#and my new ones will have a normal phillips head instead of a star :))))))))))

[salticid]

made like a pad of masking tape to hold my computers loose charger port in place meaning that now both the outside and inside of my laptop are held together with tape. feeling good about it

[http-paprika]

There Was Something Here Once but a new day hides that haze

alternative universe / call of duty x female reader / taglist open / wc 2623 / warnings light swearing / no use of y/n / ship not yet decided / no beta, my grammarly hates me

a word from the author- i started classes in August, so I'm not on top of my writing but I started this the other day and wanting to share it with ya'll because it's too good. And for the pairing, I'm between two characters so you'll just have to see how it goes.

Dew clings to the windshield, a heavy fog leaving the morning hazy and gray. Autumn would soon have a firm hold on the small, quiet town of Aberdeen, making the weather impossible to bear if one did not have a good flannel or coat. Which was a new addition to her wardrobe when she made plans to leave the city and hide away. The one postcard sent from her college friend, the one responsible for getting her this new job, boasted a quaint downtown, heavy snows, and an eerie ambiance she couldn’t shake no matter how hard she tried. It was Twin Peaks personified, just lacking David Duchovny and a young Kyle MacLachlan. 

The engine of her Ford Bronco sputters and creaks. The old vehicle had spent the whole drive up protesting the hills and winding roads that left her constantly breaking. Now, it seemed her ancient car, that she had served her faithfully through college and early adult years, had decided to kick her in the ass. 

“No, no, no.” She groans, hitting her head against the hard steering wheel and instantly regretting it. There’d be a bruise later in the day with her luck. “Not today, baby. I’ve only been at this job a week, I can’t be late already.” 

It would be just her bad luck that the car would give out, her luck that the cell service was questionable so she couldn’t even call. But what wouldn’t be her normal bout of unfortunate events was the man who lived just down the road that she’d seen tinkering with an old sports car. She pops up her head, remembering his existence and hurries out into the morning chill. 

With her fingers crossed together that the stranger would not be a creep, she walks in a fast pace down the cracked asphalt to the little arts and crafts home that sat at the bottom of the hill. There was a blooming garden out front, despite the change in seasons, vegetable, herbs and a few flowers bursting to life and ready for harvest. The two rocking chairs on the front porch made her a little less nervous. Whoever the home belonged to, they seem charming enough in their landscape and aesthetic. 

Hands trembling, she knocks against the screen door, wondering if she should open it and knock directly on the faded blue front door. But after a few knocks, the sound of muffled footsteps reached her ears and soon enough the door was unlocked and opened. Except, the man standing in the doorway was not who she’d seen tinkering with the car, instead, he struck her as a cowboy. Someone who would’ve starred in the western movies her father watched when she was a kid. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, a dull but still visible southern twang visible in his voice. Maybe he was a cowboy, his checkered shirt and worn down boots said as much. 

“Oh, um–” She pauses, trying to collect herself so as to not sound like a fool. The anxiety of being late and belittled by her unruly coworkers was pressing deep into her skin. “I’m sorry for disturbing you so early in the morning. But I just moved into the house up the road last week and my car doesn't want to run today and I’m going to be late for work. I had noticed in passing before that there’s someone in this household who works on cars and was wondering if he’d be willing to take a look at the engine for me? I’m helpless with mechanics.” 

The man nods, understanding her plea for help. “That’s right, John spends all his free time on that hunk of shit.” 

“Are you talking bad about my car again, Phillip?” A booming voice asked from inside the house, it caused her to stand at attention being vividly alert. Suddenly, the man she’d seen while driving by is standing over Phillip’s shoulder, hands resting on Phillip’s hips and a tilt to his head. “Hello there, not often we get new people in these parts.” 

“She just moved into the Riley’s house, her car is acting up, John.” Phillip tells the newcomer in the conversation. Together, the men made quite a fitting pair, rugged and worn at the edges, with various lengths of facial hair and two sets of blue eyes. Without them having to say it out loud, she could feel the warmth of their shared intimacy, a love she could only envy and never grasp. 

“Really? Never thought anyone would be willing to buy it— Ow!” John grumbles, rubbing his side where Phillip had jutted his elbow. “Right, your car. Let me get my things.” 

She frowns at the statement the man had begun but been unable to finish. What had John meant by that? Sure, the house wasn't the nicest, there were cobwebs in corners, cracks on some of the window panes, and a musty smell from sitting empty for a while, but it was a nice enough house. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a cozy kitchen that looked out into the woods. It was a quaint cottage that was a dream come true compared to the studio apartment she’d left behind. 

John disappears back into the house, leaving her with an awkward look on her face as Phillip stands there. She wants to ask what John meant by it, the curiosity or rather fear of the truth taps insistently against her skull. But she imagined her neighbor would just shut her down like he’d done with his partner. 

“If it can be fixed, John can fix it, ma’am. He owns and runs the little auto shop in town, you’ve probably seen it. It’s the only one in this hellhole.” Phillip tells her, breaking up the static silence that had overcome them. 

“You don’t like it here?” She raises a brow, surprised to hear it. The few coworkers she had at her new job only sang the praises of Abedreen, telling her it was the greatest little town to live in. But it was clear in Phillip’s tone that he didn’t share the sentiment. 

“I like John, that’s enough to take me anywhere.” 

There was a faithfulness in his voice she didn’t think she’d ever heard outside of television and novels. Her parents were divorced when she was a girl, all her friends in college seemed to have constant relationship problems and doubts, but there wasn’t a doubt in his words. 

“Alright, lead the way.” John reappears behind his partner with a fat toolbox in hand, seemingly unaware of what Phillip had said. But she had a suspicion he knew, because as subtle as it was, she noticed John loop his finger quickly through the belt loop of Phillip’s jeans and tug slightly. And as she turned away to walk off the porch, the smile on Phillip’s face was as visible as the mist that hung in front of her. 

