help digging into the core of a few asteroids?” 

---

They mark a date for the excursion. 

He ‘woke up’ early, and made himself and Joshua an actual breakfast for a change while Benrey finished off the box of cereal that was open. “Dad’s got a work thing coming up,” he told Joshua while scooping extra egg onto his plate. “I’m gonna have to stay on site for a night.” 

“So you’re not going home tonight?” Joshua asked, taking the plate handed to him by Gordon, but making no move to go back to his chair. 

Gordon nodded. “I’ll be home tomorrow though, but you’re gonna have to stay at your grandparents’ tonight. I’m gonna come pick you up at their place tomorrow afternoon. You should pack a spare change of clothes and your pajamas to bring to school.” 

“Okay,” Joshua said. And then, “What’re you staying on-site for?” 

“I’m,” Gordon said, “Okay, you can’t tell anyone this, yeah? I’m blowing asteroids up.” 

He could see Joshua’s eyes brighten. It was visible . “ In space ?” 

“Yes,” Gordon laughed. “But it’s very experimental, which means…” 

“It’s not ready for the public eye yet,” Joshua whispered, almost reverently.

Gordon laughed again, and took off the mitten on his hand to ruffle Joshua’s hair. “You’re gonna be okay staying at your grandparents’ place? If you don’t like that I can ask someone else to come over instead.” 

“It’s okay,” Joshua said, finally content to go sit down again. “Can I bring my skate shoes?” 

“Sure thing, put them in a bag.” 

Gordon called Joshua’s grandparents to let them know to pick him up at five (Joshua chimed in to ask them to remind him about the roller skates), and then Joshua got his backpack and spare clothes and bag for the shoes and the house was once again vacant. 

They don’t have a vehicle, but Tommy sings and Bubby joins in and Darnold keeps a beat and after a while Benrey starts playing songs out of the shitty speaker on his phone. Gordon’s even spent the day before sleepless, but that’s kind of everyday now. He hadn’t anticipated having to get used to a day having twenty four hours again, but well. He hadn’t anticipated anything while going through Black Mesa, really. It wasn’t really ideal thinking-far-ahead environment.

Benrey seems bouncier when he’s on Xen. Gordon didn’t think about it, but when he steps through the portal he has a flash of that image from what feels like a lifetime ago: Benrey giant as the Earth itself, blocking everything else in sight, his form longing to catch up with his already immense, oppressive presence. Taller than any walls, any mountains, any barriers between himself and a measly human’s fleeting existence.

Gordon shakes his head. At his least incomprehensible, Benrey’s said it was “a show”. “Like. Cable TV. A television series,” Gordon’s asked. 

“Like a cutscene,” Benrey’s replied, as if Gordon was the one too slow for the course. 

Benrey now felt nothing like whatever that was that happened to him and the Science Team last year. Benrey now felt just… like a dude. Doing a barrel roll, while saying “Ooooo barrel roll” with a straight face. While his Nokia 2700’s still crushing whatever song it’s playing into oblivion. 

Gordon doesn’t deal in implications anymore, so he starts singing along to whatever everyone else’s singing as well, and focuses on carrying their homemade Xen-specific dynamite blocks to where they’re going to dig their largest hole into the core of this wretched piece of rock.

It takes a day, kind of; he doesn’t sleep, out here in the thin atmosphere of Xen, where the stars don’t blink and red light comes in a hue from inside the dirt. He doesn’t have to force himself to go lay down at midnight like back home, he just sits down, at the edge of the portal, when the explosives have all been installed, and watch Coomer and Bubby ready themselves.

They can hear Bubby’s cackles ringing in Xen’s air and also in their comms, as he lays in Coomer’s arms and they race the fire, starting from the outer ring of asteroids to the main Xen island. They jump from rock to rock, red light trailing after them while the dirt itself breaks apart, not with a boom, but with the sound of bubbles breaking after a wave crashes on the shore. Xen glows brighter than it probably ever has, in its disintegration. 

Benrey sings a few vacant notes, standing on nothingness; the light from his mouth blends in almost perfectly with Xen’s dying light. 

“You got all of your belongings outta there?” Gordon asks, half as a jab, half serious. “Didn’t leave anything important in your old apartment?” 

