#and it's been only a MONTH since we first caught the cancer

[unreadpoppy]

Nebulizing a dog is harder than it sounds let me tell you that

[strrykais]

fourth of july

idol : stray kids // kim seungmin song : fourth of july - sufjan stevens warnings : death word count : 749

there you sat, in the white room, the sound of a constant beeping filling the stuffy room. you didn't want to believe, the person you care for the most in the world was sitting there, slowly dying and there was absolutely nothing you or the doctors could do to help him.

it has always been you two since you were little, he was your father and mother figure. and now here he was dying, stupid cancer, stupid fucking cancer. 

you didn’t want him to see you cry, you didn't want him to feel any worse than he probably already felt when he first found out months ago. you both caught it too late, you felt like if you just pushed him to go see the doctors earlier then maybe you both wouldn’t be in this position.

“hey kiddo.” seungmin's voice calls out to you, refusing to look at him. you didn't want to remember him like this, so pale, so hollow. you wanted to remember him as the outgoing, fun loving brother you always knew. “look at me.”

you slowly look up to see his smiling face, though his eyes had no shine. “why are you crying?” hands flying up to your cheeks not even noticing that tears began to fall down.

“i just.. i just can’t go on without you. i have no one.” you sniffle, hand reaching out to hold onto his hand.

“im sorry kiddo, but you are strong, and so so smart, you will do great things, i just know it. mom and dad knew it.” seungmin squeezes your hand as tight as his body would let him. 

“i know but it's been us since they died, and i can't lose you too. i'll be all alone.” 

“you have meatloaf.” he smiles

“that fat cat isn't gonna help me with boy problems.” you roll your eyes laughing with him.

“no he totally would do better than i would. i would just beat them up. now that i think about it, that old fat cat would too.” seungmin laughs a little too hard, coughing out harshly. running to his table to get him a glass of water, you help him drink. 

seungmin stares at you wanting to remember every little detail of your face before saying “you know you will be just fine, i love you kiddo.” 

going in gently you reach to give him a hug, he returns it planting a kiss on the top of your head. “i love you too min.”

it was raining the night he died, it was also raining right now as you watched the casket lower into the dirt, you didn't care that the rain was soaking your clothes. you were just happy it was hiding your tears, you didn't want to cry, you didn't want the last thing he could hear was your sobs.

you stood there after many of both your friends and long distance relatives said their goodbyes, giving condolences and saying ‘if you need anything i'm here.’ you could care less because where were they when you needed them when he were still alive. people only care when you're dead.

what felt like hours, you standing watching, hoping it was some sick prank, clothes sticking to your body, shivers running down your spine. hair a complete mess down your face, while the rain still continues to beat you down. only for it to stop, you look up and see a bright yellow umbrella covering you, turning you see a man who you would have to say resembles a fox, now the one being soaked by the rain.

“you’ll catch a cold standing out here like that. you should know seungmin would beat you for getting sick.” he smiles, eyes scrunching with it. “come on, let me take you home.” he holds out a hand waiting for you to grab.

“do i know you?” you continued to look at him up and down as he was starting to get as soaked as you were.

smiling once again, “no i know your brother, we are really good friends. come on, he wanted me to show you something. but first let's get you some dry clothes. yeah?” he started flicking his hands in a ‘come here’ motion. sighing, you slide your wet hand into his letting him pull you away. before going another he stops turning and yells over to the hole in the ground, “see you later seungmin, ill take good care of her, like i promised.”

1k extravaganza

ⓒstrrykais

[genevawrenn]

I am just going to put this at the top : this post is going to be a long vent about missing Technoblade, please scroll on if you do not wish to read.

We are coming up on two years without him.

We are also coming up on three years since I discovered his content.

I thought I was at the point I could watch one of his videos tonight, as I used to often do when I am doing tasks or writing he was always the background noise I used. I remember calling into work when he streamed for the sheer sake of enjoying them while they happened the few times I caught them before...well. I think you know. He was the reason my passion for writing came back to life and I believed I could actually follow my lifelong dream of eventually publishing a story.

But I suppose the part I always forget about grief is the absence of the unique spirit that person brought to your life. I found his content and engaged with it instantly, developing one of the longest running fixations I have had in a good while. The sheer excitement I'd have getting the notification he went live for one of his rare streams.

I don't think it truly sunk in when he announced his diagnosis. I remember discussing it with the irl friend who got me into watching him and both of us laughed, saying he's strong enough to fight off anything.

A few months pass with his rare posts and there was always this tiny little bit of intuition I had where he never told us what severity of cancer it was. Like he was a very private guy, yes, but this seemed extra...odd.

Then I remember the way my heart sunk when 'so long nerds' popped into my notification bar. The dashing of my heart against the floor texting people as I tearfully listened to Technodad tell us the words his son Alex wished for us to hear.

Its been a long two years. Its been great ones, tbh. I found a new passion with QSMP and Hermitcraft after the finishing of DSMP [tho c!Techno will forever remain close to my heart]. I kept writing, with over half a million words in published fics on ao3 and several WIP including 3 original novels.

But the only one I ever wanted to thank for helping me find my creativity again I can't, and I never will be able to.

I miss Technoblade.

I will never stop missing him.

I wish he could have laughed with his friends for many years yet, being silently proud of their accomplishments while he messed with people on the QSMP. I wish he could have had another MCC with friends.

I wish his unique soul wasn't taken from us so soon, as we weren't done following our hero yet.

But the only thing I can do now is continue to speak his tales. The first book I properly publish, the gratitude page is going to be addressed to him. I will continue to tell others about his accomplishments and tell them to go watch his content on his Youtube channel [get him to 17 million!]! Buy some of his merch [when it comes back in stock]! Support his family & friends!

Though he would call us nerds for crying, I think its beautiful how many lives he touched and how many thousands mourned his passing. He was a light all corners of the MCYT sphere and beyond saw and respected, and not too many creators can claim such an honour.

I'll always be a Voice at my core. Even if I spend my time these days as a crow, a huevito, a ferret, a tubling, a doozer and many more, my heart will forever belong to Technoblade.

Please keep creating art and writing in his name. I love scrolling the fanart tags and adore every piece I come across with my favourite piglin in them. Please, please, please keep saying his name. Sing his legends. Make references, continue the jokes, hang out in one of his friends chats and support the people he loved.

Support those who are still here, even if your heart hurts.

It's only painful because we all loved him so much, which is a beautiful type of sorrow.

[k-evans-reads]

In Living Color

Chapter 3

Summary: When Natalie Marton, lead character designer for Buzz Lightyear, meets the voice of Buzz, Chris Evans, the sparks are undeniable. But when their work pushes them away from each other, both physically and emotionally, will the sheer differences between their worlds be enough to force them apart?

Pairing: Chris Evans x Pixar Animator OFC Natalie Marton

Word Count: 5,390

By: @k-evans-writes and @ourfinest-hour

We do NOT give permission for our works to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. Our work is our own.

Warnings: Discussions about cancer and death.

Previous | Main Masterlist | In Living Color Masterlist

March 2021

A few small pops echoed in Chris’ body as he stretched out his shoulders after stepping into his trailer. It had been a long day of filming – long few weeks, really, after starting filming two weeks ago – and he could feel it in his muscles, especially now at the end of the work day. He knew he desperately needed a shower but he just had to sit down on the small couch in the trailer for a moment and have a moment to decompress from the long day. 

Absentmindedly he grabbed his phone that had been left on the arm of the couch, clicking it on to see a long list of unopened texts, but a certain name caught his eye almost immediately. He quickly clicked on it and smiled widely as he read the message that asked, ‘Got time in your busy movie star schedule for a game night tonight?’

Immediately Chris clicked the call button, putting it on speaker and leaning back against the couch, not even letting Nat say hello before he asked, “Have I missed the cutoff for reserving a spot at game night?” 

She chuckled, the low sound making him smirk as it carried through to his end of the call. “I guess for a famous person like you I better squeeze you in or it’ll be bad publicity,” she drawled playfully.

He laughed, his nose scrunching as he smiled and replied, “Oh I’d cause a scene if the bouncer turned me away.” 

“I bet you would,” she hummed, trailing off into a pause. “Are you being serious about coming though?” 

“Should I not be?” 

“Well I just figured you’d be too busy doing movie star things like getting photographed by the paparazzi or schmoozing a million different women.” 

“There’s still plenty of time for that later,” he sarcastically agreed, knowing there was no actual intent behind her words. “But seriously Nat, I’d love to come. It sounds like fun.” 

“It’s just going to be a small thing, just Jamie and his wife and then Mark,” she explained, muffled sounds on the other end of the line as he heard her car door shut. “Things get pretty serious though around here so I hope you’re competitive.” 

“Nat, I have three siblings, what do you think?” He laughed, smirking as she joined him. “I just finished up on set. I was going to take a shower and then I'll head over, is that okay?” 

“Yeah, just drop in anytime. I’ll text you my address.” 

He stayed on the phone with her a minute more to confirm the address that she texted him came through before they said their goodbyes and hung up. Chris could feel a smile on his lips while he hurried into the shower, suddenly feeling so much more energy inside him than when he had trudged into the trailer just a few minutes earlier. 

Chris knew it’d only been a short month and a half since he first met Nat, but he was just as struck by her as he was the very first day, when she came barreling into that conference room. He was drawn to her, craving her jokes, stress-free demeanor, and lighthearted passion like he craved the sun on his skin. She just made him happy, made him feel whole and relaxed in a way no one had ever before. 

Now that he had finished with working on Lightyear until re-recording, he had jumped right into The Gray Man filming but he found himself missing that curly headed ray of sunshine in his life every single morning. They had basically had a running text thread but it wasn’t nearly enough for him and having the promise of being with her as soon as he made it through LA traffic made a warmth settled inside of him. 

He navigated the San Fernando neighborhood until he pulled up to the apartment building that the address led him to, parking his car and taking the stairs two at a time up to the second floor with a case of beer in hand, walking down the open-air hallway until he reached unit number seven. After knocking on the door loudly, he heard a familiar voice yelling, “Come in! It’s open!” 

He pushed the wooden front door and stepped into the hallway. He could see the open doorway at the end of the hall to Nat’s room, and next to that was the open living area. While he couldn’t outright see anyone, he could certainly hear the chaos inside, complete with Nat evidently yelling “Stop stealing my tacos, asshole.” He rounded the corner, stepping out of the hallway and into the living room to find Nat, Jamie, Mark, and Jamie’s wife standing around a round table, passing food to each other out of take-out boxes, with an empty spot reserved for Chris. With a furtive glance to the rest of the space, he saw a decent-sized, especially for the apartment, kitchen across the room from the table, against the wall with Nat’s bedroom, and then the rest of the space was a living room with large windows. 

Jamie’s wife – Lauren, he reminded himself – gave him a kind smile just before the rest of the group looked up with grins, but quickly Nat’s face turned into a scowl as she loudly asked, “Hold on, what the hell is that?” 

His brows furrowed, shifting the beer between his hands just as he asked her, “What?” 

“That thing on your face!” 

Jamie snorted, sharing a smirk with Lauren before Mark drawled, “For someone good looking, I’m not sure why you’d ruin your face with that.” 

“I mean, it works for porn stars, I figured I’d give it a try,” Chris shrugged nonchalantly, reaching up to touch his new mustache, hiding a smirk as he moved to put the beer on the counter and began putting a few in the fridge for later, the smirk appearing just as he heard Jamie snort again.

Nat’s face was still nearly pained as she watched him, Chris laughing as he turned and saw the look. “Please tell me that’s for a role and not just a mid-life crisis thing,” she nearly begged, but the twitch of her lips showed how amusing she found this. 

“It is so you all can calm down,” he placated, taking the already cold beer that was waiting for him in the fridge and opening it.  

“I don’t think we can because we’re still the ones who have to look at it,” Nat muttered, smirking when he met her eyes. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll forget about it once I’m kicking your ass at scrabble.” 

“I’d love to see you try.” 

“Well you’ll see it very shortly.” 

She rolled her eyes, waving a hand as she shot back, “Okay bigmouth, have a taco and then put your money where your mouth is.” 

Taking the taco that she handed him, he found a spot at the table and crunched on the dinner while the loud conversation filled in around him, making him feel right at home. It had been so long since he’d been able to do things like this with anyone other than his family and at first he thought that the reason he was having such a good time was because of having been without it for so long, but he knew that was only partly true. He knew the other reason he was enjoying himself so much was because of the feisty artist across the table from him arguing with Mark over if her most recent scrabble play was really a word or made up, then shooting him smirks just before making her next move, only aided by the phone she “definitely wasn’t looking up words on, Christopher,” that was laying in her lap.

“How in the world do you guys play with this cheater?” 

“I’m not cheating!” 

“Really? Because that phone you have out says otherwise,” he loudly retorted, hands flying before he pointed at Nat. 

“Oh look, I have the perfect letters for you,” Nat smiled while holding up the tile with the letter F and then showed him the U next, making the whole table burst into laughter. 

“When I was invited to game night, I didn’t think I’d be getting this kind of abuse.” 

“What did you think it would be? There are no friends on game night,” she murmured with a laugh, her foot gently kicking his shin from across the way underneath the table. 

“That’s why Nat’s single. Once someone comes to game night, they run screaming,” Jamie explained with a laugh, Chris joining in.

But Mark quickly shook his head, pointing a finger as he, a bit excitedly, insisted, “Evans calls her out though, he can hang.” 

“Well if you guys knew what game night with my family was like, this would look like the girl scouts,” Chris trailed off, smiling to himself as he took a sip of his beer. 

With Nat’s playful eyeroll, Jamie settled into the rattan chair, tilting his head at Chris as he asked, “So how do we get you to stick around?” 

But before he could respond, Lauren spoke up, quiet as she laughed, “I need you to stick around too because usually I can’t even keep up with these three so you can take my place and I’ll stay home.” 

“I think it’s going to be more the other way around. Once you guys see how competitive I am, I think this will be the first and last game night Nat will invite me too,” he grinned, shooting Nat a look as he smirked at her.  

But he barely heard Mark’s soft chuckle and strained his ears, just in time to hear the older man murmur, “Yeah, I doubt that.” 

At his words, Chris couldn’t help but glance across the table to see Nat’s reaction, watching the way she just ignored what was said and moved around the scrabble tiles on her board. The game carried on until they shifted to a gigantic puzzle, one that Nat had bought when she “was going stir crazy during quarantine for a stupidly jacked-up price on Amazon,” until Lauren and James had to go relieve their babysitter. Mark dipped out as well with a yawn, the trio saying goodbye to Chris before they headed to the door with Nat. 

He had just begun rinsing dishes to load her dishwasher when Nat returned from walking Jamie, Lauren, and Mark to the front door, a loud sigh filling the room as she quietly instructed him, “Chris, please don’t clean anything up.”

Chris scoffed as he turned to look at her from over his shoulder, the dishwasher blocking her from reaching him as he insisted, “Well I’m certainly not going to just leave this mess.” 

“You’ve been filming all day, I’m sure you’re tired. Seriously, I’ve got this, it won’t take me long,” she shook her head, stepping around the dishwasher carefully to get to him, her hand on his arm as she turned the sink off with her other hand. 

“It’ll go even faster if I help you,” he tried, all too aware of the hand still on his arm, resting on his bare skin below the short sleeve of his tee shirt.“Besides I’m pretty sure my Ma would fly out here from Boston and beat my ass if she knew I didn’t stay to help.” 

She was quiet for several moments, her jaw set stubbornly. “Well that’s a pretty long flight so let’s not put her through that. You want to put the game away?” She relented, nodding her head over to the table, messy with pieces from Scrabble and covered in puzzle pieces from the gigantic, five-hundred piece puzzle they’d started about an hour and a half before James and Lauren had to go relieve their babysitter, Mark leaving as well. Chris was careful as he began picking up the Scrabble pieces, not wanting to mess with the puzzle too much as Natalie took his place loading the dishwasher. “So does just your mom live in Boston or do any of your siblings live there too?” 

His back was to her as he squatted down, finding some tiles on her area rug and putting them in the bag. “My older sister Carly and her husband and kids live there,” he informed her. 

She hummed as she fumbled a dish, the rattle of it hitting the sink echoing through the space. Nat froze as Chris turned, the pair laughing together. Once they calmed down and he’d gotten back to rifling for more game tiles to put away, she asked him, “She’s the teacher, right?” 

