#again the first reblog was not about you and I should have been clearer about it :/

[petalruesimblr]

Hello and welcome back to my blog! I planned to post this about two weeks ago, but I got so busy with booking flights and reservations for my trip that I decided to wait until I returned from my vacation.

This project has been my plan for my next #FollowersGift and I’m happy that it's finally complete. It's not much, to be honest; this was just an idea I had for a career and I was unsure if I should create a part-time job again or pursue a full-time career, so I decided to do both!

The SimGuard Security Services is a full-time career based on a security company/firm while SimGuard Security is also part of that but is assigned to different lots. This took a while because aside from creating five part-time careers, I also created a full-time career that includes branches, opportunities and books, which will be fully discussed in this post. A second post will follow for the part-time careers so this one won't get too long.

Thank you to all my followers for the likes, reblogs, downloads of my content and all your kind comments! I truly appreciate each and every one of them.��

If you are interested, click on ’Keep Reading’ below for more information and pictures of the SimGuard Security Services Career.

SimGuard Security Services

Bulk Download: Sim File Share (Full Time and Part-Times) | For individual files, refer to this post here.

As a Security Guard, you’ll be the vigilant eyes and ears protecting everything from top-secret parties to the occasional rogue lawn gnome. Duties include patrolling, deterring mischief and ensuring our clients’ properties stay as they should—intact. If you’re prepared for an exciting mix of vigilance and adventure, apply now and become part of our SimGuard Security Services!

Career Type: Full Time Available for: Young Adults and Adults Available Languages: English Levels: 10 Rabbit Hole: Business And Journalism Does it have Carpool? Yes Does it have Uniforms? Yes File Type: Package Min. Required Game Version: 1.42 Packs Needed: The Sims 3 📣All descriptions for the levels, tones and metrics as well as skills required, salary, uniforms and other details are provided on the pictures above. Right-click on a picture and select ’Open image in new tab’ for a clearer view.

NRAAS Careers Mod

Branches and wages: This career has two branches that branch out after level 5: the Management branch, which focuses on handling internal agency operations as you progress to higher ranks and the Field Operations branch, which allows for expertise in specific security fields. All the levels represent realistic roles based on the research I did for this career. If you prefer the managerial role, expect to read more reports and increase your logic skills. However, if you prefer roles like a bodyguard or security escort, expect to develop both athletic and logic skills as you take on different roles in the field. Levels 1-5 offer realistic hourly wages based on research. To compensate for the increased days off and decreased work hours as the level increases, I had to raise the hourly wages beyond the normal salary ranges for Levels 6-10 for both branches. Metrics and Books: I made a few changes to this career, specifically regarding the metrics. I originally planned to include "Reports" as part of the required tasks but I realized this was unrealistic since it was based on the Law Enforcement career, where individuals interview people, search through their trash and create reports based on those findings—tasks not typical for a security guard. Instead, I made it a custom tone and changed the "Reports" metric to "Research," which is based on the Medical career, where professionals read reports from their subordinates instead of medical journals. Opportunities: As this is my first time creating opportunities, I focused on developing just two for now, with only one of them being repeatable. This is because security guards need to complete a minimum number of hours of continued firearm training per year. I initially planned to include Martial Arts as part of the metrics but decided to make this base game compatible for now. I might release a different version for World Adventures but to be honest, I don’t have the time at the moment. You are always free to add it on your own for personal use (check my terms of use). Be sure to check out MissyHissy's tutorial under Credits for a step-by-step guide on how to do it. As stated above, you will need NRAAS Careers Mod for these careers to show up in the game and as long as you have the latest version of it, it should work for higher patches. You can also read my #psa regarding these careers, click here. I’m not fluent in any other languages to translate so if anyone is interested in translating this career, please don’t hesitate to send me a message here, comment on this post or let me know in my Ask/Contact form (if you don’t have a Tumblr account) and will let you know the details. I have tested this career in my game, so far it is working and all scripts are showing up. All feedback is very welcome to help me learn and improve my skills so please let me know if you experience any problems on your end and I’ll do my best to sort it as soon as possible.

MissyHissy step-by-step tutorial Twallan for the Career Mod S3pe

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just a Girl 5

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible cheating, low self-esteem, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you move in with your sister when your luck turns for the worst.

Characters: Walter Marshall, possible Andy Barber

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

You stand in the open garage, gangly and out of place. You hear the back door snap again and sense Walter as he strides through the open gate. He comes up beside you and presses his arm against yours. 

“Here,” he holds out the stemless glass of wine, “figure one of us should enjoy it.” 

“Oh, thanks, I...” you stifle the complaint that you don’t drink. You suppose one won’t hurt.  

“Not much for wine,” he wiggles the can in his hand. You can smell the hoppy beer from there, “so, I was thinking shelves right across the back wall,” he spreads his fingers in a gesture across the breadth of the garage, “what do ya think?” 

“Right, er, what kind of shelves.” 

“I got storage in the basement. Mostly beer glasses and the like. Some car models. It’s gonna be a little bar or whatever. Need somewhere to chill,” he nudges you with his elbow, “’specially since I’m making lots of new friends.” 

You glance over at him from the corner of your eyes and step forward. You go to the wall and touch it. They’ve been newly put up and finished. Sturdy. You knock on it so you can hear where the anchoring is. 

“Could do,” you mutter, “when did you do these?” 

“Just finished them. A regrettable winter decision,” he chuckles, “don’t forget to try the wine. I’m sure your sister wouldn’t want it to go to waste.” 

“Oh, yeah,” you shift, standing on an angle to him. You raise the glass and take a sip, your face scrunching up at the acrid but sweet flavour. 

“You really don’t drink, do you?” He scoffs as he nears. 

“Never really saw the use in it,” you shrug. 

“Should be clearer after living with the jackass Barber,” he snorts, “you seem like you could use the escape. Must be awkward pent up with the newlyweds.” 

“I guess...” you rub your neck. ��So, the shelves, how tall--” 

“We can talk business tomorrow,” he interrupts, “I’ll get dinner on. How about you come hang on the deck while I cook?” 

“Sure, er,” you turn to him stiffly, “I could help.” 

“That’s sweet,” his eyes flick up and down, “but I invited you. You sit back and relax and enjoy the wine. It gets better the more you drink.” 

You clamp your lips shut and follow him back through the open door. He hits the button for it to close and directs you through the gate. You head up onto the deck and look around as you clasp the glass in both hands. 

“Sit,” he insists as he points to the cushions on the wicker frame. “I’ll get this going...” 

You take his command. You sit in the very corner of the patio couch and cross one leg over the other. You have a habit of trying to make yourself as small as you can. Next to him, it's easy. 

You sit and shrink as he moves around. He lights the barbecue then disappears inside once more. He brings out a plate of burgers and some veggies to grill, along with foiled potatoes to bake. He returns one more with the bottle of wine. 

“In case you want a top up,” he winks. 

“Thanks,” you murmur. 

He picks up his beer and sips as he goes to work. He puts the potatoes on first and closes the lid. He turns to lean on the railing and watches you. You drink to keep yourself busy. 

“So, you hear Jack White is coming to town?” He asks. 

Your eyes flit to him then away, “yeah.” 

“How about you tag along?” He offers. 

“Oh, I can’t--” 

“My treat,” he interjects. 

“It’s nice but...” 

“But what? You’re a fan.” 

“Sure, but er, it... would be too much.” 

“Hm, who says so? Seems like you got too many people in your ear. I wanna take you out. We can get some dinner too.” 

“Oh, would that... are you... asking me out?” You blanch. 

He guffaws, “uh, already did. You think I brought you over for your thoughts about shelves? It’s a bonus.” 

“Uh. I didn’t think... oh.” 

“Oh? I thought I was pretty forward. Why are you here if you’re not into it?” 

Because you told me to. Because you made me. Because I can’t go back. 

You shrug, “guess I misunderstood.” 

“You’re cute, you like good music, and I like you.” 

“You do?” You frown. 

“Don’t act so surprised,” he scoffs and nears the couch, he sits next to you. Close. Too close. “The other women around here, they talk too much. You’re calm, quiet. I’m too old for all that. I know what I want.” 

You nod as your throat tightens. 

“And you need a man, not a boy,” he tickles your side and swigs from his beer. 

You fidget. A chill ripples over you. You’re reminded of another instant, another touch that made you unsure, another man who told you what you wanted. 

You wince at the sliver of a memory and the glass slips in your hand. You garble as it tips before you can right it and it splashes onto his shirt, soaking the sleeve and down the side. He retracts in surprise. 

“Sorry,” you squeak, “I’m sorry, Walter, I didn’t mean to.” 

He stands and puts his beer down. He chuckles and you squirm, preparing yourself for his rage. You stare at him as you straighten the wet glass. 

“I’m really sorry, I don’t know what happened.” 

“It’s good, just some wine,” he peels his shirt over his head and your eyes widen at the reveal of his thick torso. You gulp as you can’t help but notice the thick muscles and dark trim of fur. “You get any on you?” 

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” you look down, thankful for the excuse to tear your gaze away from him. 

“I’ll go grab a fresh shirt,” he says. “Can I get you anything?” 

“N-no,” you stammer out and stand up, “I’m sorry.” 

“Relax,” he nears and rubs your shoulder, “it’s adorable when you get all flustered but I’m not mad. Pour yourself another glass.” 

You keep your eyes down and nod. He brushes by you, too close for your liking, and you go to the round glass table. Adorable? You don't know if you've ever been called that.

You take the wine and pour from the long neck. You don’t know what else to do. You’re so nervous. Maybe the alcohol will help. You’ve heard it called liquid courage. 

You pick up the glass again and go to the railing to look off into the green yard. You didn’t notice the hot tub before. His yard is just as well kept as any. As you try to distract yourself from what he said, your mind resists. 

He likes you? You’re not that stupid that you don’t know what’s going on. You’re only unsure. He’s moving so fast and you hardly know him really. He doesn’t really know you and yet he acts like he does. 

Even so, you don’t feel like you can deny him. You try, over and over, and he just bulldozes over you. Still, you can’t name one thing he’s done that’s been so wrong. 

The back door snaps again as Walter appears. He pulls down a tee shirt and smiles as he shakes out his hair. He combs his fingers through his curls. 

“Thought I got this mop under control,” he chortles as you watch him over your shoulder. He grabs his beer from where he left it and approaches, “so... you checking out the hot tub?” 

“Oh, uh, no, just... the flowers--” 

“My daughter deals with those,” he says, “you wanna hop in after dinner? Get in a soak?” 

“Erm, I don’t think so. I don’t have a suit.” 

“And?” 

You blink at his suggestion. Naked? You look down at the wine and gulp another mouthful. 

“You keep drinking that wine and think about it,” he taps your butt and backs up, “I should get those burgers going.” 

You keep your eyes ahead of you, staring off across the lawn as your heart races. What do you do? You can’t go back to your sister’s house, not after your run-in with Andy. You’ll just have to stick it out and hope he forgets about the hot tub. 

[t3a-tan]

New Perspectives (1/?)

Word Count: 4,915

AO3 | First | Next | Previous

Size-swap au for Oliver and James because unintentional fearplay is beautiful. Let’s be honest the only one learning anything here is James. Comments and reblogs are what keep me writing, so any help with motivation is appreciated ^^

@entomolog-t you asked me to tag you so here--

-----

Oliver wasn't sure how it happened exactly. Everything had been normal up until this point: he had harvested some of his tea leaves in the morning, made another jar of jam at noon, made some cornbread over a fire at night. And when he fell asleep in his cozy cotton stuffed bed he woke up—

Well… Not in his burrow, to say the least.

In fact, he woke up sleeping on the dewy grass— which was remarkably odd considering grass was not something he really could lie on top without laying it flat. Not to mention the grass was tiny; small enough to grab fistfuls of it at a time.

The situation became clearer once he looked up more, and despite the fact that the trees were still larger than him, they weren't complete behemoths as usual. Oliver could even see the entrance to his burrow— which was unharmed thankfully.

He was human-sized. But how?

Oliver prided himself on being extremely knowledgeable about the human way of life in comparison to most borrowers who preferred to stay sheltered, but after becoming closer with James he found that there were plenty of unwritten rules of human life too.

James… I should go see him like this. Maybe he knows something? If not, he could always help me find a solution…

Oliver had no interest in remaining human sized— it was just unnatural and too different from what he was used to. He didn't mind it, but it was more like a day's enjoyment kind of thing rather than life long.

On pure instinct he whistled loudly, before spotting a bird swooping down and landing at his feet. She was unbothered, and Oliver tilted his head, crouching down and lightly scratching at the buzzard's head, as she chirped contentedly in response.

"Apologies for calling you, Gail. I don't think you'll be able to carry me like this.." He remarked softly, enamored by just how small the graceful bird had now become. She squawked out in response, something Oliver liked to think was agreement despite knowing logically that the bird could neither understand him nor respond back to him.

Standing back up, he watched as she flew off again before starting his trek to find James's house, trying his best to recall the route.

Along the way he was enamored seeing how humans were interacting from the same level– but he knew better than to approach strangers like this as that was socially unacceptable. Once he had met up with James then it would be more productive to have that kind of conversation and experience with him rather than making random humans uncomfortable.

It took about twenty minutes to arrive, but knocking received no response. Oliver recalled the time James had mentioned keeping a spare key hidden behind a false brick after forgetting his keys at work for the seventh or eighth time, and so once he figured out which brick in the outer wall was fake he found the keys and unlocked the door, taking a few moments to relish in the new experience.

He made sure to lock the door behind him too before realizing that James wouldn't have a clue who just entered and would probably presume an intruder had just broken in.

"James? It's Oliver. I don't know what happened, I need to talk to you though…. Are you in?" Oliver began to explore the house, trying not to be too intrusive or snoop around too much, but he couldn't help but make mental comparisons between everything at the moment. Humans saw the world in such an odd way…he felt huge. Too big for his liking, but he knew that to a human this would be completely normal instead.

Oliver saw that James must be home, considering all of his shoes were still sitting in the shoe rack, and his wallet and keys were sitting on the shelf near the front door. Humans didn't generally leave without those essentials… So then why wasn't James responding? Was he potentially injured??

At that thought Oliver hurried up the stairs, this time not taking any time to make observations on his surroundings and instead searching specifically for an unconscious human… and he found nothing.

Peculiar. The windows are locked and shut, so where has he gone…? Did someone take him? There's no signs of a struggle, so that can't be it. Oliver was growing admittedly worried about the circumstances here. That was when he saw a shadow in the corner of his eye.

It disappeared quickly, but Oliver's attention had already focused onto it— expecting to see a house spider or something of the sort which he was very interested in inspecting close up now that they were very much harmless… but what he found instead was utterly perplexing.

"James..?"

Oliver dropped down to a crouch, eyebrows raised in surprise and eyes locked onto the shadow on the floor…. Because right there was not a shadow at all: instead he saw his friend, who looked about as pale as a ghost, back pressed into the corner of the room and staring up at Oliver with heaving breaths.

Oliver wasn't sure how it happened exactly, or what he did to inspire such terror in James's eyes, but he quickly set about fixing it.

"James? It's alright, James, just breathe... I'll do it with you, okay? In for four….hold for four….out for four…." He kept his tone low and soft, trying to coax the older man out of his fear-stricken state. Oliver stayed completely still, breathing in time with his instructions until James began following along, gasping slightly as he tried to regain control of his breathing, but soon enough he was taking deep breaths and leaving his fight or flight state.

Oliver waited, staring down at him with a concerned but curious gaze, waiting for James to say something or to explain what had him so frightened in the first place… but instead all he got was silence. Oliver's expression faltered, eyebrows furrowing slightly, leaning down a little closer now only radiating concern over his friend's plight.

"Keep breathing, it's okay… Are you struggling to find words at the moment? Do you need water?" He asked, keeping his voice gentle to avoid causing any other outbursts. He relaxed a bit when James managed to nod, and so Oliver pushed himself up to a stand, still looking down at the now borrower-sized human. "I'll go fetch some— woah… hm."

Oliver went completely still again as he saw the way James had flinched and shielded himself just as Oliver stood up. It took the human-sized borrower a few moments to put it together, but once he did he quickly lowered himself to the ground again.

"James... Do you think I'm going to hurt you..?" He asked, not offended in the slightest but saddened by the idea. Oliver couldn't imagine hurting an innocent person ever… and by the way James was reacting, it was probably more than just 'hurt' he was afraid of.

Instead of receiving a response though James just stayed curled up and trembling, so small and vulnerable. From Oliver's perspective, he was smaller than an ant would usually be from borrower size, which was surreal in and of itself. But he wasn't an oddity to be marveled at…he was a person in need of reassurance.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you. I should have considered my actions with a bit more grace… But there's no need for you to be afraid. I'm your friend, I wouldn't dream of laying a finger on you without your permission, especially not with the intent to harm." He assured softly, keeping his hands to himself as promised.

James held his head in his hands for a few more moments, anxiously dragging his fingers through his hair as he often did when he was stressed about something. Oliver had picked up on it when he would stay at James's house for a prolonged time and end up walking in on phone calls with his ex wife. But it was never this bad…James had always maintained some control of his emotional state. Oliver wasn't used to seeing him this way.

He tilted his head, leaning down a bit more whilst keeping his hands on his knees, non-threateningly.

"I'm not upset at you for your reaction at all. You have experienced quite a dramatic shift, so it's only natural that stress comes along with that. I understand that you are reacting on instinct, not logic, so there is no need to feel anxious that I may feel hurt by your fear." Oliver clarified, rambling as he often did when he wasn't fully certain of the most succinct way to put it; he would rather over-explain than miscommunicate.

James took a few moments before he nodded slowly, though he kept his gaze averted for now. Still, it was progress, so Oliver couldn't help but perk up slightly.

"I imagine it would be quite shocking to go from human height to borrower height, isn't it..?" He lowered his voice to a whisper, trying to coax a verbal answer from the man in order to test the waters. He waited patiently, observing his body language.

"Y-yeah….you can— you can say that again, mate..." James finally managed to stammer out a response, his gaze hesitantly shifting in order to focus on Oliver. Oliver offered a reassuring smile in turn.

James's eyes narrowed slightly, and although he was still quite shaken up he pointed an accusatory finger up at Oliver, causing the enlarged borrower's eyebrows to raise in withdrawn surprise.

"H-how in the hell do you keep it together..? Especially when we first met… I.. I…" He trailed off, expression wracked with guilt of his past callous treatment of Oliver. "...how..?"

Oliver hummed, unsure of how exactly to respond at first. It was a question even he himself didn't really know the answer to. He had always been quite emotionless, even more so when he was younger…and he simply didn't feel fear. Not in the same way— Oliver was extremely logical and curious, so he found that when he saw new things he would always be more fascinated than terrified.

The first time he saw a human he had been only 8 years old, collecting water from the creek, when he saw a gigantic hulking beast approach the water on the other side. He had at first moved to take shelter as he was taught to when facing predators, but stopped when he noticed that the so-called beast was a woman. A woman 30 or so times his size dressed in odd clothing, but a woman nonetheless.

Oliver watched after the woman. Despite being so close and in the open he was unafraid and oh so intrigued— he had never seen someone outside of his family before…not until now. He hadn't realized others were so big, thinking perhaps that she was simply very old and had never stopped growing like his parents had. He wondered if she had just moved nearby…he wondered how big her family's burrow would have to be.

"I'm not sure how. I don't understand the level of fear everyone else experiences because I don't… but I imagine I lack a majority of instincts. Most borrowers I know would likely pass out in the presence of a human… Especially when being handled by one." Oliver responded after some thought before swiftly adding, "and I'm not going to be handling you in such a rough manner, if that's something you're worried about."

"Oliver, I don't— I don't think you'd do that at all…" James was quick to interject, finally looking up and meeting Oliver's green eyes with his own brown ones, but Oliver could see that there was some doubt there. Nothing personal, clearly, but it was still there. He couldn't help his frown.

"I've not been scary a single day in my life, I don't think. It's odd. It's…uncomfortable." Oliver sighed. "Whatever has happened to us, I hope it reverses back soon. As intrigued as I am about viewing things from a human perspective, I would rather not scare you in the process."

He glanced around, and for the first time James saw Oliver genuinely unsure of what to do. Vulnerable, ironically enough, considering he was currently almost 500 times the size of what James was used to seeing him as. James tried his best to take a deep breath and calm his heart again, though he was still weak in the knees from the instinctive fear that came with it.

"We're friends, Oliver. I know you won't do anything to me… I just…my head keeps telling me to run— t-to get away as fast as possible…but my heart knows you are safe… okay? So don't feel bad, mate…" He addressed Oliver directly this time rather than just thinking his paranoid thoughts aloud. Oliver blinked, then stared for a few moments, eyes narrowing in confusion and distaste…his judging face. What had James managed to do wrong now?

"...your heart doesn't know anything, it's an organ responsible for pumping blood around the body…" The borrower murmured, genuinely confused by that description. James couldn't help but facepalm. That was what Oliver was taking away from what he had said? Oh well, it was embarrassing the first time, he's not going to repeat himself again…

"You are a bloody pain in my ass, you know that?" James grumbled in return, as Oliver blinked and now only looked apologetic, leaning in closer.

"Oh, I'm sorry… I didn't think I had touched you before, but I'm sorry if I hurt you." He apologized, concern in his gaze. James was tempted to square him in the nose— but he also knew that Oliver wasn't ridiculing him whatsoever, and simply didn't understand a lot of the idioms that humans used all the time.

"That's it. You've officially killed me." James sighed in exasperation, dragging a hand down his face. Despite his fed-up expression though, he saw it as endearing because Oliver was so genuine and so…him, 100% all the time. The smile appeared on his face and he couldn't help it. The absurdity of this situation was starting to make him crack.

Oliver's brows pinched together, with one subtly raised.

"Well now I know that's just spurious." He kept still, only slightly cocking his head as his observative gaze bored down upon James. The officer wouldn't even bother asking what the hell 'spurious' meant. "Does your joking mean you're more comfortable now? Because I suggest a lift off of the floor may help things look a bit less daunting from your perspective."

James hesitated, glancing towards Oliver's hands and shrinking back against the wall. The idea of fingers larger than his entire body reaching for him like the mouth of some beast was terrifying…but then he looked at Oliver's face, reminding himself of who those hands were attached to.

Since they had met, Oliver had been patient and gentle. He had taught James just as much as James had taught him back— and they were friends. Officially.

Just as he would never hurt Oliver even when it would have been so easy to do so, he knew Oliver was the same. If anything, the safest place for him to be at all at this size was probably in Oliver's hands. So despite his instincts screaming no, James nodded yes.

Oliver's expression softened again, moving slowly as he reached his hand forward, lowering it onto the floor in front of James so he could climb on by himself. He was quiet, allowing James to think, and giving him time to back out again if he wanted to— a yes could be withdrawn at any time, after all.

Eventually though, James stepped away from the wall and slowly climbed into Oliver's open palm. He marveled at the feeling. Oliver had very rough and worn skin— he worked with his hands quite often obviously, but they weren't uncomfortable by any means either. Not to mention that they were warm…

James looked down at his own minuscule hand as he brushed it over the creases of Oliver's palm, mouth agape. It was like he was standing on top of an alien— the floor beneath him pulsating with the calm beating of the now-giant borrower's heart. He couldn't imagine this being normal for anyone… He wondered how Oliver was able to be so casual around him.

Oliver was slow and careful with his movements as he stood up, keeping his hand stable and moving at such a pace that it wouldn't disturb James too much. Once he had stood up he turned and began to very gently make his way down the stairs, before entering the kitchen. He hummed, recalling how exactly James made his coffee and getting out the doll mug that the officer had bought a while back to make drinking easier for Oliver.

He lowered his hand again, but kept it still as he got to work on making the coffee, allowing James to stay on his hand since it was clear that the human was intrigued by it. Oliver had to admit that he was quite interested in how it felt to hold someone so tiny too, though he never moved his fingers to close in on James. He wouldn't do anything more without explicit permission, regardless of his curiosity.

Eventually the coffee was done, and Oliver very carefully managed to tip just a few drops into the tiny mug.

"Drink your coffee. I'll make some crumpets for us to eat…" He spoke, prompting James to finally give Oliver his hand back as he stepped off. Oliver smiled again, seeing that his friend was a bit embarrassed by his fascination— he didn't mind in the slightest. The enjoyment of discovery should be encouraged, not mocked.

Oliver got out two crumpets and placed them in the toaster before getting the butter from the fridge and setting it out to allow it to soften. He then got out a plate, now just waiting for the crumpets to toast.

With that sorted he looked down at James again, inspecting him lightly as the man dipped at his coffee, in a much more relaxed state than he had been before. Oliver was relieved. He hadn't meant to cause any emotional distress in the first place, and he was thankful that James was no longer suffering from such paralyzing fear in his presence. Friends should not have to fear friends.