Benrey doesn’t answer, for a moment. When he does, it’s just to mumble, “oh look, there’s fireworks.” 

---

They got home early from it. 

Gordon takes a nap on the couch; he only wakes up from Benrey turning the sound up to max and then shooting a rocket at a truck in Far Cry 3. “Dude,” he throws an arm up over his face, and winces when it’s the plastic arm. “What the fuck.” 

“Go pick Joshua up,” Benrey says, definitely too conversationally, and barely understandable under the noises from the game. “Gordon. Sleepman.” 

“You’re slipping,” Gordon comments as he wrestles himself out of Tommy’s quilt. He forgot to give it back to Tommy, he realizes sleepily, picking up the phone he left charging on the living room table. It’s seven already. 

The drive to Joshua’s grandparents’ place is not a long one. He finds Joshua sitting at the porch of the little house, backpack and the bag with the roller skates at his feet. Joshua jumps up at the sight of Gordon’s car, and before he can walk through the gate he’s already found his arms full of his son. 

Joshua clings to his neck with a death grip. “I’m sorry I’m late,” Gordon says. “I was tired, so I took a nap, and forgot the time.” 

“It’s okay,” Joshua mumbles, “you were tired.” 

“I blew up so many asteroids though.” Gordon says, and Joshua laughs. 

They drive home after saying goodbye to Joshua’s grandparents (Joshua’s grandpa put a wrapped up pot pie in Gordon’s hands with an iron grip and a gaze that communicated clearly what would happen if he refused it), and Joshua agreed to take a detour to the Roswell airport for the night. Gordon absentmindedly texts Benrey taking the kid to watch airplanes, get your own food , and puts his phone away for the drive. The radio’s on, but Joshua doesn’t sing along. Gordon’s vocal cord’s still tired from Xen (no more, Xen-no-more it is, there’s just a vast of empty space inbetween dimensions there now) so he also stays silent. 

They get ice cream at a drive-thru on the way, and then they’re at the highway, parking on the roadside, looking over the rail at the airport. A plane leaves the ground there and goes into the air. Gordon’s struck by how different it is from a bird or a moth; nothing about the plane communicates any internal movement, it just. Moves. Up and up. Like a JPEG sliding across the screen under someone’s puppeteering with a mouse. 

Joshua stares at the plane, unblinking. “Is it dangerous in space, Dad?” He asks. 

Gordon taps his hand on the steering wheel. “It’s.” He starts saying, but stops to clear his throat. “It can be. There’s a lot of math going into making things that bring a human into space, and a lot of different people doing different parts of that math, and. Sometimes some people do their math wrong. Sometimes they try something new, and we don’t have the good math for that new thing yet. Sometimes new things break into the old math, and we need to. Work around that new thing.” 

“What happens if,” Joshua swallows, “someone does the math wrong?” 

“We try to catch it,” Gordon says. “That’s why there are so many people doing the math. So if someone gives the wrong answer, they can spot it early, and fix it.” 

“What if nobody does,” Joshua says. He’s still looking through the car’s window, at the stroke of cloud the plane’s long flown past. 

Gordon puts his hands on the gear stick. “That’s very, very rare to happen,” he intones carefully. “They have to check, over and over, before they send a ship into space.” 

Joshua turns from the window to Gordon. He looks at Gordon’s prosthetic hand, on the gear stick. “I’ve only found books about spaceships that have gone to space,” he says, quiet. 

Gordon turns over, and holds out that hand. Joshua climbs over the gear stick to give him another hug. “Experiments are important to those ships too,” Gordon says. “They give the people who make the ships important information to make them safe.” 

Joshua just buries himself in Gordon’s arms. 

“I’m really sorry I came home late and didn’t call you, Joshua,” Gordon says, and hugs his son tighter. “I won’t do that again. I’ll always call when I’m home late.” 

“I don’t have to be an astronaut,” Joshua mumbles. 

“Oh, no- nononono, listen,” Gordon says into his hair, with all the determination he can muster up. “Listen, Joshua, you become whoever you want to, okay? You don’t have to be anything, but you don’t have to not be anything either. That’s my mistake, you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re good. You’re good. You’ll be an incredible astronaut. You’ll be the first man on Mars. Jupiter, even.” 