The crunching of John’s boots on top of the gravel kept her company as they walked back to the road. There was a clear impression that the man was the less talkative of the couple, using few words to get his point across. Normally, she wouldn’t mind, but his big hulking figure following her like a shadow kept her nervous. While Phillip had reminded her of the movies her father used to watch, John reminded her of her father. Broad shoulders, dark hair covering his jaw, lack of conversation, and intimidating stature. She couldn’t even remember where her father had been born. Somewhere out west, or so she thought. 

“So how come you moved to Aberdeen?” He finally speaks up once they’re on the road, headed back up the hill to her new home. “Got family in the area?”

“No.”

“Okay. You don’t exactly strike me as the logging or mining type–” 

“An old college friend was from here, and I happened to come across a job position at the library and remember her telling me about the town.” She shrugs, not knowing what else to say without spiraling into the life events that left her desperate enough to start anew in the middle of nowhere, in a town no one seemed to know about. 

“Ah.” John responds. She turned to look quickly down at the asphalt, his thoughtful gaze told her more than enough. He knew there was more to the story, and either he didn’t care or he was polite enough not to ask. “Who’s the friend?”

“What?”

“Your old college friend from here? Who are they? I’d probably know them, lived my entire life in the area.” He says, coming to a slow pace as they reached the top of the hill, her Bronco sitting and waiting to be inspected. She could only pray he could tell her it was fixable. 

“Um, Beau Ridley. Well, now Beau Mayfield since she’s married.” She rambles off, stopping quickly in fear that she’s being too much. A habit she’d developed quickly in college. 

“Yeah, I know Beau– pop the hood for me?” John sets down his tool box and she scurries to follow his orders like a kid finding the right wrench for their dad. Despite owning the car for ages, she struggles to remember where she had to look to open the boot. Finally, the boot clicked open and her view out the windshield was obscured with the metal. From this view, she could see just how badly the paint had begun to fade, and that there was dried bird poop that hadn’t been there the night before. 

“Sorry.” She apologizes as she climbs back out of her car, fiddling with the sleeve of her shirt.

“What for?” He doesn’t even bother looking up from the engine of the car as he pokes around. Blinking at him, she realizes he doesn’t care that it took her a bit too long to pop the trunk or that she disturbed his morning. Realizing that makes her shift from one foot to another and drop her gaze down to the dirt of her driveway. 

“Do me a favor and try to turn on the engine, would ya?” John asks and she quickly hurries to fulfill that task too. She hated meeting new people and new beginnings simply because it meant she had to work hard to make a good impression, the people here weren’t disappointed in her and expected failure like those she knew before. It was a feeling she hated, seeking approval. Yet she did it anyway. 

Propping herself up in the driver’s seat, she fumbles with her keys– the cat keychain she had kept getting in the way– before finally turning the key in the ignition. The rough sound of her car sputtering and struggling, failing to do it’s most basic task of running, causes her to wince. And when she pokes her head out to see John’s expression as she continues to try to make it turn on, she realizes her car is screwed. 

“So?”

“Need to get in the shop,” He informs her. John takes his time explaining what he believed to be the problem and it went all over her head, so she simply nodded. She knew how to change a tire, replace the blinker fluid, and even knew where to refill the car’s coolant, but anything more was outside her realm of knowledge. “You didn’t understand a thing I said, did ya?” 

“No sir.” 

John nods his head in sympathy, probably used to clueless customers in his auto shop. Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, John pulls out his cracked phone and types up a number. “I’ll call my tow-guy to come up and take it down to the shop, free of charge.”

“How am I going to get to work?” She suddenly responds, remembering why she’d even gone to John’s house in the first place. There’d always been a struggle for her to focus on what comes after something, stuck in the present unable to look forward to the future. Even if the future is only an hour away. 

“Where do you work?” He asks her, putting the phone up to his ear to make the call. 

“At the library.” She responds quickly, John registers her words with a nod before turning away to speak to his tow-driver. He barks at the unfortunate driver, seemingly annoyed by his antics until the call finally ends and he turns on his boot heel to look back at her. 

“Johnny’s gonna be here in about twenty minutes, he’ll drop you off at the library. If that’s alright with you?” John says, making sure that she was comfortable with the situation. “Otherwise, I could drive you down later once I’m done with my breakfast and coffee.” 

“No, no, that’s more than enough.” Her mind keeps going back to his statement, free of charge. How many times had she gotten something in life free? Rarely, if she could remember correctly. “Thank you, John.” 

“You’re in Aberdeen. We take care of our neighbors here.” He turns to close his tool box, picking up the metal container with ease. “You fine with waiting on your own–”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s fine.” The thought of inconveniencing John further after he’d already taken time out of his day to help her was too much to ask. Even if she didn’t like the idea of waiting for a stranger to come get her car and take her to work, she’d handle it. 

“You sure?”

“Yes, thank you. Again.” John nods, turning to leave with a hum in his throat low in sound but enough for her to hear in the morning. The fog is beginning to dissipate, letting the autumn sun climb through the tall spindly pine trees, the crisp air clings to your lungs like swallowing ice water. Up here, she finds that she can take a moment to breathe. Away from the bustling traffic of the city, the bog that coated the air. The only noise here was birdsong and wind. A bliss that eclipsed her senses before her phone decides to ring– her manager’s number on the caller ID. 

Her manager forgives the lateness, and even tried to ask if they could do anything to help her but she declines. Sitting on the front step of her house, the hum of a truck overtakes the sounds of nature. And when the tow truck slows to a stop in front of the cottage, she finds herself biting the inside of her cheek. The sudden realization that there’s a stranger here to get her car and take her to work makes her queasy. If she were still in the city, she would’ve considered taking the spotty public transport over this. But it was too far and difficult of a trek to make with her heavy work tote slung over her shoulders and her loafers sinking into the mud from last night’s rain. She wouldn’t make it walking. 

The door of the tow truck opens and the driver climbs out, his back stays turned to her as he reaches back in to grab something. The navy coveralls compliment his tanned arms well, and when he turns to look at her, she realizes they match his eyes as well. Even with his odd mohawk-like hair she finds herself coughing on nothing at the sight of his face. 