"Did I make it how you usually do? I've not made coffee before, I'm afraid." Oliver asked, his tone still soft and non-threatening even though James had already calmed down. The shrunken human hummed in acknowledgement of his question, taking another sip before answering.

"It's actually alright, believe it or not. I'm surprised you managed it, if it's your first time. Good on you." The man responded, managing a smile up in Oliver's direction. He had a very different way of smiling than Oliver: whereas the borrower's smile was gentle and calm, his was much more light and playful. Their distinct personalities on display.

Oliver slowly leaned down, resting his elbow on the countertop and then his cheek in his hand as he gazed down at the human. He inspected the man for a few moments, before looking elsewhere.

"I'd like to go to a library. Perhaps I can find some new books to record." Voice contemplative, he hummed to himself as if considering the idea.

Oliver wanted to go to a library, but he couldn't exactly leave James here to fend for himself as the human didn't have the necessary skills or tools to get around by himself. He could bring James along, but it may be overwhelming for the man to be in an area with other comparatively giant people…not to mention he'd have to remain hidden the entire time, and Oliver had learned that James got bored quite easily.

James's nose wrinkled in distaste at the idea.

"Didn't you say you grew up in a library? Why do you need to record so many books, anyway? Is that your idea of fun..?" He wasn't necessarily judging, but he never understood why Oliver was so determined and able to focus on such tedious things like copying down books, or making maps. It was admirable, definitely, but also extremely boring-sounding.

"I may have grown up in a library, but I didn't have the necessary supplies to write down what I read, nor did I have many opportunities to read as it was usually quite dark when the opportunity did arise." Oliver began, not taking any offense and instead over-explaining his answers, not recognizing that James meant it all as more rhetorical.

"Borrowers do not have books, and many borrowers are not able to read either. If there were more books accessible to our kind, that could change…and there would be much more information available as a whole about our world, since very few borrowers can go out and explore it for themselves. Currently my library is in development, but I hope that when my colony is established it will be in full use by borrowers living in it." Oliver continued.

"And yes. It is enjoyable to me. I get to learn, and I know that what I record will become valuable to others of my kind later on." He finished, before raising an eyebrow at James. "You humans may see that as odd, but there was a time in your history where things were very much the same for your kind. Now you're more focused on getting an education and getting a good job— borrowers haven't even reached the education stage yet."

James could tell thanks to many experiences of Oliver lecturing him about the differences between their kinds that the borrower wasn't putting him down for not understanding. He'd be a good teacher, James couldn't help but think… The way Oliver had mastered explaining things without making the other person feel stupid or put on the spot was impressive, to say the least.

"What's stopping you then?" James asked, taking another sip of his coffee. Oliver watched him silently for a few moments before releasing a sigh that rustled through the shrunken human's hair.

"I don't want to risk overwhelming you in such an environment. And I don't want to leave you on your own in this state either. You do not have any of the skills necessary for survival as a borrower, and I'd rather not risk your safety to satiate my own curiosity." He explained, trying his best to let James down gently. He didn't mean to call the human effectively useless at this height…but he kind of was. It didn't change how Oliver saw James, but it changed the way Oliver considered the human's new needs.

Before, James didn't need Oliver's help at all other than emotionally, but now he was practically dependent on physical aid. Oliver didn't mind in the slightest, but he had come to learn that James was quite a prideful person— not to a fault, but enough that he was understandably frustrated by his lack of autonomy. Oliver would try his best to keep his actions in consideration of that: he felt fine regardless, but James would probably appreciate having control as much as possible right now.

The crumpets were finally done so Oliver began to spread them.

"What? It can't be that hard, mate. I see you do it all the time." James remarked with a frown. He probably didn't think much of Oliver's feats because to borrowers they weren't feats at all, but at a human scale borrowers were definitely performing incredible feats of strength, agility, and coordination on a regular basis. It was understandable that James couldn't see it like that because the scale was so different. In this case, experiencing the difficulty himself would be the only way he'd understand what Oliver meant.

Oliver hummed, finishing spreading the crumpets before setting the butter knife down and pointing over the edge of the counter 

"Try climbing down the counter. Borrowers are capable of climbing up and down this height without tools by the age of about 11." He instructed, not directly communicating that James could choose to or not because he believed it was for the best that James should make the attempt. Still though, if James chose not to, Oliver wouldn't force or pressure him into it at all.

James walked over to the edge, not thinking much of the idea until he realized just how massive of a drop it was. He couldn't believe that Oliver did this so often… he made it look so easy. But James wanted to try anyway, if only to prove himself as capable— he didn't want to be a burden to Oliver by proxy of being this height.

"Just watch me." He snarked, before turning and dangling himself off of the edge, trying his best to keep his trembling contained as the effort it took even to do just that was causing his muscles to ache. Oliver raised an eyebrow, keeping an eye on James for any signs of him losing his grip or slipping so he would be able to catch him in time. It was inevitable. If the man was already shaking at the top, he wouldn't make it down before his muscles were completely worn out.

"Don't injure yourself by pushing too much." Oliver reminded gently, not realizing that those words only had the opposite effect. James was more determined than ever to make it all the way down no matter what, and so he began the climb.

Embarrassingly, he only made it a few inches before losing his grip and falling— promptly getting caught into Oliver's hand and lifted back up to the top of the counter. Oliver wasn't smug about this fact at all. He didn't like seeing his friend's hurt pride, but he didn't want him to overestimate his abilities and injure himself as a result.

James groaned, holding his arm and gritting his teeth in pain from the ache in his sore muscles. He definitely pushed too hard… which was even more upsetting knowing that he hadn't even made it a quarter of the way down. Oliver's expression became concerned, bringing his hand up closer to his face and inspecting the human closely to make sure he hadn't seriously injured himself.

"Are you alright..? Do you want some ice? Perhaps I could run you a bath..?" Oliver spoke, not fretting so much as simply offering assistance. James shook his head, slightly flustered at how poorly his attempt had gone.

"Jesus, Oliver… I can't believe you do that all the time. You said 11 year olds can do that??" James brushed past Oliver's concern for the moment. Oliver always fell for trying to answer every question and further explain certain topics.

"Well, although there are currently no scientific studies I'm aware of on the matter, it is not a stretch to conclude that we have slightly different biology. Borrowers have greater stamina than humans, a lower metabolic rate, and I presume that our muscles are more focused on climbing and carrying. Of course though, this could be a byproduct of our environment rather than a significant biological difference… either way, to borrowers, this is very normal, but to humans at our scale it's practically impossible." He rambled.

James listened with interest, but was more so relieved that Oliver was no longer fretting over him. Oliver moved the plate of crumpets to be in between him and James before starting to eat the breakfast. He made sure to chew and swallow, incredibly intrigued by how different the textures of the food felt at this size, before talking again.

"Anyway, as I stated before, you don't have the necessary skills for survival as a borrower, so I would rather not leave you vulnerable. I don't think you're incapable of taking care of yourself…but the world is very large. Even trained borrowers get caught up in it. As you know…"

James knew that Oliver was referring to his own family, and he winced as he remembered the amount of loss that his friend had endured. He forgot, sometimes, because Oliver rarely ever mentioned his family or dwelled on his emotions… but it was a stark reminder. As much as James didn't like having to depend on others, he recognized that Oliver only wanted to prevent him from having a similar fate.

"Okay, I get it. It's fine, we'll…figure something out." He relented, deciding to forgo some of his autonomy for the sake of alleviating Oliver's concerns. He knew that the man wouldn't take advantage of that.

In all of the time that James had known him, which to be fair it wasn't that long, Oliver was always respectful, polite, compassionate, and receptive. He may take things too literally at times, and he may ramble on and on about things that James couldn't even begin to understand— but he was a good friend. James trusted him a lot…even more so now: when it became clear that Oliver didn't just tolerate him and wasn't only polite because of the height difference.

This situation was freaky as all hell, but it confirmed that Oliver was a genuinely good and trustworthy man. James was thankful to be friends with someone like that…

Suddenly, James's phone could be heard ringing upstairs.

[something-tofightfor]

Competing For Christmas 1: The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Pairing: Modern Din Djarin x Female Reader

Word Count: 7,584

Rating: T/M: There’s some language. That’s about it. 

Summary: As the holidays approach, it’s time to start seriously thinking about how you’ll spend them - and who you’ll spend them with. 

After breaking the ice with your coworker Din, the future becomes a little clearer ... and you begin to see some of the possibilities.

Author’s notes: 

It’s here! This is the first part of my 2022 Hallmark Christmas celebration. You voted and you chose this story as the winner - so I hope you all enjoy it. 

I’m planning on releasing this in real time for each part to coincide with the dates of the events that take place in the story... but don’t hold me to that because as we all know, the holidays can and do - usually get a little hectic. 

We’re playing a little fast and loose with some canon Mando elements - and I’m picturing Din as a little younger than he is in the show; early-mid 30′s. Reader will have no specified characteristics or age, aside from the fact that she is over 21 (legally allowed to drink in the US), celebrates Christmas, and she does/will have hair that is of a length that can be covered (you’ll see). 

Questions, concerns, comments? My inbox is open! I tried to keep this brief, and yet again... was unable to. You should all know the drill by now. 

To get alerted when I post new chapters/stories, follow @somethingtofightfor-shares​ and turn on post notifications - you can also ask to be added to my tag list (link in bio or at the top of my taglist reblog) 

Thank you to everyone that’s showed interest in this so far. 

Translations at the end!

Masterlist

The more you put it off, the clearer it became that you were going to have to swallow your anxiety and just do it. 

And it shouldn’t have been difficult - not really. 

He was a nice guy; the conversations that you’d had at work were always positive ones, even if they were short. You’d never seen him get upset, even when someone made an unreasonable demand of him. He’d even gone out of his way to help around the office, taking on tasks before anyone could ask him to do so, or spending extra time to make sure the older people working there knew how to use everything properly to do their jobs. 

He is a nice guy, and if you didn’t ask, you knew that someone else would. 

And it wasn’t just the people you worked with that you had to worry about getting ahead of - it was everyone single in your age group, too. 

So on the Monday before Thanksgiving, you found yourself texting your best friend and asking her to wish you luck before taking off down the hallway and toward his office, fingers nervously trailing along the wall in your wake. 

Everyone seemed to be busy as you passed, and you were thankful that no one stopped you or poked their heads out of their office doors and attempted to speak to you. One delay and I’m going to lose my nerve. I know it. By the time you reached his partially closed door, your nerves were much calmer, one hand rising so that you could rap your knuckles against the frame with no hesitation. 

Or, only a little hesitation, if you were being honest. 

“C’mon in.” He spoke before you’d finished knocking, and you did exactly that, pushing the door open and then sticking your head inside of the room, a smile unavoidable at the sight of him.

“Hey, Din.” Leaving the door open behind you, you stepped through the small space and dropped into the chair across from him at the desk, crossing your legs at the knee. “How’s it going?” 

“Busy today, actually.” He sighed, running his hand through his hair and then gesturing to his computer. “I’ve closed a few work orders, and had to go and help Sandra log back into her computer. She forgot her password again, and couldn’t do anything.” Bet she didn’t really forget it.

As you listened to him speak, you let yourself stare at the man, trying to decide what the best course of action was. Just ask. That’s what you’re here to do. “Didn’t you help her last week, too?” Wrinkling your nose, you rolled your eyes. “I know it’s not a good idea because of safety and all that, but you’d think these people would use simpler passwords, right? Things they can remember?”

“If they did that, I’d be out of a job.” Leaning back in his chair, Din smiled at you, a dimple appearing on one cheek, visible through his sparse beard. “It’s fine. It’s what I’m here for, and it makes the day go by faster.” 

“If you say so.” Both of you went silent, and after about ten seconds, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “Look, I didn’t come here for computer help, Din. I actually��� I have a favor to ask you.” 

“Yeah?” Din sat up straight, leaning closer and then pushing the sleeves of his shirt up toward his elbows before resting his forearms on the desk, the keyboard between them. “What’s up?” His casual response put you even more at ease, and as you opened your mouth to clue him in, you realized that you weren’t anxious anymore - whatever was going to happen was going to happen. He’d either agree or he’d say no, but you’d never know the outcome unless you took the leap. 

“So, you weren’t here last Christmas, but I’m sure you’ve seen the fliers for the events that happen over the next month.” Din nodded, his gaze still focused on you. “Christmas is a pretty big deal here, and -”

“With a town name like Mistletoe, I’m not surprised.” He raised a brow. “But go on. I’m sorry I interrupted.” 

“Well, if you’ve seen the fliers, then you know that the events are all part of a larger contest, right?” He nodded again, the warmth in his eyes there but subdued, the man waiting to see exactly what you had to say. “I sign up every year, always have, and I did this year, too.” He nodded again, his smile still present but somehow smaller, the man staying quiet. “It’s… long story short, I signed up with James as soon as the site went live, and …” 

“And now you’re not together anymore.” Din leaned even closer, saying your name. “I’m sorry about that.” You were surprised by the sincerity in his voice; you hadn’t even known that the man was aware that you’d broken up with your long term boyfriend. But apparently, Din knew more than he let on. Just because he’s quiet doesn’t mean that he doesn’t see. “But that doesn’t … I can’t do anything about that, and if you wanted to remove your name from the list, I’m sure all you’d have to do is tell whoever’s in charge. I’m good with computers, that doesn’t mean I can hack into -”

“No, Din!” The laugh that spiled from your lips was one of the most genuine that you’d produced since your breakup a few weeks earlier, your accompanying eye roll only slightly exaggerated. “I’m not sorry about it. It was a long time coming. We wanted different things. He was ready to leave here and uproot his life and I just… wasn’t.” Not for him, anyway. “It’s better like this, but.” You held up a finger. “I don’t want to take myself off of the list, and I don’t want you to take me off, either. I … I was actually wondering…” 

The nerves were creeping back in, especially with the way that Din was still watching you, the expression on his face much more interested than it had been only minutes earlier. Just ask. All he can say is no.

“I wanted to ask you if you wanted to pair up, Din. With me.” Wetting your lips, you paused and gave him a few seconds to let the words sink in. “It’s actually a lot of fun every year, and if you’re involved with it, it’s a great way to really experience a Mistletoe Christmas.” 

“Aren’t there like five events? Doesn’t that take up a lot of time?” Cocking his head to the side, the man blinked slowly, a slight frown deepening the lines on his forehead. “We haven’t really spent much time together, so I’m not sure that I’d be a good partner. I don’t know you or this town well, so …” 

“It’s one event a week leading up to the 23rd.” You reached into your pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, sliding it across the desk at him. “Starts with trivia, and  then there’s a baking thing and a snowman competition.” He reached for the paper, his fingertips briefly making contact with yours as he picked it up, unfolding it. “But the biggest thing is the scavenger hunt that’s the morning of the 23rd. That’s my favorite part, even though it’s the most difficult.” 

You watched as his eyes scanned the sheet, his mouth lifting into a small smile at your words. “One a week?”

“One a week. A couple hours at a time.” Leaning back, you reached up to scratch at your chin, wetting your lips. “There’s other stuff to do on the days that there aren’t events, but it’s not … they aren’t mandatory. And no, we haven’t really spent much time together, but I think it could be fun, and we could get to know each other a little better.” You paused, thinking. “I never really see you out anywhere, Din. And you’ve met a couple of us for drinks after work once or twice, but …” You shrugged. “I know you don’t have family here, so I thought it would be a good way to…” 

But as you spoke, you realized that you’d never even considered the possibility that Din would leave for the holidays - using his vacation time to travel back to wherever it was that he was from originally. Shit. I didn’t … that could be a problem. “You alright?” He set the paper down, his hand lifting to run his fingers through his hair again. “You got quiet.” 

“It just occurred to me that I have no idea if you’re planning on being here for Christmas, and if you aren’t, then my plan isn’t going to work.”

“I’m staying here.” His tone hardened slightly for the first time, but it passed quickly, the man shaking his head back and forth. “I’ll be in Mistletoe for Christmas. Is there anyone else you can ask, though? I wouldn’t want to ruin your chances of winning.”

“There are a couple people I could ask. But if you say no, I’m not going to.” The look of confusion on his face made you laugh, and so you uncrossed your legs and then leaned all the way forward, pressing your palms on the top of his desk. “I’m pretty competitive, Din. And none of my friends really are. I take this seriously, and I think you would, too. I thought we’d make a good team.” 

“Yes.” He was grinning again, excitement back in his eyes. “I will.” You will? You’ll take it seriously, or you’ll be my partner? “When is …” He looked down, consulting the list. “When is trivia?”

“Saturday.” You grinned back, rising to your feet. “And then the baking thing is the following weekend.” He took a deep breath, exhaling as he brought his gaze up to meet yours again. “Let me give you my number and that way we can coordinate for the -”

“I have a better idea.” He stood, too, pulling his phone out of his pocket and thumbing it unlocked. “Give me your number, and I’ll give you my address. You can stop over after work sometime in the next couple days and we can strategize.” What? The look on your face must have alarmed him because Din’s lips parted, the man’s fingers tightening around his phone. “Or we can just talk at lunch or on break, that’s just as easy.

“I’m surprised that you’re inviting me to your house.” Pointing at his phone, you took a breath. “I figured you’d want to meet at a bar or restaurant or something.” 

“I leave my dog alone all day while I’m here, so I like spending time at home at night when I can.” He grinned, the expression somewhat embarrassed. “I know it’s stupid, but I feel bad that he’s by himself for so long.” He handed you his phone and you typed in the number before replying, sending yourself a message that simply said “Din” in the text field, and then gave it back to him. 

“No, I get it. And yeah, that’s fine. I’m free tonight and then tomorrow, so let me know what works best for you, alright?” Din nodded again, setting the phone down on his desk. “I really appreciate this, Din.”

“Don’t mention it.” He opened his mouth to continue, but was interrupted by a loud beep from his computer, the man’s eyes immediately going to the screen. “I should look into that. That’s the noise it makes when there’s an emergency.” 

Telling him goodbye, you spun and headed out of his office, pulling the door partway shut behind you. That could have gone worse. The walk back to your desk felt shorter than the one to his office had, and by the time you’d settled back down, picking up your phone to save his contact information, you were smiling outright. Much worse. 

The rest of the day was uneventful, and you worked methodically to clear out your inbox and get things done leading up to the long holiday weekend, the conversation with Din fading to the back of your mind as time passed. 

But when your phone vibrated later that afternoon and you picked it up, everything came back - including your wide smile - at the words on the screen. 

Here’s my address. How’s 6:30 tonight sound? I can order pizza. 

You only hesitated for a few seconds before typing back a reply, trying not to let yourself get overexcited. 

That works for me. I’ll see you then. 

— 

“Stace, there’s nothing else to it. We’re going to be teammates for a couple weeks.” You were pacing in your living room, phone held to your ear. “Yes, he agreed right away, but it’s probably just because he felt bad for me. He knew that James and I broke up, so it was probably just pity.” 

“Nah. He doesn’t seem the type to do pity.” The woman’s laugh was loud in your ear, but her tone was serious. “And even if it’s just because he wants to experience a Mistletoe Christmas, that’s still a good thing, right? It’s going to be fun.”

“I hope so.” You sighed, checking the time. “I’m going over to his place tonight so that we can talk about the events, and -”

“You’re going over there?” She screeched the words, her surprise evident. “Oh, that’s really good. Just the two of you means that …” She kept talking and you sat down on the back of the couch, bringing your free hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose. 

“Stacy. Yes, I’m going over there. He said he would have asked me to meet him somewhere else, but he doesn’t like leaving his dog alone all day and night. So it won’t be just us, the dog’s going to be there too.” She called you an idiot but you ignored it, continuing. “And even though it was the best thing for both of us, I did just break up with a long term boyfriend a couple weeks ago. I’m not looking for anything right now.

“Even with someone that looks like Din?” She’d seen him in person when she’d met you for lunch a few times, the man lifting his hand in a quick wave as the two of you passed him on your way out the door. Even with someone like Din. “You have to admit, he’s… nice to look at.”

“He is. But that doesn’t matter. We’re going to do some Christmas themed activities together, and that’s it. Maybe we’ll become friends, but I’m not counting on it.” 

“We’ll see.” You stood again and moved into your kitchen, head tilted to the side to hold your phone in place as you pulled your jacket on. “Just give it a chance. You never know - you might be perfect for each other.”

“Or,” you countered while grabbing your purse and keys. “Or we might be really incompatible, this is going to be a mess, and five weeks of us spending time together will end really badly.” She laughed again, telling you were wrong. “Maybe. But I’ve already asked him, so now all I can do is see what happens.”

You hung up the phone after telling her goodbye and that you’d let her know how things went, scrubbing one hand over your lower face. Is she right? Am I right? Only a few minutes later, Din’s address was typed into your phone and you were on your way to a house not even ten minutes from yours, music playing softly on your car radio as you drove. 

There were a few houses that already had their Christmas lights on and decorations up, but you knew that the number of them would only increase the following week, starting with the tree lighting ceremony on the day after Thanksgiving. You wondered if Din would go to that and decided to ask him while you were at his house that night. Might as well. 

You felt no apprehension as you got closer to his place, and even when you parked in the driveway and turned the car off, that was still true. 

But as you headed up the steps to the porch - he’d turned the light on for you - you felt a small twinge of nerves. And when you pressed the button for the doorbell and were answered with a series of barks from the opposite side, you sucked in a breath, heart rate increasing. I could leave. I could just go.

You saw the dog before you saw Din, its face poking around the edge of the curtains in the front window, and were so focused on it that you didn’t notice the door opening inward, Din standing in a rectangle of light that spilled out from the hallway and onto the porch. “Hey, sorry about him. He likes to bark, but he’s all talk, I promise.” The man paused and your attention shifted from the animal to the man, who took a step back and gestured with one hand. “Come in.” 

You followed him inside and shut the door behind you, and there was another quiet yip as the dog ran from the other room and into the hallway, Din bending slightly at the waist to grab for his collar. “Oh, it’s fine, he’s…” Unzipping your coat, you crouched down and then looked up, nodding. “You can let him go.” 

Din did, speaking two words - Cuyir jate - and taking a cautious step closer to you as the dog closed the final distance, head held high and his nose working overtime as he sniffed at you. Look at how cute this damn dog is. “His name’s Grogu. Had him since I got here. I actually… found him.” You reached out, letting Grogu sniff your hand, and when he’d made the decision that you weren’t going to harm him and started to lick at your wrist, you let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “Or maybe he found me. They tell me he’s a mix of a couple things, but that he’s mostly Shiba Inu and some sort of Shepherd.” 

“He’s definitely cute.” Biting your lip as you glanced up, you nodded. “I can see why you wouldn’t want to leave him longer than you need to.” Scratching the dog behind the ears for a few seconds with one hand, you began to stroke over his fur with the other, Grogu plopping down into a seated position and whining quietly. “I love his ears.” 

“Everyone does.” Din cleared his throat. “Figured we could order food and then you could tell me more about this contest while we wait and eat. I like it kinda cold in here, so I built a fire in the living room, but …” Standing, you gave the dog one more pat on the head and then moved closer to the man, wiping your hand on your jeans. “If you wanted to stick to the kitchen, we can do that too.”

“Sitting by a fire sounds great, Din.” He led you into the other room and you followed, glancing around to get a look at the inside of his house. It was clean and organized, though it was smaller than yours, and as you walked, you noticed that there were very few personal touches scattered throughout. Maybe he’s a minimalist. 

Grogu pushed past you as you stepped down into the recessed living room, the dog immediately jumping up onto an armchair next to the fireplace and curling up. He settled his nose into his bushy tail, bright eyes watching intently as you lowered yourself onto the couch across from him. You kept your eyes on Din as you did so, the man stepping toward the fireplace and bending over to add another log before pulling the grate shut. 

It was impossible to ignore the way the material of his shirt pulled over his shoulders - the waffle-knit texture of the dark Henley he wore tight over his back and arms - and so you didn’t. You let yourself look, leaning back against the soft cushions, and barely managed to avert your eyes when he turned to face you, pointing at the open laptop on the table. “I have the menu open for the pizza place I like. Pick what you want and add it to the order.” 

As he settled down on the couch next to you - leaving plenty of space between your bodies, you leaned closer to the computer, fingers moving over the trackpad. I know this place. It’s one of my favorites.

It didn’t take you long to add your meal to the order, and when you gestured for him to finish, you reached for your purse, pulling your phone out. “What do I owe you? I can send it through Venmo, or if you want cash, I can give it to you at work tomorrow.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” He clicked the “place order” button and then turned to look at you, lower lip pushed out in a small frown. “I invited you over here, so I’ll pay.” Thanking him quickly, Din ducked his head, turning his attention back to the screen. “Says it’ll be about 30 minutes. That’s plenty of time for you to fill me in, right?”