“Yeah and she’s the only one with kids yet,” he supplied, sneaking a glance over his shoulder at her from behind, forcing himself to stop watching her as he continued, “Then my little sister lives there too and so does her fiance.” 

“Scott lives in California though,” she said, almost as if to remind herself as she turned to look at him from over her shoulder with a furrowed brow. He was facing her now, standing in between the table and the back wall, and when he met her eyes he nodded encouragingly. 

“Yep, down in West Hollywood with his boyfriend, which is nice that when I’m out here I get to see him,” Chris reminded her, they’d spoken about Scott during one of their countless lunches at Disney’s Burbank Studios between the end of February and the beginning of filming The Gray Man. He couldn’t remember when – or how – Scott had come up in conversation, likely when Chris was complaining about something, or what they’d spoken about, but that tended to be the theme with Nat. He could barely remember a single thing he’d say, only zeroing in on what she’d said, how she’d laughed, and how she made him feel – confident and assured. It also served as a pleasant distraction, as he’d absentmindedly eat the bland healthy shit he needed to without realizing it, but it also was a curse, as Nat found ways to wheedle him into splitting a side of fries or an ice cream cone with her. “He’s coming with me to Europe for The Gray Man though and I’m really excited about that. He stayed with me in Boston during the pandemic, I think I mentioned that, and we just had the best fuckin’ time being together that much and now I miss him like crazy.” 

“I understand that,” Nat nodded, a sympathetic smile on her lips before she turned the water off, placing the last dish in the dishwasher before she kicked it close with a grin. “I really have been missing my family so much.” 

“Didn’t you say your dad was coming to visit? Did that already happen?” He remembered suddenly, tilting his head as he jammed the Scrabble board back into the worn box, slotting it onto the corner shelf he’d seen Nat get the puzzle from earlier. She had just finished wiping down the counters quickly when he’d turned back around, heading towards the fridge to get them one last beer before she joined him at the table in front of the puzzle. 

She shook her head, handing him his beer as she explained, “Not yet, he’s coming in a couple weeks and I can’t wait. It feels like forever since I’ve seen him.” 

He nodded, turning his head and finding the framed picture on the wall across from them he’d noticed early on in the night, three tiny curly-haired, nearly identical looking girls grinning at the camera. He could tell instantly that the smallest one was Nat, complete with the scraped knobby knees covered in various bandages, but his eyes lingered on the man and woman in the picture. He knew instantly who they were, but he was quiet as he asked, “Is this him?” 

“Yeah, those are my parents,” she nodded, taking a deep breath. “And that’s me and my sisters there.” 

He hummed, a small smile on his lips as he looked at the younger version of Nat, her short curly hair falling in rings around her chubby cheeks. “I love old photos like this with the whole family together,” he told her, turning back to look at her and asking, “They all live in Seattle still, right?” 

“Yeah, my dad’s a ferry boat captain and has been our whole lives so he still does that,” she explained, oddly quiet for once. She paused to take a sip of her beer before adding, “And my sisters and their families live nearby too.” 

Chris nodded, eyes moving back to the picture and to the woman holding toddler Nat in her lap. Her eyes were the same as Nat’s, blue and striking. “What about your mom?”

She hesitated and took a deep breath, staying quiet long enough for Chris to look at her confusedly until she quietly explained, “My mom passed away,” 

He felt like an absolute idiot, knowing now that she’d deliberately avoided any outright mention of her mother until he all but demanded an explanation. For nearly two months now, the only family she spoke of was her father, sisters, and her nieces and nephew. “Oh Nat, I’m so sorry,” he apologized, mentally beating himself up for forcing her to discuss something that clearly was hard for her to do. 

“It’s alright,” she placated, but her words did little to quell him. It wasn’t until she gave him a smile that his heart rate began to lessen. She began to assemble a few puzzle pieces in front of her, slotting them into the empty spaces from earlier as she explained, “My mom died when I was almost two and this picture is the one of the few pictures we have of the whole family together, so that’s why it’s kind of special to me.” 

He was quiet, following her lead and resuming the puzzle. Once he’d snapped a few pieces of his own in, he apologized again, “Nat, I really am so sorry. I didn’t know about your mom.” 

“It’s okay, it’s not something that really comes up in conversation very often,” she shrugged, biting her lower lip as she analyzed the puzzle to determine where her piece would fit, occasionally glancing at the box next to her. “I was so young when she died that I don’t remember her.” 

“Do either of your sisters remember her?” He asked quietly, treading carefully before he rushed to add, “If you don’t mind me asking, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to pry.” 

“Sometimes it’s actually kind of nice to talk about her. It makes her feel a little bit more real,” she admitted, relaxing a bit before she sat up straight, a grin on her face as she placed her piece into the correct spot. “My oldest sister, Heather, remembers her a lot and my middle sister, Alex, has some memories, but my dad always talked about her and told us so many stories about her.” 

“I’m sure it was hard for him so that’s really incredible that he kept talking about her.” 

“My dad adored her and as painful as it was, I think he likes sharing her with us. Even now he talks about her all the time and says things like ‘Shelly would think that’s so funny,’ or ‘Mom would have loved that about you, Nattie,’ and that’s kind of helped keep her alive for us.” 

He smiled, chin in his hand as he listened to her. He watched her work effortlessly on the puzzle, unable to sit still for long, as she told him the stories from her life. “Your dad sounds like a wonderful person,” he told her with not an ounce of doubt in his mind. 

“He is,” Nat told him, handing a pile of pieces to Chris for him to sort through. “He raised three girls with all the love in the world. Even though we only had one parent, it never felt like we missed anything.” 

He nodded as he rifled through pieces, sorting them into piles depending on the color of the piece. “I know you’ve mentioned before that your sisters are a lot different than you… who’s more like your dad?” 

She all but snorted, loosened up again as the topic approached more comfortable subjects. “Oh for sure, me. He’s kind of quirky and is probably the biggest dreamer I know. He had to give up a lot to support us as a single dad, but he always pushed us to follow our heart… especially me. He’s the one who insisted I go to art classes,” she explained, shrugging a bit as she took another sip of her beer. 

And he knew without a doubt that Nat – despite her obvious talents – wouldn’t be where she was without the support of her father, something she likely felt as well given the look in her eyes. “He obviously saw something special in you,” he pointed out. 

“He sees something special in everyone,” she added, but paused, looking at the puzzle in front of them. “But I think there’s a part of him that really wanted me to get to do what I dreamed of. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m the youngest, or because he didn’t get the chance to chase after his dreams fully. I think he also feels a little guilty about me not having my mom… she had cancer when they got pregnant with me and my dad has told me that he feels guilty about choosing to have me knowing that I most likely wasn’t going to have a mother growing up.” 

“Your dad is obviously a really tender person,” he told her quietly. “He does sound a lot like you.”

“I’d like to be half the person he is.” 

“Well I don’t know him but I think you are, and a lot more,” he shrugged, a genuine smile on his lips when she met his eyes. 

“Thanks Chris,” she genuinely told him, her voice small. “Sorry for just spilling all of that out, I didn’t mean to just dump all of that on you.” 

“I’m honored that you did,” he admitted, shrugging. “I love people being honest about their emotions and willing to share them, I think it’s such a beautiful thing.” 

He watched as Nat tipped her head back, curls shaking with her laughter before her twinkling eyes gave away her amusement, “Well I’m an artist so I have like every emotion known to man, usually all at once.” 

“I know that feeling,” Chris muttered, knowing what a deeply emotional person that he had always been and still was. “I especially was feeling a lot of them when you hit me in the forehead with that scrabble tile earlier.” 

“...You deserved it,” she simply replied, making his heart beat a little quicker from the look on her face. 

“Says who?” 

“Says me.” 

“Sounds like a pretty weak reasoning to me,” Chris couldn’t help but send a smirk in her direction before his blue eyes glanced over to the clock hanging on her wall, internally groaning before telling her, “I hate to say it but I probably should head out. I have an early call tomorrow morning.” 

A wry smirk spread across her lips and she huffed out a laugh as she pushed her chair back. “Yeah you movie stars need your beauty sleep.” 

He laughed along with her, shaking his head as they both rose from their seats and made their way down her front hall to the apartment door. “Thanks for inviting me tonight Nat, it was really nice,” he told her quietly. 

“I had a great time too,” she told him, making Chris’ stomach tighten a little by the look on her face before she tucked some of her curls behind her ear, “This is kind of our Tuesday night thing so you’re always welcome if you’re not too busy fending off the paparazzi.” 

“Well I’d love to come again but it’ll just depend on how much you cheat,” he smirked, dodging a light shove from Nat at his words. 

She rolled her eyes playfully, muttering, “Sounds like I invited you back a little too preemptively.” 

“Too late now,” he shot a look in her direction while slipping his feet into the sneakers he had left by the door. “So I’ll see you next Tuesday?”

“Next Tuesday,” She nodded, coming over to the door where he was finishing getting his shoes on. “Night Chris.”

He turned, shooting a genuine smile just before she moved, slipping her arms around his broad frame and squeezing him before she pulled away, just as he murmured, “Goodnight Nat.” 

With one last smile shared between them, he stepped out of her apartment into the night, heading down to his car as he smiled to himself. As he stepped out of the covered stairwell and towards the parking lot, he quickly found his car, getting in and turning it on, just as he finally pulled out his phone for the first time since he got to the apartment complex several hours earlier. 

He wasn’t surprised to see a multitude of missed notifications, including an email with tomorrow’s call times, a reminder of where he was to go to get a COVID test before he would be allowed on set, a few texts – one from his mom, his sister, and several from Scott – along with two missed calls from him. 

Deciding to just call Scott back, he began driving as the call connected to his car’s Bluetooth. It only rang one or two times before his brother’s dry voice answered, “I was starting to think you were dead.” 

“Sorry, I was over at Nat’s house tonight and-”

“Nat?” 

“Yeah Natalie, she’s the Pixar animator I’ve been working with a little on Lightyear,” he reminded him, looking out his car windows at traffic before he turned onto the street and began the thirty minute drive home. 

“No, I remember who she is… I mean, how could I forget with how much you talk about her,” Scott trailed off, his voice surprised. 

“Well she just had a few of her co-workers over that she’s close with for a game night and I went,” Chris explained, frowning slightly before he turned his attention back to the road. “Was there something you were wanting to talk about or were you just calling to say hi?” 

Scott chuckled lowly, a few muffled sounds on the other end of the call as he moved around. “I was calling to tell you a funny story but now I’m a little more interested in what’s going on with you,” he admitted. 

“What do you mean?” 

“About Nat,” Scott shot back, Chris able to practically see his younger brother roll his eyes. “Are you into her?” 

“I mean, I really enjoy her… and she’s very attractive, but I don’t know yet,” he sighed, shifting uncomfortably at the change in conversation. He’d definitely thought about it, it was only natural after spending so much time with Nat in the past month and a half, but he was scared to ruin something with someone he had to work so closely with, especially someone whose role was solely to work on his character for the next year. 

“You don’t know yet? Are you joking me?” Scott scoffed.  “What happened to the Chris who met a girl, talked her up and got her number in less than two minutes?” 

He rolled his eyes, murmuring, “Trust me, that Chris is long gone.” 

“Why do you say that? Are you not wanting to jump into anything because you’re going to be so busy coming up?” 

“No, it’s not really that…I don’t know, I think, it’s kind of what I talked through with you a few times last year. The pandemic really made me look at things differently,” he admitted, narrowing his eyes as he merged onto the highway. The downtime during quarantine definitely was much-appreciated, but he’d also found himself longing for a chance to have a partner, have someone to share his life with, and to have the chance to create something together. “I thought back a lot to my relationship with Jenny and I feel like I tried to make that happen.” 

“Because you did,” Scott’s voice was plain as he affirmed Chris’ thought.

“I know,” Chris agreed, sighing. “I think I wanted to get married and have a family so badly that then when I was so surprised by how much I liked Jenny, I just figured that must be it and I tried to force the pieces together… but I don’t want to do that again.” 

“You don’t need a repeat of that mess.” 

“That’s for damn sure,” he replied, then shrugged to himself as he stared out the windshield of his car. “I just want to let what happens, happen. If it’s right, it’ll work out.” 

Scott was quiet for several moments, taking in Chris’ words as Chris drove on the highway towards Laurel Canyon. Finally, his younger brother quietly said, “Quarantine really did change you, man.” 

“Hopefully for the better,” Chris said, smirking at Scott’s outburst of laughter. 

“Still waiting on the verdict on that one,” his brother told him, Chris smirking at the cheap shot. 

“That may be true,” he admitted, leaning back against his seat as he slowed to a stop in traffic. 

“Seriously though, I’m proud of you bro. You’ve come a long way in the relationship department,” Scott surprised him, his voice nothing but complimentary. 

Chris smiled to himself, knowing he’d felt the same whenever his thoughts returned to this place over the past year. “I’m ready to just let things happen naturally,” he admitted, pausing a bit before he added, “But I really hope it does with Nat, that’s something about her that’s just… really special.” 

He could practically hear Scott smiling from the other end of the phone but then got distracted by the lengthy and comical story that Scott launched into, keeping him laughing until he was pulling into the garage of his home. Chris said goodnight to his brother before climbing out of his car and stepped inside the house where his happy dog was bouncing around his feet almost instantly. 

Chris took his time greeting Dodger with his own excitement while he scratched his chin and planted a kiss on top of his head, asking him, “You ready to go outside? Do you want to go run around? C’mon bubba.” 

Understanding his direction, Dodger ran to the back door where he pressed the nose against the glass until Chris let him out. He watched as he took off like a rocket, running around to get some of his energy out but his thoughts, while focused on Dodger, were also lingering in the emotions surrounding Nat, leading him to slip his phone out of his pocket and open his texts, sending, ‘You better not cheat on me by finishing that puzzle without me.’

His eyes found Dodger again, keeping a careful eye on the dog as he moved about the yard, sniffing the grass. It kept his focus just until his phone vibrated in his hand, his eyes flying to the device to read Nat’s reply. 

‘Are we sure that’s cheating? We’re not puzzle partners, are we?’ 

He let out a sharp laugh, pausing as Dodger’s ears perked up at the sound and he came trotting over. Leading Dodger to the sliding glass doors and inside the house, he typed back, ‘We are now.’ 

‘I don’t know… this seems like a big step in our relationship.’ 

He smirked, enjoying the banter and tension as he sent, ‘I’m ready for the commitment if you are.’ 

‘Alright, puzzle partners it is.’ 

Chris couldn’t help but smile as he looked at his phone, feeling that same excited feeling inside his stomach that he did everytime he interacted with Nat. He didn’t want to rush into something, ruining a relationship by diving in head first or making something happen that wasn’t there, but at the same time he knew there was something about Nat that he wasn’t going to let slip through his fingers so easily. And although it’d be worth it in the end to let things happen naturally, he knew without a doubt that the wait would test every ounce of him. 

[jonmyblaze]

The first night since they escaped from Tartarus.

While percabeth were blissfully cuddling in a United bed in Percy's bedroom. (The two were practically inseparable. Clinging against each other. Even in slumber they still clung to each other)

In the dream of Percy and Annabeth, things were different.

After getting over the weirdness of sharing a dream (it didn't take too long they just dreaded what was coming) a room appeared, it was a restaurant.

Fine dining, far different than the ragged clothing that were on the demigods metntal bodies

It was only a few minutes until the dread of the unknown finally gave way to clarity with a single voice

"Hello demigods.... or should I say little godlings now" Hera giggled smiled and holding a wine glass.

"I suppose a little bit of a congratulations are in order. Not many survived Tartarus and live to tell the tale, much less mortals.. oh no that won't do.

you aren't mortals now. You're immortal. both of you."

Percy and Annabeth looked at the goddess of marriage in shock. They had noticed that they had bled Gold more than red,that their crafts and skills were far stronger. Far more honed and efficient

"Immortal but how?"

"we just got back,-"

Oh hell,"

The queen of the Olympians laughed.

Before the exacerbated demigods annoyance finally gave way to an explanation.

"Come now, haven't either of you heard the tale Demophon of Eleusis?"

"But that's impossible! it was a failure"annabeth's mind was racing faster than light.

Unfortunately her mouth was not as fast

'not quite child of wisdom.

Although it may have been botched, the method was not the issue, for there are many ways to burn away mortality off a demigod.