“You alright, ma’am?” He asks, knitting his brows together in his concern. There’s a golden look in his face, 

“Yeah, yeah. You’re Johnny?” She wheezes, struggling to clear her throat. 

“That’s right. I’ll have your car hooked up and you to work in no time.” He promises her with a grin, and she fully believes it. Maybe Aberdeen wasn’t the worst little town to exist?

Chapter II

[jessicajonesrp]

Reminiscing and big news

 

The day of Dorothy Walker’s memorial service and funeral passed with minimal dramatics, thankfully.

As Jessica had promised, she and Luke had remained outside the service, vigilant for any sign of Phillip or anyone else lurking around the building or attempting a disruption. Jessica owned exactly two dresses that she had worn exactly once each, and one of them was a red wedding dress. She owned no “funeral appropriate” clothing, according to Trish, despite the irony of owning quite a lot of black t-shirts, jackets, and jeans. According to Trish, if Jessica wore any of them, despite the appropriate color, the clothes themselves would likely cause Dorothy to rise from the dead just to sputter her indignation at the scandal.

In the end she borrowed a dress from Trish that was a little short in length and tight on her around the chest, which made no sense to Jessica, since she was usually at least a cup size smaller than Trish.  It was not exactly the kind of clothing that was suitable for ass-kicking, which would have made her uncomfortable any time, let alone when she was guarding a place with the actual possibility of ass-kicking. Damn Trish and her adherence to social expectations, but this wasn’t a day Jessica could argue with her.

Phillip didn’t show, although it seemed like every other person even loosely attached to the entertainment industry did. The amount of dramatic grieving from people that likely barely knew or had actively disliked Dorothy made Jessica’s skin crawl just watching them, which made her glad she didn’t have to sit through an entire service of it. No one in particular stood out to her, and the vast majority didn’t recognize her as Dorothy’s adoptive daughter as they passed, whether that was because they wouldn’t associate Jessica with wearing a dress or because Dorothy had managed to put that much distance between them over time. Jessica did notice a short young woman with dark hair and intense eyes look her over a little longer than she considered normal, but the woman didn’t speak to her, and she wasn’t someone that Jessica recognized, so she let it go.

By the time it was all over and everyone was milling around, likely gossiping more than talking about Dorothy, Jessica was more than ready to get Trish and go. She wanted to check in on her and make sure she got through her speech okay, of course, but she also had had to pee really badly. Which was weird, because her morning attempt at coffee and whiskey had not been successfully digested, something she was starting to get actively agitated about. This was not the time to be sick, damn it. She would start to think someone was poisoning her, if she hadn’t been getting all her own drinks herself.

Trish’s eyes were red, her expression tired when she finally emerged with Danny, but she gave Jessica and Luke a smile that was only slightly strained, obviously relieved that everything had gone smoothly. She gave Jessica a hug and kept her in it loosely as she looked past Jessica’s shoulder to Luke and Danny.

“Jess…I know you hate talking and feelings and combinations of the two. But would you please do just one more thing for me?”

Jessica sighed, pulling back from Trish to look at her, but despite the attitude she gave off in her look, she already knew she would say yes. “What are you making me do?”

“I sort of just…I want to go sit somewhere with you, and remember things about Mom,” Trish said softly. “Not like everyone else just did. That was a public thing. It was true, mostly, but it wasn’t the whole story, it wasn’t the Mom we knew. No one else lived with her, no one else but you knew her like I did. Just for a little while. I think it will help me, if you let me talk about things we remember.”

Her blue eyes were so full of both hurt and hope that it was hard to even look at her, let alone say no to her. Her request was about the last thing one earth Jessica wanted to do, but she sighed and nodded, for Trish.

“Fine. Just let me go pee first, I swear I’ve been holding it for like three hours now.”

They ended up sitting together on the couch of Trish’s and Danny’s penthouse, Trish with her knees wrapped around her legs, Jessica a little twitchy and tense at first, but gradually relaxing. She had been afraid that Trish might want to romanticize Dorothy, going into detail about every positive quality that the woman had and conveniently forgetting all the rest, but instead, Trish was wanting to talk about what it had been like when they lived together, or as Jessica thought of it, suffered through mutual Dorothy encounters together.

 

“Do you remember your first Christmas with us?” Trish said with faint smile. “Mom always insisted on going ridiculously all out with decorating, she would actually hire people to put up garland and mistletoe and fake snow and whatever else was chic that year. And she insisted on that huge photo spread of us as a new family in that magazine?”

“God, what the hell was she thinking, putting up mistletoe in a house three women lived in? Who were we supposed to kiss, each other?” Jessica rolled her eyes, before smirking. “Maybe we should have, just to shake her up a bit. That would have been the most viral photo shoot of the year. Patsy Walker makes out with her own sister!”

Trish giggled. “She made you wear that dress that matched mine, and you absolutely refused to smile. In every single picture, every damn one, there was Mom and me grinning like manic Christmas fairies, and you giving your best death glare, all decked out in velvet and lace.”

“She didn’t try that again, after all the comments to the editor speculating about if  her new daughter was  brain damaged or mentally ill from her tragic accident,” Jessica remember, her smirk deepening. “I think they would have cut me out of the pictures entirely if that didn’t kind of defeat the point of the photo shoot.”

“She would get so mad at how you dressed,” Trish reminded her, smiling. “I swear, Jess, I think your style to this day is a defiant reaction to her constantly telling you to comb your hair, put on makeup, and wear clothes with a designer labeled designed for the female body. Who knows, maybe you would be a fashion model if she hadn’t actually encouraged you to be one. You have the height and figure for it, she wasn’t wrong.”

“But absolutely zero interest,” Jessica reminded her flatly. “I outgrew the girly thing about the time I outgrew wearing princess dresses with Sketchers. Even then, Barbies in my hands got their hair chopped off and their bodies tattooed with Sharpie.”

“Remember the time the Thanksgiving caterer she hired somehow brought us the wrong food, for some vegan family, and we had this ridiculous tofu shaped like a turkey?” Trish laughed. “And she tried to cook one herself but never actually turned the oven on, so we had like, a thousand side dishes that all looked and tasted like cardboard, and a frozen turkey? And then you tried to microwave it-“

“Hey, I was 15,” Jessica laughed. “I know now to just order take out. Real take out, not vegan catering shit.”