It was, but rather than just telling him, you decided to show the man what he’d invited you over to talk about. “There’s actually a website, if you want to look through it. It’s got pictures and videos from previous years, and it’s how they keep track of teams and points, too.” He pushed the device closer to you again, and you typed in the address, opening up the page. “I’ll actually need you to add in your information, too, just in case we win anything. They need to have a record of who the prizes go to, so -”

“Wait, there’s prizes?” He was tapping lightly on the trackpad, scrolling through the main page. “This isn’t just friendly competition?” 

“Well, yes and no.” Bending one arm, you rested your elbow on your knee and settled your chin in your hand as you eyed the website. “It’s pretty friendly all the way through. People are competitive, but they’re not ruthless, y’know? It helps to get us all in the Christmas spirit, but they like to reward the people that win, too.” 

“What kind of prizes?” He clicked a video and kept his eyes on it as it played, the volume loud enough that you could hear it, but not too loud to keep you from talking. “Cookies and Christmas sweaters? Gift certificates? What are the stakes here?” 

“God, no. We all get enough cookies and candy canes and all that bullshit from everywhere else. The Christmas sweaters … I can’t tell you no, because that might be part of it, but it’s more than that.” Pointing with one finger, you cleared your throat. “It sort of depends on who wins, too. There are some generic participation prizes, but for the teams that come in first, second and third, they personalize it a little.” 

“Yeah?” A second video was playing, Din watching as people competed in a 3-legged race. “Have you ever won?”

“I’ve won individual events before. But I’ve only won a bigger prize once. It was the first year James and I were together, and we came in third overall. We got an overnight stay at a bed and breakfast about an hour away as our prize.” You swallowed hard at the memory, looking down at your lap. “I think that was still during the honeymoon phase of our relationship, you know? He was trying to impress me. After that year it always seemed like he was just going through the motions.” 

Din was quiet for long moments and when you finally looked up, you sucked in a breath at the sight of a photo of you and James on the screen, both of you in winter hats and scarves. I forgot that was on there. 

He quickly clicked to a different page and while it loaded, Din shifted on the couch next to you, obviously a little uncomfortable. “So it’s not just a couples thing? I know you said there were other people you could ask, but I figured it was just so you didn’t have to back out.”

“It’s not. I entered with my best friend a couple times. My college roommate was my partner once when she came back here for the winter break. As long as it’s a team of two and both people fall into the same age bracket, it doesn’t matter.” 

“Yeah, it looks like there’s a separate contest for kids?”

“There is.” You leaned over, clicking on a different tab. “But that one’s just mostly fun. Races and making decorations, volunteering for the older kids. You have to be over 18 to sign up for the one we’re in, but there’s still plenty of stuff to do even if it doesn’t earn you points toward the competition. “You’ll see. It sounds a lot more complicated than it really is. All you have to do is show up for the main events and play, and you’ll be fine.” 

“I can’t promise you that we’ll win.” He rubbed a large palm over one knee, sighing as he said your name. “Where I’m from, we didn’t have a lot of these traditions. My holidays were a lot of … structure. I’ve really only gotten to experience American Christmas a few times, and I’m still getting the hang of it.” The hang of it? It’s just … celebrations. 

“That’s alright, Din.” Clasping your hands together in your lap, you shrugged your shoulders. “As long as you’re having fun, that’s what matters.” 

“But you just said that you and James didn’t win because he wasn’t trying to.” He rubbed at his knee again, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to think …”

“There’s a difference between not trying and giving it a legitimate effort and losing, Din. As long as you aren’t just showing up and sitting there on your phone instead of decorating cookies, or complaining about having to trudge through the snow and getting your pants wet while we’re building snowmen, it’s fine.” 

“I don’t mind the cold.” He let out a long sigh, the concern fading from his expression. “And Grogu and I really like the snow. He didn’t get to see much of it last winter, because we got here toward the end, but we took a trip over the summer, and he really liked it then.” 

“Ah, so that’s where you went when you were gone for a week. Europe. There’s snow over there in some places in the summer, right?” You grinned at him, tilting your head. “You left so fast that some of us wondered if you were even coming back, and the little old ladies in the cafeteria were distraught at the thought they wouldn’t ever see you again.” 

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, eyes darting over to Grogu and then back to you. “Europe. It was a last minute thing, so I only had time to clear it with the boss.” His reaction was a little strange, but you figured that it was just the result of the man accidentally revealing too much to you after such a short time, and so you ignored it. He’ll tell me what he wants to tell me when he wants to tell me. “And I’m sure the cafeteria ladies were only distraught because I wasn’t around to help ‘em log into their email and update their order forms.” Doubtful. You snorted at that and were rewarded with another of Din’s bright smiles, the discomfort from a few minutes earlier all but gone. “The food should be here soon. Let me put Grogu outside so that he’s not trying to climb into your lap while you eat, alright?” 

Nodding at the suggestion, you settled back as Din stood and whistled, calling out the dog’s name. Grogu’s head popped up in interest, and when the man headed for the back door, fingers closing sound the handle, he bolted toward his owner, tongue hanging out. “He’s adorable, Din.” You spoke as the door shut behind the dog, Din flipping the light switch on and keeping his eyes on the glass for a few seconds. “You found him?”

“Yeah. It was about two weeks after I got here, I was driving down the highway and stopped at a rest area.” He motioned for you to follow him up and into the kitchen, opening cupboards and then pulling out plates and napkins. “He was in a box next to one of the dumpsters, and I heard him whining when I walked by.” Din pulled his phone out again and scrolled for a few seconds, tapping once on the screen before he turned it toward you. “There was no way I was getting back in my car without him.” 

 You gasped at the picture he was showing you; Grogu but tiny, the longer fur near his ears matted and wet, his body tucked into a tight circle on a piece of filthy cardboard. “Of course you couldn’t.” Covering your mouth, you blinked back tears at the sight. “He was so little.” 

“And all alone. I think there were others in the box with him at one point, but by the time I got there, he was by himself. Wrapped him in a blanket and put him in the car with me.” Din swiped to the left and the next picture you saw was of the puppy on the front passenger seat, wrapped in a tan, fur-lined blanket with only his head poking out. “Took him to a vet as soon as they opened the next morning, and they scanned him for a chip. Nothing came up. I said I’d keep him until someone claimed him or I could find him a home, and now…” Din trailed off, shrugging. “He’s not going anywhere.” 

“They always know when they’re rescued.” Movement out of the corner of your eye caused you to turn your head toward the window, the sight of Grogu running across the snow-covered grass making you smile. “I bet he’s a terror sometimes, though.” 

“Oh, definitely.” Din’s laugh was loud and genuine, and when he pushed away from the counter, tucking his phone back into his pocket, you followed, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “He’s a little shit but I love him anyway.” Before he could sit down across from you, the sound of the doorbell filled the house, Grogu’s response barks audible through the glass. “One second.” 

He grinned as he walked away and you followed his motion with your eyes, gaze locked on the way his arms swayed as he walked, fingers curled into loose fists by his sides. Din was nice to look at - you’d thought so from the minute he’d been hired. The man’s shy nature during his introduction to the company had made him something of a mystery, many of the employees - especially the women - going out of their way to attempt to get to know him. But I don’t know if any of them actually have.

He answered  the door, greeting the delivery driver, and as he made conversation during the handoff, you kept watching him, chewing on the inside of your cheek. I shouldn’t stare, especially since we’re going to be hanging out so much. But you couldn’t help it, keeping your eyes on him even when he’d turned to face you again, boxes in his hands and using one foot to push the door shut behind him. “Need help?” 

He assured you that he didn’t, and a few minutes later, the two of you were happily eating dinner, both boxes open on the table between you. “So tell me more about this competition. I know we looked at the site earlier, but …” He swallowed a bite of pizza, setting the slice down and wiping his fingers on a napkin. “How do they score the events? Is it easy to win?”

“Everything’s weighted differently.” Swallowing a mouthful of your own, you lifted your cup to your lips, taking a long drink of Coke. “For example, the teams that win trivia will win with that number of points, but they only carry over a specific amount to the second event.” He nodded, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “There are judges for the snowman contest, and winners are ranked, and it’s the same thing; a certain number of points.” 

“Do they count the number of cookies you decorate?” He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Because I can tell you right now, I’m not going to be fast at that.” 

“They do. But it’s not just the number with frosting, it’s the number that are complete. We don’t have to bake them, just decorate them. Every year, someone drops a full plate, or comes up with some lame method that they think is going to get them an advantage, but it never works.” 

“What about eating them?” He raised a brow, swiping at his lower lip with one thumb and then sucking it clean, a breath catching in your throat at the sight. That’s definitely… something to see.  “What happens if I eat the ones we frost?” 

“I’ll be mad.”  You wadded up your napkin and tossed it at him. “A couple is one thing, but there’s plenty of time to eat cookies after, Din. I promise, there’s hundreds of them that get made that night. You’ll have too many to choose from.” 

“Fine.” He groaned and rolled his eyes. “Scavenger hunt? That seems like it’ll be the most competitive.” 

“It always is. And it’s the best place to make up points, too.” Finishing your pizza, you pushed your plate away. “There’s the typical clues, and we have to figure them out and then go to each place and take pictures to prove that we solved everything. But there’s also a list of extra point opportunities.” 

“Extra points?” He finished too, sitting straight up and then leaning back, his arms behind his head as he stretched. “What does that mean?” It took you a second to answer - the flex of his upper arms through the material of his shirt distracting you big time.

“There… there’s a time limit. If you get all five or six of the main clues, you earn a certain number of points, but if you take pictures with the other stuff on the list, you earn extra points.” His eyes widened. “The trick is that some of the stuff on the list is worth more extra points, and it’s all completely random. The people that are in charge are the only one that know until the end of the competition. They upload the list with the point values after everyone’s submitted.” 

“So you really have to strategize.” He stood, beginning to clear the table. “Decide if you want to try for the extra points and put the actual clues aside, or -”

“Or play the game and pick a few of the extras and hope for the best.” As you moved through the kitchen with him, you were struck with how fluid it seemed - Din putting the dishes into the sink and rinsing them while you threw away the trash and combined the pizza into one box before sticking it in the fridge. 

“Exactly.” Pausing with one hand on the countertop, you eyed him. “That’s why it’s last. Gives people a chance to decide how they’re going to play it.” 

“Sounds like a lot of fun.” He had one hand on his hip, fingers spread out, the tips of two of them dipping into the front pocket of his jeans. “I’m glad you asked me to be your partner.”

“Are you?” He nodded and you felt heat rising in your cheeks, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. You then turned away quickly so that he couldn’t see the change in your expression. Shit. “I’m going to let Grogu in. He’s gotta be cold.” Din told you that that was fine but didn’t say anything else, and you took the opportunity to walk back downstairs, heading straight for the door. How do I respond to that? 

You pulled the door open and Grogu dashed in, crowding up against your legs as you shut and locked the glass and then stepped back, laughing. Dropping to your knees again, you reached for him, the dog excitedly jumping closer and nudging at your chest and arms with his nose - which was much colder than it had been earlier. 

Leaning forward, you used both hands to pet him, running your nails along his back and sides, his curly tail wagging back and forth at your touch. “He likes you.” 

Din followed you downstairs, his arms crossed over his chest. Letting his words sink in, you smiled at the dog, scratching the space just behind his ears. “Yeah? Is he not usually this friendly?” Din sat down on the couch again and you heard a low whistle followed by another single word - K’olar. Grogu immediately went still at the sound and then headed for the man, bypassing you without another look. He jumped onto the couch and then settled down with his snout on Din’s thigh, the man’s hand immediately moving to his shoulders. Ok, that’s impressive. “Din?”

“It usually takes him a little while to warm up, but I guess not with you.” He looked down at the dog and then back at you. “I don’t have people over much, so this is new for him.” 

It seemed like an invitation and so you took it, sitting down on the couch again - Grogu between the two of you that time. “So you keep to yourself at work and after. You don’t have many people over. I’ve never heard any of the women in the office talking about going out with you for dinner or to a movie or for a drink, even though they all talk about asking. So why’d you agree to do this with me, Din?” 

You weren’t trying to pry, but you still wanted to know, hoping that at the very least the man would tell you something that would help explain his decision. I shouldn’t question it, because I’m happy it’s happening. “I wanted to.” He said your name and turned his head, waiting until you were looking at him to say anything else. “You’re friendly with everyone. You make my job easy because you never really need anything from me. And…” He scratched Grogu between the ears again, taking a deep breath. “And you’ve seemed sad for the last couple weeks, so I wanted to see if I could cheer you up.” 

“Din, I -” It wasn’t an admission of anything - not really -  but it made you happy all the same, and you didn’t quite know how to respond. “Thank you.” You ran your fingers through Grogu’s fur, careful not to get in the path of Din’s hand. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Sure.” He was playing with the dog’s ears, the brown and black fur sticking out from between his fingers before he flattened them against the sides of his head. “Go on.” 

“Was I the only person that asked you to partner up for the competition?”

“No.” He laughed and your head snapped in his direction. I’m not? “A couple of the girls from the sales team asked.” He met your eyes. “And so did Omera, the one from accounting?” 

“And you said no?” Din nodded, his expression solemn. “Then why -” 

“Because, I like I said…” He reached over, laying his hand on your arm and squeezing. “I want to cheer you up.” He cleared his throat. “And to be honest… you’re really good at your job, and you look like you know your way around these events, so clearly we have the best chance to win together.” 

That made you laugh, too, your attention shifting to the warmth of his palm on your arm, the heat present even though the sleeve of your shirt. “I definitely do.” Lowering your head, you focused on his hand, the man squeezing once more before he pulled it back and resumed stroking over Grogu’s head. “Well thank you, Din. I appreciate it, and I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

“You won’t.” The room went quiet then, and even though there was plenty that you wanted to say, you chose not to, instead flexing your fingers and then leaning back in and reaching for the laptop. 

“I’m going to log on now so that you can put in your information. If you enter in your email, they’ll send you instructions and updates about the events.” Once logged in, you navigated to the correct page and sat back. “All yours, Din.” 

He typed quickly, entering in his name and address, along with his phone number and email. “Says I need a picture? I don’t have one on here, but -” 

“It doesn’t have to be a professional picture. We can take one with your phone, or upload one using the laptop’s camera. It really doesn’t matter. They just want to be sure that no one’s trying to sub in someone for an event.” 

He didn’t speak, but you watched as Din pressed a few keys and opened the laptop’s camera, ducking down so that his face was visible on the screen. He ran his fingers through his hair again but instead of taming the locks, he ruffled them even more, the man muttering something under his breath that made Grogu raise his head. Did he just call him lamb?

He snapped a picture moments later, and then with a few more taps, he spun the laptop to face you. “How’s that?” There was a picture of him and Grogu next to yours, and if you hadn’t been able to catch yourself, you would have said something embarrassing. Like telling him that that’s the best laptop selfie I’ve ever seen. “Figured even if people didn’t know who I was, they might recognize him.”

“It’s a good picture.” With a final pat, you pulled your hand away from Grogu and linked your fingers together. “Hopefully they don’t think that he’s my partner.” 

“You wouldn’t have to worry about decorating cookies then because he’d eat every single one of them.” Din’s hands went back to Grogu’s face, the man cradling it between his palms. “Isn’t that right, you little womp rat?” 

You couldn’t help smiling at the sight, but when your eyes moved up and you saw the clock over Din’s shoulder, you winced. “It’s getting late, Din. And we’ve gotta work tomorrow, so I should probably go. I don’t want to keep you up.” You didn’t want to leave but figured it was polite to do so, and when you stood, Din did, too. “You don’t have to -”

“I’ll walk you out. I have to lock the door anyway.” He held one hand out and spoke to Grogu again, his head angled down. “Gev, Grogu.” The dog relaxed almost immediately, putting his head back down on his paws and looking up at you, brown eyes wide and somewhat sad. “Oh, don’t look at her like that.” Din rolled his eyes when he caught yours. “He acts like I’m the worst when I’m just telling him to stay put.” 

“He just wants to be around you, Din.” And I can’t blame him, especially after finding out he was rescued. You led the way back to his front door, reaching for the coat that you’d draped over the banister, along with your bag. “Thanks for dinner.” As you zipped the jacket, you met his eyes again, giving him a small smile. “If you have any other questions, that site can probably answer a lot of them, but you can always ask me at work, too. It’s pretty straightforward.” 

“I figured.” He was leaning against the railing, arms once again crossed over his broad chest, the bottom of one socked foot pressed to the wall’s surface just above the baseboard. “And you’re welcome. It… I’m glad you stopped over tonight.” You are? Fighting back a smile as you zipped your boot, you turned your attention toward the door, reaching for the handle. “I’ll finish filling out that information when you leave, and see you at work tomorrow.” 

“I’ll be there.” Sighing as the cool air rushed in when you pulled the door open, you looked back at Din over one shoulder, nodding. “Have a good night.” 

“You too.” He followed you out onto the porch as you made your way down the stairs, the man still standing there by the time you’d buckled yourself in and started the vehicle. As you backed out, you noticed that Grogu had joined him, the dog sitting next to Din, pressed close to one of his legs. 

The radio still played softly as you drove, but you paid no attention to it, instead focused on the previous few hours - and what you’d learned about Din. Blowing out a breath as you sat at a stoplight, you stopped trying to hide your smile and let it free, grinning as you eased your foot off the brake. 

It was going to be a long five weeks - but you couldn’t wait to see how they went. 

—

Cuyir jate: be good

K'olar : come here 

Laam: up 

Gev: stop (stay)

- - - 

Tag list coming separately!

[redhoodinternaldialectical]

Chapter 21 of Chained: To Wield The Blade We Have Forged

A/N: This chapter is stephcass focused enough that I think people might enjoy this as a standalone thing, so I'll be posting the chapter both on AO3 as usual, and right here in this post! This also connects to the reblog I wrote up the other night gushing about Batgirl (2000) #19 and the potential in a Cass vs Jason confrontation!

For this chapter only, NOT the whole fic: Rated T for Teen Ships are Stephanie Brown/Cassandra Cain and vaguely hinted at Jason Todd/Tim Drake There's gonna be a LOT of plot points that don't seem to go anywhere, cause they're parts of much bigger arcs, but there's some really sweet talk about deep stuff towards the end and the start is Steph handling a deescalation scenario Hope you enjoy ^w^ !

Dear War Diary,

You know, some days I don't even think Ivy should be in Arkham. Logging, pollution, hair spray tearing a hole in the ozone layer, pesticides - if I could feel plants' pain as they were broken apart, I'd want to feed people to ambulatory venus fly traps too. Heck, back in high school I was sure tempted to let her have at some of my more obnoxious classmates.

Unfortunately, today was not one of those days.

We knew something was weird this time around when the docs at Arkham called warning us that she woke up screaming and her powers went out of control. Usually when this sort of thing happens she goes towards a clear goal. Like, there'll be a construction site or a factory or something damaging the land and drawing her out.

Thing is though, the more we chased her, the clearer it became that she wasn't running towards anything.

She was fleeing, and seemingly had no clear place to bolt to. First she fled to the meat packing district. Then she ran down to the water, and like, we expected her to follow the coast? But she just swam right in! Left huge algal blooms in her wake too; like the lacy train of a queen's dress. She even left Gotham altogether for a hot minute only to turn back again for no reason. She was very obviously out of her mind frightened of something, but we had no idea what it was, and frankly, we still don't.

Tonight had real big 'predator running from the wildfire' energy, is what I'm saying.

It took several days, but eventually she gave up on running and bunkered down in one of the parks. The concrete storage shed she picked as her new home was so overgrown by the time we got to it that it was impossible to see a single square inch of the structure. The hardwood and thorn vines covering it had to have been at least a meter thick.

And that little backstory finally brings us to tonight's patrol.

I tapped my earpiece, "We getting anything on the seismic, O?"

"Nope. If she's digging she's doing it slow enough we're not gonna get any warning. Good news though, I finally got an answer back from Waller. Harley Quinn can be on the line within ten minutes notice."

"Awesome. Speedy, you good to cover me?"

"Yup! Got a whole quiver full of tranquilizers and frog crotch arrows ready for her."

I snort-laughed, "God, what a name!"

"I know right?! But yeah, you're good to go. I'll be aiming from the East, so gimmie a sign if you think you'll need me at a different angle."

"Got it. Alright O, give that ten minute notice and I'll start the approach."

Step one: Get the cops to back up the perimeter by at least ten feet all around. Frankly they were gonna be useless in a fight if it came to that, and the whole goal here was to get this done without bloodshed.

This part was pretty damn easy. I knew one of the cops there by name and she was more than happy to back her fellow officers out of the negotiation zone.

Step two: Establish a desire for peaceful communication.

I spoke through a megaphone into the general direction of the tree-bunker, "Doctor Isley? Would you be willing to come out and talk?"

The woods creaked and groaned, shifting minutely. My heart pounded in my chest, waiting, watching, every leaf bud an acid spitting behemoth in the making.

Nothing came out.

I called out to her again, "Okay. Doctor Isley, you seem really upset, and we don't understand why, but you haven't hurt anyone yet so we're not going to hurt you."

I glanced around surreptitiously at the cops. Lucky for me they all seem to be on their best behavior tonight. No one was grumbling about wanting to hurt her loud enough for me to hear, and I just had to trust that meant the grass couldn't hear them either.

"If you don't want to talk to me, that's okay. We want to get you some help, so we're going to try and get Harley on the phone so you can talk to her."

Against my ear, the phone crackled to life.

Time for step three: Get negotiation partner on board.

"Which bat-brat do I have the displeasure of speakin to today!?"

"It's Batgirl; we need your help getting through to Ivy."

"HAH! Well fat fuckin chance, asshole! I ain't talkin her inta anythin she don't wanna do!"

"And we're not asking you to! She hasn't even hurt anybody, and she's not making any threats, but she is clearly terrified. We think there's something or someone after her, and it's not us."

I gave her a moment to think it over. She's got to know we wouldn't let Ivy die, but there's always the chance we're just lying.

"Fine. Alright, what's the plan here?"

"Thank you! I'm gonna hold the speaker up to the megaphone, and you let her know you want to talk, then I'll slowly approach and once in speaking range I'll take the megaphone off of the phone to give the two of you some privacy."

"An you'll still be listinen the whole damn time of course."

"Yeah, sorry about that, but at least the cops won't be."

Harley sighs, "Turn the lights down in the house and start the music then. Lets get this show rollin an' over with."

Step four: Negotiate and deescalate.

Through the phone megaphone combo she said, "Hey Sweetpea, mind lettin me hear yer pretty voice again?"

The protective wall started growing again, getting thicker. I chance a few slow steps forwards anyway, since nothing offensive starts growing either. Or at least I hoped there wasn't something offensive in there.

"I've missed ya. Not the same kickin ass with these bozos in here, ya'know?"

As I got closer, the smell of ozone got stronger, breathing started to feel weird, and every drop of sweat evaporated off of me, leaving me parched. Her hypergrowth vegetation was stripping the carbon dioxide and water out of the air so fast that the atmosphere around it was going haywire.

Just as I thought she was waiting for me to get close enough for her tree's roots to just use me as a nutrient bag, an opening formed over the doorway to the storage unit, and she shakily poked her head out, calling for Harleen.

She was messed up. She clearly hadn't been able to take care of herself and

I'm not writing the next part down verbatim. Just seems too... invasive. They said a lot of sweet an

I don't feel great about this, but just in case I need it, I am going to record what I remember of how Harley talked her down.

Harley said, "Pumpkin, I'm so sorr

Okay. Third time's the charm?

This was not a criminal wrecking havok for profit. This was not a terrorist making demands. This was someone having a breakdown due to forces outside her control and her girlfriend comforting her as best she could. I shouldn't even have been hearing it, really, so yeah I think I'd feel too skeezy to keep dinner down if I wrote it all out 'just in case'.

Informationally speaking, hopefully the only part of their conversation I'll ever need to know again is that Ivy said "The green is dying" and "She's made the world barren; the flowers will never bloom again" and basically made it really clear that the damage was already done and no one was after her.

If you're reading this Future Me and you desperately need to know exactly what happened, sorry not sorry, get a time machine or something.

Anyways, after it became clear that there was nothing we could do for her other than get her back to mental help, I gave Speedy the signal to take the shot. The tranqs hit her before she realized anything was up, and there were only a few seconds of scuffle, then she was down for the count.

I picked up the phone again to cut the line and Harley said, "So that's it, huh? I talk her into openin' the treeline, you drug her up, and that's curtains?"

"There clearly wasn't anything else we could do for-"

"Fuck off you insufferable, controlling, shitty, furry knock off cops! I shoulda told her ta mulch ya!"

There were the muffled sounds of the phone being taken out of her hand, and then a voice I didn't recognize, "Well, I hope that clown to plant heart to heart was worth the favor."

"Zero injuries, zero deaths, zero horrifying poison scares: I'd say it was."

She, whoever she was (I assume it was Waller) chuckled, "Well you aren't the one picking up the tab. Tell Oracle it was a pleasure doing business again."