You! dear Perseus, burned away so much of your own life through your little dip In The Styx,

you, Annabeth ran yourself for ragged looking for Percy after my kidnapping of him...

Sorry by the way, I did not expect it to take as long got caught up in some godly affairs , you know queen of the gods is kind of busy.

, no hard feelings.. "

to an immortal like Hera 6 months was a second later in the grand scheme of things.

There's a lot of hard feelings in the daughter of Athena. But she was too lost for words, so shocked at having the apology and her mind was still refusing to comprehend the fact that they were Gods now.

Annabeth was Still contemplating committing high treason. If only she had a dagger or a sword in this brainscape

" It's funny, both of you eradicated decades off of your life holding up the sky,

wandering the labyrinth,

questing for the the fleece and being in the proximity of my dear husband's lightning bolt."

TThat received some confusion from the new godlings

"A human's mere touch of the bolt would have disintegrated, while short-term proximity Is effectively cancerous. Affecting your mortality little by little, even if you were unable to use it effectively it would kill you.

You were already on track record for godhood. After the Titan War but after now walking through Tartarus. getting MARRIED down there! Khaos! having sex down there!

spending nearly 19 years down there. Discovering that time works different between realms!

making an alliance with multiple Titans that could rival evet the Olympians 12, frankly absurd!

And now you ask me?

How you burned away all of your mortality And ascended.

Is it any Wonder that you burned so much of what made you human, sacrifice so much to survive together.

I could feel your bond down there.

And just how tied it became, every act of holy Union I felt like a drug to my system, it may have been 19 days for you to March out of Tartarus

but I felt every year you were down there. You two combined marched through absolute hell, our equivalent to the Christian inferno that Dante's so eloquently described. And yet combined you manage to survive.

Quite honestly I'm impressed!"Hera said, raising a glass of holy ambrosia. A smirk growing on her face

[dumbass-learns-japanese]

Two things happened today

Considering this blog was made with the purpose of motivating me to study Japanese language, although I do feel that after this post it will become a personal journal as well, I will start with Tanaka-san.

I realized that my listening and speaking skills were lacking, and always have been, even when I used to be a full-time Japanese studies student at a university. The reason is embarrassingly simple: it's hard. Cultivating those skills is hard and requires time and effort, a bit more than reading and writing, at least for me. They require interaction with people who may or may not (although my paranoid brain infested with the impostor syndrome is leaning more towards 'may') know Japanese better than I do. I don't want to embarrass myself, and yes, I know, they will not care, nobody will think that, they know you're learning, bla bla bla. Yes, I know, but nevertheless, I do and did feel a slight fear and that led to simply avoiding those particular skills as much as humanly possible, aka, I stuck to the reading dialogues from the textbook we were using, which explains why one of the only things I actively remember is 「このスプーンは素敵ですね」

Today I had the epiphany according to which I apsolutely must practice those skills, otherwise, what and why am I even doing this? Since my boyfriend doesn't know Japanese nor is he willing to let me teach him anything other than insults, I turned to Tanaka-san. If you may not already know him, it is a mushroom. A cartoon mushroom on YouTube that teaches you Japanese. You learn kanji and you can practice listening and speaking. He asks you how you are, and you say you're good. He asks you which season is your favourite and why , and he wonders what was the weather like this morning and what time it is in your part of the world.

Yes. I talked about the weather with a cartoon mushroom.

Honestly, hearing myself speak Japanese aloud, so not just inside my own head was... Traumatizing. No, not really traumatizing, just...weird. For one, it's been a while, and for two, I definitely have better pronounciation inside my head.

The second thing that happened today, and this is where this blog becomes a personal journal, was that I've been reading Joan Didion for the last month and a half, and obsessively so. I've been reading every single book by Joan Didion available in the university library and I am currently on "The Year of Magical Thinking". So far I've really enjoyed her essays on the 1960s and California of the second half of the 20th century, even more so than her fiction, but this book is different for me. I will not go on to the whole book review as this post is not the place for that, nor am I willing to review a book I've only read 4 chapters of.

It got me thinking of my dad who died 15 years ago, when I was 10, almost 11. The day before he died, which caught us by surprise, similarly to the way Didion's husband died, he walked our family dog, Kim, beautiful female Landseer, also know as our first the "Best Dog", whose successor, a cocker spaniel mix named Tara is the second "Best Dog". He also took me and my sister to music school, I used to play violin and she played the flute. He helped us with homework, he went to the school for all three of us to ask about our grades and how we were doing, even though he already knew all of that, but it is normal for parents to go once a month. (I don't know if this a thing in other countries, but where I am from, headteachers have a designated day and hour when the parents can come and talk to the teacher, ask about the grades, confirm we were sick if we were sick and unable to come to school and things alike.)

He did all that, and the very nex morning, he had a stroke in his sleep. Mom found him, he couldn't move or talk, she called an ambulance, we discovered he had a cancer which nobody knew about, not even dad himself and three days later, he died. I think mom did a good job with us, we are all well adjusted and successful in our own particular ways, maybe less so in our own eyes, but surely in our mom's, and every once in a while I think to myself that I am over his death, that it happened and it's over and I don't really have many vivid memories of him and it's fine, it's better that way for sure, but then I remember and I start to cry or I read something or I watch something and that reminds me of him and then I cry again. I don't like crying and when I die I want people to forget me as it will be less painful, but I understand that is hardly possible because I'm not interacting just with the cartoon mushroom that speaks Japanese, I am also interacting with real human beings that are constantly making as much of an impact on me as I am on them.

Reading about Didion's husband John and the way he died, and how he must have known he was going to die and how he might still come back, brought back the surrealness of death. What do you mean he died and I was with my siblings in my brother's room watching some stupid show on a small TV with an antenna? How did that happen? It was all normal and then... what then? What happened?

I don't know, but it did. It is weird at best and morbid at worst. I still haven't come to the point of talking about this to Tanaka-san, but you never know really. I'm feeling things today and the absurdity of everything is making me tired so I will probably go to sleep earlier today.

[quxxn0fhxarts]

black coffee and cigarettes - South Park AU (Aged Up - 18+ : Chapter 1 - Conformist on Goth Action

AN: This is my first ever South Park fic. Go easy. I have only been a fan since 2018, so forgive me if I miss some lore. I know Liane Cartman was intersex but then it was a cover-up or something, just ignore it. Enjoy!

IMPORTANT: Everyone has been aged up to 18, links to AO3 and Wattpad at the end of the post. Photo and Fic Cover Made with Mage.Space June 28th, 2008 11:10 PM

Cabin Salmon at Camp Stark, South Park, Colorado

   Michael hated going to Camp, but he had to go every summer. At least Pete was there most summers... but he and his family went to Florida until August. He hated the types of people that went to Camp, conformists, jocks, Christians... He wished his parents didn't force him to go... he wanted to be at The Village Inn with Henrietta and Firkle.

   At least the Camp's Activities were mostly optional. He could mostly avoid outdoor activities by making friendship bracelets or arts and crafts. He was glad they removed those bigger 40-person cabins to a more intimate three-person cabin. The only thing Michael hated more than jocks was a group of them altogether. 

   Per his luck, he was stuck with two Jock, but he considered Kyle Broflovski an okay person... still didn't like him because he was a conformist. Kenny McCormick was a neutral guy; he couldn't get into many cliques since his family was poor. They had been at Camp for a few weeks, and Michael was going crazy.

   Kyle wouldn't let him smoke in the cabin. He would say, 'It messes with my sinuses,' and 'I don't want to have my lungs all shriveled and black from secondhand smoke.' Michael thought the guy needed something to vent or complain about. Kyle was always venting or speaking about something.

   Kenny wasn't as annoying as Kyle. He didnt talk much... the only thing that bothered Michael about Kenny was that he constantly was talking about sex, jerking off in his bed, talking about 'big tittied Asians.' It was exhausting. It was obvious that Kenny fetishized asians, and Michael was half Korean.

   The one that pissed Michael off the most was when Kyle said, 'How do you not have lung cancer by now after smoking since we were 10'. He wasn't so mad at it because he was scared. He started smoking because he wanted to minimize the time he was on this earth... He has always heard it, and he is sick of it. It also pissed Michael off when Kyle would say, 'That's your sign to quit smoking,' when Michael would have coughing fits.

   Though his body and condition irritated Michael, coming to Camp was always hard for him. He would get in trouble if he were caught smoking, not that he didn't want to get in trouble, but his things would be searched, and they would make him throw his cigarette stash away.

   Because of this, he would have to find another way to keep his mouth busy. He had oral fixation, so he had to distract himself by chewing gum or something. If he ran out of things to do to keep his fixation at bay, he would start biting his tongue or nails to the point of hurting himself... and he did this every summer.

   Probably the most taxing was how long he would wear his binder. It was summer, so he couldn't wear baggy jackets to hide his chest. Michael was born intersex. It was only another thing he had to suffer from in this world. Not to mention, his bust was big, so he had massive back pain.

   From a young age, his parents forced him to identify as male, which now he was cool with... it just fucked him up whenever he would have 'female' problems. His mother would gaslight him into thinking he was imagining it, and his father knew nothing about vaginas. He had to learn how to care for himself at that time of the month through blogs online.

   Michael took a good hot shower after Kyle snuck out for the night, Clyde scored some liquor, and there was going to be a rager in the forest. So, Michael felt safe enough to take off his binder and take a nice hot shower. 

He thought that he had plenty of time before he had to put back on his binder. he was going to put on a shirt and hug a pillow to go to sleep... he was drying off, going to his side of the room, finding a jumbo shirt to put on... but then something hit the floor, and he flinched.

   "Holy fuck..." Kyle said wide-eyed, standing in the doorframe with Kenny just behind him.

   "Holy shit..." Kenny yelped as he dropped his bottle of beer, "I... never thought I would witness Double E tits in real life..." Kenny was so moved he almost teared up, "They are amazing..."

   "Fuck!" Michael's squeak of panic brought the boys back to reality, "Don't fucking look, you pervs," Michael yelled.

   Kyle and Kenny had returned to the cabin because they had forgotten their phones. They wanted to see if they had received any service in the forest. After this interaction, they forgot to take their phones and quickly left the cabin. They didn't stay at the rager for long because they were too worried about Michael's wrath... they knew they would get in trouble as soon as they got back. Kenny finally just said they should go back and get it over with.

   When they returned, Michael wasn't in the cabin, but they smelled cigarettes, so they knew he couldn't be far. "Just stay here, okay... I will deal with him,"

   "What, why?" Kenny asked, wanting to see Michael's knockers again.

   "Tits make you go crazy. this is sensitive... just let me deal with it, okay?" Kyle said, and Kenny nodded, headed to the bathroom to rub one out to the memory of those EE cups.

   Kyle left the cabin and followed the smoke, finding Michael close in the forest. He was leaning against a tree. The moon was full, so it was easy to see. He was crying...

   "Just leave me alone, Broflovski," He muttered, but Kyle ignored him, sitting across from him. Kyle saw that Michael had finished the carton and downed another pack.

   "It's um... it's not that big of a deal," Kyle started, and Michael glared at him, "n-not that we saw you naked... I mean, I don't see you any differently. You are brave,"

   "Brave? What the fuck are you going on about, Perv,"

   "I mean... being trans in a small little mountain town like South Park... you're fucking amazing,"

   "I'm not transgender, you fuckwad," Michael pinched the bridge of his nose.

   "Then you... I'm sorry I'm confused," Kyle sighed.

   "This isn't a fucking moment Broflovski..." Michael sniffled, "It's none of your business."

   "No... I mean, you're right. It's none of my business. I just... I feel like you need to talk to someone," Kyle said, and Michael sighed. "I have been walked in on plenty of times. I usually get hella embarrassed and sleep it off... and you are crying," Kyle said, and Michael huffed.

   "You're a jock, I am goth... we are not friends,"

   "Well... I may not be your friend, but you're my friend," Kyle said with a smile... Michael fucking hated it when he smiled. he hated that he was so nice. He didn't like the butterflies he felt when Kyle was so nice to him.

   "Fuck You, douchebag..." Michael pulled his legs into a hug and rested his head on his knees. "I am intersex..."

   "Oh, okay," Kyle shrugged.

   "You said that like it's normal," Michael scoffed.

   "I mean... it isn't normal, but it isn't that rare, but Cartman's mom is intersex," Kyle said.

   "She is?" Michael raised an eyebrow. "Is that why Cartman is such a fucking asshole,"

   "Maybe, he has always been an asshole," Kyle shrugged and blushed, trying not to look at Michael's chest. He knew he did something because he looked like he did normally. Everyone thought he had big pecs or was a little chunky. "Can... can I ask how you hide them?"

   Michael blushed and looked away, "a chest binder... it's like a tank top, but it compresses better."

   "Is that safe?" Kyle asked, and Michael raised an eyebrow, "I mean... if it compresses, then I am sure it might cut off circulation. You have really big boobs," Kyle blushed, "Er, I mean... just is it safe?"

   "Yeah... it's safe," Michael couldn't look Kyle in the eye. "It's irritating at the moment because I wear it so much. I usually get some heat rash at Camp. But normally, I can hide it with a less intense binder and a hoodie,"

   "That is bad, Michael..." Kyle felt bad, "you don't have to wear it when it's just you, Kenny, and me... it's not healthy to have it on all the time,"

   "Yeah, right, with McCormick around? He already tries to get in my pants because I am Asian, and he is a fucking sex freak," Michael dryly laughed but then immediately froze as Kyle grabbed his wrist softly.

   "You don't have to worry about him, okay? He doesn't mean any harm. I will make sure he doesn't perv out on you as long as you feel free to rest without the binder," Kyle said. Michael was happy that it was dark enough to cover his red face.

   "O-okay,"

———- 1:29 AM    Michael thought he had a vivid wet dream at first—the ones where you can feel touch in your dreams—but then he fluttered his eyes open, hearing an uncharacteristic high-pitched panting—aka moaning.

   He looked up at the ceiling, inhaling and exhaling rigidly. He fluttered his eyes and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

   Michael felt someone between his legs. he didn't have to look down to see who it was. He brought a pillow to his face and bit it, holding back a moan as Kenny started rubbing his ring finger and middle finger up and down Michael's pussy.

   Michael fluttered his eyes to look up at the top bunk. he saw Kyle's hand dangling and his slight snore.

   "What the fuck are you doing, Pervert," Michael tried to sound threatening, but he bit his lip, and his entire body was trembling with pleasure. He looked down to see Kenny glance up, giving Michael a little smirk.

   "Finding your clitoris," Kenny said as he had been with Cartman's Mom before, her clitoris was easy to find as it was fused with her cock. Michael wasn't fused. He had a cunt where his testicles should be while the testicles were still inside of him. His clit was just below the base of his cock. "Want me to stop?" He said while pressing Michael's cock to the side and flicking his tongue on the clit, quickly reaching up to cover Michael's mouth as he grunted loud and bucked his hips.

   "Fuck..." Michael bit on Kenny's finger, whimpered, glaring up at Kyle as he failed his job not even two hours after he promised... but fuck did this feel like heaven. "W-what are you doing? Don't stop," Michael panted, unable to keep his lids open or his eyes uncrossed. Kenny buried his face in Michael's crotch before swiping up so every inch of his stubbly facial hair brushed along Michael's hairless velvety soft pussy and skin.

   "I already made you cum in your sleep... bout to do it again," Kenny said, planting kisses on Michael's bare stomach, up to his chest, which still had the shirt taught. "I wanna watch your face this time," Kenny kissed Michaels's neck before inching closer to his face.

   Michael whimpered, turning his head to the side as Kenny sucked on his adam's apple, crossing his legs as Kenny rubbed on his clit harder. You could hear the crickets outside, Michael's muffled moans, and wet sounds as Kenny pleasured Michael.

   "You sound so fucking lewd," Kenny spoke, pressing his lips against Michael's ear, "You were sopping wet before I even touched you," Kenny lightly bit on Michaels's ear, making him moan. "You were touching yourself in your sleep...". 

"Sh-shit," Michael gasped in pleasure.

"Now-now..." Kenny chuckled lowly, covering Michael's mouth, "You don't want to wake Kyle, do you?

   "Fuck... that feels so good," Michael whimpered, hugging his arms around Kenny. Pressing his face in Kenny's neck, he bit on his shoulder, trying not to make noises.