“And that time she decided we should drive to the movie I was shooting in LA, all the way from New York, because it was about a girl going on a road trip with her friends, and she thought I needed to actually experience a road trip to give an authentic acting experience,” Trish continued, her smile broadening. “No matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t convince her that driving across the country with your manager mother at age seventeen is not at all the same as driving with a group of friends.”

“Oh my god, you’re lucky I didn’t strangle you both with my earbuds,” Jessica muttered, shaking her head. “She literally brought along an It’s Patsy soundtrack to listen to on the road. Does she know how many times I had to sit on my hands to keep from grabbing the wheel to force us over the side of a cliff? I didn’t care if it was suicide, I was fucking ready to die within an hour.”

“She would actually go rant at the gas station attendants about the unacceptable lack of cleanliness and availability of healthy food options in their stores,” Trish remembered, snickering. “I was so mortified. And you locked us both out of the car for an hour at one stop.”

“I needed the peace, what can I say?” Jessica shrugged, smirking. “I would do it again, a thousand times over.”

Trish sighed, her expression going more serious as paused before speaking up again.

“None of this was funny then,” she said quietly. “It probably still isn’t, really. But we’re the only ones that remember. We’re the only ones left that really knew her. Mom…she was a difficult person. Really, really hard to love sometimes, and harder to like. But the good things I said about her back there were true too. She was smart, she had high expectations of herself and others, and she was strong.  She had to be, raising me on her own, wanting me to be more and have more in life than she could. She messed me up, but she always thought what she did was for my best, no matter how much she had to twist up logic to come to the conclusion that it was right.”

Jessica didn’t argue with her, just nodding slightly. What Trish said wasn’t untrue.

“She was toxic for you,” she offered quietly. “But she did love you, as much as she could love anyone besides herself. She was proud of you. She was shit at showing it, but she was. You were her shining star.”

“I know,” Trish said softly, exhaling. “I don’t know if I should be trying to remember the good times, like when she would tuck me in at night and tell me I was the best and most beautiful girl in the world, or the bad times, like when she would slap my face and call me a fat, selfish bitch. But maybe the best thing is to remember it all. Balance.”

Jessica nodded again, putting a hand hesitantly on Trish’s knee. Trish covered it with hers, squeezed, and then entwined their fingers.

“She loved you too,” Trish told her, unknowingly repeating Luke’s words. “I know it probably didn’t seem like it to you. But she did. I know she did. She wouldn’t waste her breath criticizing someone as much as she criticized you, if that person wasn’t someone she loved.”

This was the first time that Jessica had really considered this, and the first time it rang true. She exhaled, accepting the idea, and a bittersweet tightness spread through her chest as she understood that this was something that both she and Dorothy had never expressed and now never could.

Trish leaned her head against Jessica’s shoulder, shifting to settle her body against her. Jessica inhaled sharply when Trish’s shoulder inadvertently jostled the side of her breast, not having expected the tender pain the slight gesture invoked.

“Ow,” she muttered, shifting away from her enough that Trish could remain leaned on her, but wasn’t touching anywhere near her chest. “Hm, maybe I pulled something.”

“Pulled something? Did you break a rib?” Trish asked, concerned, and starting to lift her head. “Did you go out and fight people last night?”

“No,” Jessica shrugged. “Pretty sure you can’t break a boob. Probably PMSing. Or strained a chest muscle from puking. You probably actually don’t want to get this close to me, whatever I’ve had lately is probably contagious.”

Trish’s lips twitched then, and her eyes danced with amusement that she tried unsuccessfully to hide. Jessica stared at her.

“What, we’re so juvenile now we laugh at the word boob? What do you call yours, mammary glands?”

Trish giggled, shaking her head.

“You just aren’t adding things up, are you, Jess?”

“What is there to add?” Jessica demanded, more confused than ever. “When did we change the subject to math?”

“Jess,” Trish said patiently, still fighting a smile. “Think about this. You’re throwing up. You’re wanting to eat weird things and not drink. You cried in front of Danny yesterday-“

“Hey,” Jessica protested, automatically defensive at the mention of crying, but Trish spoke over her.

“You’ve peed three times since you’ve been over here, and now, your boob hurts. Are you starting to see the picture?”

“Yeah, you spend way too much time paying attention to the shit I do,” Jessica grumbled, not seeing at all. “Why are you tracking everything I do, you weirdo?”

“Oh my god, you are the least self aware person I’ve ever met,” Trish groaned, shaking her head. Putting both hands on Jessica’s shoulders, she looked her directly in the eye, speaking slowly and distinctly. “Jessica. Honey. You need to take a pregnancy test.”

“What? I’m not pregnant!” Jessica exclaimed, automatically stunned and dismissive of the idea. “I would know if I was pregnant, Trish, please!”

“Jessica, Danny already told me that you are,” Trish started, which only set her off into sputtering indignation.

“DANNY told you?! He’s been in a parallel fucking world, how the fuck would Danny know a damn thing about whether or not there’s a human being hatching in me?!”

“He saw the baby’s chi,” Trish explained patiently. Giving her shoulders another little squeeze before letting them go, she stood, then gestured for the door. “Right, I can’t let this level of denial go on any longer. Here’s fifty bucks. Go to the pharmacy and buy a pregnancy test. Two of them, at least, the most accurate brands. Go home and take them, and if I’m wrong, you can laugh at me all you want.”

“Baby’s chi- what crap,” Jessica muttered, shaking her head as she stood, taking the money. “Whatever, I’ll buy the pregnancy test, but I’ll buy a few bottles of booze too. So I can celebrate my not-pregnant state once I prove you wrong.”

But an hour later, she was standing frozen in the bathroom of her and Luke’s apartment, staring at the very clearly marked positive of the third pregnancy test she had taken. Two positives had not been enough to convince her, and she had actually gone out to buy another of a different brand from a different pharmacy before she could accept the outcome. But three positives was evidence enough to come to a conclusion.