The line went dead.

"You get that O?"

"Loud and clear. And hey, don't let what Quinn said get to you. You did great."

"Thanks," I kinda didn't feel it, but the sentiment was nice.

The rest of patrol was a long and boring ride on the top of a police van, making sure that no one ambushed her on her way back to Arkham, and then a short conversation about what they're going to do to keep her there this time.

They've had a couple different ways to cut her off from whatever The Green is for a while now. Every method has nasty side effects, and half her breakout attempts were in direct opposition to using them. At this point their policy is to just help her manage being connected. Considering what I saw that connection putting her through tonight? The docs rubber stamped cutting her off from The Green again, at least temporarily, and I'm pretty okay that.

So yeah. We won. Yippee. And all it took was arm twisting a woman held prisoner by a shadowy government agency in order to trick the love of her life into making herself vulnerable to us...

God this job sucks sometimes.

And the suck was not over yet, not by a long shot! And the suck was not only reserved for me either. Uh, okay obviously since Harley and Ivy, but also!

Oracle called to tell me this: "I need to give you a heads up before you return to base, and Speedy needs some time to handle a private phone call so I'm telling you this now. Black Bat got into a fight that upset her pretty bad. She's been on the training sims and dummies for over three hours, and I'm kinda worried she's not gonna sleep unless someone helps her untangle her head."

"I thought everything went smooth on her end, what the heck happened?"

"Easier if I just show you," Oracle said and fed a video taken by one of the Bat-House's internal cameras into my HUD.

It showed Ca (gah trying not to write anyone's names is a mess) Black Bat in civilian clothes, standing in a doorway. She's staring at the Red Hood from across the room with an expression of frustrated determination.

He ignores her for a while, continuing to read, curled up on the couch in a posture so terrible I have to wonder if he's trying to give himself back problems.

She just... kept staring. And staring.

Finally he asked, sounding very snarky and annoyed, "Can I help you?"

"Why did you pull the trigger again? You were better. You did better for so long. Why?"

"I don't owe you that shit," He narrowed his eyes at her, "And you don't get to decide I was better just cause you liked it more when I was docile."

She marches over to him, "I know how it hurts. I see it hurt you! I want to help. I want to know why."

"No," He said, standing up to loom over her, as though she couldn't kick his ass five ways from Sunday with a hand tied behind her back, "You want me to get on my knees and sob and beg for forgiveness. As though any of you shitheads ever even deserved my forgiveness!"

"No! I want to see you get better! I wanted another little brother!"

"Well congratu-fucking-lations, you got one! Don't worry, Dickie hates it just as much. I'm sure he can give you some pointers on how to go fuck yourself about it."

My jaw started hurting from how tight I had my teeth clenched as I watched her face twist in open rage-hurt-sorrow, "Why won't you stop burning our house down!? You're in it!"

"I. Don't. Owe. You. That."

She glared up at him defiantly, "You owe someone."

"No. I don't."

"Sheezus!" Black Canary said as she entered the room, "I leave you alone for five minutes and you're already picking a fight with her? Seriously?"

Black Bat's anger simmered below the boiling point again, "Not a fight."

"That sure looked like-"

"Not a fight." She declared bitterly, storming out of the room.

BC raised an eyebrow at Hood.

He smiled all teeth and irritation, "Not a fight!"

She rolled her eyes and took her post back up as the video ended.

I sighed, "Well. That'd do it. Thanks for the warning, I'll see if I can talk to her, take her mind off it."

"Appreciated. I tried but... I dunno. You'll probably have more luck."

"We'll see I guess! So, am I good to check in with Speedy, or is she still on her phone call?"

"You're good."

When I grappled up to the roof she was on, Speedy looked pretty damn unhappy. So, like, clearly tonight was sucking complete ass for everyone. Mercury in retrograde or some shit, idk.

"You got news I take it?" I asked.

"Mhm, great news! By which I mean totally shit news. Apparently the lab I get my bloodwork done at broke, as in everything is giving false negatives. So yeah, all my bloodwork for the past who knows how long might have been wrong!"

"Oh shit. You want us to test you in the Batcave? Guarantee the lab down there could handle whatever you need!"

"I appreciate the offer, but I'll need to fast for twelve hours beforehand no matter what, so it wouldn't really be any quicker. Also my civilian GP would be pretty leery of a Bat-Diagnostic, especially since they already got me an appointment with the closest available people."

O cut in over comms, "That is suspiciously fast..."

Speedy shrugged, "I've got a feeling Green Arrow might have pushed me up the list somehow. He might not be (secret identity stuff I can't write down here :P ) anymore, but he's still got some pull."

"Hmm, well, both of you get back to base and we can figure out the logistics once you're here."

"Roger."

"Aye Aye Captain."

Once she cut off I offered, "Grapple line tag on the way there to take your mind off it?"

"You know what? I could use something to stretch my legs out after all that sniper crouching. Fuck it, let's do this."

Swingy swingy swingy over the buildings, across the bridge, to grandmother's imposing, minefield-surrounded cave we went!

We got into the cave, changed out of our gear, and sure enough, Black Bat was still in the training section, running herself ragged. Speedy went up to get some sleep since she couldn't eat dinner now anyways (do NOT envy that). So I went straight into an attempt to pry Black Bat off the training mats.

"Heads up!" I called out and tossed a bottle of water at her head.

She caught it without even looking, swapping to kicks and using her other hand to demolish her sandbag opponents, "Been drinking enough just fine."

"Sure. What'll it take to convince you to take a break and drink it with me anyways?"

She paused, leg still raised to kick, perfectly poised like gravity wasn't even a factor. It always makes my legs hurt looking her like that. Makes the rest of me swoon too.

"Would um..." She frowned, like she expected me to think less of her for making the request, "You bring dinner down here? For us both?"

I gave her a smile, "Yeah, of course. Mind saying how come?"

"Because Hood's up there and I want to fight him more. If I fight him, have to look at him. Have to watch him feeling and thinking and..." She finally put her leg down, and fidgeted with the cap of her water, "And I just don't want to."

"Didn't realize you hated him that bad."

"Not sure I do? Messy."

"Yeah, messy for me too."

Translation: I still don't know how to feel about him taking grisly revenge against Black Mask 'in my honor'. Still also super don't know how to feel about his welcome home gifts of a gun and an offer to come murder criminals with him.

Then I add, "But I'll have you know I'm a first class mess messer with-er! So if you want to talk about it, I'd be happy to."

She very briefly smiled, then her face feel again and somber moment passed before she said quietly, "Yeah, okay. Bring food down and... we can talk."

"On it."

"Um, wait!"

"Huh?"

She caught my arm and reeled me in for a kiss on the cheek, "There."

I laughed and gave her a proper kiss, "There! Love you."

Diary, have I ever told you about how she looks when she blushes? Because I seriously think I'll need to pull out the old poetry textbooks in order to do it justice.

Upstairs took me passed the dining room, where Red Hood and Red Robin were talking.

"The fuck is that?" Hood asked, leaning over his shoulder.

"Blueprints. I'm having a section of my house renovated while I'm stuck here."

"Wwwwhy?"

"I am swiftly being driven mad by boredom and saw a really neat indoor garden set-up on pinterest."

"An indoor garden? In Gotham? Do you fuckin want to get strangled to death in your sleep by vines?"

RR does the little 'tch' thing he picked up from Robin, "Whatever, it'll be fine, these are tiny little arboreals and I'll have reinforced airlocks leading in and out."

"That does fucking nothing for attacks in your sleep."

"Which is why I'll have the whole lockdown system automated. I was already going to do automation for the plant care stuff anyways, cause lets be honest here, there was no way I was ever going to keep them alive on my own."

"...The speed and ease with which you oscillate between self depreciating paranoia and megalomaniacal hubris is fascinating."

And even as pissed off as I am with both of them, that still almost made me friggin lose it laughing, RR seemed so offended too, it was great!

And speaking of pissed off? Yeah, seeing RR acting so chummy with Hood was kinda making my blood boil! Like, maybe he didn't even know they fought. But he's supposed to be her friend too, and it's still sticking in my craw, and I'm busy with the whole damn city needing patroled, and so bottom line: I didn't talk to him tonight, and I'm probably not gonna talk to him tomorrow night either!!

Agent A had several plates set to the side already when I got into the kitchen. I think he assumed at least a few of us were gonna go off in our separate corners after the argument. Made it nice and easy to snag two and bring it down.

She had clearly been pacing, waiting for me, back down in the cave.

We sat together and she held my hand while we ate - pretty awkward, but super worth it. We stayed quiet, me cause I wanted to give her the space to start talking, and her probably because she wasn't sure where to start.

Once all the peas and mash were gone and she was pushing her drumstick around the plate she asked, "Ready?"

"Go for it. All ears."

"It's a guilt thing I think? Least a little?"

"Kinda always figured you were uh, how to put it, I guess invested in him, cause of that sort of parallel between you two?"

She nodded, "Not all of it's that, though. Different guilt," She gives me a rueful smile, "I'm layered in it, huh?"

"Like a lasagna of angst," I told her solemnly.

She huffed a quiet laugh, fidgeting with my hand, "Am I um. A tasty lasagna?"

"Oh yeah, you're delicious," I said with a cheesy wink.

"Terrible," She laughed a bit more, running her thumb over the back of my hand, and the nervous sad crept right back in, "You know about um... One day, I rescued a man? Murderer. From the gas chamber?"

"Yeah. Not well, you've never said much, but I've read a bit about it. Was kind of a big news thing."

"On the way out I met the mother of his victim. She demanded justice. She demanded his death. I didn't know how to- to reconcile her grief. Still don't. But back then... I put him back in the gas chamber. I look at Hood. Wonder if he's the murderer or the mother or the executioner. Wonder what the mother was. Wonder what I was. Wonder if the distinction matters at all."

"Hood's trying to cut all the bad people out, trying to bleed the world better. You're trying to keep it all alive, trying to keep everyone growing. Maybe the other distinctions don't matter, but I think this one has to."

She squeezed my hand tight and kissed every one of my knuckles delicately, "I hope so. Trying to believe so."

"I kinda think you already do. You may be an angst lasagna, but you don't do what you do just out of guilt, yeah?"

"Guess so... I wanted so bad to find out that they'd been replaced by aliens or something. Find out that wasn't him. Not now and um. Not on TV all those months ago. At the very least I was hoping to find regret."

"I really wish I had something better to say than, you know, his determination to be an asshole isn't something we can fix. Just gotta keep growing our garden and hope he decides to join us for real sometime."

"Yeah..." Another round of knuckle kisses, "Yeah, you're right," She wrinkles her nose, "Sucks you're right."

"Yup."

She pressed her forehead against our intertwined hands for a while.

Then she asked, "Tell me about one of your shows?"

"Sure."

So I chattered about some light stuff she nodded along to until we were both ready for bed. It was honestly really nice, and I think I needed it too, a lot more than I realized.

So yeah, here's hoping tomorrow is less of a complete shit show from start to finish.

- Batgirl IV

[fairy-writes]

Congrats on 800!!!!!!

Could you write Sean Renard with I’ll Be Good by Jaymes Young?

I’LL BE GOOD

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Grimm (NBC)

Pairing(s): Sean Renard x Gender Neutral!Reader

Song: I’ll Be Good by Jaymes Young

Notes: MY FIRST GRIMM ASK, I’M SO PUMPED

Also, the reader is frequently described wearing suits, heels (once or twice), and masks. Such things (I think at least) are gender-neutral items of clothing. 

Tags: possessive behavior (by Eric), use of Y/N (twice), 

__________________________________________________________________________

He met you at a gala the city had roped him into. It took place in Portland, something hosted by the city that he had to attend. He was the Portland PD’s police captain, after all. 

You were dressed in an all-white suit and trousers, the only pops of color being the blood-red rose pinned to your lapel and the glass of wine in your hand. The interesting part about you was that you wore an elaborate white mask decorated with rhinestones and silver accents. You were easily the most well-dressed person at the gala. 

But initially, Sean paid you no mind. 

There was no reason to, after all. 

I thought I saw the devil, this morning

Looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue

With the warning to help me see myself clearer

I never meant to start a fire

I never meant to make you bleed

I'll be a better man today

“Ah, my dearest brother.” Came a familiar voice, and Sean tensed. He knew that voice. Turning, he smiled that fake smile he reserved for his family at the sight of Eric. You were on his arm, hand holding onto his elbow delicately. 

“Eric.” He said, forcing a pleasant tone into his voice. Best pretend he didn’t want his brother dead by his own hands. 

“You haven’t met my Y/N, have you?” Eric continued, oblivious to Sean’s murderous intent. 

Sean raised an eyebrow. 

“Your?” He inquired, and Eric grinned that serpent grin of his. 

“Of course. I own them, a gift from their family, really.” He said, and Sean noticed how you tensed. Eric saw as well,

“Oh, don’t get upset, pet. You know it’s true.”

I'll be good, I'll be good

And I'll love the world, like I should

Yeah, I'll be good, I'll be good

For all of the times that I never could

He saw you again in his office the day after the gala. He had been in the middle of paperwork when there was a knock on the door. Sergeant Drew Wu peeked his head in. 

“Sir? There’s a Y/N L/N here to see you. They didn’t say what it was about, only that they wanted to see you.” He said, and Sean looked up from his papers. What did you want?

“Send them in.” He found himself saying, and Sergeant Wu nodded. 

You were shown in a moment later. Again, you were dressed in a suit and mask. This time, it was a dark brown tweed suit with black shoes with a modest heel. Your mask was elaborate. This time, it was brown, with a matching maple leaf covering one eye. 

“What can I help you with?” He asked, keeping it strictly business. It was best that way—no need to get things messier by interacting with the royal family any more than he had to. 

“I want you to kill Eric.” You said, closing the office door behind you so you wouldn’t be interrupted. 

So much for keeping things clean. 

“And why should I do that?” He asked, though he really didn’t need a reason to consider it. He already had some sort of plan. Anything to keep him away from Nick Burkhardt. He couldn’t have him kidnapping the Grimm and messing up his plans. 

“Because I can’t be trapped by him anymore.” You said, a note of desperation bleeding into your voice. 

“I’ll consider it.” He said and felt his heart twang when you smiled.

My past has tasted bitter for years now

So I wield an iron fist

Grace is just weakness

Or so I've been told

I've been cold, I've been merciless

But the blood on my hands scares me to death

Maybe I'm waking up today

The next time he saw you, he met with Eric for dinner. It was more for diplomacy and to keep up appearances than anything. You were dressed in a black suit with gold butterfly designs and a beautiful golden mask with butterfly wings on either side of your eyes. 

“Glad you could join us!” Eric grasped Sean’s arms and grinned. Always with that serpent grin of his. Like he knew something, others didn’t. You stood uncomfortably behind him, clasping your hands together as you nodded in greeting to Sean.

Dinner was awkward, to say the least. You ate silently, and Sean noticed that Eric had his hand on your knee the entire meal. Whether it was to keep you from speaking or not, he didn’t know. But he had a suspicion that you weren’t quiet of your own free will.

I'll be good, I'll be good

And I'll love the world, like I should

I'll be good, I'll be good

I'll be good, I'll be good

Sean managed to get you alone after Eric passed out on the couch from too much wine. You were in the kitchen, washing the dishes when Sean approached from behind. Perhaps it had been a mistake because you whirled the second you heard his footsteps and attempted to stab him with a kitchen knife. 

When you realized it was him, your face twisted with remorse,

“I thought you were Eric.” You whispered, and he felt a pang of guilt. He hadn’t killed Eric yet, he needed more time, but it was clearly messing with you. 

“He’ll be out of your way soon. I promise.” He said in return and again felt that twang in his heart as you smiled a sad sort of smile. 

For all of the light that I shut out

For all of the innocent things that I doubt

For all of the bruises I've caused and the tears

For all of the things that I've done all these years

Yeah, for all of the sparks that I've stomped out

For all of the perfect things that I doubt

It wasn’t long before your relationship crossed the line between professional and personal, especially after Eric’s subsequent death. The moment you heard about the explosion that took Eric’s life, you wept tears of joy. 

That was the first time you kissed him—in his office with the blinds drawn and the door shut. 

When you realized what you had done, you attempted to flee, but Sean pulled you back in and kissed you again. 

I'll be good, I'll be good

And I'll love the world, like I should

Yeah, I'll be good, I'll be good

For all of the times I never could

When Diana came into the picture, he thought for sure that you would leave him. Who would want a bastard prince that was half Zauberbiest? But instead, you drew him and Diana in closer, becoming something of a second (or third?) parent to the growing child. 

You loved him, and that was more than he could ask for. 

Ooh oh oh

Ooh oh oh

Ooh oh oh

For all of the times I never could

It was no secret that Sean Renard wasn’t a good man. 

He manipulated people. He had people killed. He killed people himself. 

It was no secret that Sean Renard wasn’t a good man. 

But he was trying for you.

[marthefrozenfan]

Anna in Frozen 3 should no longer be overprotective to Elsa

I really don't have much to say about it in this blog, but I will try to write the best I can, although yes... I am also a little afraid of having to post it, there may also be some part of the fandom that tells me that I am wrong, that yes I hate Anna, etc, so I repeat again that if you don't agree with what I say...don't bother commenting or reblogging, just ignore if you don't agree with my opinion, if you do just leave your opinion "💗"

Anna, unlike Elsa, also has a somewhat strange way of protecting Elsa, because Elsa pushes her away to "protect" her and that in some way does harm, in my previous blog I talked about it, however...Anna always tries to protecting Elsa wherever she goes and that is also suffocating, I understand that like Elsa, Anna also has that fear of losing the person she loves the most, and now even more so when she has had to fight for several years that Elsa cannot Stay away, but... overprotecting her is not the solution and it is a little irritating.

In Frozen 1 there is not much to say about Anna's overprotection of Elsa, Anna was not trying to overprotect her sister, more than anything she wanted to recover that sisterhood that they had before, apologize for having caused Elsa to cause eternal winter and convince her In taking back the summer, I didn't see any overprotectiveness on Anna's part in the movie.

Forest of Shadows, which is a Frozen book... there isn't much to say about it, Anna was wanting to help her older sister with a certain problem in that book and show her that she can do things, I didn't see any clear overprotection regarding that book.

Frozen 2 is Anna's real problem with overprotection towards Elsa, and as I said at the beginning of the blog, every time Elsa takes a risk, Anna follows her and stops her, let's say that like Elsa, she doesn't think about her own safety either. (sorry Elsa fans for saying that, but it's the truth)

First of all, when Gale came furious and transformed into a tornado, Elsa stopped him so that she would be in control and Anna wanted to stop her! ...nothing is going to happen to Elsa Anna!, and if Anna had gotten into that moment...I think even the magic that Elsa was using at that moment to calm Gale...would have affected Anna.

Later, when Bruni got furious and almost set the enchanted forest on fire, Elsa with her powers tried to put out the fire that was everywhere...and Anna wanted to throw herself into the fire for her sister just like that and almost ended up suffocating because of it! the smoke of the fire! If Anna doesn't survive...imagine how Elsa would feel (she would never forgive herself).

I won't count the rock giants because nothing as such happened

Now comes the scene where Elsa wants to go to Ahtohallan to look for answers to the past and clarifies that it is a very dangerous trip to go to that place... and Anna does or does want to accompany her so that she does not take risks, they have a mini discussion and of course Elsa took her away in an ice boat, it shouldn't have happened but there were no other options, even though it was kind of wrong to take her away...she also doesn't want something to happen to Anna, maybe if Elsa was clearer and tell Anna that they do things together only that each one on their own... it would have been easier to convince Anna, anyway. Anna in Frozen 2 was very overprotective of Elsa and in the end she recognizes that she was.

Anna has undoubtedly had to learn to let go and let go, she had to lose that fear that something would happen to her sister, and now that she is queen of Arendelle...she no longer overprotects Elsa, she has left that habit behind like he had done in Frozen 2, of course... how anyone worries about their sister, they worry that she might get hurt to do things right, but... you know? Anna is aware that her sister also runs risks just like her, there are some situations where Elsa has to do things alone and Anna doesn't even bother having to argue, she doesn't do it anymore, although that part is because Elsa already lets her. That aspect is clear and without underestimating Anna (not like in FOS and a little F2)

(In the graphic novel called "Anna and the mystery of the mountains" She doesn't worry that much about her sister, whether she's fine or not, or that's what I see)

Yes there are times when Anna sometimes doubts whether Elsa can take risks although those times are already minimal, but... it doesn't stop her, she learned to let her go, Anna has changed a lot throughout this Frozen franchise, she definitely left that fear aside, and I am so proud of that great change that Anna has made and I am very proud of the queen of Arendelle that she is. now 💗🥺✨🥰

(Polar Nights is an example of what I'm saying)

If Disney comes up with that ridiculous idea of making Anna overprotect Elsa again... they're throwing aside everything Anna has ever had to fight for for the queen she is now, ANNA'S NO LONGER OVERPROTECTING ELSA F*CK! 😭😭✨💗

So no! Anna should no longer be overprotective of Elsa in Frozen 3, Disney don't ruin it x 2! 😞

[moddymoon]

DNIs and toxic boundaries...

Maybe your DNI isn't exactly a toxic boundary (though I believe stating a DNI is always at least in that direction).

Why do I say that DNIs are "almost always" a form of a toxic boundary. A healthy boundary, is where you have someone who you are interacting with, and you fairly clearly say, "I'm sorry, I'm not OK with that, could you please not do that in the future."

The clearer you are in stating that, the more likely it is to be healthy.

Now, here's the thing about DNIs, these are stated prior to an interaction, so therefor do not meet that first part, of "you are interacting with a person."

No, it is not an interaction to have someone read your blog.

No, it is not an interaction to have someone follow your blog.

No, it's not an interaction to have someone like your blog.

It isn't an interaction to have someone simply reblog your post, though it could be seen as such, iff they reblog with a comment.

Also, it can't be meeting that second part of you expressing that something about an interaction, is not OK.

Now I haven't actually gone to the far more important thing about a healthy boundary, you stating, "please don't do this," is not really about trying to control their behaviour, it's about setting something for yourself, that you've stated your discomfort, and request the person not do the thing.

If they don't do the thing again? All is good.

If they do? Well here's where you get to go, "I asked them to not do that thing, and they did it again, what is my response this time?"

It's when you decide what is healthy for you to respond, that you determine if a boundary is healthy.

I mean... You could decide that it's something you'll let slip. It could be that you point out that you've asked that they not do the thing.

Like tonight... I said, "I'm old enough that I could be involved with x for 35 years..." when I've been asked my age. That's usually more than I give in terms of an answer to that from a person I've not formed a connection with...

They responded with, "if you don't want to chat that's fine."

No, I stated one thing about how I wasn't comfortable with sharing that information. I'm fine with chatting, and if we do actually start talking, and having a real give and take conversation? I think you might find that information out, just because it's something that it's not a big deal.

If you're asking before we start even the most basics of just getting to know like who a person is, and if you want to talk with them, I have no reason to share it, and neither should anyone else.

[unhonestlymirror]

Hi, guys, could you please send a report on this bot? It keeps writing me threats and offensive things

Long story short, I drew a hetalia comic with China and Belarus based on a specific situation - and some people went into hysterics because I drew China with "too narrow eyes," which reminded of caricatures on Chinese people. I was really surprised because I had never seen such caricatures before, so I never associated it with evil, so I told that. It could have been that I chose the wrong words because people went mad and started calling me racist.

Some time before that incident, I was friends with an artist called peonycats. At least, I thought so because she was sending me private messages about what I should have redacted in my content. However, she didn't interact with me in any other way, which I found weird but okay.

The day people went mad on me because of China comic, peonycats reblogged it with others' nasty comments and expressed her disappointment. I felt a bit betrayed because she could have messaged me like always and told me, "Please do this and that because..." but that time, she decided to join the crowd. I reblogged her comment and added more explanation - but I got zero reaction from her.

However, I started receiving death and rape threats instead because peonycats is quite a popular artist. Thus, I decided to block her, not out of emotions, simply because more people started attacking me because of her.

The next day after I blocked her, I woke up and saw a message from my mutual. It was a screen of peonycats answering to some anon doxing me.

And that time, I got angry at peonycats. You see, between her reblog of my comic and the doxing post, some time had passed - and during that time, no one doxed me. People were already mad at me, but no one doxed me! It looked weird: like if peonycats got offended that I blocked her, herself went to my profile from her second account, scrolled through my blog, and even translated my Ukrainian post. I can't see what other motivation she could have had in posting literal doxing of someone with whom she had good relations in private, in case if that doxing anon was someone else.

So yeah, I got quite furious, and I published screens of our conversation, which you can see in my pinned post. I can handle angry people, but I really REALLY dislike meanness. I believe that no matter how shitty someone's opinion on something is - doxing them makes you even worse.