   "Come on... cum for me," Kenny whispered as he ground against Michael's leg. Michael blushed as he could feel Kenny's fat cock hard against his thigh... even with Kenny still having his pajamas on. "Here..." Kenny switched hands to insert a finger in Michael's mouth so he could bite it. "See how good you taste?" he said, Michael's wetness still on his fingers.

   "S-Shit," Michael tensed up as he arched his back, whimpering as Kenny started to press a finger inside of his cunt. "D-Dont-"

   "Holy Shit..." Kenny widened his eyes, "Youre so fucking tight, youre a virgin," He smiled from ear to ear. Michael tried to glare at him, cringing as Kenny continued to finger him but much more gently. Kenny pulled up Michaels's shirt and started to kiss and suck on Michael's nipple. The Goth Boy fluttered his lashes and looked up, flinching as Kyle sat up, looking down with wide eyes.

   "Dude..." That was all Kyle could say. Michael closed his eyes and bit his lip... unable to control his moans as his body tensed up, his touch becoming more desperate as he hugged Kenny, hiding his face on his chest. He instinctively crossed his legs and let out a little scream as he came, squirting as Kenny took his finger out of him to suck them dry. 

   "Fuck... you taste so sweet," Kenny said, leaning down to kiss Michael on the lips. The goth kissed back and bashfully looked up to look at Kyle, who was touching himself... maybe this summer wouldn't be too bad after all.

———- 2:27 AM

North Stark Lake, South Park, Colorado

   Vampir and his crew of vamps had their own 'rager' in the woods, though they just had a lousy beer and clamato juice. He was tipsy since he barely drank because he was a straight edge.

   He was stumbling aimlessly around the woods as he had to take a leak. He lost the path back to where they were hanging out and needed to learn how to return to the cabin. He thought he was headed in the right direction, but he came out in the clearing of the lake and saw the Camp on the other side.

   He sighed and started to return to the Camp, but that's when he heard something. He turned around to see if it was one of his friends. "Bloodrayne?" no one answered, "Vladimir?"

   He was beginning to freak out... but then he saw a large snarling snout coming out of the shadow, followed by glowing red eyes. "Fuck!" Vampir shouted, breaking off in a run, but it was useless... he was tackled to the ground, and the last thing he remembered before blacking out was the tearing of his flesh and a howl.

Please vote, comment, add this story to your library and read list, and share this story with a friend. :)

wattpad

black coffee and cigarettes - South Park AU (Aged Up - 18+ - 1. Conformist on Goth Action - Wattpad

AO3

black coffee and cigarettes - Chapter 1 - quxxnofhxarts - South Park [Archive of Our Own]

[child-of-the-nighttime-stars]

Cancer

Such an ugly word... The whole world seems to stop whenever its heard. Always amongst halted breath and sharp exhales. You can only hope they caught it in time for any chance to prevail. This isn't the first time and I doubt it's the last Since those I frequently contact have had their blood cursed in the past But when I was told that my dear aunt had it right on top of her heart, I vividly remember feeling myself fall apart, You put on a brave face for its all you can do, For all the grief you feel, it turns out that so many strangers are dealing with it too. That's what my aunt told me as she came down in May, She also told me that surgery went well and she didn't need chemo so we celebrated that day. Yet another brief encounter with its ghastly caress, Everyone I loved was still here and my erratic heartbeat had left, Though not even a month later, it came back to my door, It seemed to have come, this time asking for more, And eye for an eye, Agree or disagree, it's never been a lie, So in exchange for more time, It'd take another loved one and steal them away while I was completely blind, Luckily when I got the news, I wasn't alone And I never knew an embrace in darkness could feel so much like home, Even then it didn't make the tears any lighter as I silently cried, For Cancer is such an ugly way to have to say 'goodbye...'

[chickensarentcheap]

Lost and Found- Chapter 7

Fandom: Extraction

Pairing: Tyler Rake and Esme Drummond (established OFC. Although you do not need to read the others to understand this one)

Warnings: angst, mild profanity, brief mention of childhood cancer and death

Tagging:  @tragiclyhip @secretaryunpaid @youflickedtooharddamnit @thesirenrealm @residentdormouse @asirensrage @munstysmind @muchadoaboutcj @starryeyes2000 @karimac @arrthurpendragon @ocappreciationtag @occommunity @themaradaniels​

My tag list is OPEN. Just give me a shout if you’d like to added :)

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43179357/chapters/115598767

“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t a social call?”

“Is that any way to greet your nearest and dearest?” Nik chides. “Haven’t we progressed to pleasantries by now?”

“I’ve spent enough time with you to know you never call with pleasant news. Or ideas.”

“It’s been a couple of years since I got you into trouble. I thought it was kind of fun. The last time we got together.”

“You and I have very different views on what’s considered ‘fun’. Being caught in the middle of a prison riot isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.” Tyler catches movement out of the corner of his eye; watching as Delaney briefly slides upon the door and sets a mug of coffee down on the deck. And he returns her shaky smile with a brief one of his own; offering a stiff nod when she raises her hand in farewell.

He wants to feel something. Anything. Regret, guilt, humiliation. And while he’s able to acknowledge that he hurt her and should find a way to make amends, he can’t help but wonder if it’s even worth the effort. It’ll never work; the two of them rarely see eye to eye on where their relationship stands or where it’s heading. He will never be the man she wants him to be; he can’t bring himself to open up to her or commit to anything more serious than they’re already experiencing. And she’ll always be in competition with Esme; everything she says and does will constantly be compared to the year he’d spent with someone else.

“It wasn’t THAT bad,” Nik’s voice jolts him back to the conversation at hand. “You got out of there unscathed. Relatively, anyway. And I’m kind of insulted; you assuming I only call under bad circumstances. Maybe I just missed you and wanted to catch up. See how you’re doing.”

“I’m the same as I was when you called out of the blue six months ago. Old, sore, and miserable.”

“So basically the same as the day I met you. Minus the ‘old’. You always did have the personality of a crotchety old man, standing on his front porch with a shotgun, yelling at people to stay off his lawn.”

Smirking, he heads barefoot across the deck and then peers through the window; making sure the kitchen is empty before grabbing the cup of coffee. “Comparing me to Clint Eastwood? That’s a compliment. I’ll take it.”

“It’s nice to see that some things don’t really change. You’re still a smart ass, Tyler.”

“And you’re still a sweet talker. Flattery gets you everywhere.” Taking a swig of his drink, he grimaces at the bitter taste; mumbling profanities as he heads for the edge of the deck and dumps the coffee out onto the grass. “You alright? How’s things?”

“Busy. As usual. The bad guys don’t take days off.”

“Being busy keeps you out of trouble. Or keeps you in it. I know how you get when you’re bored’ all grumpy and shit when business is slow. Nice to hear you’re keeping a roof over your head. What house are you on now? Six? Seven? Last time we talked you were thinking about buying that penthouse in Dubai. Somewhere you could keep your boy toy stashed away. How is he anyway? Did you feed him breakfast and get him on the school bus alright?”

“You’re such a fucking asshole. Remind me why I call you again?”

“Usually because you need me to bail your ass out of trouble. Or you want to get me into some. Like I said, I know this isn’t a social call.”

“Maybe it’s both. Personal AND business. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

“Depends what the business is.”

“First thing’s first. I never bought the place in Dubai. And there is no boy toy. Not anymore.”

“Sorry to hear that. You seemed pretty happy. What went wrong? He got therapy for his mummy issues?”

“He just decided he wanted to go in a different direction with his life. Without me along for the ride. Apparently, I was ‘bringing him down’. He wanted someone he could pamper and spoil and treat like a princess. Someone completely dependent on him. Subservient.”

“He definitely barked up the wrong tree with that one. Things are good, though? Other than that?”

“I’m still as assertive and bitchy as ever, if that’s what you’re asking. And things are okay. I’m still on this side of the dirt.”

“Definitely a good day when you can say that.”

“Things are good. I’M good. What about you, Tyler? How are YOU? And don’t bullshit me. I always know when you’re lying.”

He contemplates telling her about the dreams and the memories; about the immense loneliness and heartache that have permanently staked their claim on both heart and mind. He’d been encouraged by the feelings and the semblance of happiness he’d experienced when he met Delaney; allowing himself to begin a relationship even though he’d made it perfectly clear that it was the last thing he really wanted. He’d been willing to try; succumbing to the pressure piled on by her brother and Koen. And while he’d enjoyed the moments of contentment and the companionship that she provided him with, they were always fleeting; finding himself quickly annoyed by her presence and her often overbearing and suffocating behaviour. Then the guilt would set in; the harsh reality that while she deserves so much better, he can’t seem to totally cut her loose. Not wanting to be alone, yet not wanting her around at the same time; desperately needing space and breathing room. And it makes him feel pathetic. Weak. The fact that his happiness still hinges on a woman who clearly showed she never meant a damn word she said to him; lying about love and her hopes for a future…THEIR future…and conning him in the same way she had so many others while on the job.

“I’m doing alright.” He chooses the easy way out. “ Working a lot of long hours. Putting out a lot of fires. Getting a lot of cats out of trees.”

Nik gives a small laugh.

“And the reno business is going good. A lot of clients on my hands. And more coming on board every week.”

“How are you feeling? Health-wise?”

“I’m in better shape than I've ever been. I feel good, Nik. Real good. Keeping myself busy. Active. Rate I’m going, I might live to be ninety.”

“And mentally?”

“It’s hit or miss. Some days are good, some not so good. It’s a crap shoot.”

“You still on the meds? Are you…?”

“I’m stable, Nik. I keep on top of it. Haven’t had a really bad episode in a while. It’s under control.”

“What about the other stuff?”

“I’m clean. Sober. Haven’t had a drink or gone anywhere near Oxy in four years. And I plan on keeping it that way. Now…” His knees crack as he lowers himself onto the top step of the deck stairs. “… is this where we quit the bullshit chit-chat and get down to why you really called? Because I am staring down a twelve-hour shift; gotta be at the station soon.”

“I have a job for you.”

“I’m retired.”

“SEMI retired. And you said whenever I needed you…”

“I didn’t say ‘whenever’, I said if you ever found yourself in a tough spot. If a job came up that you didn’t have the right guy for.”

“I’m in a tough spot. I DO have the right men for it, but…”

“But? You either do or you don’t. What’s…?”

“There’s a client asking for you. By name. Willing to pay big money.”

“How’d they hear about me?”

“I didn’t ask. But when I told them that I had other men that were more than capable of getting the job done, they wouldn’t hear of it. Your reputation precedes you, Tyler. This isn’t the first time someone has wanted you in the driver’s seat.”

“First time it’s happened since I retired. Did you tell them? That I didn’t exactly have both feet in the pond anymore?”

“It didn’t matter. They said they only wanted you. In fact, they said it HAS to be you.”

“Sounds like they’re pretty determined.”

“They want the best. No one else will do. They won’t settle for mediocrity.”

“What kind of stakes are we looking at?”

“Pretty damn high. You’ll be going against a pretty powerful organized crime family. Hell-bent on revenge.”

“What did the client do? To get themselves on their bad side?”

“They were working a job themselves. Strictly on the down-low. Spent months infiltrating the circle. They had their cover blown last night. I had to get a team together and go in and get them out of trouble. I’ve got them somewhere safe right now, but…”

“You need to get them somewhere safer.”

“I can only keep them here for a few days. It’s a secure spot, but one that’s normally just a refuge for certain clientele. The owner is doing me a huge favour; giving them a suite to hole up in and around-the-clock protection. The goal is to get them out of the country. Take them somewhere far away while my team and I deal with things here.”

“And where exactly is ‘here’?”

“New York City.”

“Jesus Christ, Nik. You know how much I hate the North American circuit. I haven’t been that way in six, seven years. You know I like to stick to things on the other side of the globe.”

“I realize that. But I’m only doing what the client asked for. And that’s for you to handle their case. I wouldn’t have called you if they weren’t adamant about this. And if I didn’t agree that you really are the best person for this job.”

Sighing, he runs a palm along his beard. “What exactly is it you need me to do?”

“Get the client out of New York City. Get them somewhere safe. Keep an eye on them. Until my team and I handle things here.”

“Babysit, you mean.”

“Extract and protect. Tyler, I wouldn’t have called if she…”

“Hold up…hold up. It’s a SHE? Nik…”

“Tyler, they…SHE..asked for you. She’s adamant. It has to be you.”

“I’m not into rescuing damsels in distress. Nik. I’m not some knight in shining armour. I’m…”

“She comes with fragile contents.”

He falls silent; his thoughts turning to his son. That beautiful, blond-haired little boy that he’d left behind while he was sick and dying; choosing the military over his family when they’d needed him the most. And he allows himself to think of the happier times; before cancer ever became a part of their lives. The walks on the beach and the camping and fishing trips and the dreams of his son taking up his love of surfing.

“Tyler…”

“How old?”

“Four. A little girl. Her mother is terrified. Says she can’t trust just anyone with her daughter’s life. All that matters to her is the little one. Keeping her safe.”

“And exactly who are these people? That are after them? I know you said organized crime, but…”

“It’s better we discuss that in person. Along with the payout. How soon can you be in New York City?”

“How soon can you get me a flight”?

“I can get you a red eye. Your time, of course. I’ll set it all up. Contact you when everything is finalized. Can I tell them? That you’ve agreed to take it? Can I give them my word that you’ll show?”

“I’ll be there,” he promises, abruptly hanging up to end the call. And for several minutes he remains on the step; listening to the kookaburras and the rustle of leaves as a stiff breeze passes through the trees. And his chest aches and his eyes close as he once more thinks of her. Of big brown eyes and a freckle-splattered nose and hair that felt like silk when his hands moved through it.

And of the absence of her next to him.

*****

The sweatshirt is faded and tattered. His smell long gone. It had devastated her when it finally happened; preparing herself for the inevitable over the course of several months, yet still despondent when it disappeared entirely. The hoodie had been the last thing she had grabbed before fleeing the shack; snagging it off the back of the armchair in the living room on her way out the door. Wanting something…anything…to remember him by; a token or souvenir that could remind her of happier, simpler times and all of the plans they’d made for their future. And provide her comfort on the hardest of days and loneliest of nights; either wearing it as intended or simply wrapping it around her pillow. Desperately needing to feel him close to her amidst the harsh reality she’d likely never see him again; the mixture of his familiar scent and the warmth provided by the fabric the closest thing she had to being in his arms.

It had been her only link to him. Just a plain and simple burgundy garment that he’d purchased long before they met. The drawstring for the hood completely missing, the cuffs of the sleeves moth bitten and frayed, the fabric stained in various places; remnants of paint and drywall from when he’d been doing much-needed repairs and renovations on the shack. Every imperfection and loose thread served as a reminder of the time they’d spent together; ten months spent getting to know one another and growing together and planning a future. Dhaka had created a solid foundation for them to build upon; beginning with those initial five days in that dirty little hotel and room and ending with those terrifying and life-altering moments on the bridge. Everything that came after served to help them learn about one another and grow together; his long stay in the hospital, her decision to stay in Australia instead of returning to Colorado, and that comfortable little bubble they created inside that run-down little cabin in the outback. Shedding blood, sweat, and tears while turning it into a home; every coat of paint and every inch of new flooring helping to exorcise the darkness and the demons that haunted him for far too long.

Her fingers trace each hole and every frayed edge. The sweater was the one thing she’d refused to leave behind; frantically searching through both clean and dirty laundry baskets and then hastily shoving it into the lone backpack she and Millie had fled with. Choosing those stains and imperfections over the most expensive garments in her closet; the memories attached to it far more important than any price tag or designer label. Alessio had always nagged her to get rid of it; it was far too big on her petite frame, far too messy with its stains and its puckers and tears, far too ‘poor looking’. Despite refusing to get too deeply involved with his family’s illegal doings, he put far too much emphasis on being one of the ‘elite’; obsessed with the image that he not only presented and maintained, but she and Millie as well.

The latter he complained about often; her hair was too wild and untamed, she was too loud and vibrant and should be ‘seen and not heard’ and he was ‘disgusted’ by her penchant for mixing the frilliest of dresses with the sloppiest of footwear. And Millie had been devastated when he’d taken it upon himself to throw out her beloved light-up Spiderman sandals while she’d been at school; crying herself to sleep as her mother cuddled her tight and tried her very best to console her. The next morning, Esme had made it a point of replacing the shoes; buying two pairs and then boldly setting them right in the midst of all of Alessio’s Hugo Boss and Bruno Malli loafers. He had crossed a line and she refused to let it slip; no one disrespected her daughter and got away with it. Those sandals representing everything that is beautiful and perfect about her little girl. Carefree and confident, vibrant and creative, feisty and resilient. And no one was going to strip her of those things and turn her into a watered-down version of who she was meant to be.