Danny and his stupid chi was right. Apparently, Jessica was pregnant.

Her hands were shaking when she picked up the phone to call Luke. “Um, when are you coming home? We need to talk about something.”

[writeyouin]

For the Halloween requests, can I please have TFA Optimus experiencing a Halloween night with human s/o? Like they make his costume together and they have a nice Halloween party at the base with the team?

Optimus Prime (TFA) X Reader – Painting Faces

A/N – If Phillip Pullman can leave me on a cliff-hanger IRL with The Secret Commonwealth then I can leave you guys on one. That is the true power of Halloween, mwa ha ha.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

You clambered on top of Optimus’ chassis, glad he was cooperating by laying down. You had already painted over his usual red and blue colour with an orange undercoat which would come off in the wash racks after Halloween. Now, you sat painting a giant black bat which would eventually be accompanied by a jack-o-lantern and a trio of ghosts.

As you painted, you waited for Optimus’ usual questions about your odd human traditions, or even some of his regular enthusiasm for trying something new. Instead, his lips remained firmly pressed together, revealing nothing of his thoughts. It didn’t take a mind reader to guess what was bothering him. You could tell he was uncomfortable by the ridged way he held himself, the way his servos were clenched at his side, and most of all his silence; if you didn’t know any better, you would guess he was a statue.

Naturally, you didn’t blame him for being so out of character. He had been the same way last Halloween; apparently the holiday reminded him of Elita-1 and her transformation into Blackarachnia.

You paused, the tip of the brush a few inches from him. “I can stop if you want me to,” You said solemnly.

Optimus snapped up, accidentally throwing you from his chassis into his lap. You stood up bemusedly, removing the brush from your arm which had been subsequently painted black.

Optimus cringed, “Sorry (Y/N). I can lay back down if you need me to.”

You shook your head, jumping to the floor where you put the brush into a bucket of water, cleaning it of its temporary colour. “You don’t have to do this Optimus. Me and the others… We know this isn’t your favourite night.”

Optimus looked to his left, unable to face your astute gaze. You could so easily sense his discomfort; he wondered what else you could sense in him. Was it possible you also knew how much he loved you, but weren’t letting on? He wouldn’t be surprised if you did, but he prayed that you didn’t.

“Why are we doing this?” He asked, secretly referring to the way the two of you constantly danced around a relationship that couldn’t happen.

If you caught on to his subliminal message you didn’t say so, instead opting to explain the Halloween party. “Sari’s father is missing, she’s lost just about everything normal in her life, and she’s being raised by five Cybertronians and me. She deserves to at least have the enjoyment of a proper Halloween; every kid should get that. All the same…” You paused in thought, “You shouldn’t do this if it’s too much for you.”

Optimus blushed and felt his cooling fans start up at your consideration. He coughed to cover the sound and tried to shut them off in case you figured out what the sound meant. It wasn’t fair; how could he be expected to stay calm when you were always putting him before yourself?

“I uh-” Optimus cleared his vocaliser, then lay back down. “We should finish this before the others get back. The paint will need time to dry.”

Although you would rather see Optimus safe from the nightmares of his processor, you didn’t argue and instead retrieved your paintbrush to finish Optimus’ costume. Once again Optimus fell silent and stiff, though this time it was your proximity to blame instead of his guilt and insecurity.

“Okay,” Sari said amusedly. “One more time. You throw your arms above your head, make claws, then go left and then right. Got it, Bulkhead?”

Bulkhead looked at his servos, sure the three digits that formed them already counted as claws, “Uh… I think so.”

Bumblebee threw up his arms impatiently, “UGH, WHAT IS SO HARD FOR YOU? It’s just dancing.”

Bulkhead cringed, “Hey! You know this stuff isn’t easy for me.”

While the pair squabbled, Prowl knelt down to your level, “(Y/N), are you sure this dance is absolutely necessary? Sari tells me it is a cultural dance and an honour for an outsider to be invited to participate.”

“The Thriller?” You asked, barely withholding a snicker. “Yeah, it’s a… It’s kind of like those documentaries with the different tribes in Africa; a very important dance here.”

“I see. There is still one thing I don’t understand however. If this dance holds so much importance to your people, how come we did not partake last year?”

“Ah,” You nodded sagely, buying time to come up with a plausible lie. “Well, Sari showed you another tradition, trick or treating, then you were attacked. After all that excitement, we didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Prowl’s optics widened in understanding, “Of course, that makes sense.”

“Okay!” Sari exclaimed. “Are we ready to try again?”

Each of the bots took their respective place, except for Ratchet who watched disdainfully from across the room, thinking about the antics of younger bots; the closest Ratchet got to joining in was to restart the song whenever Sari indicated he should.

With Bulkhead and Bumblebee on either side of Sari, you and Prowl in front of the trio, and Optimus in the back, Ratchet restarted the song. Throughout the dance you laughed joyously, showing the moves to Prowl who learned quickly and efficiently. Optimus’ optics never left your small form, completely enchanted with the way you moved, even though it wasn’t particularly graceful; he hated any second when his view was blocked by either Bumblebee or Bulkhead.

Ratchet watched Optimus disapprovingly. To him, Optimus should have been trying harder to hide his feelings for you. It was lucky Optimus was at the back of the group where nobody else could see that he wasn’t dancing. Heaving a heavy sigh, Ratchet opted to wait for a moment when he could get Optimus alone to have a serious discussion with him. Such a time came when Sari was explaining the concept of apple bobbing or in the bots’ case, bobbing for a rounded metal that wasn’t even remotely edible to them.

You watched fondly, waiting for the moment Sari would go and her Bumblebee face-paint would float on the water’s surface, having been stripped from her face. Sari stepped up to the wooden tub, ready for her turn, and you grinned.

“Watch this Optimus-” You stopped upon realising that the now orange and black bot was nowhere to be found. You glanced around, spotting him and Ratchet heading outside of the base. Despite feeling that it was wrong to follow the pair, you couldn’t help being worried that whatever they were about to discuss might concern Sari or perhaps Optimus’ phobia of Halloween; with that in mind, you followed the pair.