.

Sorry, I said "long story short," but it turns out to be quite a long story. XD I added some explanations to posts that were doxed, so you can search "terf" and "Muslim" in my profile and read them. You can still disagree with me, though, but I hope it will be clearer at least.

.

Some time after I posted screens of my conversations with peonycats, a person named lilayofthewallay wrote me. And the conversation with them... They tried to manipulate me, at first using my conscience, and when it failed, using the war in my country. Eventually, that person called me a shithead, which allowed me to suggest lilayofthewallay and the doxing anon was the same person (no one else used the shithead insult towards me). Since I can't imagine anyone doing such a brave thing for peonycats because all her friends were cowards to send me anon hate asks, I supposed lilayofthewallay, the doxing anon AND peonycats is the same person. But it's only my assumptions.

In conclusion, I want peonycats never ever to interact with me again.

Українці, чи не могли б ви спитати в цієї людини, чи може вона розмовляти українською? Ця людина каже, що має українське коріння, але проігнорувала моє питання довести це. Можете також спитати, чи буде вона х.

[vacueabissi]

i know you probably made that 1899/black silence post in good faith but as someone who has watched the show and read her graphic novel they aren’t at all alike. a lot of the claims being made are incredibly vague and are not exclusive to either story and the pyramid/triangle shown in the eyes isn’t similar enough in context to say they stole it out right. there are plenty of examples of pyramids and showing certain reflections, shapes, or whatever in a character’s eyes in other media so it’s not as if black silence made either of those concepts up. again i believe that post was made in good faith but clearly little research actually went into checking the claims being made. like i get wanting to side with the person who says they’ve been wronged but that just isn’t the case this time and i just think people should be carful about speeding this information.

Hello, first of all, I thank you for reaching out to me.

I first saw the English translation thread on Twitter as it crossed my TL and as an artist myself I tend to give the benefit of the doubt if another artist says that they have been wronged, especially when it comes to accusations of plagiarism against a big corporation such as Netflix, considering that it is not exactly uncommon in the industry.

But after having talked with a friend of mine and receiving your message, I went into a deeper dive in order to find out if it was a backed-up claim.

As it turned out, the Brazilian comic author did in fact make claims without any real solid ground. I haven't watched the show nor read the comic but a friend of mine did both, and he assured me that apart from the black piramide and the triangular eyes, there is nothing else that is substantial enough to be considered plagiarism. The two stories are completely different, to begin with.

I should have checked better, maybe some doubt would have spared me from wasting so much time in making a post that was absolutely unsourced. This should serve as a lesson to be more careful, I guess.

I will update my post with a better laid-out analysis of what the comic author claims and what the show actually has so that it's all much clearer. For the time, though, I will just turn off the reblogs for the post.

Thank you again for reaching out, this whole thing is a mess and honestly, I am surprised to find myself on the side of Netflix for once. What a mess!

[azurith2]

My response to Bons post

So I made a "side blog" to make sure this gets seen, it seems to have been removed from their post that I reblogged.

There is a lot to unpack here, first off the incident with your server, I've already admit to multiple times that I was in the middle of a mental break down when the incident with Hades happened. That it was my fault, I spoke more at length about this with "my best friend" because we talked more, but I was actively suicidal. I apologized to both you and her.

"Blaming you" for my server falling apart, I never said a word to you about it until you came on my server complaining about someone making a server from your server and all the activity on yours dying, and then I pointed out that's what you did on my server. You specifically have a rule about not making new servers from your server now because of this. And I more blamed it on the death of our VA project.

I did the night the server was made go to mu friend because I was having a panic attack associating it with the shit Hickory did. *Beacsue we were friends* I never asked them to delete the server or not continue with the project.

Nothing I ever said was meant as a guilt trip to you, I remember specifically telling you that you'd done nothing wrong.

Now as for me joining yours, I never really wanted to, but did anyway because I didn't want to disappoint my friend. They put a lot of pressure on me, and after I snapped I was clearer with my feelings, Something they said they wanted.

Even later tho when they tried to blame themselves for the incident I took 100% responsibility. I did have some bad medication, and it had me really screwed up mentally and physically. I communicated all of this to both of you. Also I don't ever remember asking for Lee to be kicked, I'll go back over our dms and make sure, but I specifically remember venting to them because they were an owner and my friend. I may be wrong tho I was not myself during that time and actively suicidal (said friend actually asked me what my plan was tho, so that was nice)

Yeah my behavior on your server was shit, that's part of why I never attempted to go back even after I got my medication straight. I've already apologized to you both over the incident I'm not sure what else you want from me there. If you still had issue with me after that you could have come to me instead of pulling this

The incident with Hickory, no it was another not proud moment of mine, she had me so on edge I was afraid to talk on my own server, this is the time period my friend and I started talking more in DMs. Yeah I blew up, but I'd found I'd been lied to, and had people going behind my back, purposely keeping secrets from me. and again I'd apologized for my explosive reaction. Hickory did a lot of damage but I at first didn't talk about her at all. I never attempted to "turn everyone against her" we had a night where we mutually vented about the situation. I didn’t go out warning people away from her, she was gone and I just wanted to move on. It's nothing like what you're attempting to do to me now. And like you noted, I tried to reach out to her to talk things out, before things got bad.

As for your issues with me and joining in on HC discussions on the server, I was sharing my opinions just the same as you guys were. I never silenced anyone, I could have just kicked people I disagreed with. in fact one incident got out of hand because I didn't want to just kick them. If me disagreeing with your head.canon is enough to make you not want to use it, then I'm sorry but maybe you put to much stock into my opinion. That was one of the issues I had with Hickory, she sought me out as a source of validation and I couldn't be that for her.

As for the incident of running someone off the server, again yes I argued with them, but Hickory is the one that was super aggressive. I should have acted sooner and removed her as a mod but I didn't because she had me afraid. But ultimately the person ran off had devolved into personal attacks rather than debating the characters merit and that was major no no.

Its also part of the reason I removed you as a mod, which by the way I was hesitant to do anyway, because you were a minor, but our friend talked me into it. I didn't want a repeat of regretting how things went with Hickory.

As for the incident with Jamil and Kalim’s recolor, I made that comment, because they seemed to be going for more Canon accurate not just looking to make them darker for dark skin Arab rep. Because that card was ridiculous.

As for the comment about the weird HC with 500, I never specifically said what it was. and it was in comparison to the like 20 notes my friend had gotten on a gorgeous peice of artwork. I also was trash talking the memes I made that got a lot of notes. I think you're really trying hard here with that one.

As for my thoughts of trans Cater, there was a reason I never wrote it, I admitted it was a bad idea. I wasn't Trans and couldn't represent it properly. And I wasn't adding trauma, the stuff with his sisters is written into his character.

As for my thoughts on race swapping in general, my argument was that it wasn’t right to yell at someone who may draw say Leona a little lighter because they identify with him, and wanted him to look more like them, and yet turn around and race sawp another character. I personally also prefer characters as the races they are presented in game, but expressed that was a personal preference. My major issue was the ",It's okay when I do it, but not when they do it" mentality.

As for the Vampire thing I'm very confused, there wasn't much of anything said after the earlier raid, and when you left. I never called anyone a vampire (and why would I use that degotory I like vampires, I made Cater one?) and I would never dismiss someone's fight with cancer. Cancer sucks, I've lost a lot of people in my life to it.

I think that was most of the major points, and again I don't know why you let any of this go on so long rather than talking with me. You never said a word about how you felt, when I'd been honest with mine.

Addon: Being upset about the Riddles mom is Cater’s doctor thing is so weird. I said that cuz I'd made their mother's friends because rich and powerful women, had nothing to do with them being in the same country. You forget *mirror travel* exists .

[fagsystem]

I feel as though we are having two entirely different conversations here.

I am autistic and the manner in which I speak often times leads to my tone being misunderstood. I just wish to preface by directing you to the points where I stated, "I am not mad." I did not find you malicious nor did I intend to paint you as malicious. And I am going to say very clearly that I am still not mad. I am just trying to clear up curtain.

It is simply a frustrating thing that I wanted to speak about, as it is something I see often. I wanted to create an educational opportunity about the topic, since it is never done with any ill-intent. I am going to now hopefully clarify what I was trying to say. I wish to once again say this is not anger. I am not angry.

My overall point was just, "1) It is not only inaccurate to claim that Luigi cannot have bad knees because he does not match your perception of people with disabilities/chronic pain, but also quite harmful to real disabled people who are impacted by those perceptions and assumptions. (I have personal experiences with those exact assumptions harming me, for the record, so it hit very close to home.) 2) Arguing against theories and headcanons about characters being disabled/having chronic pain is really frustrating to see as a disabled person. It is the same as arguing against theories and headcanons for other minority groups, but people do not treat disabled headcanons/theories with the same respect."

I also want to clarify that the post I linked in this reblog was directed at that person and not you. I am confused by your response as to whether it is responding to this thread or that post or both. I had not read this post then, I was just responding to what they had said since they had some misunderstandings about disability. And the reblog here was both directed at you and OP.

I am struggling a bit to understand what your post means, so I am just going to go paragraph by paragraph responding to ensure I clear everything up.

Paragraph one and two:

I believe were related to things I said in the post I linked. If I have missed something I am sorry. If it was the other post, it was genuinely just not about you, it was about what they had said. I had not read this at the time of responding. I was educating them. I linked it here because you were coming from a place with a lot of the same misconceptions that they had. Misconceptions which have harmed me personally in real life as a disabled person, hence why I am trying to educate you.

Paragraph three and four:

I did say above but I will say again that I did not believe that you were being malicious. I did not intend to paint you as malicious, and I am very sorry if I did. If you point it out to me where I can edit it to fix my wording.

The reason I was responding to you to educate you is because, as I said, you seem to have a lot of misconceptions that I know from personal reference can harm disabled people in real life. I do not expect anyone to know things they have not been taught, I am not mad about it, I am just trying to create space for education on the topic.

The other reason is because I am so tired and upset seeing people arguing against disabled headcanons/theories/coding. Yes, even though it was not meant to be disabled coding, Luigi explicitly stating he has bad knees is disabled coding. If it was about other minorities and coding for them, you probably wouldn't argue against it even if you disagreed. Because it's disrespectful and sucks for people in the minority to see. And especially in this case where the reasoning for why he is not able to have bad knees is coming from a misconception that I experience ableism over, it really sucked to see.

Paragraph 5 and 6:

I will apologise for my lack of clarity in this response starting from 'also'. I should have been clearer that another part of why I was responding to this was because, as far as I am aware, I was the first person to point out/popularise the headcanon that Luigi has bad knees/is disabled. I should also have been clearer that it is not just about that one post I made, but the shooting down of disabled headcanons.

I am uncertain if you meant original poster of this thread or the other post. If it was the other post, it was genuinely just not about you, it was about what they had said. I had not read this at the time of responding. I was educating them.

If it is about this, I have no idea where it appears I made the assumption the original poster was disabled. I do not disbelieve that I may have accidentally implied such a thing, as when I try to educate others I do my best not to assume they are not a part of the minority I am educating about. That lack of assumption also extends to you as well.

The reason I do not make those assumptions is because people within a minority group are capable of doing things that potentially harm others in said minority group.

Also, I once again want to say I was not trying to pain you as a bad person trying to influence OP. The reason I chose the most up-to-date version, including OP agreeing with you, is because this reblog was also responding to them. They did agree with you, after all.

Paragraph 7 and 8:

I once again wish to make clear I was not and am not trying to pain you as rude or villainous. I am just a member of a minority trying to educate about something that harms me.

Paragraph 9 and 10:

These two paragraphs I will say genuinely really upset me, because you did not pick up a word of what I said about the vastness of experience that exists in disability.

I just genuinely wish to redirect you to the post I linked initally. I ask you to read it again knowing it is not attacking you or what you have said and look at what I was saying there.

The reason this makes me so upset and honestly quite mad is because this is not just fictional characters we are talking about. It the real experiences of real people who have bad knees. Me being one of them.

I am genuinely too upset to respond to this but properly. But no, I was not saying it was a bad thing that Mario handed Luigi his toolbox. The fact that you think I was shows you did not listen to me. I spoke about the real experiences of real people I know personally and my own experiences to explain why Luigi carrying a tool box does not inherently mean he does not have bad knees nor would it necessarily make bad knees hurt that much.

As someone with bad knees, I would be about as fine doing what Luigi did carrying a heavy toolbox versus not carrying it.

Seriously, stop arguing with me over me finding myself and my own experiences represented on the screen. This is what my entire point was about, people do not give disabled headcanons any respect. It seriously hurts to see. You do not have to agree with me, I am not saying you do, just be respectful.

-

And I want to apologize for this reblog getting so long. I just wanted to clarify all of this. My TLDR is just what I bolded above.

"It is not only inaccurate to claim that Luigi cannot have bad knees because he does not match your perception of people with disabilities/chronic pain, but also quite harmful to real disabled people who are impacted by those perceptions and assumptions. (I have personal experiences with those exact assumptions harming me, for the record, so it hit very close to home.) 2) Arguing against theories and headcanons about characters being disabled/having chronic pain is really frustrating to see as a disabled person. It is the same as arguing against theories and headcanons for other minority groups, but people do not treat disabled headcanons/theories with the same respect."

Consider the facts:

Luigi, in the Mario Movie, has expressed that he has “bad knees,” which explains why he’s not as physically adept as his brother and has trouble keeping up with him.

But in the Mario games Luigi often has a higher jump, and is even able to run in mid air for a short period of time. Odd that they would give the Mario Brother who has those sorts of abilities knee problems, right?

Yoshis also have a higher jump than Mario, and are able to run in mid air for a short period of time using an ability called “flutter jump” (though this ability goes by many names depending on the game.)

Yoshi is practically confirmed to be in the sequel, and it can be assumed from the post-credits sequence that he is going to be a lost, newly hatched child rather than an old friend that rescued Mario and Luigi as babies.

This version of Yoshi’s origin story bears a lot of similarity to the old Super Mario Brothers cartoon, in which Luigi becomes a mother figure to Yoshi after finding him abandoned at the bottom of a pit. 

What if in the next movie, Luigi is struggling to keep up with his brother due to his ongoing physical issues. Meanwhile, he adopts this strange little dino creature that he found lost in Brooklyn, taking him in and raising him until he can be safely released into the wild. As a result, The Yoshis consider Luigi part of the pack, and bestow upon him their jumping/hovering abilities through some form of mystical blessing or permanent powerup.

 Thoughts?

[itsonlydana]

"together we can fly" ➷ Eret

or: a love ignored for far too long blossoms under the bright lights of a circus tent.

➛ pairing: c!Eret x gn!reader

➛ idea: An unhealed foot injury of your partner Foolish forces you to perform with Eret at short notice on the opening night of your circus. But when old feelings come up again during your first training session together in a year, you have to make a crucial decision.

Either you have to suffer the consequences of a broken heart, or the circus will.

➛ wordcount: 7,1k

➛ tags/warnings: circus au, friends to more to strangers to lovers, a bit of angst (maybe a bit more), fluff, swearing

➛ an: there are many ideas for fanfictions and stories wandering through my brain, getting scribbled down in my journal where they will stay, not growing further than a few sentences but this one wouldn´t leave me alone. It took me weeks to write this and in the end, it is so much more than what i had imagined. I hope you enjoy this thought that became a small universe <3

reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

"I'm sorry, what?"

Stunned, you stared at Wilbur, waiting for your director's serious expression to contort into a laugh at falling for his joke, but the longer the brunette kept silently looking at you, the clearer the gravity of the situation became.

"According to Ponk, Foolish's foot injury hasn't fully healed yet, and if he were to perform, it could only make things worse, and he'd be out for this season," Wilbur repeated the doctor's instruction, and with each word the feeling of dread in your stomach increased.

"Eret will be filling in for Foolish".

No sooner had the name of the last person you wanted to work with right now been dropped than you slumped like a boneless sack in the creaky chair in front of Will's desk.

You felt the fear on the back of your neck, uncomfortably cold it traveled down your spine, and mentally you cursed your best friend for his reckless action of "Of course I can jump from this rope to that rope" that had ended in a week of bed rest and not the cocky shouted out "jump of the year."

Jump of the year, my ass. It was a jump right into the book for the dumbest ideas Foolish had ever had- and there were a lot of those. This one, however, deserved a special place right on the cover.

Of course, you were worried about him, dammit, you'd been by his side the whole time, someone had to keep telling him how much he should hurry up and get better.

But besides worrying about Foolish, there was another feeling that made your heart hammer heavily against your rib cage. In a last-ditch effort, you balled your hands into fists, pleading with Will across the desk filled with bills and flyers that would be handed out tonight for the next performances. "Can't someone else fill in? Last season, Techno and I worked well together, after all, he's been to so many training sessions that he must know the act," you suggested, leaning further forward in the chair that felt way too big.

The stress was written all over Will's face and you felt bad just burdening him further with your fears, but everything in you opposed the idea of performing with Eret, Eret of all people, the act you had now spent months training for with Foolish.

Will raised a hand to his face, rubbing his index finger and thumb over the bridge of his nose, and for a moment he seemed to actually consider your suggestion until he shook his head. "No, I can't.. I can't change Techno's act last minute, he's been training for his act too, it wouldn't be fair. I just don't understand what your problem is, (y/n). Last year you worked wonderfully with Eret, your number had become our notice board, a representation of us, so well did you two get on. People loved you guys, what changed?"

Memories of soft touches and blue eyes with a shared future shining like the golden stars of the tent pushed their way up from repression, the feeling of free-falling leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, which you pressed tightly shut.

"You can change your last number a little, add some of the newer moves, you both know best what you can create together," Will continued to speak without looking up from his flyers, for if he had but glanced at you, he would have seen the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes and how you strained not to disappear in front of your director into old memories that still had their grip tight around your heart.

"Will, please! There has to be some way-"

"I said no!", Will suddenly interrupted you, his previously calm voice thundering through the small car and the desk shaking as his flat hand hit the dark wood.

As much as you wanted to shrink under his gaze, a childish defiance to get your own way had spread through your thoughts and at the same time as Will you stood up from your chair, glaring angrily at him.

You realized that there was little to no point in arguing with Wilbur; after all, the brunette was at least as stubborn as you, but at the same time he was right. Eret, as one of the best artists, was the only logical replacement for Foolish-a fact that made the hair on your arms stand on end.

"You can't make me do this," you fired back at him, and the moment you uttered the words, you regretted them. Before you could apologize, however, Will had long since sunk back into his seat and turned his attention to the important documents in front of him. He didn't even look at you, didn't even seem interested in your presence, and your frustration grew even more at the disinterest he made you feel.

You clenched your teeth until your jaw ached.

Look at me again, Will, give me another chance, you thought to yourself, but continued to be ignored.

Frustrated, you turned away from him and had just opened the door of the trailer when you heard Will raise his voice again; and this time in a pitch that would brook no argument:

"You're going to perform tonight and the rest of the week with Eret, whether you like it or not, I don't care."

With a frustrated huff, you slammed the door behind you.

Your discussion must have been loud enough to lure the rest of your circus family to the director's trailer, because as you jumped down the steps, several different gazes were on you, some sympathetic, others visibly not understanding why it tormented you so much to have to perform with Eret.

In your rage, you fled across the meadow of the field where you had set up camp, past all the glances that were becoming too much for you, trying to push down the feeling of your heart breaking all over again.

If you had been just a little more attentive, you might have seen the brown curly head that had been leaning against the side of Will's trailer, hearing every word loud and clear, and now disappeared in the direction of the main tent as well.

With Will's cold words circling in your mind, you found yourself in the large circus tent, which, to your relief, welcomed you quietly. None of the others would show up now to interfere; according to the plan, now would be your and Foolish's last rehearsal, though this one had been thrown into the water now.

You let your hands glide over the raised edge of the ring, looking over the countless rows of empty wooden benches and platforms, which in a few hours would be filled once again with excited visitors, visitors who could hardly wait to be transported into another world for an evening free of their problems, and normally there was nothing more pleasing to you than to look into the laughing and amazed faces when your show began, but today something would be missing from it all.... Foolish would be missing.

You knew there was no way Will would change his mind, he had made that abundantly clear in his last words, and you knew it wouldn't be the end of the world without Foolish and performing with another of the talented artists instead.

If it weren't for Eret.

You took off the jacket you'd pulled over your workout clothes for the talk with Will and tossed it carelessly over the red edge of the ring. You didn't have to worry about warming up, you had finished your stretching before Will called you over and threw the rest of your day, as well as your emotions, into turmoil.

On bare feet you walked across the fine sand to the center of the large tent, where a lone, snow-white ring hovered in the darkness a good three feet above the ground, attached to it two silken ribbons as pure a white as the ring itself. As soon as you closed a hand around the cool ring, you felt the ghost of his hand around yours again, and as if you had burned yourself on the metal, you tore yourself away.

You had to bite your teeth hard to keep from immediately starting to cry again. No, you had left that behind, you were already over that... you couldn't allow yourself to fall into old patterns- not when you had to function properly tonight.

You reached for the bar in the top half of the ring again, this time ignoring any feelings that were spreading through you, and braced yourself high enough to sit sideways in the ring. Instantly, the ring began to spin around itself, around and around, slowly but steadily.

As the empty wooden rows of seats before your eyes blended with the white and red stripes of the tent canvas and became one blurry mass, your mind wandered back to a time not too long ago, and yet infinitely far away..

"Come on, trust me"

"Stop pushing me, I'll do it in a minute," you said the last part more to yourself as you stared from the edge of the tiny platform you were standing on, meters high, just below the circus ceiling. Every muscle in your body was tense, your hands gripping the single railing so tightly that your knuckles stood out white.

"Love, don't get lost in your thoughts," Eret called again, and you looked from the floor a dizzying distance away to the brunette sitting in the white ring a few feet from you, one hand around the ribbon-wrapped metal, the other extended invitingly toward you.

"You make it all look so easy," you sighed, taking a step back uncertainly. Eret actually made everything look easy, he had never had any problems learning any new stunt quickly and easily, while you often ended up facing one and the same problem:

Your fears of falling.

It was ridiculous, after all the years that you had been flying and jumping on the trapeze and in the air of the circus tent, to still be afraid of falling, especially when you were practicing and performing with Eret, who would never allow you to get hurt.

And yet your head built up a mental barrier every time.

"I believe in you" Eret said, looking at you with a smile "I know you can do this".

Your grip on the railing loosened and the tension in your shoulders fell away as well. Carefully you took another step back, this time not to escape but to press your toes against the ground below. Placing one leg in front of the other you focused on Eret's outstretched hand, which was now joined by his second.

"Jump, I promise I'll catch you".

And without thinking about it, you leapt forward and jumped.

For a moment there was nothing, only the fear of being forgotten by Eret and that he had broken his promise, only the sound of your falling body in the air. The moment was far too short to really think about what would happen if Eret didn't catch you in time, because before you could even form the next thought, there were two strong hands clasping yours.

You jerked your head up, your vision blurred from the quick movement, and the only thing you could see clearly was Eret's loving smile as he pulled you up to him, as promised, until you could sit on his lap. Pressed flat against his chest, his arms folded behind your back to keep you from falling, you could do nothing but stare into his eyes.

Stars danced in them, golden reflections of single points of light in a bright blue sea, and the longer you looked into Eret's eyes, the clearer something else became in his gaze, something that threatened to overwhelm you, so clear and so close it suddenly seemed.

Not much closer and you could give yourself to him, give yourself to the feelings that were so obvious between you-

"Oh, excuse me."

You almost didn't hear the words at all, lost in the deepest memories, and only the clang of one of the buckets filled with hand chalk as Eret tried to stumble back behind the curtain drew your weary gaze to him.

Instantly, your eyes widened.

He was wearing his workout clothes, tight black leggings that accentuated his long slender legs and one of his many gray shirts tucked neatly into the waistband of his pants. You didn't know how he had managed it, but his otherwise manageable curls were tied into a high braid, except for perhaps two or three recalcitrant strands that seemed to brazenly refuse to be held and hung down into his face.

You used to brush them away from him, or always carried two small hair clips with you, as he constantly forgot his.

At the very bottom of the closet next to your door they still lay, one white clip and one gold clip, probably covered in dust by now, just like the rest of the little mementos of Eret and your time together.

You arched your back and slid down from the ring, landing in the sand with a clearing of your throat, disguised to hide your suddenly raw throat. Without saying anything, you watched as Eret placed the bucket back with the others before the brunette climbed over the edge of the ring and remained seated there.

Though the two of you were only a few feet apart, there was so much more between you. Things unspoken, repressed, ignored - everything pushed you apart, prevented you from even looking him in the face properly.

Instead, you stared at the sand in front of you, trying to ignore the strong tugging in your chest that wanted to get to Eret.

"I didn't mean to interrupt, go ahead," Eret spoke, and surprised due to the gentleness in his voice, you jerked your head up from the suddenly far too interesting sand.