He had tried the same nonsense with the sweater; throwing it into the bin in the kitchen and burying it under household waste in hopes of preventing her from finding it. When she couldn’t locate it after an especially long and trying day of attempting to keep up the lies and the fake persona, she’d just KNOWN he was the culprit. And she’d frantically and angrily torn apart every inch of the house in order to find it; tears spilling down her cheeks as she ranted and raved about his refusal to respect her or her boundaries. In his eyes she was being ridiculous and overly dramatic; what kind of sane and rational person is that attached to a cheap hoodie that looked as if she picked it out of a dumpster? She hadn’t bothered to explain; he would never understand and definitely would never try. And she hadn’t wanted to share those intimate details; tales of her real and her immense heartache and guilt over the choices she made just made things far too personal. She was just there for the job after all; not make genuine bonds and actually go through with the wedding. Admittedly, she had enjoyed how he made her feel when he wasn’t being a complete asshole; loved and wanted and cherished. It had been so long since she’d had a man gaze at her in adoration; it was flattering and ego boosting and it did wonders to mend some of her shattered confidence. But there was no way she could ever TRULY care for him. She’d only ever loved one man in her life; with everything she was and everything she had. And she’d wounded him deeply and saddled herself with a lifetime of regret.

Moving on is impossible. Even with the most honourable and respectful of men. After all, how do you love a person when your heart still firmly rests in the hands of someone else?

Her heart is heavy as she slips into the hoodie; a mixture of anticipation and fear co-mingling with the guilt and regret that’s been burdening her for four and a half years. While she’s relieved he agreed to the job and both anxious and excited to see him again, there’s genuine fear gnawing at both stomach and nerves. She worries about how deep the damage may still run; how ferociously he may be clinging to all that hurt and anger. Nik had always kept her informed of how he was doing during the first year; searching endlessly and aimlessly for her, struggling to maintain his sobriety, one moment filled with rage and hate and the other with heartache and loneliness.

She wouldn’t blame him; if -upon seeing her- he changed his mind about the job and turned his back on both her and Millie. She had wounded him deeply; fleeing without explanation and leaving nothing but random articles of clothing, her recently factory-reset cell phone, and an apology hastily scribbled on a scrap piece of paper. Nothing more than a simple and pathetic “I’m sorry”; placed in the middle of the kitchen table and propped up by her favourite mug. It seemed silly; leaving something so trivial behind. But in the back of her mind she’d hoped it would give him some kind of solace; having something that she’d loved and had brought her so much joy. Perhaps he’d even see it as something much deeper; both a reassurance that her absence wouldn’t be permanent, and a promise that she’d one day return to that cup. And to him.

Drawing the sleeves of the hoodie over her hands, she lifts them to her face and inhales deeply. While his scent may no longer cling to the fabric, if she closes her eyes and tries hard enough, she can still remember it. Familiar and comforting, it fills her with a sense of peace and contentment; allowing her to immerse herself in the memories of those much happier, easier times. It’s the smell of home; of safety and security and love. A reminder of the last time she’d ever been truly happy. When she’d been taught what love…REAL LOVE…was all about it. It was patience and it was sacrifice and it was choosing to be together even when all the cards were stacked against them. It was taking the bad along with the good and learning more about yourself than the person you’re with. Tyler had shown her that she was still worthy of love and being loved in return; taking all her broken pieces and every so slowly and tenderly putting them back together. Mark hadn’t destroyed her, he’d simply damaged her. And another man was ready, willing, and able to help her out of that deep, dark hole she’d been tossed into. And when he wasn’t able to, he just climbed down into that hole with her. Loving her when she wasn’t capable of loving herself.

She misses that. That level of adoration. Trust. Acceptance.

Most of all, she misses HIM.

******

A brisk knock comes to the door, followed by Abuela’s voice; soft and full of concern. “Esme? Are you awake?”

She wishes she was; wanting nothing more than to climb into bed and bury herself under a mountain of blankets and stay there forever. She’s physically and mentally exhausted and the ache is intense; her heart heavy and weary as she relives both those happier times and the moment she’d thrown her entire life away. There’d been no other choice; he hadn’t deserved to be dragged into the mess with The High Table and she knew she had to do whatever it took to keep him safe. Even if it meant breaking both their hearts in the process

It hasn’t been easy; attempting to go on with life without him. And at times she still grieves the tremendous loss; torturing herself with thoughts of ‘what if’ and daydreaming about what their life would have been like had everything worked out for the best. It’s an agony she wouldn’t wish on her own worst enemy; to love someone to the very depths of your soul yet be forced to cut them loose. And then spend the rest of your days missing them terribly and constantly wondering about ‘ what could have been’.

“Esme?” Abuela again, her knock more insistent. “Honey, you CAN’T stay holed up in there forever. I know you’re going through it right now and it seems like there’s no end in sight, but you’ve got to at least TRY and function. You’re not sleeping…you’re not eating properly…you’re…”

“I’m not hungry. I just need some time. Alone. Just a little bit of time.”

“You didn’t eat breakfast and you went back to bed the second Millie went downstairs to hang out at the front desk with Charon. Have you been sleeping all this time? It is well after noon hour and…”

Had she really been hiding for that long? Locked away with her memories and her guilt and regret? Had she even fallen back asleep? It’s all so hazy; every moment that’s passed since fleeing her home in the middle of the night is a complete blur. She had expected the news of Tyler agreeing to take the job would brighten her spirits; fill her with hope and optimism and a newfound assurance that everything was going to be okay. But the lingering trepidation has now shifted focus; switching from the desperate need to ensure Millie’s safety to wanting to keep her own heart intact. She had lied the night before; when she told Nik she could handle Tyler having another woman in his life. That she’d be able to cope if all they could manage was being friends and amicably co-parenting their daughter. The truth is that she’ll be devastated; torn apart seeing him in love with someone else and watching them with the adoration and affection that had once been solely reserved for her.

It makes her physically nauseous to even THINK about it. The stress and the fear and the heartache finally catch up to her and she buries her face in her hands and openly sobs. She hates herself for what she’s done; not only hurting the only man she’s ever loved, but putting their daughter’s life at risk. The baby that she so desperately wanted but has kept from him for four years; her own pride and selfishness and fear harming them both. And maybe it’s her punishment for making such horrible mistakes; forced to watch him as he creates a life with someone other than her.

She hears neither the door clicking open nor Abuela’s footfalls as she enters the room, yet suddenly finds herself wrapped in the woman’s strong, motherly embrace. She has been a godsend since the job started; working under the guise of being Millie’s nanny while not only keeping a close eye on both mother and child, but on Alessio’s behaviour and the comings and goings of his family. At a remarkably spry and fierce, sixty-five, Abuela -as she’d told Millie to call her- remains a legend among those in the ‘circle’; long ago given the moniker ‘the death dealer’’ for her lucrative mercenary and weapon trafficking businesses. Highly educated and well-spoken, she personifies ‘never judge a book by its cover’; conning people with an initially meek and mild persona and then quickly becoming their worst nightmare. Tall and beautiful even as she ages; with warm, dark eyes and an inviting smile and a soft, demure smile. But she’s not to be disrespected or underestimated. There were very valid and admirable reasons why she excelled in a world dominated by testosterone.

“Talk to me,” Abuela encourages as she pulls away; smoothing Esme’s unkempt hair from her face and then cradling her face in her palms. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“It’s just too much. It’s just all too much.”

“What is? Take a breath and tell me. What’s too much?”

“Everything. Five years ago, two nights ago…” She struggles to draw breath. “...just…everything! I’ve fucked up. I’ve fucked up so bad and I don’t know how to fix it. First Tyler, now Millie. I screwed things up with him and now I’ve royally messed things up as a mom and…”

“That’s bullshit. Utter bullshit. You did no such thing. Millie is fine. She’s settled nicely, she’s almost back to being her normal self. In a couple of days, she won’t even think about what happened. It won’t even bother her anymore. And you know why? Because her mother was right there with her. Through all the tears and the tantrums and the nightmares. That’s what she’ll remember. That you never left her side.”

“I never should have taken the risk. Not with her involved. I know the job. I know how crazy and unpredictable it can be. How quickly things can go wrong. And I never…ever…should have dragged her into that. Knowing the possibilities. I never…”

“You had no reason to believe things that would go THAT bad. None of us did. I know I didn’t see it coming. And I’ve been in the game a hell of a lot longer than you have.”

“No mother in their right mind would have gotten their kid mixed up in this shit. What kind of parent would do that? Get back into this life? When they have someone dependent on them? She’s innocent. She doesn’t deserve any of this. She never should have been put in harm’s way. And I’m the one who put her there!”

“All you’ve ever done is love that little girl. Devote your entire life to her. Your entire BEING. You didn’t intentionally put her in danger. There is no way you could have known how bad things were going to go. Now when it had all been going so well. For months! Esme…” Abuela uses her thumbs to swipe at the younger woman’s tears. “...none of this is your fault. You did nothing wrong. In fact, you were doing everything RIGHT. Things went sideways. It happens. You should know that by now.”

“But Millie. I never…”

“Millie is tough. Like her momma. You’re her entire world. The centre of her little universe. Do you think she thinks any less of you because of what happened? That she blames you? All that mattered to her was that momma was there through the entire thing. Keeping her safe. That’s all.”

“I don’t want her growing up to hate me. I don’t want her thinking…years from now…that I put her in danger. Because I would never do that. Not intentionally. All I’ve ever wanted was to protect. Even when she was still in my belly. Keeping her safe was my priority. And now…”

“And now you’ve taken the proper steps to get her the hell out of New York and to somewhere safe. WITH someone safe. And it’ll do you both a world of good; being far away from this shit show. Now….” She loops Esme’s hair behind her ears, then once more cups her cheeks in her palms. “...you’re no good to that little one of yours if you don’t take care of yourself. And that includes eating. You need to…’

“I’m really not hungry. I….”

“No nonsense from you. No more bullshit. You need to keep your strength. For Millie AND for yourself.”

She allows herself to be guided from the bedroom room and out into the living area. Abuela’s arm wrapped securely around her shoulders, keeping her tightly pressed into her side. It’s attentive and caring. Motherly. The treatment she’d so desperately longed for from her own flesh and blood as a child and beyond. And it’s filled a void that she never realized she had; repairing those final pieces of the wounded little girl and teenager that had never felt wanted or loved. Old, previously gaping wounds that nearly healed; no longer needing reassurance or acceptance from her own blood when she’s surrounded by her ‘adoptive’ family.

And Millie, of course. With those brilliant blue eyes and cheeky grin and infectious giggle. So full of brightness and love and wonder.

“I took the liberty.” Abuela nods down at the coffee table; its surface filled with various cold beverages and a wide variety of Mexican food. “All your favourites. Nothing like a little comfort food to get things back on the right track.”

“I don’t know how much I can eat,” Esme laments, and rubs her stomach in slow, smooth circles. “I’m not exactly in the best shape. My nerves are shot. Everything’s just piling up and piling up. And when I think about how I’m going to come face to face with him in less than twenty-four hours…”

“Just try your best. Believe me, you’ll feel a lot better with at least something in you. You can’t pour from an empty cup, Esme. You’re going to burn yourself out; letting your mind run rampant like that. So just sit…” With a hand on the small of the younger woman’s back, she leads her to the couch and encourages her to take a seat. “...and try and relax and get at least a little bit of food.”

“Millie…” Worry creases her forehead as she furtively glances around the suite. “....where….?”

“Grandpa Winston took her for lunch on the rooftop terrace. And told her he has some flowers that are in dire need of her attention.”

“Millie and her green thumb,” Esme smiles and accepts a cutlery and a plate of food. “Not even four and a half and she can grow anything, it seems. I can’t even keep a simple house plant alive and she’s out in the backyard watering her massive strawberry and tomato plants. She always tells me it’s because she talks and sings to them. Always says, ‘momma, you have to baby them. You have to chat and sing!’ I think she’s just damn lucky.”

“She’s certainly got a knack for nurturing things. Actually, she has a knack for quite a lot, doesn’t she? If anyone ever told me that a four-year-old could draw as good as she does…”

“Her dad’s quite the artist. It’s his secret talent. I never would have expected it in a million years. And then he told me about his childhood and how he loved to draw and how his mom really supported it. She was his biggest fan. His dad…” She chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip; eyes downcast she uses her fork to move food around her plate. “...well let’s just say he didn’t deserve that title. Dad.”

“Not a Father of the Year award finalist?”

“Not in the slightest. He was a horrible person. First to Tyler’s mom, then to Tyler. He had it pretty rough. His dad was a monster. And that’s putting it lightly. He used to worry about being just like him. Whenever we’d talk about kids and if we could see ourselves having any. He’d always tell me that he was scared. Of turning into his dad. And that was the last thing he wanted.”

“And would you say?”

“That it could never happen. That he was nowhere close to being like his father. I understood though; why he felt that way. I just tried to do my best to convince him he wasn’t the monster he thought he was.”

“Because of what happened with his son?”

Esme glances up. “How’d you…?”

“Information is easy to get. If you know where to look and who to ask. I never hired someone without thoroughly researching them. And I taught Nik to do the same.”

“Tyler made a mistake. He was scared and emotionally vulnerable and weak. He admitted that. And everything fell apart after his son died. His marriage, his military career. His sobriety. He was in a pretty dark place. When I met him.”

“Seems like you got him out of it.”

“We got EACH OTHER out of it. I wasn’t in the best shape, either. Between my own marriage disintegrating and the problems with The High Table. And then Dhaka…”

“That was…messy.”

“That’s putting it lightly. Everything that could go wrong, did.”

“Other than that first five days.”

A blush creeps into her cheeks. “You know about THAT, too?”

“Oh, honey. I know about everything. Word travels. And it’s not hard to put two and two together. A woman doesn’t just decide to give up her entire life for no reason. It’s obvious something happened. To make you stick around. Both on that bridge and off it.”

“It wasn’t the right place. Or the right time. But it happened. And neither of us regretted it. Or at least we didn’t five years ago. I know I don’t. He’s still the best thing that ever happened to me. He was the first person that ever made me feel safe and protected. Who I could just be myself with. And he gave me Millie. We created this amazing little human together. No way I could EVER regret that.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t regret meeting you. Or how things went down between you. If you were to ask him, I’m sure he’d say that was the best ten months of his life. You saved him. In every way a person can be saved.”

“And then I turned around and hurt him. He deserved so much better; than how I ended things. He deserved so much better than ME. And I don't know how to make up for it. I don’t know what to say to him. Somehow ‘sorry’ just doesn’t seem to cut it, you know?”

“Just tell him the truth. Tell him about your involvement with The High Table and the threats they made and that you had no other choice. You did what you did to PROTECT him. You said it yourself; he never would have survived their onslaught.”

“He would have fought back. No hesitation. When he told me that he’d do anything for me…anything he had to keep me safe…he meant it. HE SHOWED it. In Dhaka. We barely knew each other and he was more than willing to sacrifice himself so I’d get out of there alive. There’s no way he would have just let them walk in and take me. He wouldn’t have gone down without a fight. And I never would have forgiven myself; if something happened to him.”

“Then tell him that. Tell him ALL of it. It isn’t just black and white, Esme. There are a lot of shades of grey. But once you explain, he’ll understand. That it WAS for the best. And that it wasn’t a decision you wanted to make,”

“I never wanted to go. And I didn’t leave because I didn’t love him. I left because I did.”

“Make sure you tell him that too. And maybe he won’t understand right away…right in the moment…but once you give him a chance to sit back and let everything sink in? He’ll realize you only had his best interests at heart. You were protecting him. In the same way he would have protected you.”

“He may understand THAT, but what about Millie? How do I explain HER? I kept her from him. For four years! For the first eight months, I didn’t have a choice. I had to protect BOTH of them. But what about after? I had so many chances to reach out to him. To let him know about her.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“I was scared. I was worried that he hated me enough to totally turn his back on her. And I wouldn’t have been able to handle that. Him rejecting her. My baby. OUR baby. I realize now how stupid I was. For ever thinking that. Because I know his heart. He’s a good man, AB. A really good man. And he wanted to be a dad again. He was just afraid. There’s no way he would have closed the door on her. Pretended that she didn’t exist.”