While you intended to confront the pair, who had gone around the side of the building, you stopped yourself upon hearing Ratchet speak your name. Pressing yourself against the corner of the building, you listened.

“You can’t keep doing this Prime,” Ratchet lectured. “(Y/N) is a human, it can’t work. It will only end in spark-ache for both of you.”

“I know,” Optimus said resignedly. “But what am I supposed to do? (S)he’s everywhere Ratchet, and even when (s)he’s not, I’m still thinking of-” He sighed loudly, “Ratchet, I think… Whenever I think about (Y/N)- I- I think I’m in love.”

You covered your mouth before any sound could escape, as you sagged against the wall, glad for the darkness that hid you from view. While you had always had your suspicions that Optimus might care for you romantically, you had always brushed them off as cruel tricks your mind played when you longed for something more with him.

Ratchet grabbed Optimus’ shoulder plate roughly, “Now you listen to me! You better think about what’s best for (Y/N) over what you want. You hear me? Forget any ideas of love and let (Y/N) live the life (s)he was meant to lead, with other humans.”

Not wanting to hear whether Optimus would fight for you or not, you decided to make yourself known. Straightening up, you plastered a smile on your face and rounded the corner, trying to sound casual when you said, “Here you two are! I was looking all over for you.”

“(Y/N)!” Optimus blurted, afraid you had heard his confession.

You pretended not to notice how startled the pair were, though you could feel the way Ratchet’s optics intensely followed your movements. “Sari asked if you two were going to take a turn metal bobbing, so I came looking for you. What are you even doing out here?”

Ratchet shot a warning glance at Optimus, though he needn’t have; the younger bot was practically sagging under the weight of his unheard declaration of love.

“Nothing much,” Ratchet shrugged. “I was just looking at the night sky, thinking of home. Optimus came to join me. I didn’t think these young bots cared anymore.”

You looked up at the stars as if contemplating the explanation, “Yeah… I can see why they would make you homesick. Well, don’t let me interrupt, come in whenever you’re ready. I’ll find something to entertain Sari and buy you both some time.”

Optimus and Ratchet could barely hide their relief as you left. While they thought about how lucky they had been, you were thinking about what you would say to Optimus the next time you were alone with him. You knew you had to confront the elephant in the room, but the question was, how?

‘Sari first, then Optimus,’ You reminded yourself. ‘Tonight is for her, not me.’

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[greenninjagal-blog]

Wishing On Stars

So, fun story! Remember that quick one shot I made [Idle Threats] that was not quick at all and featured Deceit punching a guy in the face? Guess who made a sequel!

Word Count: 4958

Pairings: Brotherly Thomas and Deceit

Summary: Dee’s world is shifting and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

Quick Taglist: @chelsvans @felicianoromano @jemthebookworm @holliberries @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @treasureofpriam

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Dante Ethan Ekans has never thought of himself as dumb. It’s simply not something he’s ever allowed himself to consider the possibility of. So what if his grades sucked and he couldn’t even buy a candy bar at the market with his unweighted GPA? So what if he wasn’t in any honors clubs or wearing nerd glasses or correcting his teachers in class? So what if he had never found a grammar error in his textbooks or maxed out his library card (can those be maxed out?)?

Dante Ethan Ekans—ugh just call him Dee—was not, is not, and never will be “dumb”.  He’s fought for his grades and lost, he doesn’t have time to waste on honor clubs, and its not like he needs to give his teachers anymore reasons to hate him. Since when has anyone actually read the textbooks? And he’s never really found a good book that keeps his attention past the third chapter.

But that’s never meant that he was dumb.

And fuck Dr. Logan Ackroyd for making him question that about himself.

Dee leans forward on the rickety structure, pressing his head into his arms into the cool metal bars as he does. He wants to stare up at the stars, wants to bury his head in his arms and sleep, he wants to tear the the packet of papers in his right hand to shreds and then feed it to Dr. Ackroyd with a sneer.

The stars over head twinkle, because that’s all the stars do. Dee had learned at the lovely age of six, no amount of wishing on the stars was going to change how reality had panned out. Stars were just lights in the sky with no ability to bring his dad back or obscure the burn marks on his face. 

The papers crinkle in his hand, like a campfire, like a car crash that once again ruined his life. Or is ruining. Or, perhaps, is in the process of ruining? It feels like it, like everything good and great that Dr. Ackroyd had promised was collapsing on him and suffocating him all over again.

“I know you can do it,” The teacher had said.

And Dee really hates him for it. Really hates Mr. Walker for that car accident he was in and for not coming back, hates Dr. Ackroyd for showing up with his gaze of steel and his stupid ties and his “equality under the law” reign that’s dragged Dee from the cave everyone had exiled him too and let him enjoy a bit of light. 

Sure, Dee can do it. He can also throw himself from the top of this old playground set and fracture his arm or something so he doesn’t have to go back to that stupid room and see that stupid teacher ever again.

The stars blink down at him, and maybe they take pity on the boy who aced Dr. Logan Ackroyd’s midterm test last week, because Dee thinks they look a little less distant than before.

He knows he’s not dumb. He knows that the formal red pen on the test, the long line, the circle and the next long line mean something great and amazing is on the brink of happening. He knows that Dr. Logan Ackroyd is to blame for it, because the man has no time for jokes and no time for nonsense and no time to waste leading Dee astray.

He knows the man means well.

He knows that he hates him for it.

Since when did anyone look at Dee and “mean well”? Since when did any teacher look at him and see something worth believing in? Since when had Dee wanted them to?

Dee knows when: since at exactly nine hours and nineteen minutes ago when Dr. Ackroyd had called him to "please, wait a moment, Mr. Ekans! Its imperative I talk with you." And Dee like a fool (which is completely different from being dumb, thank you very much. Dee very much was a fool), had paused just short of fleeing the classroom.

(Kyle Phillips had shoulder checked his way by him, the healing purples of his black eye just visible under the layer of concealer his mother had applied that morning and he had worn away through the day.)