You frowned, waiting for some stupid comment, as you had been doing for a year, but Eret remained silent, continuing to look at you with the same desire in his gaze.

You hated him for that, hated that despite everything he kept looking at you as if he could pull you the stars from the sky, as if you were the most innocent being in this world, because after everything you had done, what you had said, he should hate you and make you feel how much you had hurt him.

You hated him for staying true to his promise of "I will always wait for you" and reminding you every day what a bad person you were.

"We should train together."

You surprised yourself with the suggestion, the words had spilled out of you even before you could think twice about it and now lay in an awkward silence before you both.

Eret raised one of his arched brows, eyeing you in a way that sent goosebumps all over your body. "Are you sure?" he asked, and to your shock, all warmth was gone from his voice.

Uncertainly you took a step back, trying to escape his piercing gaze, while knowing full well, here in the middle of the ring, there was no place to hide yourself or your feelings. As always, even the smallest part of you was on display in front of Eret. He could see everything, from your tense shoulders, to the twitch in your mouth as you pondered your own words, unsure of what to answer now that he had caught you cold.

And as quickly as his vulnerable side had come, it was gone, and his thin lips turned into a smile, even if it looked a little forced. "I mean, are you done with your exercise? Shouldn't we rather talk briefly about what we're going to do tonight?", his words didn't give you their intended reassurance, there was something else in them quite covertly, a reproach that you could understand.

Nevertheless, in a few hours you had to perform in front of an audience, your personal problems had no place in the ring.

It was hard to concentrate when your eyes were constantly searching for Eret and your heart wanted to avoid any contact, if it could be avoided. You were supposed to be getting the ropes and weights for the trapeze and the swing made of light birch wood with the shiny silver cloths on their ropes, ready for your rehearsal, while Eret was stretching and warming up on the wooden floor next to the ring.

Supposed.

Because in the time Eret had taken to warm up completely, you had just managed to accidentally knot and then unknot four of the ropes, and the swing was hanging way too high, even for Eret. Just like the ropes, you felt a knot in your heart and lungs as Eret rushed to your aid and you stood beside him with bated breath, forced to watch near him as he corrected your mistakes, as he so often did, with a steady hand and a slight smile.

You couldn't step away from him fast enough once everything was ready and without consulting him further you went to the other side of the ring where a thin ladder led high under the tent.

You knew Eret's gaze was on you as you began the climb, but you tried to ignore it and continued stubbornly climbing the cold rungs higher and higher. Eret seemed to realize that there was no point in just standing around waiting for you to coordinate further with him, because he checked the ropes one last time. Then he took a running start, pressed his heels into the ground, and ran toward the ring in the middle.

As much as you wanted to concentrate on your own climb, a little peek couldn't hurt, and attracted by Eret's sprint, you looked just in time to see Eret's hands get a grip on the ring. He gave it a quick tug and jumped, the moment one of the weights fell on its side, sending him hurtling up with the ring.

Even from a distance, you could see the two strands of hair falling reluctantly into his face.

It was strange to step on top of the platform and the narrow plank and see Eret instead of Foolish's beaming laughter. While Foolish would now be swinging back and forth, distracting you, Eret sat elegantly in the ring, legs crossed, most likely going over all the forms and exercises in his mind. When he saw you were ready, he smiled at you and sat up straight.

"Are you ready?"

"Are you ready?" whispered Eret in your ear from behind. You hadn't even heard him coming through the thunderous applause of the audience and winced slightly at the sound of his deep voice so close to you. Your heart began to beat faster. It didn't help your nervousness that Eret was gently stroking his fingertips over your free arms and resting his chin on your head.

You pressed closer to him, leaning into the embrace to calm your nerves. "Yes."

From behind the curtain, Wilbur's loud voice rang through the microphone and echoed in the packed tent, vibrating with the excitement of the many people who had squeezed into the rows of seats and now leaned further forward in anticipation.

"Dear audience, my dear children, it is with pleasure that I now introduce the highlight of our evening: the royal couple of the skies!"

People seemed to explode, jumping up from their seats and shouting your names, clapping their hands frantically or drumming their feet on the ground, which began to shake under the mass.

Eret stepped to your side and held out his hand to you. Both your faces reflected the biggest grins, the anticipation and adrenaline of performing now flowing hotly through your veins. Eret shone in the bright lights of the circus tent, beaming like the sun in his golden and sparkling outfit.

"Then let's fly"

What was wrong with you today? You cursed yourself mentally for your emotionality, it had no place in the ring! It was of no use to you to think about old times, if these were banished to the darker sides of your memory. After all, that had been the point. You didn't want your feelings for Eret to make your work harder, and that's why you had broken off contact completely.

So why wouldn't your head stop bombarding you with the beautiful moments?

You shook yourself.

"We can start," you called out to Eret.

Please let this training become normal, was all you told yourself like a mantra.

And for the first half-hour, everything seemed normal. Both Eret and you fell into work mode as soon as you took a running start and jumped off the platform into his waiting arms.

No racing heart, no faltering breath, not even a goosebump flitted over your body as you turned in the air. Okay, maybe you had had a brief trip of your heart once when Eret was just hanging off the ring with his legs holding you by your back so you were looking him straight in the white eyes, but you blocked that out. You didn't have to talk much during practice, the previously arranged choreo, from which you had adopted and restructured many elements from previous years, still sat clearly in both of your minds and so the only comments were about your posture or when you needed a little help from the other.

All was going well until you climbed the ladder for the last repetition and were greeted at the top with the feeling of not being able to breathe.

Your thoughts were all about the fear of jumping into Eret's arms in front of an audience. An audience that was probably happy to see you and Eret together again. They will notice the strange vibes, they will notice that something is different.

Nothing is the same anymore. Your performance will never have the same effect on people as it did a year ago, how are you supposed to have the courage to jump?

They hit you out of nowhere, making you take a step back in shock. Blindly, your hands grabbed the railing, clinging to it hard enough that your fingernails met the heels of your hands and dug lightly into the flesh there.

"Are you all right?" you heard Eret's voice slightly muffled, it was as if you had water in your ears.

"Yes, of course," you answered. Your own voice sounded foreign, far from yourself, like a fake copy.

"Are you sure?" he pecked, and something snapped inside you.

It wasn't even Eret's fault, it never had been. It was your fears that had fought their way to the surface, where they gnawed at your nerves and made you feel all sorts of things. Most of all, though, you were angry at yourself for always wanting to be the unapproachable one, not letting any feelings get in the way of your career, and thus driving away the one person who had taken to your heart.

Nevertheless, you pointed your gun at Eret.

Your head snapped up, sparkling eyes boring into Eret, who had leaned toward you with concern. "Why wouldn't everything be okay?" you almost hissed at him, not recognizing yourself in the ugly words you threw at him "Can we get this shit over with already? I have to get ready for tonight, and I really don't feel like wasting my time here. I never had these jump problems with Foolish."

You regretted everything as soon as it left your mouth, but it had already left its damage.

Eret winced, losing the gleam in his eyes that you normally loved, and with it every bit of vitality was taken out of his posture. He fell into the ring like a doll whose ropes had been cut, holding on only by necessity so as not to fall into the depths.

You had told him all sorts of things a year ago, from excuses why you couldn't come to training, then not to come near him in general, and finally why it would be better if you had a new training partner from now on; none of those conversations had left Eret as beaten as this did now.

Your chest quivered with your rapid, panicked breaths. It felt like you had just run a marathon.

Everything inside you was screaming at you to apologize, wanting to feel that warm smile again, and you wanted to take back the words you said then.

"I can't perform with you anymore, I can't let you distract me".

Instead, you lifted your chin and blinked away the tears that had formed in your eyes after your outburst. You couldn't cry now, not when it was all your fault.

"Shall we continue?"

"Why even force yourself onto the trapeze if you're afraid of falling?"

"What?" You pause.

"Why do you have that moment every workout where you stare frozen into the nothing as if you're waiting for it to come for you?" asked Eret, looking at you blankly "Just explain that to me, then we can end this whole thing. We should have trained enough for opening night"

"Because my trust in you is bigger than the fear of falling" Your answer was no more than a soft whisper in the huge tent where it should have been swallowed by the sounds of your surroundings, and yet you realized that Eret had understood you perfectly.

That spark was back in his eyes, a tiny bit of hope grown by your choice of words.

You, in turn, felt hopeless. Without saying goodbye to Eret, you turned on your heel. It was quite awkward, after all, you had to climb all the way back down the ladder, while Eret remained sitting at the top in the ring. One step after the other you climbed down, but on the last one you slipped slightly from the metal. This little mishap ended in your knee hitting the ladder, and your howl of pain echoed throughout the tent. After that there was nothing for you to hold on to, no reason to stop your tears. All the problems of the whole day, from the humiliating talk with Wilbur to the fight with Eret and that little accident on the ladder were the last straw.

Tears smeared your escape from the tent and ran hot down your cheeks. You didn't care that the circus place was filling up by now and you had to run through the many members of this big family who were in the final preparations. All the shouted questions about your well-being were ignored, they wouldn't be able to help you anyway.

In your trailer, the slamming of the door caused Foolish to jolt up from his nap, squealing, eyes tired, until you drop down next to him on the bed in the small two-room trailer, crying.

"Oh my god, what happened? Are you all right? Did you fall? Did you go to practice?", Foolish ambushed you with questions that you managed to answer with a shake of your head.

Your lip quivered as you tried to explain the situation to him. "Will gave me a new partner because you're not allowed" you sniffled after wiping your nose with the tissue Foolish had given you and calming down a bit "I'm supposed to perform all season with Eret" Saying the name made you howl again.

"Ouhh," Foolish took a deep breath "Now I understand the crocodile tears. That's no reason to cry"

You wrinkled your nose "Then you don't understand anything. I can't perform with him anymore"

Understanding, Foolish nodded thoughtfully. "Because you're still in love with him"

Outraged, you looked at him through a curtain of new tears. Surely he couldn't be serious? "Am not!" you contradicted him, desperately searching for a good reason why you couldn't perform with Eret. All the reasons you could think of were matters of the heart.

But you couldn't be in love with Eret, then you would have spent the whole year ignoring him for absolutely nothing except two broken hearts. You didn't want to see that, it hurt too much to admit it. You were not in love, you just decided not to be.

Two thumbs gently stroked your flushed cheeks, wiping at the sticky remnants of tears before Foolish handed you another handkerchief to wipe your nose. "I was wondering when you'd finally realize it. Took you long enough, although with the size of your stubborn head, I'm not surprised."

If you weren't busy second-guessing every decision you've made in the last 300 days, you would have definitely smacked him for that comment.

"What if my work suffers from a relationship?" you asked quietly before snorting "If it ever comes to that. Eret will never be able to forgive me, my god, even I can't forgive myself."

Foolish rolled his eyes and patted your head, he didn't know exactly how to comfort someone who had lived in ignorance to their feelings, but sometimes he saw Will pat Tommy's head like that when the boy had done his job well. "You can only find that out for yourself. I don't think you're afraid of losing your career, but rather falling if the relationship doesn't work out, which I don't think it will. Besides, Eret is clearly smarter than you, I wouldn't compare you to him."

You looked up, warning him with one gaze and pointed to your chest, "I'm sitting here crying my heart out, and you're making fun of me? Great best friend I've picked there."

"What? I'm not making fun of you, I would never think of it."

"That's right, you've got nothing but stupid ideas floating around," you grumbled. The man next to you was about to object when you tapped lightly against the cast on his leg. "Don't say anything. This is actually your fault, Foosh. It all goes back to you trying to show off in front of Sam. What are you looking at me like that for? I know I'm right... Hey!" Protesting, you tried to fight back against Foolish, who had started pushing you out of bed, muttering to himself, at the mention of Sam the muscleman and sword swallower.

"You help once and get rewarded with something like this" He clicked his tongue and pressed his hand against your face as you struggled. "Come on crybaby. Shouldn't you be getting ready?"

You paused in your movement. Sure enough, dusk had already set in, flooding your trailer in warm reds and pinks. Outside in the square, the first lanterns were already shining, and if you weren't mistaken, there were even visitors walking around.

"Oh fuck."

You had never changed so quickly as you did today. You should get a medal for that, because squeezing into that sparkly white suit was a sport. Fortunately, Foolish sat on your bed and uttered all sorts of phrases that you could use to explain to Eret why you had acted the way you had. That half of these ideas could be scratched for the simple reason that you were guaranteed not to apologize to him with "I was too stupid to know what I was feeling" was not necessarily helpful. But it did feel good to know Foolish was on your side, even if he had to work on his comforting.

"And remember not to cry again, that wouldn't help at all with the performance, you have to see everything after all"

"Yes yes I will try. Oh my heart, I can't believe what I'm doing right now" you talked to yourself while jumping from one foot to the other while putting on your sneakers. "Foolish I can't do this," you howled as you snapped the last latch shut and already had a hand on the doorknob. "What if he hates me? He's going to hate me, I hate myself for it. He won't catch me, what if he doesn't catch me? Foo-"

"It'll be alright!", Foolish interrupted you smiling "Get lost or you'll run out of time".

The door had flown open and you were almost through the frame when you ran back in. Under Foolish's questioning gaze, you ripped at the handle of the small brown dresser next to the door, pulling it open hard enough that the small plant on top began to shake dangerously. You rummaged through all the stuff - why did you have to own so much stuff? - until your fingertips brushed metal.

Holding two hair clips tightly in your clenched fist, you ran across the meadow, past the many dark caravans whose inhabitants had all long since migrated to the large square. At one trailer, a snow-white one with a golden door frame and shutters, you stopped, your free hand raised to knock.

Thump, thump, thump

Your heart beat just as fast as your hand against the door, thump thump thump, in one beat.

Knock knock knock

No response.

Thump thump thump, your feet kept running, faster than you could think and yet every step made you realize more clearly what a mistake you had made then.

Your legs carried you through the ankle-high grass to the colorful fairground that had come to life with the evening. You walked under the tall entrance arch onto the gravel path, under the illuminated large letters of the circus "Cirque des Symphonies". Lanterns lit the crowded square where visitors gathered, moving from one of the many booths whose sales tables offered stuffed animals, homemade candles and souvenirs of the circus to the next. Couples strolled around arm in arm, sat cuddled together on the small Ferris wheel, or had themselves drawn by your painter Niki in front of the big circus tent. Colorful flags, strung from lamppost to lamppost waved in the light breeze, attracting the attention of the many children who ran laughing across the square, or begged their parents for a toy.

The smell of sweet cotton candy tantalized your nose as you scanned the entire square for Eret, because usually he was always mingling with the visitors or sitting on the fence of the petting zoo, introducing your rabbits and chickens to the children. But in the enclosure today was only Wilbur's nephew, Fundy. He shook his head when you asked if he had seen Eret.

No one seemed to have seen the trapeze artist, not your tarot card reader Dream, nor sword swallower Sam, nor your doctor Ponk, both of whom were inquiring about Foolish's welfare when you encountered them. You tried the other acrobatic team of Phil and Techno, horse whisperer George, and fire breather Sapnap, but they all just passed you on, many of them with knowing faces, at your sudden need to find Eret.

You already thought you had asked everyone, when you ran into Tommy and Tubbo, the two youngest members of your troupe, who were handing out balloons to the kids and messing around with Ranboo in front of the ticket booth.

"Of course, he's with Puffy helping her get the animals ready" Gratefully you smiled at Ranboo.

"Do you want a balloon, (y/n)?", Tubbo asked you, holding the many colorful balloons in your face.

"You can have one of mine, too," Tommy interjected.

"Or one of mine"

"Mine are nicer"

"Mine have much more air"

"But (y/n) will like mine more, right (y/n)? (y/n)?"

You hadn't even heard all of the competition between the two boys, but had hurried on directly after the information from Ranboo and were already pushing aside the curtain to the back entrance of the tent when Tommy noticed you were missing.

With the curtain closing behind you, the sounds from outside became quieter, laughter and children's screams were drowned out by the loud beating of your heart and the rushing blood in your ears as you trailed across the sand strewn for the animals. You were about to turn the corner when you heard a deep laugh and stopped abruptly.

"Don't give it much thought," you whispered to yourself.

And stepped out of the shadows.

Just as Ranboo had told you, Eret stood next to Puffy, dressed in his gold skin-tight suit and his brown hair in a braided bun. He looked stunning in the dim light, just as he had a year ago. Ghosts of the past crept up your neck, gnawing their way into your heart and stealing your breath. All that mattered was him, there was no other thing for your thoughts to revolve around.

Outside it got quieter, the crowd started to fill the tent and their voices pushed to you, pushed you.

You didn't have much time.

Slowly, you approached them. Puffy was the first to catch sight of you and, like everyone else, seemed to understand what was going on because she didn't hesitate a bit, wished both of you good luck and disappeared behind a curtain to her animals.

Surprised at the "both of you", Eret turned to you, immediately there was that sadness in his eyes again, even if he smiled sadly at your, matching his, outfit. "Are you ready?" he asked you and you almost turned on your heels, but you didn't want to experience Foolish's wrath at that any less than what you wanted to tell him.

"No" You took a deep breath "No I'm not ready. Not yet. I have something to tell you, maybe I'll be ready after this, but first I want to talk to you", you began, staring into the sand on the ground because you knew you would break down if you had to look Eret in the eyes.

All those years of jumping from trapeze to trapeze, you never felt so much in free fall as you do now.

It was funny, suddenly the jumps you had hesitated before didn't even seem like the one you had in front of you. All the fears, all the worries and panic, sleepless nights tossing and turning, and all the tears you had cried over the absence of Eret in your life, all of that lay beneath you as you cautiously took a step toward Eret.

You had your words ready, they were on your tongue, ready to give them to Eret with your heart when the brunette cleared his throat.

"No matter what you're about to tell me, I want you to know one thing beforehand. For me, nothing has changed since last year. I don't just like you, (y/n).. I am so in love with you that it breaks my heart knowing that you hate me so much you wouldn't even want to work with me. After tonight, I will talk to Will. I'm sure we can find another replacement. One, that can give you the comfort i apparently can't provide"

Had it not been for the thunderous applause of the audience behind the curtain, the breaking of your heart would have probably been heard by everybody. Instead, clapping filled the deafening silence, followed by the onset of the music that always accompanied Will during his entrance.

You opened your mouth, but no words would come out.

The time in which neither of you spoke dragged on crushingly, and yet only a few seconds seemed to have passed before Will's voice sounded through the speakers, giving you the very signal to line up.

No time, you had no time.

"We have to go," Eret whispered, visibly defeated, not even bothering to smile like he was okay anymore. "Let's talk afterwards"

"No," you said urgently "This can't wait any longer."

The pure desperation in your voice seemed to change Eret's mind. Although the first performances had already begun, he turned away from the curtain leading to the ring. Hope blossomed in your chest, growing through Eret's waiting gaze. You moved closer until he noticed the trembling of your hands, still tightly gripping the hair clips.

"I love you Eret, I love you so much it hurts to think about what all could have been if I hadn't been so stupid," you cried out, once again close to crying, which only made you more emotional because you weren't supposed to cry after all, you had promised Foolish. "Eret, I was so stupid. I never wanted no contact, but that seemed easier than telling you how I felt or being around you every day when I was burned by your presence alone. I was too much of a coward, still am, because it took me so long to understand how much of a fuck up I was and admit it, but I can't live in that lie anymore. You don't deserve that."

It was almost impossible to hold back the tears, but somehow you managed. Somehow you even managed to stretch out a trembling hand to Eret. "Please," you begged him, "I don't hate you and there is no other person I trust like you. I give you my life and my heart"

Before you knew it, Eret had pulled you close to him by your outstretched hand. His lips found yours faster than you could realize what was happening and when you did, it was overwhelming.

Eret tasted like cotton candy and petrichor, and he kissed you as if the world was about to end. Startled, a gasp escaped you, adrenaline pumping through your veins as his hands held you tight, preventing you from sinking into his arms as your trembling knees indicated.

You fell. Fell for Eret, his hands that never wanted to let you go again, you fell for his lips and the leap of your heart every time he kissed you again and again, every time with a wider smile forming against your mouth.

"I love you", he muttered"I love you, I love you, I love you"

Eret pressed his forehead against yours, white pupils wandering across your face in disbelief.

In the background, the drums started beating.

In the same beat as your heart, in the same beat as Erets.

For the first time in a year, you were in a rhythm, on the same page.

"I have something for you"

"There can be something better than your heart and your life?" Eret sniffed, wiping one tear out of his eyes.

At the sight of the hair clips, another tear rolled down Eret's powdered cheeks, and after you gently pinned his loose hair strands back, he pulled you into another kiss that left you breathless.

You almost missed Will's announcement, the calling of both your names. Your heart leaped in your chest as you felt Eret's hand in yours. Taking one last deep breath, you tried to focus on something other than the feel of his lips on yours and looked up at him.

"Are you ready? Then let's fly."

[a-lil-perspective]

70 Encouragements/Tips For The Writer:

A/N: Rules don’t exist. These are real and personal and stem from a deteriorating, exhausted Writer who is here to tell you (and herself) that you are amazing and keep going. I hope you find some encouragement within.

Your mental health comes first and foremost.

Indulge and embrace your creative writing pieces when they come (and when they don’t). Especially when they don’t.

Suffering from Writer’s Block or fluctuating hyperfixation? Me too. So is your favorite author. Welcome to the Writer’s Block Party (all my uwus if you see the pun).

Did you spend five hours on this one segment, forget the last time you ate, develop chapped lips, dry eyes, and a stiff back (time to get up and move), bang your head on the wall, laugh, cry, fidget, take your ADHD meds, deviate to watch YouTube, have an epiphany, curse in frustration and wonder why the hell you do this to yourself? Congratulations, you’re a Writer.

Embrace all the not-so-glamorous sides of writing, and accept the fact they’re going to happen time over again.

When you say “just one more line” and it’s 2:00 AM, I’ll be here to remind you to “go to sleep” (because I’m also depriving myself lol).

Actually, sleeping helps your mind feel refreshed, and it’s good for your health. If you’re struggling with a particular segment, one of the best things you can do is just put a cap on it for the time being, put in a placeholder, and get some shut eye. I know you don’t want to. But you will feel so much better and have more clarity and energy to continue when you wake. Trust me.

More often than not, those words you “just didn’t write down fast enough and now forgot” end up revealing themselves to you later in a much more profound way. Give the words time to get ready. They’re just spiffing up before coming to visit. :)

Be proud of yourself and your prose. Writing is an amazing part of who you are.

That trope has been written 1000 times before? Make it 1001.

You’ve already written this scenario? Write it again.

You’ve just written a single sentence. Now sit back for moment and think: you just wrote something brand new, never before seen. Nobody out there will ever write that sentence or formulate those thoughts the exact same way. You are a unique, mind-blowing, awe-inspiring human being.

Bask in the excitement that comes with a completed piece. Reflect on what you learned throughout and celebrate the little victories.

Don’t be afraid to ask for feedback, but also understand that you might not always get it, and that is OK.

Please re-read your work. Be gentle with yourself. You had to write that very first piece to get to where you are now. Love the process.

Your personal writing success is not based off of kudos or likes or reblogs.

There is no right or wrong way to write.

There is no such thing as “good” writing.

Improvement is becoming of everyone so get comfy, strap in. The journey of a Writer is a lifelong one. Here’s to many more works ahead.

Don’t mourn the words you did or didn’t write. Celebrate the ones you will.

One day, you’ll read a piece that will blow you away—and it will be yours.

There is nothing “shameful” about reblogging your own writing works.

I promise you’ll find your “wow” piece—either in something you’ve already written, or something yet to come.

Baby. Please don’t write out of spite. You’re better than that.

You are just as valid/deserving as the next Writer. And you do belong.

If you feel sad/unworthy when sharing your works or interacting with others’, get to the root of why. Writing should be fun, rewarding, and relaxing. Not shameful, embarrassing, or a chore.

Writing (fanfiction, specifically) is labeled as “transformative works”. Self-explanatory, right? However, if you notice the transformative part begin to have a personal effect on you—a negative one—it’s time to take a step back.

Right now, I can name a single quality you possess: diligence. How do I know? Because you’re a Writer, and the two go hand-in-hand.

Got that single scene in your head but you haven’t completed or even began all the chapters preceding? Bruh. Jot that down right now. You don’t need 20k words beforehand.

Embrace your writing mood swings. The stray, sweet and condensed blurbie. The ideal, bridging drabble. The solid, substantial oneshot. The hefty, elaborate 10k word chapter. Appreciate everything in-between, and that you are capable of all of it.

Nobody remembers that extra word or typo or stray speech mark back all the way back in chapter 3. Tell the little monster in your head to go to hell.

You’re not a weirdo for making facial expressions and mulling through your dialogue aloud. You. Are. A. Writer.