“And you think he would do that now? Esme, he’s still that same man. The one you fell in love with. The one you STILL love. I see it in your eyes and I hear it in your voice. It’s all still there, isn’t it.”

“I never got over him. I don’t think I ever will. And I know he’s moved on and it’s killing me inside; thinking about him with someone else. I tried convincing myself that I’d be okay with it; if all we could manage was co-parenting Millie. But the truth is, I don’t think I can do it. See him with another woman. Even if it is what I deserve.”

“And these are things you need to tell him. If there was ever a time to be completely honest, this is it. As soon as you can, you need to sit him down and tell him everything you’ve told me. It’s what he deserves, don’t you think?”

She nods.

“He’s going to be angry and hurt and he’s likely going to lash out. He’s been holding onto all of that for years. And just like you have things that you need to talk about, so does he. Once he’s gotten that anger out, he WILL listen. Because there was a time he loved you very much. Where he would have done anything for you. And I’m pretty sure some of those feelings still exist. If not all of them.”

“But if he hates me…”

“I doubt he hates you. I don’t think he could EVER hate you. I’ve met Tyler. Briefly. When he first started working for Nik. And I could see it in his eyes; all that hurt he was carrying around. But you know what else I saw? Humanity. Lingering right there under the surface. Someone that could still feel. That was still living. Even if he didn’t realize it.”

“That’s what I saw too. When we met. He wasn’t like everyone else on the job. He was quiet and thoughtful. He had a gentleness to him. And that’s what drew me in. The fact he was different. And when we were in Dhaka, I got to see all these different sides to him. That he never let anyone else see. And that was the man I fell in love with. The one that cried to me about his son and the mistakes that he’d made. The one who wanted to kill my ex-husband for doing the things he did to me. The one who looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing on earth.”

“That’s the man you still love.”

“I can’t help it. I can’t stop. I know I should. But I just can’t.”

“There’s no time limit. On when it’s appropriate to get over someone. Sometimes you never do. Sometimes you find that one person that you love more than you ever thought you could love someone. And then you lose them. Unfortunately. I never got over my husband. I still love him. I still miss him. And it’s been twenty years.”

“How did you do it? Move on? How did you get over him?”

“I didn’t. And just because my body is carrying on, it doesn’t mean my heart is. There will never be another. I don’t want there to be. And something tells me you don’t want that either.”

“I don’t,” Esme admits. “I don’t want anyone else. Just him. It’ll always be just him.”

“And that’s what you tell him. I know you’re scared; that he’s going to tell you he doesn’t want the same thing. But you need to take the risk. Because if you don’t and he DOES move on with his life, you’re going to spend the rest of your life kicking yourself in the ass. Isn’t it better to find out where you stand than spend decades watching him with someone else?”

“I guess so. I don’t know. I just…” Setting her plate on the coffee table, she places her elbows on her knees and her face in her palms. “...I just didn’t think this is how it would go. Seeing him again. Telling him about Millie. This is not what I planned for. At all.”

“But this is where we’re at. This is what’s happening. Through no fault of your own. And in twenty-four hours, he’s going to be standing right in front of you. And as scared as you are, I know there’s a part of you that’s excited. About seeing him again.”

“Of course I’m excited. I’ve only spent nearly five years thinking about him. Worrying about him. Missing him. I WANT to see him. But I’m still terrified. About how things are going to go. About what I’m going to say to him. How I’m going to explain the things I did. How I’m going to explain our baby. HIS baby.”

“When he’s here…when you’re finally face to face with him…it’ll come to you. Just speak from the heart. You can never go wrong when you do that, believe me.”

Tears threaten; lower lip and chin wobbling as she attempts to rein in her emotions. “What have I done, AB? What kind of mess have I made? How did this happen? How did it all go so wrong? We were so happy. We were happy and we were planning a future and it just went so bad. We deserved a chance. At a normal life. We paid our dues and made our amends. Wasn’t it enough?”

“Sometimes things don’t go the way we want them to. There’s no reason. No explanation. They just don’t. But honey, you have the chance. To set things right. To get back to where you were. And it’s scary as hell; having to own up to what you’ve done. But that man deserves to hear it, don’t you think?”

“He deserved that a long time ago.”

“Love is a hell of a thing. There’s times it's wonderful and it’s beautiful and there’s times it’s maddening and terrifying. But nine times out of ten? It’s more than worth it. And you’ll never know what he’s feeling if you DON’T face him. Do you want to spend the rest of your life wondering what he would have said?”

“Of course not. Five years has been way too long as it is.”

“He’s not going to turn his back on you. Not after everything the two of you went through in Dhaka. Not after you gave up your life for him. And especially not after he meets that little girl. He’s going to take one look at her and fall madly and deeply in love.”

“I hope so. Because she’s everything that’s perfect and beautiful inside both of us.”

“Even if she does look exactly like him.”

Esme manages a laugh, then uses the backs of her hands to brush wayward tears from her cheeks. “She’s definitely his Mini Me. From head to toe. You know how many times I’ve been asked if I’m her nanny? When we’re out together? There’s not a stitch of me in her. She is ALL dad.”

“I don’t know about that. She’s a strong little thing. Resilient as hell. And stubborn…”

“That’s him too. The stubborn thing. He is the most stubborn human being I have ever met.”

“Other than when you look in the mirror, you mean? Because in case you haven’t been told, you have got to be the most pigheaded person on the planet. I’ve never seen anyone that gets knocked down and keeps getting back up quite like you do.”

“What’s the saying? It’s the little ones you have to watch out for? They’re the ones you least expect?”

“I always say that great things come in small packages. Millie, her mom. Look at everything you’ve been through. Not just here in New York, either. Dhaka, the trouble with The High Table. All the things that could have…SHOULD HAVE…broken you? You beat them. On your own.”

“I had help. In Dhaka. I wouldn’t have survived. If Tyler hadn't been there. If he hadn’t been so willing to sacrifice himself for Ovi and I. He could have left us. He could have just abandoned us and worried about himself. But he didn’t. He was willing to die for us, AB. No questions asked.”

“If he was willing to do that then, think about what he’ll be willing to do for you now. After the year you spent together. After loving one another. After making a baby together. Do you really think he’ll feel nothing? When he sees you?”

“I don’t know what he’ll feel. Good OR bad. I want it to be good. I’d give anything for it to be good.”

“Give him a chance. Even if he doesn’t react the way you want at first…even if he’s angry as hell…give that to him. He’ll come around. I don’t doubt it. In the slightest. He’s a smart man. Smarter than anyone gives him credit for.”

“I always thought so too. That everyone underestimated him. That he underestimated himself. I can’t wait to see him.” Tears threaten once again. “It’s all I’ve wanted. For almost five years. Just to see him. To hear his voice. Just be in the same room with him again.”

“Soon.“Very soon.”

“I just hope he wants the same thing. Who knows; maybe he’s been waiting for this too. I don’t think it’s too much to ask, do you? That maybe he feels the same way? That maybe he’s missed me too? That maybe he still loves me?”

“Oh sweetheart…” Leaning forward in her seat, Abuela reaches across the coffee table; gently cradling the younger woman’s cheek in her palm. “...I don’t that it’s too much to ask at all”

[6ftslytherin]

The Stranger In My Best Friend's Skin

Warning: elements of the story center around the sever depression of a character. This includes self harm, an anxiety attack, internalized homophobia, and a suicide attempt. Reader discretion is advised.

Rowan got the news last week. Her best and first friend in the entire world was going to be an inpatient at the Waterhouse psychiatric ward. For the past three days, she had tried to ask Sabine if she could visit, only to receive no reply. Today was different, however. Her letter had received a simple "yes" to her question this time. Rowan wasn't going to waste this opportunity.

Now here she was, seeing Sabine for the first time in months. But that wasn't the same Sabine she had seen leave King's Crossing. It was as if she had aged at least twenty years in their short time apart. Heavy bags had formed under her tired eyes. Her hair had grown a bit longer. Her cheeks had never been the fullest, but upon closer inspection, they had become sunken. She was wearing a simple gray t-shirt and jeans. There was a leather wristband on her left side. Despite her default shoes being sneakers, she was wearing slip-ons now. She had always looked older than she was. She was six feet tall by the time they were thirteen, and now, a year later, she looked like she had lived several lifetimes.

"Uh.... hey." Rowan said, trying the best she could to not let her nervousness bleed through. Sabine smiled just a little. "Hello," she said. "I must look like the living dead at this point. They wouldn't let me bring in my skin care stuff. They said some talented potion makers are able to use them." Rowan wanted to argue back. She wanted to support her friend at rock bottom, but she couldn't get the words together fast enough. "Why don't we talk in the courtyard? This is a facility for the rich, so it's gorgeous." Sabine said. "Yeah, sure." Rowan said as Sabine led her to their destination.

It was gorgeous. Plants cascaded from large pots like a verdant waterfall. Blooming flowers of subtle colors, probably to not overwhelm people. They sat at a marble picnic table under the shade of an elm tree. As Rowan looked around, an offensive, acidic smell came out of nowhere. She turned back to Sabine as she took a drag of a Marlboro Red. "This is the only place they let me smoke. Give it a minute." She said. Suddenly the air became full of the scent of flowers, completely getting rid of the smell.

"The plants here were used to cover up an unpleasant aroma." Sabine said. Rowan looked at her friend as a pit grew in her stomach. She remembered the first time she caught Sabine smoking. On April 19, 1987, Sabine tried to cover up what she had been doing, but the lingering sting in the air masked any lie she could think of. Rowan chewed her out for it. Yelling about cancer, emphysema, and COPD. Looking back on it, maybe reacting that way wasn't the best considering where they currently were.

Sabine was playing with her silver lighter, flicking it on and off. "I didn't think they'd let you have that here." Rowan said he was glad to have some words to break the tension. "I didn't either." Sabine said, not taking her eye off the lighter's flame. "It's this wristband I'm wearing. It's had a spell put on it so that I'm unable to physically hurt myself or others. I also can't take it off; my doctor has to do it." She reached her hand towards the flame and attempted to grab it, only for the small fire to die before contact was made.

"That's good." Rowan said. She knew that Sabine would never hurt anyone, but she remembered back on the train from Hogwarts. It was just for a moment when Sabine changed into her street clothes, but Rowan saw something. Scars running horizontally across her inner thigh. Since Sabine was a fast dresser, it was only for a moment, but she had seen it. Rowan wanted to say something. But maybe she misunderstood what she had seen. That had to be it. Sabine would never do that.

"Yet, for some reason, they still don't allow shoes with laces here." She finally set the lighter down. Once again, the awkward silence came. Rowan had a myriad of emotions thundering in her gut. Sabine was different, to put it mildly. Sabine was cheerful. She was noble and kind.

She was happy.

At least, that's what everyone thought.

"It is good to see you again. I do appreciate this." Sabine said. "Oh, it's nothing. I'd do anything to help you get better." Rowan said, putting on a cheerful face. Sabine smiled the same small, tired smile from before. A peek of the Sabine she knew from before everything that had recently happened.

Everything went quiet again as Sabine continued to smoke. What could they talk about? Would she be offended if she asked about everything? What about before? Would that be okay?

"They're saying I shouldn't start my fourth year this fall at the same time as everyone else. They want me to wait and see if the medication balances me out better. It's not as bad as this one kid here. He's schizophrenic, and his parents are homeschooling him. He's not even that bad. His family probably just doesn't want people to know about his condition." Sabine said. "Oh, what are you on?" Rowan said. What are you doing? What a stupid question. "I don't remember. It's something long that starts with a c." Sabine said. She took another drag.

"They diagnosed me with severe depression. That's an understatement." She said. "Yeah, everything considered..." Rowan said it without thinking. Another moment of stiff silence followed as Sabine looked at her cigarette. "Does this situation make you uncomfortable? You don't have to lie." Rowan squirmed. She did the same as Sabine and stared at her hands. "Yeah. It does." What else could she have said? Sabine took a breath.

"Thank you. I appreciate your honesty." Sabine said. Rowan looked up at Sabine, even though she didn't meet her gaze. She was clearly thinking about something. "My parents have been trying to act like this messed-up situation doesn't... I don't know how to put it. They acknowledge that I need help and that it's a good thing that I'm getting it, but the look in their eyes when they visit is like they're looking at a ghost. Maybe that's what I am, but they don't know how to break it to me."

The words sent a shiver up Rowan's spine. She understood that the position Sabine's parents were in would definitely not be easy. Especially considering that after the disappearance of Jacob, she was the only child they had left at home. Her oldest brother, Yosef, was in Switzerland as a bassist in a renowned orchestra. John died as a child in a hit-and-run. Now this.

Rowan touched Sabine on the hand, causing their eyes to meet. "See? You can't be a ghost because I can touch you." Sabine smiled again. Rowan was feeling pretty good about this visit. Three smiles from a severely depressed person is a good sign, right? Suddenly, Sabine looked away again; her smile faded back to nothingness. She clearly went back to whatever she was thinking of before.

"I feel dead."

Nausea swelled in Rowan's gut. She felt like she was going to puke right then and there. But she fought the acid that was crawling up the back of her throat. "Well, don't worry. You'll get better before you know it. We'll be drinking butterbeer at the Three Broom Sticks and getting candy from Honeydukes. Not to mention that the quidditch team would really struggle without you."

Sabine made a little noise from her throat, clearly still thinking about whatever was swirling in her mind. Once again, silence snuck between them. How long were visiting hours here anyway?

"Rowan?" Sabine suddenly said, shaking Rowan back to the current moment. "What do you think of homosexuals?" She asked, not lifting her eyes from the pot of flowers she was staring at. "Uh, they're okay, I guess. I mean, people are people, no matter who they're attracted to. Like, André's a really nice fella, and he's pretty open about liking guys." Rowan answered. "I see..." Sabine almost whispered.

"Do you know that model, Yvonne Silverpot?" She said she was not changing the focus of her vision. "Well yeah. Who doesn't? She's always showing up on magazine covers." Rowan said. Suddenly, Sabine looked a little bit more tired. "She stayed at my home for a few weeks about a month ago. She was working with my mother on a project for her new fashion line." She said.

"That's cool. Did you get an autograph?" Rowan asked. Sabine said nothing. Rowan wondered if she had said the wrong thing. For some reason, she felt like she was more likely to say the wrong thing than anyone else. "We became fast friends." Sabine smiled again. "And then one day she asked me if I had ever kissed anyone before. I thought it was just girl talk, and I answered truthfully with a no. Then she asked..."

Sabine started playing with the lighter again. "She asked me if I wanted to kiss her, and I did. It just felt so good. We were inseparable the entire time she was there, but we had different ideas about what we were doing. I fell for her. She just wanted a short fling."

Rowan stared at Sabine. She had always suspected that her masculine friend wasn't interested in boys. It was weird to hear her admit it for the first time. And the fact that she had been seeing a famous model for a few weeks? Was Rowan supposed to say something? What could she say? She decided the best course of action was to stay quiet.

Sabine continued, "I always knew how I was." I would have crushes on girls and not be able to tell anyone. It was better before I was the only legitimate heir left. It wasn't necessary for me to get married. Then my brothers were gone, and I was expected to grow up and continue the bloodline. I tried to hide my feelings, but..." She laid her head on the table. "After Yvonne, after feeling the love of another girl, I couldn't go back. I was a disgrace to the Lowell name and our illustrious history. The night she left, I had the worst panic attack of my life. I thought I was having a heart attack. I didn't get help. I kept myself locked in my room. If it was a heart attack, I wanted it to take me. That's when I decided I was better off dead. It was better than being the solitary dyke who would never be the prefect daughter." She finished her cigarette and let out a big puff of smoke before putting it out in an ashtray that Rowan hadn't noticed before.

Sabine laughed. "It was such a relief. The idea that my suffering would soon be over made me the happiest I'd been in forever." She finally pulled her head up, meeting Rowan's gaze. The exhaustion in her face was more pronounced than before. Her brown eyes were seemingly as old as the earth itself. The hand that wasn't playing with the lighter was unconsciously trying to dig her nails into her palm. If she hadn't been wearing the bracelet, the skin would have probably torn. Sabine slammed the lighter onto the table, making it close.

"I tried to kill myself because of a girl. Isn't that the most pathetic thing you ever heard?" She laughed while her body shook from nerves.