Dr. Ackroyd had taught up to the bell, or at least he had talked up to the bell. Dee and the rest of the class had stopped paying attention after 2:15. For a terrifying second Dee had felt a cold hand clench his heart and the voices in his head whispered that this was it, the end, Dr. Ackroyd was finished pretending to be nice to him.

"I hope you don't mind if we walk while we talk," Dr. Ackroyd had said (and it most certainly was "Doctor" because the man had snarled something about several PHDs the last time a student had mistakenly called him Mister Ackroyd. To be honest it had been a little hard to make out while the man was foaming at the mouth). Dr. Ackroyd had gathered all of his teaching notes, several stacks of worksheets that needed grading, and his laptop into a bag and pulled it over his shoulder. 

"You have a younger sibling to pick up at Mind Elementary, correct?" The teacher had asked, "I happen to have a colleague I am meeting there as well. To prioritize our time, it would be efficient to talk while we walk.” 

And Dee hadn’t had a reason not to agree so instead he nodded and let the teacher lead the way.

On their way out of the building, they had run into Mr. Hart who had wished them “a wonderful rest of the day, and oh, Logan, text me when you’re both at the restaurant!” Dr. Ackroyd had waved him off with a soft smile and two seperate promises. Dee hadn’t seen any sign of Resource Officer Roman Prince anywhere, and he was silently grateful he didn’t have to watch the adult man sulk because Mr. Hart showered Dr. Ackroyd in love the second he entered any room. Dee had made sure to avoid that growing drama like the plague. It was a soap opera in the making.

They had carefully trekked out of the school building and down the walking path that lead to the student parking lot and then branched off to the sports fields and to the Elementary school. Dee normally tried to procrastinate the walk for a good fifteen minutes to avoid the drivers that like to play chicken with the kid walking on the sidewalk while they waited for the traffic to ease up. But no one would dare try to run him over with the new substitute teacher by his side.

(The rumor was that Dr. Logan Ackroyd could stop a truck moving at 100 miles per hour with just a look, and Dee wasn't immune to propaganda.)

Dee had focused on how nice of a day it had been outside, how the sun was shining so it wasn’t too cold, how the grass peaking out of the cracks in the sidewalk were rather resilient and how many breaths he was taking and was that too many? Was he annoying Dr. Ackroyd? Should he take less? Could he? How important was it for him to breathe?

"Mr. Ekans," the teacher had said, "I'm not exactly one for beating around the bush with these types of things. Patton often tells me I am too blunt, while Roman criticizes my delivery. However, I believe the best way to approach any subject is straight on to avoid deluding you with false pretenses."

Dee had wanted to state the hypocrisy: the teacher rambling on about how he should just say something instead of talking around it. But his heart rate had increased with every word which in turn caused his mouth to dry and his tongue to stick to the roof of his mouth. 

“I finished grading the midterm you took,” Dr. Ackroyd had said.

It had been so much worse than any of the thoughts had been swimming through his mind. His chest tightened, his breath silently disappearing and his lungs refusing to work the way they were supposed to. He had wanted to apologize, had wanted to melt into a puddle on the sidewalk right then and there and safe himself from the embarrassment. He had wanted to avoid the part where Dr. Ackroyd tells him so plainly that he never should have risked his reputation for someone as worthless as Dante Ethan Ekans.

But Dee was only human, only a child, only normal. He stared hard down at the sidewalk at the patches of squashed gum that students had spit out in the past while waiting in traffic, at the tuffs of grass peeking up through the grass, at the loose rocks that his scuffed yellowed shoes tapped against.

“Speaking quite frankly,” the teacher had continued, “I was impressed--”

And Dee had really stopped breathing. His chest had heaved, the gasping word billowed past his lips before he could think to keep it back. “What?”

Dr. Ackroyd had reached up and tentatively adjusted his glasses. “I was relating how impressed I was with your test. As I predicted you are far ahead of your class-- far enough that I put in the request to have you moved up to my higher level class.”

“Wait what--” 

“Additionally, your performance exceeded my expectations. You exemplify more dedication to learning than any other student I have seen in a good three years, Mr. Ekans. I entered your missing work last night and you far exceed the requirement for the Science Honor Society. I took the liberty of reaching out to Mrs. Hydrus on your account--”

“Stop!” Dee had blurted out. His mouth tasted like ash, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and his head was still ringing from being completely blindsided by the information he had just been given.

Dr. Ackroyd had paused, taking span of three steps to adjust his glassed once again and peer down at Dee. “Pardon? Is there something the matter?”

It was horribly pretentious when he said it like that. In retrospect, Dee groans into his arms and wishes he could invent time travel solely to go back and stop the two of them from ever meeting, from ever having that conversation, from ever existing. Logically, what the teacher had been saying was amazing news, the news of a lifetime: he had gone out of his way to do things for Dee that no other teacher had done and it honestly hadn’t ever occurred to the doctor that he hadn’t needed to do it at all.

“I can’t,” Dee had told him kicking a rock on the sidewalk. He didn’t elaborate, because it hurt so much to get two words out, he couldn’t imagine getting anymore out. He had wondered absently when he had allowed the rose bush to grow around his own neck, allowed to prickly, pesky thorns to embed themselves in his throat, when those blood red petals that had matched the flushed color of his face.

Dr. Ackroyd had let him walk another ten paces in silence-- as silent as it could get with pop music blasting from the cars stuck in the afterschool traffic and the game of honking that was going on distantly from the parking lot (that Dee was pretty sure Kyle was a part of).

“You can’t,” The teacher repeated, but he hadn’t sounded angry or offended. It had taken a moment for Dee to place the tone: somewhere between confused and curious. “I’m afraid I do not understand. As your teacher, I have assessed your ability and professed that you are certainly capable of keeping up in my honors class, and Vice Principal Joan has already confirmed that your school schedule can be amended around the new class with very little impact on your current learning courses. Additionally, the honors club for science has very few requirements: no more than three unexcused absences-- which you have none of--, at least an eighty-five average in the class-- which you now have a ninety seven--, and--”

“--and a grade point average of 3.0.” Dee had finished for him.