It’s OK if the Readers can’t always see exactly what you envisioned in your head, or the full extent of the picture you painted. We all see colors differently.

Don’t be afraid to experiment with your writing.

In fact, challenge yourself to dabble into a new plot/trope/concept every day, even if only for a few minutes. You may discover you love writing it.

There’s no rush to finish/begin any written work. If you take your time, you will make your mark. You’re not falling behind or running late. Slow down and wait for it. :)

Three cheers for hiatus.

Listen to your body and mind, know your limits and when it’s time to take a break.

Actually take a break. :)

If you feel like you’re falling stagnant in creativity, looking to/revisiting other forms of creative media can help encourage the flow.

Ask for encouragement, and be at peace with asking.

Take shelter in fellow writers. Uplift each other always.

You are/will be someone’s favorite author. :)

You don’t have anything to prove. You have something to share.

Someone is thinking about your work right now.

Someone started a series because they drew inspiration from you.

Personal writing style can reflect a lot on the state of one’s mental health. Try to always be attentive to that of your own.

Self-validation must be cultivated early on or nothing will ever work.

Freestyle every once in a while. Write a snippet, timed, and go—without editing. Write the first thing that comes to mind and go from there. Do it all the way through the set time. When it stops, you’ll find yourself unable to. 3,800 words here we come. :)

Not everything needs an outline. :)

It is completely normal to write your story out of order.

Create guidelines for yourself. If they aren’t working, toss ‘em.

Word vomiting can help you feel better (it’s just how it sounds). By clearing all those jumbled thoughts and scattered concepts, you achieve a clearer objective. Try it sometime.

A rough draft is supposed to be rough.

Sometimes the words come to you quicker than others. Be patient. That is merely the construct of a Writer’s mind. You’re a beautiful enigma.

A sentence written is a story progressing.

Writing is an endurance sport. You must pace yourself and exercise it daily.

You are still a Writer even when the words aren’t on the actual page.

You’re not obligated to a writing/posting schedule.

As you progress in your journey and gain more awareness, don’t sacrifice your style. Those beginning works are what define you. Hold onto them and don’t ever let them go.

You’re the only one cringing—

Remember that sometimes words are elusive and you don’t always have control over them, and that is OK. Sometimes they write themselves. Sometimes your characters come to life and break out into dance across your page. Dance with them. You can wrangle them back when the music stops. :)

There is nothing condemning or embarrassing about asking for a beta. Allow someone to help carry the load.

Allow people to cheer you on—even if they don’t read your work.

It’s OK if your writing style isn’t someone else’s preference.

Be your biggest cheerleader. Sometimes you are all you have.

You don’t need anyone’s approval except your own.

You love that trope/concept/story you just wrote? That’s all that matters. The end.

You will never write good. You will write you. And that is good.

Above all else: remember to write for you.🤍

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Soft Target: Ch. 5

18+ content, minors DNI

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

This is short, but I wanted to get something up before diving into edits for my other fic (so I can send them off to my lovely new beta reader).

In hobbit birthday tradition, I will give the first ten folks to comment and/or reblog with a comment a drabble/mini fic (in the coming months). Happy to write for Zemo, Safin (Bond villain), or Bucky/Winter Soldier. Other characters possible upon request, but may take more time.

Chapter 4: Link

Chapter warnings; smut, Zemo manipulation at its finest, thigh riding, German and Slavic pet names in place of Sokovian.

Enjoy!

Oops, all smut.

------------------------------------

“Then I must work to make my intentions clearer,” he said, stepping closer.

“Do you even know what they are?” she challenged.

She was asking about blood and death. An inkling of something very different stirred in a place he wasn’t prepared to search.

“Maybe not,” he confessed. A soft smile rose to banish the stiff horror in her eyes. “But it isn’t to murder my host while she makes a cup of tea.”

Maybe it would be better if he did. Then, at least she’d know. She didn’t believe he really had no idea what he intended to do with her. Baron Helmut Zemo was a man with a plan, and even if she’d been a surprise addition to the equation, he’d had enough hours to recalculate.  

Balancing on the cusp of threat and flirtation was exhausting, and if he wanted to kill her, the kitchen wouldn’t be a bad place.

“What are you thinking?”

In the still room, his voice felt louder than it should. It felt physical, a touch without consequence, and she bit her cheek hard against the pleasant shivers rolling down her spine. Why did such a bad man have such a lovely voice? And how was she supposed to answer his question?

“I’m thinking it would be easy to clean up the blood in here,” she said.

His head tilted to the opposite side in time with a step forward. Standing by the counter, she didn’t have room to retreat, but she turned to face him, ready for a fight. If she had a moment, she could grab the kettle and swing for his face. He’d have to at least block, and that may provide a window to escape.

But he stopped just within reach, hands empty at his sides, all thoughtful expression and bobbing head, like a snake studying a mouse in the corner of its cage. Wander eyes dipped from eyes to lips, rolling down her body and back up again, lingering on places of interest with no strategic value in a fight.

Her battle plans crumbled, and she stared back, thrown entirely off her rhythm.

“Would it put you at ease,” he murmured, “to know you interest me far more than your family?”

“I don’t doubt it.” Her mouth had gone dry, and when her teeth instinctively pinched her lip, she tasted pennies again. It would never heal at this rate. Further proof the man was bad for her health. “They’re only in danger because of me.”

Zemo hummed, shifting so another precious inch between them disappeared as he made a show of considering her point. For a moment, she felt like a fish on the end of his line, watching as he reeled himself closer and closer to his catch.

It was cruel of him, and she clung to the splinter of rage as he dipped into her personal space. He’d run out of room soon, and they both knew he wouldn’t touch her, so this farcical seduction would only leave her aching and lonely in her room. By herself. While he smugly filed this little encounter away in his book of petty victories.

“Would you believe me if I said they were in no danger because you are in no danger? At least not from me?”

Laughing a strained little bark, fit to burst with nervous energy doing its best to turn erotic, she pushed back into the sharp edge of the counter. “I think we already covered that.”

His head dropped, like he’d been bested, but when his eyes flicked back up to meet hers through his lashes, the impish light in them promised anything but peace.

“Actions speak so much louder than words.”

She scoffed as her heart kicked into overdrive. Deadly or not, his gaze burned with intent, and she felt too warm, too exposed, too close to doing something dangerous and stupid that no one had ever invited her to try before. She flailed for a defense. For room to breathe.

“Right. Because you’re so easy to read, you enigmatic fuck.”

“You’re trying much too hard, draga.”

The endearment, pet name, whatever it was, caught her attention. She didn’t know the word, but her body translated the velvet purr into a sizzling heat, like an electrical fire, burning low and hot. She gulped, and her hands flexed on the countertop behind her.

Every twitch betrayed her, and if he couldn’t see the signs of her growing arousal by now, she’d seriously misjudged him.

Humiliated, she turned to the floor, only to see his foot slip between hers. When she snapped to attention, he had her caged between his arms and counter.

“I don’t need to kill you.” He smiled, not a trace of his pensive frown to be seen, so near she imagined she could taste the expression. It bared something sweetly malicious in his manners, and his dark eyes twinkled with fiendish delight at her stuttering breath. “I want to like you.”

Her own words, wrapped in his sinful voice, sounded so much more suggestive than she’d meant them to be.

No space remained. When she breathed, her chest bumped his, and his rich cologne filled her senses. His voice. His smell. They made him and his actions too real, and she struggled to interpret them as anything but what they appeared to be.

It wasn’t possible. Even if she might want it to be.

“I find the softest things wear the prickliest armor.”

His voice reverberated in her bones so she breathed in time with him, so she fell quietly under his spell. He had her where he wanted. Now if only she knew what he wanted.

She could see the end of this, even if she couldn’t understand how they’d arrive. Though she ached to continue – with what? – she made one last attempt to save herself.

“This isn’t kind, Baron,” she whispered, feeling that prickly armor peeling away. Admitting he could hurt her. Admitting vulnerability.

Nearly kissing her ear, he whispered, “I am not a kind man. But there’s something you need, draga. I’ll help you, if you let me.”

She closed her eyes, afraid to shake her head lest she brush against his face.

“You won’t even shake my hand. Don’t tease me. Please.”

“Oh, I have every intention of teasing you,” he said, “and delivering on everything I promise. In the end. There are many ways to pleasure a woman without ever touching each other’s skin.”

Her eyes flew open, and she met the wickedest grin she’d ever beheld. He delighted in his games, and he’d maneuvered her effortlessly to the brink of the cliff, all the while whispering encouragement to jump. If she accepted, gave him that kind of power, she may never get it back.

“May I help?”

A soft target indeed.

She’d never had any power to begin with.

Swallowing, she decided she might as well jump since he’d already wrecked her.

“Yes.”

The foot between her legs slipped forward, and his chest pushed flush against hers, forcing her off balance as his knee pressed into the gap. His thigh moved between hers, pressing against everything that demanded friction all at once.

She gasped, and he bent his knee, forcing his thigh higher, lifting her onto her toes. Half-bent back over the counter, she couldn’t be any more at his mercy if she tried. Her hands scrabbled for a sturdier grip.

“Hold onto me,” he purred, rolling his leg to send fluttering waves through her core.

Helpless to do anything else, she grabbed fistfuls of his sweater. It was as soft as his thigh was hard.

“Very good.”

He crooned over her as he continued his ministrations, stoking the fire he’d set. He experimented with different rhythms, different angles, forcing her to whimper and adapt as he ground up against her.

The jeans she’d chosen were close to jeggings, thin enough for her to feel the pressure and drag of each roll of his thigh, every bounce of his knee. She suspected the fabric gave her tormentor an advantage, too. Thicker denim would leave him to guess where her sweet spots hid. If he was guessing now, he had the devil’s luck. Every slide stole her breath, and the mounting pressure left her feeling like she might explode.

Her hips jerked erratically as she tried to keep still, tried to save face as she let a man she’d known for two days work to – as he so elegantly put it – pleasure her.

He caught onto to her reticence quickly and moved to correct it. Warm hands wrapped around her hips, guiding down harder on his knee as he tsked.

“Don’t be shy, liebling.”

His voice was really doing it for her, and she followed his instructions, carefully rolling her hips to chase the beginning of her end. Her face flamed, and she couldn’t meet his eye, but it felt too good to stop. With his hands on her and his chest pinning her, she could image she was being held.

The long, winding cord grew tighter and tighter in her belly, like a rope going taut before it snapped. She’d really fall this time, too. No one could save her from the fallout of her own choices, and she knew, even as she ground down against his knee, that her prickly armor would never quite keep him out again.

As her orgasm approached, her thighs began to shake, and her pace faltered as they threatened to give out after balancing for so long on her toes. But the baron didn’t let up. His hands grasped tighter driving her against every glide and bounce of his knee, giving her everything she could feel through the layers of clothing between them.

“You’re doing so well,” he purred. “Nearly there.”

His warm murmurs sent cold shocks all the way out to her fingertips, and she clung to him, biting her ragged lip to stop from making too much noise. Aware of the fear tangled too tightly around her arousal, he shushed her, comforting her as he drove her relentlessly towards the brink.

“Don’t worry. It is only a little death.”

The rope snapped, and she fell.

As she slumped, twitching and exhausted, Zemo tucked an arm behind her back, keeping his leg between her knees as he withdrew just enough for her feet to fall flat on the floor. He pet small strokes down the middle of her back, watching her recover with naked pride.

“You did beautifully, draga.”

“No one’s ever – I mean – that was – ”

Blushing, she stammered herself silent, suddenly and wildly aware of her own inexperience. And position.

The baron grinned, all teeth. “It was. Thank you.”

Why thank her? She’d barely done anything, certainly nothing to help get him off.

“Would you like me to… help?... you?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, no. I am well enough for now. Perhaps another night, liebling.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that, how to approach the idea of other nights, or more illicit tumbles into the chasm of the baron’s schemes.

Finally pulling away, he made the slightest adjustments to right his sweater where she’d tugged it askew. “I should return before Sam comes looking. I will see you in the morning.” Another smile, softer, without teeth. “Rest well.”

She kept her place against the counter as he left and listened to him climb the steps. Even after he’d closed the door, and she knew she was entirely alone in the kitchen, she lingered. Breathing. Coming to grips with her after glow and the shadow of the baron’s smirk.

Tags List:

@dweeb-central​

@nvtaliaromanovv​

[eldritchqueerture]

One For The Memory

Chapter 9: Feather in Our Hands

Ao3 Link

Chapter Summary: While Prentiss’ worms attack the Institute, Jon has an interesting discussion with Michael, unaware of the situation. Elias is exactly as helpful as you can imagine, and Martin has a breakthrough.

Author's Notes: Here we GOOOOO I am again so incredibly excited about this fic. I'm sorry about the long break before the last chapter, I have periods where writing is difficult and then I have periods of hightened productivity, I'm sure a lot of writers can relate to that. Hopefully we can bring this project to a close during this wave, we'll see, but I know for sure that I will finish it sooner or later. I hope you guys will like this chapter :D This goes out to all GerryMartin enjoyers, their friendship lives in my head rent free.

CW: Canon-typical Distortion content, canon-typical worms, unreality, injury

Work Summary: Jon awakens with a tidal wave of memories that don’t make any sense. In an attempt to go on with his life, he searches for the cause of the turmoil in his mind. He knows, though, that something inside him is waking up.

Likes are greatly appreciated, but please consider reblogging so other people may see it! Thank you 💜

--

Jon quickly loses track of time, aimlessly traversing the corridors of the Distortion. At first he looks for doors, but the walls are only filled with mirrors that show his distorted face. The colours dance before his eyes, twisting together into a dizzying blur, and the faint buzzing of the overhead lamps doesn’t help Jon’s general sense of confusion. He tries to Know a way out, to See through the maze, but his sight drowns in the chaos.

At one point he stops, overwhelmed with sensations, and closes his eyes to rest for just a moment. His world shifts and a wave of dizziness sends him tumbling on the carpeted floor. He rests his forehead on it with a groan, determined to catch this moment of respite, despite Distortion’s attempts.

“I’ve been here before,” Jon mutters to himself. “I’ve survived this before. I can find you.”

A giggling laughter makes the air of the hall vibrate and the gravity shifts, pulling Jon towards what used to be a wall on his left. His elbow hits one of the mirrors as he lands, and it shatters, a couple pieces digging painfully into his skin.

The acute sensation lets him ground himself somewhat at least. He opens his eyes and carefully rises to his knees, observing the hall with narrowed eyes. If he only tries hard enough, he can See Michael here somewhere. If only he can find him again…

Jon stands up shakily and staggers forward. Leaning on what used to be the floor of the corridor, he pushes on, turning corners until, with a smirk, he faces the corridor he’s been looking for.

“There you are.” He points at the colourful figure standing in the middle of the corridor. It’s so distorted at first, Jon can’t look straight at it without an intense pain in his skull, but as he keeps stepping closer, its features grow clearer and clearer.

“I played your game,” Jon says. “Now you play mine. What do you want?”

“I told your assistant I wanted to be friends.” Michael answers, crossing his arms over his chest. “But for that to happen we have to settle some things.”

Jon stops in front of him and lowers his finger.

“What does that mean?” A harsh tone comes through with his voice. “You kill me?”

Michael laughs briefly.

“Yes, I have thought about that. It seemed like a good idea for a while, after we learned that you already have Archivist powers. We don’t want the Eye getting too cocky now, do we?”

He reaches his long finger and points it at Jon’s chest, almost touching it; Jon takes a careful step back.

“But. I have changed my mind.”

“And why might that be?” Jon’s lips form a thin line.

“I thought things through and maybe it wouldn’t benefit me to kill you after all.”

Michael smiles and the corners of his lips touch the opposite walls of the corridor.

“Word is you know more than you should, you’re more powerful than is by any means possible this early, and apparently you caused the rift in space and time.”

Jon opens his mouth, but no sound comes out for a moment.

“I caused… Wait, how do you know all this?” He frowns. “Word is where?”

“Oh, Archivist, but you’re popular!” Michael giggles. “You’re already considered a threat and that’s fine by me. I wanted to kill you, so the Eye doesn’t come out on top, but apparently you don’t want that either, do you?”

Jon looks at Michael, searching for an explanation, and immediately regrets it. Stupid, he thinks, looking for clarity from the Spiral avatar. He takes a moment to breathe and regain balance.

“What’s your point, Michael?” He enunciates the question, but his static doesn’t seem to be able to reach him through the colourful, swimming walls of the maze.

“Points, there’s many points to this dance,” he muses. “It’s a line made up of an infinite number of points that forms never-ending spirals. But you are concerned with facts, with time. What is real, Archivist? How can you tell what is a fact and what is imagined?”

He starts walking down the corridor and Jon has no other choice but to follow him.

“Why did you bring me here?” He tries again, but he only sounds frustrated; Michael laughs.

“Why indeed! I told you, I want to be friends. But there is an obstacle that twists and bends that possibility.”

“Oh.” Jon stops, suddenly remembering something; Michael turns around to see his curious expression. “Right. You have a personal vendetta.”

“Personal vendettas require a degree of identity which I can never retain.”

His words sound genuine, but Jon shakes his head with a slight smile on his lips.

“No. But Michael has a personal vendetta.”

“Michael Shelley is dead.”

Jon feels a bit of satisfaction at the defensiveness in his distorted voice.

“Yes. Much like Jonathan Sims is dead and yet I’m here.” He takes a step closer. “We’re not someone else entirely, we change through the becoming. Of course it’s different for me than it was for you, but the general idea is the same. We’re not replaced by the powers. We bend under their influence, yes, but our essence doesn’t change.”

Michael frowns at him, trying to piece something together in his mind.

“That isn’t how it works. There is no essence in me. There is delusion and ever changing mazes of spirals.”

“I noticed how despite being the Distortion, something that thrives on confusion, you take time to explain things in your own way,” Jon points out with an intensity similar to excitement. “You took me and Sasha to see Timothy Hodge, to show us what has happened since the statement he’d given. To help us understand. Even now, you keep trying to explain your thought process to me, something that goes against the very nature of the Spiral.” Something that, Jon remembers, Helen never did.

In spite of Jon’s gentle tone, he can see fear in Michael’s eyes. The next words Jon speaks are quiet and careful.

“I know how Michael Shelley died. I know he was betrayed by my predecessor and that’s why you want me dead. But I believe there’s humanity in you left; this anger that you feel is your essence mirrored by the Spiral. Unacknowledged, it will slip from your control, and you will cease to exist.”

Even though Michael is twice as tall as Jon, he seems very small in the moment, looking at Jon’s face. His eyes are moving ever so slightly as he processes the words, the spirals in them twisting deeper and deeper. Jon feels tingling in his fingerprints and instinctively clenches his fists.

“I need you to let me out, Michael,” he says, and Michael’s eyes finally fix back on him.

Wordlessly, he turns towards a door that wasn’t there before and closes it behind him, before Jon can draw a breath.

—

“Fuck!” Tim grimaces with pain and breathes the air out through gritted teeth. “Do you have it?”

“Almost.” Gerry is focused, as he manoeuvres the corkscrew in the wound. There. “Got it.”

He pulls it out with a squelch, and Tim lets out a strangled groan.

“Thanks,” he says and takes a deep breath. “Absolutely horrible, one out of ten. Sasha’s removal seemed a lot cleaner on the tape.”

“When I grow Distortion’s sharp fingers, I’ll be sure to let you know,” Gerry scoffs; he takes a piece of gauze and douses it with water, then proceeds to clean the bleeding wound. “By the way, very resourceful of you to have a first aid kit in a document storage, Martin.”

“Yeah, and—and the corkscrew—” Tim hisses at the touch but looks at Martin with a smirk. “Drinking in the Archives?”

“Wha—no!” Martin turns from the window on the door with a look of outrage. “I had a lot of time to think, okay? I used to carry around a knife, but then I thought that cutting into someone laterally wasn’t really the best way to get the worms out, since they seem to burrow quite slowly in a straight line, so, given their size… the corkscrew seemed more practical.”

Gerry shoots him a surprised but impressed glance, and Martin shrugs.

“Can you see it?” He asks, taking more clean gauze and applying pressure to the wound; Martin turns to the window.

“Good thing I cleaned the window a while back,” he mutters. “Can’t see the thing itself and the worms seem to have backed off a little… There’s some in the corners but it’s otherwise pretty calm. It’s like… It’s like they’re waiting for something.”

“For what?” Gerry scoffs but looks up when Tim’s tenses up, his face going pale.

“Sasha,” he whispers. “She went out for lunch. We need to call her, tell her not to come back—”

“There’s no reception here,” Martin says, curving his neck to see more. “I think we gotta hope she notices something is wrong…”

“Where is Jon?” Tim asks and takes out his phone from his pocket, not really knowing why. Martin’s right, there is no signal.

“Out on a follow up,” Martin adds with a strangled tone in his voice.

“Maybe it’s a good thing,” Gerry mutters. “There’s a good chance they’re here for him.”

“What? Why?” Martin asks urgently.

“Gertrude used to be hunted by other entities, too,” Gerry shrugs. “Comes with the title, I guess.”

“One hell of a job,” Tim shakes his head.

Gerry finishes dressing Tim’s wound and looks up at both of his companions, then at the fire extinguisher.

“I could make a run for it,” he thinks out loud. “To get help.”

“It might be waiting for you there.” Martin looks out again. “I still can’t see anything.”

“How much CO2 did you use?” Gerry walks up to the extinguisher and Tim shakes his head.

“I don’t know, I just… sprayed at them, not thinking much, but there were too many.”

“What actually happened?” Martin looks at him with a frown. “How did it get here?”

“Funny story actually,” Tim scratches his head. “I was in the office, sorting through the recent statements we’ve been working on, and I saw something crawling on a shelf. Now, Martin, I know your stance on spiders and their importance, and I respect that, but please spare me the lecture this time.” Martin makes a disgruntled noise, as Tim continues. “I killed it on a reflex really, been used to killing all the worms that showed up. But then the shelf collapsed, files flying, chaos everywhere, and I saw that a part of the wall collapsed with it. Turns out there’s Jon’s tunnels on the other side.” He sighs. “I looked inside, of course, stupid, but Sash and I actually looked for anything that could resemble an entrance to those tunnels for a while and we haven’t found anything. I know Jon said not to, but we just wanted to know, I don’t know. The possible entry points or something. Then the worms started to spill out.” He twists his mouth in disgust. “By the time I got the fire extinguisher from the corner, they were about everywhere, horrible death and everything, and the smell, ugh.” He shakes his head. “And just as I started spraying, I saw It. Broke through the remains of the wall and looked even worse than you said in your statement, Martin. Whatever’s left of Jane Prentiss.”

“That’s when you ran here?” Gerry asks and Tim nods. He moves his leg carefully and winces.

“Oh—Oh God,” Martin speaks up with alarm, looking out the window. “I see Sasha.”

In the next couple of seconds things happen very quickly. Martin watches with wide eyes as Sasha emerges from between the shelves, looking over the empty desks with raised eyebrows.

“Sasha, look out!” Tim yells, suddenly by Martin’s side, leaning on Gerry.

“The door is soundproof, she can’t hear—” Martin informs him, just as a humanoid shape emerges from the shadows behind Sasha. Tim curses, quickly turning the key in the lock and flings the door open.

“Sasha, behind you!”

“Tim!” Gerry yells, but Tim is out of the door, running with a limp to grab her arm. Gerry closes the door immediately after him and stamps the worms that have found their way under the door. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Tim pulls Sasha away. She yanks her head back to see the swarming mass of worms and decay smile at her.

“Do you hear their song?” It hisses out, and Sasha stumbles backwards, almost tripping over Tim’s foot. Tim swears again, and they back away towards the door to the Archives, gripping each other’s hands tightly. A metallic groan sounds somewhere to their side, but they don’t pay enough attention to it. Sasha manages to look up just in time to see a shelf toppling over towards them.

“Look out!” She exclaims and jumps back, pushing Tim forwards. The shelf falls between them with a crash, files and worms spilling out onto the floor. Tim looks at her with terror.

“Sasha!”

“Go get help!” She yells and looks around. Even though Prentiss is moving slowly among the strewn-out files and papers, Sasha finds herself trapped.

“But—”

“Just go, Tim!” She yells again and gives him a hard look. There’s a struggle visible on his face and finally he turns and runs out of the Archives.

Sasha desperately looks around, her heart almost beating out of her chest. She knows the Archives quite well, she’s well aware there’s no hiding places left and she’s surrounded…

She spots a door, faintly yellow in the artificial light of the Archives. It’s hidden out of sight behind one of the tall shelves, and the area around it seems clear of worms.

Not thinking much, she runs to open it and disappears inside.

—

“Martin, you need to calm down,” Gerry grabs his shoulders to stop the man from frantically traversing the document storage once again. His pale green eyes land on Gerry’s face.