Rowan was someone who thought first and determined the best course of action. This time, she didn't. She jumped from her spot at the table. She rounded the side of it and grabbed Sabine, hugging her as tightly as her arms could. Rowan never considered herself to be good with people. But she couldn't help herself. She couldn't let Sabine feel alone for another moment. She didn't know what to say about the situation, but she did the best she could in that moment, as what Sabine had said caused a maelstrom in her head.

"I'm sorry." Sabine said. "I can't ever be the person you knew again. I'm just too damn tired to try."

Rowan managed to find her voice again. "That's alright. We'll work on this together. You don't have to pretend anymore. You're sick right now, and everyone who loves you is going to help you get better. Me included. I said I'd do anything to help you get better, and I mean what I said."

Sabine slowly reached her arms around Rowan. She hugged back as fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

------------‐------------

"Could you tell me where we're going now?" Sabine asked Rowan. "Not yet!" Rowan said, continuing to pull Sabine forward. Sabine had been back at Hogwarts for only a day. She had come a week after the start of their fourth year. She wanted to at least catch up on her schoolwork a little. Yet here she was being taken to who knows where in the Hogwarts castle, and by Rowan no less! She thought Rowan would be ready to help her catch up at a moment's notice.

"Here we are!" Rowan said as she stopped in front of a door. Sabine looked around. It was just a disused classroom. "You've got to see what's in here!" Rowan said, gesturing to the door. Was this about one of the Cursed Vaults? I might as well see what the deal is.

Sabine opened the door, only to have a bunch of confetti fall on her. She shook her head like a dog. When she opened her eyes again, she saw all her friends. Not only that, but there were cupcakes and a tub of ice with soda bottles in it on one of the tables. Upon closer inspection, the entire room was decorated. There were floating balls of light that looked like stars. Green and gold streamers hung from the walls. On the wall across from the door Sabine was standing in was a banner. On it was the phrase, "Welcome back!"

Sabine turned around. Rowan was watching her reaction to the surprise. "We wanted to surprise you." Rowan said it with a smile. Sabine turned back to the room. Penny walked up to her. "This was all Rowan's idea; she organized everything." Penny gave Sabine a big, warm hug.

Sabine was caught off guard. "Uh... thanks guys! I don't know what to say." She said. Sabine started to nervously laugh. "This isn't too much, is it?" Ben sheepishly asked. "No, no. I'm just surprised, is all." Sabine said, "Why are we doing this?" " Because Rowan said you needed some cheering up. "We didn't need a reason beyond that, considering everything you've done for us." Charlie said. "Not me. I'm just here for the snacks." Merula said. Ismelda nudged her in the ribs. "And maybe because things are boring without you." Merula said it, but more quietly this time.

Rowan walked closer to Sabine. "I didn't tell them why you were absent. You tell them when you're ready." She whispered in her ear. Rowan walked in front of her and turned back to her. "Come on, Jae and I spent all day on these cupcakes! They're red velvet." She said. "Right." Sabine said to follow her.

"Where have you been anyway?" Barnaby asked. Sabine stopped in her tracks. She took a breath and replied, "I was very sick. Now Rowan is helping me get better." She said it with a truthful smile.

[direwombat]

tagged by @natesofrellis​ and @socially-awkward-skeleton​

and taggin forward: @thomrainer​​, @strangefable​​, @purplehairsecretlair​​, @adelaidedrubman​​, @strafethesesinners​​, @confidentandgood​​, @noetikat​​, @aceghosts​​, @funkypoacher​​, @harmonyowl​​, @deputyash​​, @sstewyhosseini​​, and anyone else who wants to share some of their wips before the ball drops on 2023!

the writing has been slow this uh...whole month...but here’s a rough start of syb’s canonical storyline! 

[Sybille] stares at the tangled mess of a conspiracy that she supposes may not be so conspiratorial after the goddamned bitch of a night she just had. Newspaper clippings, photographs, scrawled notes that she might have once disregarded as the rambling of a madman all pinned up on a cork-board, all connected by red string. Somehow, Dutch had managed to tie together events, found the common threads that ultimately led back to the Seeds. Succeeded in piecing the puzzle together where the Sheriff’s Department had failed.

The signs were right there, staring them right in the face. Why hadn’t they acted sooner?

“Christ,” she sighs. Dutch comes to stand next to her, handing her a cup of coffee, which she gratefully takes. The ceramic mug is the first warm thing she’s felt since being pulled out of the river. She cradles it in her hands, shivering as the heat slowly works its way from her fingers to the rest of her body. “How did we miss all this?”

“Peggies ain’t exactly trusting people,” Dutch shrugs. “They kept most of this under wraps for years. They were careful. Moved slow until suddenly they metastasized like a fuckin’ cancer. And now that this “Reaping” as Joseph calls it has started, shit’s only gonna get worse.”

Sybille’s jaw clenches, not taking her eyes off the pictures of the family who fucked the whole county. “Let me guess: you want me to be the surgeon in this metaphor.”

“We need as many able-bodied people as we can if we want to stand a chance against the Cult. Being a good shot is a bonus.”

She turns her head to look at him, her eyes narrowed. “You need a soldier,” she says plainly. She’s more than familiar with the speeches. So many commanding officers have touted the need to band together against a common enemy -- protect your country -- when what they really mean is that she and her brothers and sisters in arms need to kill so other people don’t need to. She’s made her peace with the grim reality of the blood on her hands. There’s no need to pussyfoot around it. 

She’s being asked to kill again. The war she had been so gracelessly kicked out of seems to have followed her back home. And not in the way it does most who make it out. 

Dutch gives her a sympathetic smile. She may not be wearing the fatigues anymore, but the look of a soldier is unmistakable. She carries it with her wherever she goes. It’s in the set of her jaw and square of her shoulders. It’s in the way she needs to have a visual on all entrance and egress points and how her eyes instinctively track every subtle movement, even the ones that aren’t really there.

“We need more than that, Dep,” Dutch says. “We need a leader.”

She really shouldn’t laugh, but the irony is nigh unbearable. Promoted to Staff Sergeant only to be sent home and find herself as the Junior Deputy. The Rookie. “Your confidence in me, while deeply unfounded, is appreciated,” she says. “But all I want is to find my brother.”

Please. Please let Augustine be alright.

“Then odds are he’s caught in this shit too.” Dutch sighs. “Look, I ain’t gonna make you do anything you don’t want to, but I think you know that your best chance at finding your brother is by helping the people of the county. Someone’s bound to have seen him.”

She turns back to the conspiracy board and drinks her coffee. Black and scalding, just how she likes it. Her eyes track the map underneath the mess of papers and photos, landing on the Whitetail Park’s Ranger’s Station. It’s where her brother was on duty last night. Hopefully he and his coworkers were able to pull together and hold their position. She knows he’s armed, at the very least, but guns meant to frighten off bears won’t mean shit against a fucking army.

Goddammit. Dutch is right, isn’t he?  

She sighs and gives him an appraising look. Prepper-type like him must have some weapons stashed somewhere in his bunker. Some of them might even be legally obtained. Not that it matters now. “I’m gonna need a gun.”

[barnabyseyelashes]

crewmate’s log

life (?) update

been writing this for a while mentally i guess. really good at just thinking things and not doing them. but an update bc i know i’ve been absent; for some of you longer than others, and i do regret and am sorry for that. i do love and care about you and think about you all even when i am gone, and i hope everyone has been holding on. 

i feel like i’m one of the maquis adrift on the voyager, and it has been a long, lonely hard travel. and unfortunately often i feel like a worse person for it. 

general c/tw for illness/covid/cancer, IPV, parental death. it is kinda long so feel free to skim/skip as needed. 

my spouse and i have very little IRL support, we have been paying over $4k usd a month on rent alone, my mom and sister are the only family i’ve spoken to since december. spouse working full time in thankfully a better job with a shorter commute but having to care full time for me & our elderly ill cat when at home. 

and this is probably the sickest i’ve ever been in my life which is saying a lot, considering ive been poisoned by toxic black mold before & have dealt with literally crippling stomach issues previous. ever since november everything has been happening. i slept basically all december, i was too tired to be awake more than 3-5 hours at a time most days. i haven’t even been able to wash my hair or proper shower since. much of december and january i was unable to walk (and i mean literally dragging myself with my arms/using my moms walker as crutches unable to walk) which was a fun new exciting development. thankfully we started to live our current place by then, as our apartment is on the second floor with awful cinder stairs. though we still haven’t moved for real and are stuck paying for it until near may. soooo really uh not jazzed to find out how we will move in the next two months when i still have days i can’t walk. especially since again we basically have no IRL support. i’m doing better at least a little, i’ve started nutrient IV therapy again which is helping even if it’s extremely difficult (and expensive). my stomach is still so fucked up that i can barely eat. it’s so clenched all the time if i have more than like 3 crackers i will have Lead Weight and 6-10 hours of pain :) thank you cannabis literally without her i would not be eating at all. even still i’m belching like a beer hall competitor for hours most days it fucking sucks. the only real progress tho has been that at least i’ve been having a lot fewer panic attacks and less general anxiety now that we are living in our new spot which i’m very grateful for. kinda surprising bc usually if my stomach hurts i have anxiety and often panic so that at least has been a relief. the rest of my brain has been fucking trash garbage tho, nonverbal or partially verbal mostly. multiple meltdowns a week when b4 it was a biannual occurrence. no brain power, lots of autistic rage & ideation. just awful to be & inflict on everyone else. i am sorry for that. it is largely why i shut down at times. i simply fucking have to. 

obviously i’ve been too sick to really do anything but spouse and i are deep in our pokémon hole and it’s keeping us good company. lol despite the graphics scvi are pretty good games. writing? character development? in MY pokémon main series game? more likely than you think.. 

still it’s so bittersweet to be saying sayonara to satoshi shounen, ah ah ahhh i’m gonna cry so hard (already have). but i think the new series will be good. it will just be different. 

also i was blessed bc in the first 30 min of playing i caught a shiny mareep, one of my top 6 fave lines and one of my fave shinies. i only caught 1 in pogo and so i was so jazzed. she’s carried us 💖 my beloved deanna (like dddk, not tng) 

one of the things that’s also been good is our new living situation, even if its annoying and complicated sometimes to share with other people, i’m glad we are living with my literal oldest friend and the only person from high school i still talk to lol. we have a cottage, bigger than our old one, and even tho it doesn’t have a bathroom, the insulation & windows are shit, it’s been good. & it is under 2k a month, we got a small room in the main house now too so spouse has an office & we have some extra storage. but the best is having space to make a large, productive garden, and my friends 3 ducks and 3 chickens. skip the next part if you don’t wanna see my essay about them LMAO.  

and omg gay people, i’ll never not be raising poultry now. bird flu in domestic flock was finally detected in our county this winter, which makes me sweat a bit but fingers crossed we will be ok. my friends ex (who lived here b4 us) did most of the bird care. since i’ve been here tho it’s basically all been me, and of my choice. tricky when i have been sick but truthfully they take about 20 min a day of daily care, and maybe an hour a week of general maitenence. in early autumn when we got here, it was so easy to be outside for hours with them.. no one had ever been able to pet them before. my friend wasn’t even trusted enough to see the duckies swim in their pool while she was in the yard! nowadays the two nonskittish ducks are happy to pop in there even if i’m in the splash zone 🤣 i’m awful i do love the ducks best because they are sweet, simple creatures who know what’s good in life (treats, bodies of water, naps, frequent loud gay sex) while the chickens are a bit mean 😭 i still haven’t resolved the pecking order issues (the lowest chicken, emma [cream legbar], always beats up on the nervous duck, lydia [ancona]) but hopefully in summer i’ll be able to help shift that. kitty (brown khaki campbell) & jane (silver welsh harlequin) are very well trained to “cmere” and eat readily (jane, too readily..) from my hand. the dominant chickens, boss lady/lizzie (black ameraucana supposably) & eleanor (grey lace silverruds blå) will do the same but they aren’t quite as good at the recall lol. i’ve been reading on raising them all, working on gentling them, and enriching their lives.. i love it. they have really helped me, especially kitty. she is very special. she is the smallest but she lays the hugest fucking eggs, and since mid autum it’s been DAILY. like lord girl you gotta stop and moult eventually your feathers are so tatty. spouse has breakfast every day now though. i’m allergic to eggs so 😂 oh well. they’re great fun to raise regardless. (i’ve even recently gotten skittish lydia to eat worms from my hand, so i’ve officially touched them all!!) 

anyway i could talk about my beloved birds for fuckin ever obviously lol but i also wanna write about my family a bit too, bc so much has happened. tw covid , IPV , cancer 

i may have had covid in summer/early fall but my mom and sis got it for real, both of them in december/january. i don’t remember which. my mom got hers likely from the hospital cuz her ONCOLOGIST told her to get her mri there instead of the specialty mri clinic :) which is nice. my mom has lymphoma as well as several autoimmune diseases and pretty severe mental illness. she has been sick in and off since. she is sick rn & i am missing this weeks IV because of that. so shout out to california removing mask requirements in healthcare settings as of april 🤮👍 

my sister got hers from her shitty ex bf. that man supported her while she dealt with numerous health issues and surgeries in.. 2020..1? 21 i think. idk. maybe both. he supported her thru the hell that the last year was. up until last month when he fucking attacked her over a disagreement about a LITTER BOX. literally grabbed her , held her, and dumped dirty cat litter box over her head then destroyed the box with a huge chefs knife. bc that’s a really normal response. my sister had to call the cops. she’s gonna get a restraining order against him and his fucked up parents. but now she’s out she’s realized he had been abusing her verbally & emotionally like their whole relationship. 💔 i’m just so glad she fucking survived and he didn’t do worse, good god. she has been staying in our apartment most of the winter bc covid and now until she can get her own place so even tho we are hemmoraghing money on that shithole, at least it’s useful.. bc lol my moms husband literally told my sister “well in your bfs defense, any guy would react like that to a woman behaving like that” LIKE UM? NO?!??!? so she isn’t comfortable being there. spouse and i never felt safe around that man and it is a large reason we moved from my cottage at my moms to my dads place to begin with. so at least we have officially broken off any relationship to that trash man which is great but my mom won’t leave him so i have to just make my peace that disease will take her if he doesn’t someday. fun stuff. 

tw parental death

also cool and fun things happening lately is that this saturday it will have been a year since my fathers physical form drew breath. to say this last 15 or so months have sucked shit is the biggest understatement ever. my aunt currently has like two days to settle his estate; yes she still has a large proportion of my sister & my inheritance. no i haven’t seen or spoken to her since my grandpas funeral in september but i’m the “child of her heart” like ok. & my da had a reverse mortgage on our home of 20 years, and they forced us to sell it within a few months instead of the 12 legally we were allowed. that move was absolute hell. and i had to spend 8k on movers just for some of them to 1% ass it; they literally broke multiple peices of my dads ceramic artworks bc i tried and tried to get people to help me pack them but no one but my mom did. she couldn’t manage them all. it’s hard to forgive myself. it’s so fucking enourmous to bear the weight of knowing i have to be the one who cares for and maintaines his body of work, at least the bulk of it. god that fucker i’m still mad he gave away my favourite bowl to a goddamn woman he met at the pool LMFAO classic mike manoeuvre. one of his brothers took the fish vase i wanted too.. and the vase that matches the one he was throwing when my moms water broke with me. if it was steve i forgive you because my uncle steve also is dying of bladder cancer rn (da had multiple myeloma, diagnosed 2016) and i feel shit for not speaking with him for months but. illness. larry you’re on thin ice, hugh if it was you i’ll kill you myself 🔪  same for you mary especially cuz u actually knew i wanted that shit. 

dads bday was literally in january but did any one of those bitches text me? no. did any of his friends text me? no. tbf i can barely respond to texts but like still.. i feel bad i haven’t seen or called my grandma but also. illness! been nonverbal most days! so like 🥲 everyone else has their grief too i get it but lol to have everyone say “we will be there for you” and for literally no one to be seen its very hurtful. at least one of his friends text me to check in on me and my sister yday. but it really truly feels like no one gives a shit. and with my moms lack of health i’m having to prepare to be an orphan within 5 years.  

my sister bought a star for him months ago in some registry. i didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was near meaningless, these registries aren’t anything, no one can own these things. but on clear nights i still look off the leading edge of the plow into whatever near nothingness that faint light is coming from, adrift in emptiness. 