“Jupiter is a gas giant,” Joshua mumbles. “There isn't any land to land on.”

Gordon nods. “That’s why it’s called landing , I get it.”

---

They drive home after, and Joshua asks to sit with Gordon while he and Benrey play Mario Kart. Gordon agrees, which means he has to clamp down on any curse he almost lets out when someone bumps him off the damn road, while Benrey does some magic or whatever on his screen. Who the hell knows. 

After their third match, Benrey elbows Gordon in the arm to signify a break. “Beddy bye hour,” he says, not even looking at Gordon, “for… babies. Hattrick means I make the rules.” 

“You didn’t come first in the second match,” Gordon argues, but quiets down when he looks down to see Joshua asleep leaning on him. “Okay, don’t fucking choose Toon Link for me again while I’m away,” he points a finger at Benrey, who’s residing smugly in the to-be-chaos of his own making. “I’m fucking serious.”

He carries Joshua to his bedroom and tucks him in, and then detours to the kitchen for some water. 

“Ooh, hydration,” Benrey comments idly. 

“What d’you know about it,” Gordon mumbles when he settles back down on the couch. He looks at the TV screen to find Inkling on one of the shitty bikes. “What the hell man, this bike sucks ass. Fucking Shit Taste McGee over here.” 

Benrey laughs. 

Gordon plays the game, while thinking about the sendoff party they’re throwing for Bubby and Coomer next week, before the grandpas go off gallivanting in yet another forbidden corner of the Earth. Coomer lovingly calls it their “honeymoon”, but Gordon has full faith this is gonna be what they do forever. Or at least until they’re bored of Earth, and start aiming for the Moon instead. Probably not a bad place to be in. 

“Thinking Xen thoughts, aren’t’cha,” Benrey says, while sending a shell after some poor computer character. 

Gordon grins. “Ha! Sike! I’m not even thinking about Xen.” He pauses, catching the full force of a fireball a Mario shoots at him. “I haven’t thought about Xen at all actually. Since I got home with Joshua.” 

“Achievement unlocked,” Benrey says, and extends a hand. Gordon stares at it. 

“Wh- huh?” 

“High five, idiot.”

“Oh,” Gordon says, and slaps that hand. Benrey’s eyes widen at the noise. 

“Yo that’s a. Crunchy noise.” He claps his hands together, and he’s laughing now, light flowing out in a thread of something like baby blue. “This rules,” he says happily. 

Gordon smiles, and then some motherfucker flings a shell at him, so he falls off the road again. 

He stays up way too late again, and time doesn’t stop slipping, and when Darnold gives him a vial of neutralizer for the Potion of Not Telling at their little party the week after it gives him something like mania and he hugs Coomer like an idiot while the old man slaps his back in a motion that’s supposed to be comforting. He sleeps that off as well afterwards, and wakes up to Tommy surfing the channels on his TV, complaining about lack of daytime talk shows. When he forgets about the scheduled blackout a month after, he still calls the concierge with shaking hands and then climbs into his bed like he’s four again and there’s a storm outside. He still thinks about Black Mesa, and about Xen. 

There’s just a little addendum now, that he can remind myself of. 

It’s weird how quickly it blends into everything else, but. Well. It’s weird everything . 

He makes cookies again, comes the winter, and teaches himself how to decorate cookies, just to have something to do. Joshua throws his pencil onto the notebook one day to go dig out the lumpy, supposedly-ISS-shaped cookie cutters from the tool cabinet. 

“Careful,” Gordon calls after him. 

Joshua toddles back with the cookie cutters in hand. “Can we have ISS cookies?” He asks. 

Gordon says yes. He also looks up a buncha references, prints them out, and tries to get the cookies exactly correct, making two “outside” cookies and an “inside” one, with schematics of the inner chambers of the ISS drawn on. Joshua loves it. 

“Here’s where the astronauts sleep,” He points at the spot that’s supposed to be the service module, and Gordon’s proud of getting that part right on the cookie.

He ruffles Joshua’s hair again. “Hey, maybe you’ll sleep there in twenty years,” he says, and marvels at the levity to that sentence. Just a little bit. It’s washed away with Joshua’s smile, and then they busy themselves with folding bags for the cookies instead.