“Calm do—Gerry, we didn’t see what happened to her!” He lets out a breath and shakes his head. “God, Sasha’s dead, she’s—”

“We don’t know that,” Gerry says sternly. “She disappeared between the shelves; we can’t tell what happened—”

“What else could’ve happened?!” Martin throws his arms in the air, bucking off Gerry’s arms; he starts circling again. “She’s not there anymore, she couldn’t just—just disappear into thin air!”

Gerry grimaces and shrugs.

“Seen it happen,” he mutters and goes to stop Martin again. “Look, you panicking isn’t gonna help anyone. You said we’re safe here, but that means we are also trapped and there is quite literally nothing we can do from here.”

Martin stares at him breathing heavily.

“So, what do we do?” He asks. “We can’t just… just wait and hope they’re okay.”

“Tim ran for help, I think we gotta trust him.” Gerry raises his eyebrows making sure Martin understands. He takes a deep breath and nods.

“Right, right. I hope Jon is okay.”

Gerry lets go of his arms and goes to sit on the cot.

“He’s been weird lately,” he says, frowning at no one in particular. “I feel like he’s been beating around the bush, still trying to tackle this thing on his own even though we’ve all agreed to help.”

“Yeah, he—uh, he does that,” Martin sighs and sits down next to Gerry. He frowns suddenly. “Does he?”

“What?”

Martin shakes his head and blinks. “I mean—I only know him for a couple months I—I don’t…”

Martin’s gaze stops on the tape recorder which has, apparently, turned itself off in the meantime.

“Martin?” Gerry asks and Martin grabs the recorder and takes out the tape that was inside. Wordlessly, he reaches for the tape from the box Annabelle Cane has brought, inserts it, and presses play.

[THE FLOORBOARDS CREAK; MARTIN’S VOICE SPEAKS]

Can’t tell through the… fog, sometimes. You feel… n-not friendly. Familiar? Shape of you in my hand. I talk to you, don’t I? We talk. What do we— do we say? (under breath) Can’t quite—

[MOVEMENT]

(normal) Th-There’s something there, but I just can’t see it. Anyway. (slight sigh) Ni-Nice to sit down. Take a load off.

[HE SITS DOWN IN A CHAIR WITH A SCOOT]

Gerry stares at Martin with tension as it plays; his eyes are focused on the whirring tape, his body is tense, and he can see the edges of his being swim. He grabs his forearm to steady him, and leads him to the cot to sit down. He follows without protest, gaze transfixed on the whirring tape.

(bit dazed) What, what was I saying? I don’t…

[A SQUEAK – POSSIBLY A DOOR – AND SOME BACKGROUND RATTLING]

(to tape) Do you remember? You store them, I suppose. Keep, keep stuff locked up in those little wheels. That’s memory, isn’t it? (movement) Computers used to be like you. Big, whirring things with loads of – uh, tape. They called that memory. But it’s not—not, not really; it’s just numbers and… (trails off) (movement) Maybe you’re blank as well, same as me. Are you? Can you remember what I’ve already said… (movement) –cause I-I, I can’t; the words keep creeping away? Like—like, like when I try to think back, to focus—um, focus on—um—

[STATIC SWELLS]

(pleasantly surprised) Oh, oh! Oh. Hello! What are you; I can’t quite— see. You feel— familiar. Do I know you; do we talk? I hope so. (slight laugh) It’s good to talk with people. It’s— hm.

Martin’s hand curls into a fist, the strain making his knuckles go white. Gerry can see the colour in his eyes pale, swirling with something grey.

“Martin—” He starts, but Martin shakes his head, stiffly but decisively; he blinks and the fog retreats from the green. Gerry shifts to sit closer to him and takes Martin’s fist in his palms, but stays quiet, letting the tape play.

(shaky) I don’t like it here. It – It can’t be cheap living here, house this big. I really need a job. Started lying on my CV; did I tell you that. I didn’t want to. I-I mean I tried to be a good person, but we’re really up against it, and I— and I— I know they’re going to find me out; I just know it. They’ll ask something, or I’ll say something stupid, and then— and then they’ll know. They’ll know, and then— (shaky exhale) (under breath) Oh, [unintelligible] (normal) What am I doing; I can’t afford a place like this! I need money, not just for me, but for—for… (suddenly less agitated) Wait. Wait, no; it is – it is just me, isn’t it? It’s always been just me.

[THE SAME STATIC AS ALWAYS BEGINS TO RISE FROM THE BACKGROUND]

Martin’s breath grows laboured; his hand in Gerry’s starts to shake. Gerry grits his teeth looking from the tape recorder to Martin, debating whether to let this continue.

No… No, no, no, that’s not right! I-I’m not alone, no! Not alone, there’s – there’s – J-J-Jon? Jon. (suddenly realizing) Jon! Jon!

[A THUMP - MARTIN STARTS WALKING]

(frantic) Jon? Jon, I’m here; can you hear me? I can’t – it’s – it’s this place, I – wh-where are you; I need you, I nee– (laugh, but humourless) I need you, Jon.

[THERE’S AN UNEASY DISCORDANT TONE PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND]

Where – Where did you go.

[A COUPLE MORE STEPS]

(voice about to break) Please don’t leave me. I can’t do this on my own. Please. (inhale that could be a sob) I’m not enough on my own. Alone. (small, shaky) All. All alone.

[HE STARTS TO CRY, SOFTLY, AS HE WALKS ON. THERE’S SOME RUSTLED MOVEMENT]

[AND THEN – THE STATIC RISES]

Martin is fully shivering at this point, his fist weighing about a half less than it’s supposed to, and, when a strangled sob breaks out of Martin’s mouth, Gerry decides that it is enough. He pushes the STOP button and looks at Martin.

“Are you okay?” He asks as Martin takes one shaky breath after another. “Martin?”

Martin stares at the recorder, fog swirling around him. Paying closer attention to it, Gerry notes that it does not touch him. He squeezes Martin’s fist, and it becomes a bit more material. Martin blinks and looks at him.

“I need—” He says, out of breath. “Gerry, I ne—I need to finish—Finish listening.”

He shivers again, and Gerry swallows.

“Martin, are you sure?” He asks, and Martin nods stiffly again. He turns his eyes back to the tape and the fog stirs. Gerry grits his teeth and wraps his arm around Martin’s shoulders before he hits PLAY.

(half-whisper) We should try to keep quiet actually, you know. Make sure not to wake her. The drugs… they, they hit her pretty hard, but… if you make enough noise and she wakes up, and— (quieter) and yeah, it’s not good. (bravado) Not a good time! I-I know she loves me; I-I know she does. But that doesn’t make it easy. There’s always so much to do, and I’m always forgetting something.

I do try, you know? I mean, I really try to keep on top of things, but I’m just… I’m just so forgetful, and she… she… Sometimes I wonder if I forget things on purpose. Easier not to think about them, I guess. Easier to just let them… slip away. They can’t hurt you if you don’t think about them; they can’t shout at you or call you names. (increasingly emotional) And I, I always think of mum’s face when I’ve done something wrong, and I—

Gerry shifts, tightening his grip around Martin’s shoulders. He decisively pushes the thoughts of his own mother deep into himself. Now’s not the time.

When I was nine, my grandad died. Did I tell you that? I went to the funeral, and the coffin was so – (small laugh) shiny. It was already sealed. But on top there was a photo of a – young man. Someone who looked almost like my grandad, but— it, it wasn’t him. It wasn’t… finished? Not yet. No, and—and I suddenly began to panic, because I was trying to remember what he looked like, his, his face, but I couldn’t do it. And I knew I’d never see him again. He loved me and I couldn’t even remember his face! (breathing heavy) It was – It was a horrid, drizzly morning, that day, and they put him in the ground and he – he smelled like earth. Cold, damp soil. (squeak, movement) What was I saying?

Martin clutches Gerry’s hand like an anchor – Gerry thinks that might not be far off – and his skin is pale and frigid. The freckles on his cheeks are almost invisible now and his eyes are grey, but the hand that clutches Gerry’s fingers is real and strong. Gerry thinks, with no small surprise, that his presence seems to be enough to keep Martin afloat.

(quiet sob) I-I-I’m scared. I think this fog is doing something to me; I can’t— (movement) I’m losing myself, and I— and I don’t know if I mind? Maybe I deserve it. (shaky breath) So much of what’s behind the fog hurts. So much of it just makes me wanna curl up with pain and embarrassment and— Maybe the fog’s here because I want it here. Is that why I opened the windows?

Maybe I asked the fog to come. (beat) No. No, no—no, no, no, that’s not true, I-I remember! Hundreds, thousands of lost souls, wandering the halls. Hollow memories, with eyes full of tears. I’ve seen them. (shaky) They’re all trying to remember. T-To recall, to picture someone, anyone who loves them, and their hearts are all full of fear. Afraid that those people are gone forever. That maybe – maybe they never existed at all. (agitated) Why am I here?

I-I fell behind. I was – I was too slow, and, and, and the fog caught up; I was following. Al-Always following, never leading. Never leading. Why did he leave me behind? D-Did he? Who are—Wh–Who are you? Who am–? (realization, movement) J-J-Jon.

[THE STATIC KICKS IN AGAIN]

Jon, Jon. Yes. Jon, I remember him. (shaky exhale) I need to, I need to keep him here. If he can find me, I – he, he knows enough; surely he Knows enough to find me, but I can’t – (struggling) If I forget him, if, if I forget – me – maybe – maybe there’s nothing left to Know. No one to find.

[CREAKING MOVEMENT]

Talking helps. I got you all here to listen; (tap) Just, just don’t stop talking.

You—You are Martin Blackwood. Yes. You, you didn’t choose to be here. Jon is coming. (stronger) I am Martin Blackwood, and I am not lonely anymore; I am not lonely anymore.

With a shaky hand Martin reaches out and clicks STOP. Gerry looks at him wide eyed, as the fog recedes until he’s fully material again. Then it dissipates into nothingness.

“Martin?” Gerry barely whispers. Martin’s wide eyes turn to him; they’re full of tears that start rolling down his cheeks.

“I…” He takes a deep breath and grips Gerry’s hands as he utters the words almost inaudibly. “I remember.”

Gerry blinks; one of his hands is on Martin’s shoulder and he holds him tighter.

“You—”

“Oh my God, Gerry, I—I can’t believe we actually did it.” He laughs, but the expression of joy is immediately followed by stark terror. “That bastard, I knew he would do that, he would go it alone and he—and I…” A sob escapes his trembling lips and Gerry instinctively pulls him close, wrapping his arms protectively around his shoulders. “I told them to go early, and Jon—Jon was s-sup-supposed to wait, he was—he was supposed wait, and J-Jonah Magnus was dead and—”

“Shhh, Martin, it’s alright now,” Gerry whispers, rocking them gently back and forth. “You’re both safe now. Relatively.”

“God…” Martin sniffles and pulls away to wipe the tears away from his face. “Right, yeah, I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s alright, Martin, really.” Gerry watches his face carefully, and Martin blushes just a little bit. “Are you okay?”

“I… Yeah, I think… I think so.” He steadies his breath and casts a look around the room. “Gosh, it feels like a different lifetime. Huh,” he chuckles. “Technically that’s not wrong.”

“So, you… you remember everything now?” Gerry asks. Martin nods, pushing his glasses up to his forehead and rubbing at his eyes.

“Yeah. It feels like… like all this time I’ve been walking around without glasses. The fog, it… I think it obscured everything.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “But it was all there and now, it’s like I’ve put on glasses and opened my eyes, and everything is, is clear. I was so scared of being alone after—” His voice breaks a little. “Maybe it was a, a defence reaction? I don’t know. I do know though that I’m—I’m not Lonely anymore.”

He nods to himself and turns to look at Gerry, whose face is showing shock and admiration. Martin, starting to feel self-conscious about the whole ordeal, clears his throat and climbs to his feet. Not looking at Gerry, he goes to take the abandoned fire extinguisher by the wall.

“Martin, I’m—” Gerry starts but stops himself and shakes his head. “You’re really strong, you know that?”

Martin stops short, his grip on the extinguisher tightens. He lets out a little laugh at that, more of a self-conscious chuckle than anything, and he shrugs.

“Well, um, we do have a situation to deal with,” he mumbles and goes up to one of the walls. He adjusts the fire extinguisher in his grip.

“What are you do—WOAH!” Gerry jumps when Martin slams the wall with the extinguisher. “Martin?”

“There's an—” Slam. “Entrance. To the—” Slam. “Tunnels. Behind—” Another slam and the hole in the drywall is big enough to walk through. “This wall.” He finishes with a satisfied smirk. He bludgeons the rest of it to make the entrance more comfortable. “That should be enough.”

“Holy shit,” Gerry huffs out as he peeks into the dark. “I wonder if Gertrude knew about this.”

“She did,” Martin looks back at the door and the window covered in worms now. “She—” He blinks. “Ah, shit. We need to find her body.”

Gerry’s eyes snap to him.

“What?”

“Her body is in the tunnels, she—” Martin looks down with wide eyes. “Elias took her body down there. I found her by accident when—when this happened the first time.”

Gerry swallows and nods.

“So the Beholding killed her in the end,” he mutters. “There’s probably something poetic to say about that.”

Martin raises his eyebrows and nods for Gerry to follow him into the tunnels.

“Didn’t know you were into poetry,” he says quietly, as Gerry turns on the torch in his phone.

“I’m not,” Gerry chuckles. “I do paint sometimes though, if that counts as a, uh… An artistic eye or something. Pun unintended.”

“It does! I think.” Martin chuckles. “Thank you for the Keats, by the way. That was… That was very kind of you.”

Gerry laughs under his breath, his cheeks growing a degree warmer for some reason.

The tunnels are dark, quiet, and cold; the sounds of their steps echo along the stone walls despite their efforts to move as quietly as possible.

“Martin?” Gerry asks after a moment, and Martin hums. “Are you okay?”

Martin looks down and scratches at his arm.

“Y-Yeah, I… I think so? Why?”

“Well, you—you kind of just remembered an entire, different lifetime, didn’t you?”

Martin hums again.

“I guess so. I don’t—I mean, it really does seem like I’ve just now opened my eyes. Like, it’s ridiculous to think I could have not remembered any of it. But I'm trying not to think about that for now, we just… we need to get out and—Christ, I’m so glad Jon told the Artifact Storage guys to lock up that damn table.” He rubs his face. “But we still don’t know what happened to Sasha, if she’s still…” He sighs. “It’s all going differently from what I can remember, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

“Alright,” Gerry nods. “Can you navigate these tunnels?”

Martin grimaces. “Without the Leitner I don’t think anyone really can. Maybe apart from Jon. And Elias probably.”

“Sorry, the Leitner?” Gerry shoots him a disgusted look.

“Yeah,” Martin chuckles bitterly. “About that. Jurgen Leitner should still be here somewhere.”

Gerry stops to properly look at Martin, who looks back at him thoughtfully. “Or maybe not, it might be different this time too, I guess.”

“Jurgen Leitner was hiding under the Institute in your reality?” Gerry repeats and Martin can’t stop himself from laughing quietly.

“Yeah. He saved Jon from NotSa—uh, the NotThem, and then Elias killed him. Framed Jon for the murder, it was a whole thing.”

Gerry’s eyebrows travel up his forehead.

“Wait.” He raises a finger. “I beat up an old man in the Institute’s courtyard some time ago, when I was still working with Gertrude. Was I right??”

Martin stifles a laugh. “Yeah, you were.”

“God fucking dammit,” Gerry rolls his eyes. “So he really is that pathetic. I should’ve finished the job then,” he mutters and continues to move forward, ignoring Martin’s amused scoff.

“You might still get the chance,” he shrugs; Gerry gives him a sideways look.

“Didn’t take you to be strong on murder.”

“What can I say?” Martin sighs. “The Apocalypse changes people, I suppose.”

It comes out more serious than he intended, and they both fall silent.

—

Tim climbs the stairs out of the Archives with effort, leaning one arm on the wall, the pain in his leg shooting up at every step. He makes it to the fire alarm and pushes the button.

As it blares overhead, he climbs the rest of the stairs to the ground floor. There’s a couple people here, looking around in confusion. Rosie is ushering them patiently out of the main entrance.

“Rosie!” Tim calls out. “Where’s Elias?”

She frowns, her gaze snapping down to his bloodied pantleg.

“His office, but he should be making his way down in no—”

“There’s no time, keep evacuating everyone.”

Tim turns around and limps his way to the stairs leading to the first floor. People have started descending from the upstairs offices, and he has to keep close to the wall, but he finally manages to get up and through the corridor to Elias’ office. He swings the door open without warning, to find Elias sitting behind his desk and gathering some papers.

“Tim. What’s going on?” He asks. Tim searches his face for any sign that would indicate he does in fact know what’s going on, but he finds nothing but slight alarm. Of course he would be a good liar even in an emergency.

“Worms,” he says. “They’ve taken over the Archives. Martin and Gerry were in the document storage and Sasha—” His voice gives out, and he clears his throat. “We need to turn Jon’s CO2 system on.”

“Where is he?” Elias asks with a frown.

“Who?”

“Jon.”

“We don’t know but he’s not down there,” Tim says harshly. “Come on!”

“Now, hang on a minute, how many worms are you talking about exactly? Are you sure you’re not… exaggerating?”

“Elias! There were thousands of them down there, along with Prentiss! Yes, I’m sure.”

Tim is taller than Elias so he towers over him sitting at his desk, but Elias doesn’t seem to be intimidated in the slightest.

“Alright,” he says and opens a desk drawer to take out a tape recorder. Tim scoffs, as Elias clicks the record button.

“You have got to be kidding me.” He says, shaking his head.

“I just think Jon would appreciate a record of—”

“Do you think Jon would appreciate a stupid record over his assistants’ lives?” Tim slams his hands on the desk. “It will be just fine if we tell him in person after the Hive is dead.”

Elias tilts his head a little to the side and narrows his eyes at Tim. A shiver creeps up Tim’s spine, up to the back of his neck.

“Jon told you some things, isn’t that right?” His voice smooths out, turning into something… sly. Tim frowns angrily.

“It doesn’t matter what he told us, we need to—”

“You don’t believe him, do you?” Elias’ gaze meets Tim’s, and he loses a bit of the resolve. “Not about all of it.”

In truth, there is a part of him that doubts; not anything about the worms or the Hive, that part is real, alright; but about the Apocalypse, other realities, these… Entities. He’s ignored that part of himself for now, seeing how serious Jon was about it all, but it grows and festers, and Elias is looking at it now, even though Tim isn’t sure how it’s possible.

“He’s had months to prepare while claiming to know what’s coming, yet he did nothing. He avoids you and he’s not here, when you need help most.” Elias purses his lips.

“He’s… I—” Tim shakes his head. “We need to—”

“Let me ask you something, Tim.” Elias drops his voice to an almost conspirational whisper. “Do you think Jon is still human?”

Tim breathes out and pales a little.

“I also listened to the tapes. I know Jon has… some special abilities at his disposal, and he’s only growing in power.  Do you think he’s still the person you used to know? Not something… else, just wearing his skin?”

Tim blinks and shakes his head, letting go of the wooden surface of the desk as if it burned him. He takes a step back and feels his throat go dry.

“It-It doesn’t matter right now, Elias, it’s—” He lets out a sigh of frustration and shuts his eyes for a second, willing the gathering thoughts away. Then his stern gaze comes back to him. “We have a crisis and people are going to die if you don’t do something.”

Elias’ eyebrows come slightly together, and he looks away for a second.

“You’re right,” he sighs and stands up; Tim can’t miss, however, that he looks rather pleased with himself. “We need to get down to the boiler room then. Or… you might want to stay here, with your leg—”

“Oh, you are not leaving my sight,” Tim grumbles and limps out the door after Elias.

Elias doesn’t look back at him as they traverse the corridor towards the stairs. It’s mostly empty by now, and their steps echo in the silence. Tim has some trouble keeping up with his pace, and he quickly falls behind. As he approaches the stairs, a movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention. Was it his imagination, or did someone just disappear around the corner? Tim bites his lip in consternation. Elias has left his line of sight a while ago, and it would take him a long time to catch up to him. If he has any common sense, he’ll activate the CO2 system without unnecessary delays, right?

Tim looks towards the corridor. Everyone should have evacuated by now. There isn’t a big chance of worms appearing on the first floor, since they all rather concentrated on the Archives, but if someone there needs help…? Besides, Elias will probably want to account for everyone who’s evacuated, if this person somehow didn’t register this wasn’t a drill, they might appreciate a wake up call.

Tim jumps when a sound of shattering glass comes from around that corner. He makes up his mind and heads there, armed with a fire extinguisher he picks up on the way. Turning the corner, he sees on of the double doors is open, and a faint light is coming from the inside.

His grip on the extinguisher tightens when he recognizes where he’s heading.

“Hello?” He calls out, creeping up towards the door. “The whole Institute has evacuated, if anyone’s there you need to get out right now!”

A dull thump comes from the inside. Tim swallows, gathering his strength to step over the threshold and look around.

The Artifact Storage seems empty.

—

They don’t walk for long before spotting a trapdoor in the ceiling of the tunnel.

“I wonder where this—”

“The Archives,” Martin interrupts Gerry, who raises his eyebrows at him. “We don’t want to open this one. Lots of worms on the other side.” He grimaces at the memory of Jon and Tim in the ambulances with fresh bandages all over their bodies.

“Alright then.” Gerry looks towards the darkness further down the tunnel. “Lead on.”

“Sorry I can’t remember a straight path,” Martin sighs. “It would be easier if it didn’t just randomly shift all the time.”

“Not expecting you to, don’t worry,” Gerry chuckles.

For a while they continue in silence, their steps echoing along the stone walls.

“Martin?” Gerry asks quietly. “How did you and Jon end up here?”

Martin is quiet for a moment, looking down as they walk.

“It’s… complicated,” he says eventually. “The Apocalypse was the Web’s plan in the end. There were important parts of it that we didn’t pay enough attention to - partly due to its influence. The house on Hill Top Road, the one Jon went to investigate a while back, was the central point of it. There was a rift in the universe, some kind of a portal or something. The Web wanted to spread the Fears to other realities.”

“And I suppose it succeeded?” Gerry makes sure. Martin nods wordlessly.

“Jon tried…” He sighs heavily. “We argued about how to handle it. We had a plan but… Eventually everything went to shit, simply put. I really thought that was the end.”

Martin sniffles and chuckles nervously.

“But apparently we got pulled through and landed here. Together. As soon as we deal with this Prentiss situation and make sure everyone is alright, everything will be okay.”

“So, you and Jon…?” Gerry smirks. “You’re together after all?”

“Yeah, I—I think so?” Martin grimaces. “I hope so. I hope he doesn’t hate me after… After what happened.”

“He certainly did not look like he hated you last time I saw him,” Gerry remarks. “He specifically asked me to look after you. He blames himself for, you know, the Lonely.”

“I know,” Martin heaves another heavy sigh. “He blames himself for everything. The fact that he wasn’t able to best a literal power of manipulation included.”

“Why would he hate you, though?” Gerry inquires with a frown. Martin is silent for a moment.

“Sorry, I—I don’t really want to talk about this,” he says quietly. “It’s still… I mean, I know six months passed here since, but I haven’t exactly had time to process, and Jon and I need to talk…”

“Of course, yeah. Sorry.” Gerry presses his lips together.

“I hope he’s okay,” Martin says with a tinge of pain in his voice. “Hope he didn’t… Go and do something stupid again.”

“Like going to investigate the Hill Top Road house you said was the central point of the Web’s apocalypse plan?”

“Like diving headfirst into a coffin that buries people alive,” Martin says tersely. “Or like—” he stops short, and points at something in the light of Gerry’s torch. “Hang on, look.”

There’s a wooden door in the stone wall, slightly ajar on the rusted hinges. Martin carefully opens it, cringing at the smell he recognizes as decaying human corpse. He glances back at Gerry.

“We found her.”

Gerry’s features harden. They enter the small, square room in tense silence. It’s dusty, with a few cardboard boxes by the walls. In the middle of the room, in a wooden chair, a corpse is slumped forward, its mouth hanging open. The remains of a cotton cardigan hang on its shoulders, and its long skirt looks mostly intact. Despite being mostly prepared for the sight, Martin still stifles a gag with effort.

“Fuck,” Gerry huffs out. Martin glances at him - he’s frowning and his lips are curved partly in disgust and partly in grief.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Martin asks.

“Yeah, yeah, I just…” Gerry clears his throat and looks away. “I knew she was dead and yet it still… Seeing her like this…”

“We can leave now.” Martin grabs Gerry’s elbow sympathetically. “I’ve made sure she’s here, we can call the police and give her a proper burial.”

“Yeah, let’s go.” Gerry glances one last time at the corpse and turns away.

--

End Notes: Disclaimer: All parts of the tape included in the scene with Martin and Gerry in the document storage come from MAG170 'Recollection' and belong to Rusty Quill. Title from We Have It All by Pim Stones :)