———

anyways that’s pretty much all from me. (is it enough LOL. happy saturn return with saturn in sideral aquarius. in my 1H too 😩) as i get better i will be getting back slowly into discord and shit, i’ve literally just been too exhausted and unable to function. some of yiz have known abt some of this, but mostly my main acct tweeps & tumblr muts haven’t, so i just figured i would write this, and maybe it would help me in some way. hopefully i’ll be back on tumblr soon too, i literally just can’t use it with our internet (and lack of) here lmfao. i’ll slowly be getting this out to my e-circles as i have energy in the next days. 

sending love to you all in pawsitivity discord; yuri horse club, gabriel, kurt & folks from tumblr; and all the rest of yiz. (i don’t mean to forget or omit anyone, honest). i hate that illness & shit has kept me from you. the last year has taught me well to value the time we have and it is not guaranteed. i love you all, i miss you, and i am wishing you well. i am hoping to reconnect soon. beannachtaí 💚💙💜 

[maraeffect]

something i've been thinking about is how getting cancer as a young adult is.... so strange. especially when you're stage IV w/a cancer that has a very grim 5 year prognosis. because now, i have ZERO idea what my life plan is, or if i even want to invest the time and money required to get a career. like, when i was 13, my survival chances were high. we caught it early, only 1 tumor, and it was my first occurrence. plus, when you're 13, you have SO MUCH TIME to figure your plans out. college is so far away from then.

but now, i'm fighting with almost every single odd against me. i relapsed, which automatically lowers your survival rate to <20% on average. when we caught it, it was stage IV combination relapse, meaning it came back in the bone AND the lungs (survival rate...somewhere <10%). i showed practically 0 response to chemotherapy. and i'm older now, which means my body cannot fight cancer as well as the first time. the only reason i'm not currently on treatment is that i am in "surgical remission"; meaning that the tumors were just taken out, since chemo didn't help.

and that leaves me in a weird spot. because our only plan now is to watch and wait. i don't qualify for any clinical trials (except one halfway across the country) due to the nature of my relapse. while i'm waiting to hear back from that hospital, i just have to get scans every 3 months and hope that they're clear. i feel like i'm running from something that runs faster and harder than i ever could. i feel scared that every moment there could be something new forming inside me. so... what do i do with my life right now?

at what point am i supposed to carry on as usual? at what point do i start going back to school/work, and invest what COULD be limited time in something i may never see come to fruition? at what point do i throw paralyzing fear to the wind and pretend I'm just like everyone else? if my disease comes back, i'll feel like i've wasted time that i could have spent exploring the world or seeing my family. but if it doesn't, and i just stagnate, i'll hate myself for wasting my twenties.

the worst part is that i can't know the answer until it's smacking me across the face.

[ajcrwl]

tw death, illness

it seems like my mum will die this week.

me and the dog are going to be alone.

she's been showing symptoms of decline for a few months now, but last month everything started snowballing so fast, it became clear that there's nothing anyone can do anymore. literally a couple of weeks ago she was still talking and even tried to eat a little, and today she can't even drink through a straw anymore.

it's so fucked up that she's the first person i've ever met in this life, and she's the first person i will lay to rest soon.

her apartment has only one room, the whole year i had to sleep in the same room with her, and still have to sleep there even while she's dying. i'm spending most of the day in the kitchen, because i just can't bear to be with her all the time and see her like this, and i've still been crying non-stop for a few days.

she used to be super restless and wouldn't let me sleep, i slept at best 5 and a half hours at night. but now she mostly just grunts and moans, and i don't wake up that often, so i started sleeping better and seeing dreams. and oh boy my sleepy brain still hasn't caught up with reality - the dream that i had today was so lovely and full of hope and good feelings, and then i woke up, looked over to where she is, and she's all bruised, thin, smelling badly, and making random noises, and i started crying again.

i had this weirdly comforting thought, that technically i've been alone since the end of january '22, and i've been living with this strange memory of mum this whole time. she hasn't been here as a person since she fell ill. her personality has changed so badly, it was crazy. there was only one moment in the summer when i felt like she was back, and it lasted for exactly a day. and then another time recently after she had a seizure and came to, and was so lucid and kind to me and the dog, and then it faded the next day as well. and that's it.

had i known that she would struggle this much, i'd never push her through the operation, and radio-, and chemotherapy. but i couldn't have known. and ultimately, brain cancer won anyway.

they told me the statistics was 11 months. it's been a little over 13 months since first symptoms, 12,5 since we saw the tumour on a scan, and will be a year since the op on March 11th, but i don't think she will make it.

[greensupremetangerine]

TW: DEATH, SUICIDE

Everyone has their cause of death written on their forehead. You are a childhood cancer inpatient, have beem for years, and everyone has always been sweet and kind to you, because of course they are. You're a sick, pathetic child, and you won't die to cancer, but to some old person's disease that you can't pronounce. Sometimes you wish it was cancer though. The outside world seems scary, and chemo has not been gentle to your growing body. You're afraid that everyone outside will be mean, and since your mom's forehead says "car crash", you know she won't be around forever, and that scares you just as much.

Everyone has a timer over their head, counting down to their death. Before you were old enough to understand, you made friends with a sweet girl in your elementary class, and the weekend after she first kissed you she left and never returned. Her house caught on fire and killed only her and her cat, and your 9-year-old self cried for weeks. You're hesitant to make any friends now. You have decades to live, but your heart can only break so many times.

Everyone has a timer over their head, counting down to their death. You've lived a long life, and hospitals don't take older patients that are dying soon. You're laying in your bed, feeling life draining out of you as your final minutes tick by. What's left of your family is here to bid adieu. Your son and daughter, one of their spouses, and three of their children. They all leave when you ask; when you reach your last minute. You're closing your eyes when your grandson bursts back in, chased by his cousins, and they all cling to your sheets with big blobs of tears in their eyes. The last thing you hear is a sorrowful chorus of "we love you".

Everyone has their cause of death written on their forehead. Many people cover it up with makeup, maybe feeling shameful, maybe feeling fearful. You do the same, not wanting anyone to ask questions. Youve spent years people pleasing, enough so to wear you down to the bone. It's rare for someone's cause of death to change, but it usually makes the news. One day, feeling your absolute worst, you look in the mirror to cover your forehead and find that "dehydration" had been replaced with "drowning". Finding sick humor in it, you laugh, then cry, and finish your makeup. Only a month later, calmly standing on the edge of a pier on a stormy night, where the waves whipped and crashed against the shore, do you realize that somehow, you had shortened your fate, and that perhaps more people's fates changed, but the news didnt want to talk about lives cutting off sooner than expected.

Everyone has a timer over their head, counting down to their death. You were born with a timer five minutes longer than your mother's, and your sister was born with one second less than yours. Your brother, too, had a timer shorter than yours, by almost an hour, just barely shorter than your father's. All your life you knew you'd all die on the same day, so you treated everyone kindly and lived to the best of your ability, but did not work on your grades, or your physique, or love life, or anything. It didn't matter anyway, not if you'd die before you were twenty. You kissed someone once, you volunteered at shelters, and counted down with your timer to the day you'd all die. It came in the form of their house exploding, and your father and brother suffocated under rubble. An hour later, still trapped inside, your mom was struck in the head by falling debris as she tried in vain to retrieve their bodies, and you hugged your sister tight. You looked at each other's timers, smiling one last time before the house exploded again, long at bitter peace with what you knew would happen.

Everyone has their cause of death written on their forehead. You felt at peace when you married your husband, because just like you, he was fated for a car crash. You trusted that you would die together, and he often soothed you when you got in the driver's seat beside him, because you still wanted to be with him. On a dark rainy night, you took a turn too quickly and you both tumbled over a cliff, and you met eyes as you fell, knowing that was it, and you had lived and loved as much as you could. But you wake up alone later, in the emergency room, and the doctors deliver the horrifying news that you now had no one to come home to. You knew then that you could never drive again, amd there was nothing more cruel than losing the peace you had grown comfortable in.

everybody’s always on writing prompts like “what if there was a world where everyone had a timer ticking down to their death… but you met someone whose timer said infinity!” or “what if everyone had their cause of death tattooed across their forehead… but you met someone whose forehead said THE CREATURE!” Enough -

enough. stop with the shock value. there is no need to insert THE CREATURE; the benign concept of such a world is horrifying enough. not even in urgency, but just in banal, everyday interaction. imagine you meet someone and their timer says two years. not tomorrow, not urgently soon, but two years. enough to do quite a lot. they could fall in love in that time - could they get engaged? have a baby? you might otherwise get to know them, befriend them, but perhaps you opt not to, make a conscious choice not to invest in your own grief. what balancing act would every individual person have to participate in - I have ten years, is that long enough to be a good mother to children? is that long enough to secure a caretaker for my own mother? my wife will die a few months before me. my newborn’s timer reads nineteen years.

and cause of death. you interview for a job and emblazoned across the healthy, smiling face of the HR lady is MALNUTRITION. your country is prospering, safe, but every person you meet on the street from the babies to the old women read BOMB. BOMB. what kind of havoc would fate wreak on the world? what about the loss of privacy? how would that shape our notions of hope? idk man I think a lot of those ancient poems were right, and the fates are monsters. I’m interested by the framing of these ideas as trite horror tales when the premises themselves are so much more disturbing if simply taken to their logical ends

[jodilinbio]

Part 47

Written in 2012

2012 turned out to be one of our best years, though it came with significant losses. This time, it wasn’t about financial or material loss—it was about death. I find myself almost wondering who might be next.

On February 24th, my father passed away. Then, on September 23rd, my mother followed. On October 15th, my beloved Italian foster mom died, and on December 21st, my brother Larry succumbed to liver cancer.

We also lost two pet rats—first Tinkerboy, then a baby rat we’d adopted to keep Romeo, Tink’s replacement, company. Sugar has since joined us to fill Julien’s place.

In January, Nane and I reconciled and I’m in touch with her, others I’ve mentioned, as well as Becky and Maria from Valleyhead.

In the spring, Tom secured a new job with excellent pay and benefits, even though the hours are tough. With this stability, I was finally able to address my dental needs, getting cavities filled and a bridge to replace a tooth I’d lost back in Oregon.

June brought an unexpected shock: Kim proved to be worse than Molly in some ways. I’d known she was a bit odd and not particularly sharp, but I never anticipated she’d turn into a relentless stalker. Alison and I both cut ties with her. While she’s left Alison alone—likely because Alison has since joined the FBI—she continues to target me anonymously on a question-and-answer site.

Kim’s excessive behaviors and repetitive questions were always annoying, but what truly disturbed me was her lack of empathy and respect. Her fascination with celebrities and role-playing, something we were aware of, became problematic when she started impersonating celebrities on sites like Twitter. This was more than just fondness—it was an obsession. When confronted, she would immediately deny it, deactivate her account, and become highly defensive—a classic guilty reaction, as Aly observed.

Aly suspected that Kim was anonymously asking her rude and personal questions on the question site as well. When I realized Kim was likely behind it, based on her activity on the site, she reacted as she usually did when caught and called out: she blocked me on Facebook. I thought that would be the end of it, but I was wrong. Confronting her only caused her to follow and bully us everywhere.

If I’d known that confronting her would provoke this crap, I’d have quietly distanced myself as Aly did. I now see that the woman I once considered a friend held a hidden resentment toward me—and likely toward others as well. Gone are any feelings of sympathy for her and I can see why her older sister has custody of her. She likely has some form of retardation.

Kim has now resorted to pestering me under anonymity, reaching out not just as celebrities but as people Aly and I actually know. Though her questions are often harmless and casual, the fact that she won’t respect my requests to leave me alone is deeply troubling. It’s even more bothersome when she tries to contact Andy. He may not mind, but I do. I’ve had to keep my Facebook friends list hidden and restrict my profile to friends only for privacy so they don’t end up being harassed just for being connected to me.

Molly now lives in a group home and may have issues, but she’s only ever been Molly. Molly seldom contacts me and doesn’t hide behind anonymity.

After four years of dealing with Molly and seven months of Kim, I wonder how much longer this will continue. If Molly becomes problematic again, I could potentially report her to her group home. But with Kim, there’s no one to hold accountable except herself.

With my parents’ deaths came a newfound resentment toward them that surpasses anything I’ve ever felt. Their masks were stripped away, and the false “wealthy” image they tried so hard to project was exposed when it was discovered that my mother—likely without my father’s knowledge—had gone on a credit card spree in their final years. Maybe they were never truly wealthy, but they were quite comfortable most of their lives, and they could’ve done more to help me if they’d cared enough. When I saw photos of their beautiful condo, I felt more resentment than happiness for them. They lived well while my husband and I struggled in a rundown trailer, even though we worked as hard—if not harder—to get ahead.

When they rescued us from homelessness in 2007, I was immensely grateful, feeling almost as if I owed them my life despite their past treatment. But as time went on, I realized they hadn’t always been there for me when I truly needed them. Yes, they helped in 2007, but where were they when I needed rescuing from institutions like Brattleboro Retreat or Valleyhead? Or when I was living in poverty on disability and food stamps in the slums?

In the end, Dad’s heart gave out as we’d expected it might someday, and shortly afterward, my mother suffered a stroke and lost the will to live. They were both cremated, but I refused my mom’s ashes. I cried a little when Dad passed but didn’t shed a tear for Mom or Larry, nor will I ever.

Have you ever suddenly come to a realization about something? For years, I’d wondered whether she gave me up or if the State took me away. Then, out of the blue one day, the answer hit me as I thought back on my last morning at home before the State took over. She gave me up. That’s why she was so determined to get me up for school and out to the bus that morning, even though I insisted I didn’t feel well.

Once I got older, more mature, and able to see her for who she truly was, it all made sense. Her behavior aligned with everything I’d come to understand about her; after all, she never wanted me around to begin with.

Anyway, their vehicle, store, and condo were recently sold off, bit by bit. Despite their shortcomings, it was sad to see parts of their lives being sold one by one. I may receive a small inheritance, though nothing near what they’d led me to expect over the years. I’ve had my hopes dashed about money before, but this time will be the last.

I assumed I would drift away from my remaining family entirely after my parents’ deaths, but life doesn’t always go as expected. Surprisingly, Tammy and I have grown closer, and I now keep in touch with two of my four nieces.

Jennifer has allowed her father’s lies to keep her away, Lisa has some serious issues, and I have a nephew I don’t know or care to know. Only God knows how many children Larry fathered before he passed—he was a bit of a ladies’ man. He married a 21-year-old named Stefanie, and they had a son named Jason. Most would agree that 21 is too young to have a child and 58 is too old, but that was Larry for you—a great sense of humor and quite a character.

Tammy and I have always been different in many ways, but enduring the same abusive upbringing has created a bond between us. She’s let me vent and cry, and she and her husband, Mark, plan to visit us soon.

Even my extended family has reached out. I’m now connected with cousins Philip, Sharyn, Michelle, and Norma on Facebook. My Aunt Ruth, Uncle Ronnie, and other cousins still ignore me, but that’s okay. I only want people in my life who truly want to be there, and I only want to be part of the lives of those who want me in theirs.

The hardest loss was Anne’s, my Italian foster mom. Though I only stayed with her briefly when I was 16, she and her husband, Harry, left a permanent, treasured mark on my heart. They were the parents I never had but always wished for.

The way I discovered Mom’s passing was almost surreal. She popped into my mind out of the blue one day, and I was flooded with memories and dreams of my time with her. I tried searching for her, but it was as if she had disappeared. I hoped that since I couldn’t find an obituary, she must still be alive. Deep down, though, I think I knew otherwise.

Later, while studying Italian, I realized I’d been misspelling her maiden and married names. When I searched again, I found her obituary and burst into tears. I was too late. She had passed peacefully at 81, surrounded by family. It was a bittersweet comfort to know she hadn’t suffered, and I was surprised to learn Harry was still alive. Unsure if he had an online presence at his age, I decided to write him a letter.

I regret not staying in touch and not having the chance to say goodbye. But the night before I discovered her obituary, I had a strong feeling—could it have been her spirit saying goodbye? Was it a psychic moment, or just a strange coincidence? Even one of the rats acted out of character, leaping from my arms as if suddenly startled by something unseen. Who knows if he sensed something I couldn’t. This wasn’t the first time someone popped into mind that I soon discovered recently passed.

Aside from a possible unexpected onset of menopause (I’m over two weeks late), Tom and I are in good health and are excited to buy a mobile home in a 55+ community this year!