Because it wasn’t like at one point Dee hadn’t been looking into honors clubs. He knew collages looked into club activities, and that most honor clubs had scholarships that came with admittance to said honor clubs. 

“Also, Kyle Phillips,” Dee had said lowly, “is president. He gets the power to veto any applications he doesn’t like.”

It had gone without saying that Kyle and him weren’t on the best of terms. The black eye incident hadn’t even blown over yet and it had been a whole week. When Kyle had found out that Dee hadn’t really been punished for punching him, he had whined to his mom, who in turn showed up at the school and demanded that Dee be expelled.

VP Joan had refused on some grounds or other, and it ended with her threatening to sue the entire school system. VP Joan had calmly told her that she was welcome to take them to court, just let them know the date. She had stormed out of the school.

And so far it looked like she wasn’t really going to push it, but VP Joan had pulled Dee into their office and asked him to lay low for a little bit. 

Dee had dragged a hand through his unruly hair, “I guess it doesn’t help that Mrs. Hydrus doesn’t like me much either.” 

It had gone without saying, again, that it wasn’t just Mrs. Hydrus. All the teachers didn’t like Dee much. The “why” was still something Dee was trying to figure out.

He had offered Dr. Ackroyd a parody of a smile. “Sorry that you wasted your time.” 

And that should have been the end of it. That was usually the end of it. One of Dee’s apologies, a short tense silence, a backhanded comment that always, always, felt like a slap in the face and Dee left standing alone once again. When had Dee stopped expecting something better from people?

And why did Dr. Ackroyd keep upsetting these expectations of his?

The teacher had hummed to himself, staring at the distant elementary school. The brick building had a faded look to it: something that had stood for a thousand years and would stand for a thousand more, something that had seen hundreds of kids grow up and move on, something that should have been remembered fondly.

All Dee remembered was the fact his scars matched the pattern of the brick by the southern entrance from the number of times his cheek was grounded into it, and the way a deflated kickball felt slamming into his face repeatedly. He remembered the look on the nurses face when she told him to stop crying over the blood on his face, the annoyed expression from one teacher or other when he came in late covered in bandages. He remembered the librarian who always brought up the car accident when he saw her, always saying what a shame it had been, always ripping the scab off the wound before it could heal over and ten year old Dee trying not to scream at her for it.

“Mr. Ekans,” Dr. Ackroyd had said suddenly. “I have never once wasted my time on anything. I do not plan to start now.” He had picked at the packet of papers in his hand before hands before handing over it to Dee. Dee had taken it without really knowing what was happening.

“What?”

“I’m going to get you into the Science Honor Society Club.” The teacher had told him as if it were really just that easy.

Who knows. Maybe he really thought it was.

“I’m going to do all I can, Mr. Ekans, so I expect you to do as much as well. Bring your grades up.”

“What?!” Dee had stopped in his walk, blinked, and then repeated, “What?!”

“Surely you heard me the first time--”

“I did!” Dee had said hotly, “What do you think I’ve been trying to do this whole time! Bringing my grades up is not-- it’s not that--” He had spit the word between his teeth, “--easy!”

And Dr. Ackroyd had raised an eyebrow at him, in that way of his, “I know you can do it.”

Dee squeezed the test packet in his hand leaning forward on the old playground structure again. There it was. That voice, that absolute conviction in the teacher’s tone. At the moment it had filled Dee with a horrible fiery anger that send him storming away from the teacher and leaving him behind on that sidewalk. 

He had picked up his brother. He had gotten home and did the dishes and made dinner and done everything that wasn’t open his backpack and look at his homework. Then when he had finally caved and pulled the four pages worth of good marks from his bag, he had immediately thrown that stupid test in the trash, taken it back out, flipped through it, ripped several of the pages, crumpled them into a ball, thrown it out again--

And at half past the Little Dipper, Dee was in his backyard on a playset that should have succumbed to the natural selection a decade ago, with the test in his hand and his ears ringing from a teacher who had such absolute faith in Dee’s ability he had managed to make Dee doubt the very law of his life.

(Like Newton’s law of Gravitation, or Murphy’s law of Perversity: Dee’s law of Loneliness.)

((It has a ring to it, didn’t it?)

Dee had been alone for all of his life, alone in his corner of the boxing ring there to be beaten again and again as others used him as a stepping stone to something greater. There had never been anyone cheering for him in the stands, any coach hollering advice at him, any water boy reminding him to drink in between rounds of the fight. It had been him and him alone.

All at once Dee becomes aware of the noise behind him, the dramatic shift in the balance of the playset he had been sitting on that causes the rusted metal screws to whine and the floor to shake. Dee yanks his feet up onto the platform and hugs the metal bar he had been leaning on and tries to remind himself that a four foot fall was not going to kill him.

Then the shaking stops and Dee chances a look behind him to see exactly what idiot chose to come outside and play on the goddamn kids play castle that Dee had already claimed brooding rights on for the night--

“Thomas?”

The eleven-year-old totters on the platform, less than a foot away, on his hands and knees and in socks that have several chucks of the playground mulch stuck to them. The kid looks at him with those wide eyes, a sheepish smile, and he unapologetically shifts so he’s sitting across from Dee. 

“Hi, Dee!”

“What are you doing out here?” Dee asks, “Do you know what time it is? What about mom--”

Thomas picks a piece of mulch off his socks, “I couldn’t sleep.”

Dee had known Thomas since he was eight and Thomas was just a year old. He knows all the kids ticks, the way he picks at his fingers when he’s nervous and lying, and how he hates the cowlick in the back of his hair and how he hates when Dee leaves him alone with their mother, but never says anything because he feels guilty. 

He knows that when Thomas says he can’t sleep its a lie, and he still can’t bring himself to be even a little upset.

“Go back inside, Tom,” Dee tells him.

“Why aren’t you coming in?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer!”

“Go to sleep.”

“Fine!”

And because Thomas has known Dee since he was one and Dee was eight, he leans forward until his head hits Dee’s shoulder.

There’s a pause between the two of them, where Dee goes as still as he can, feeling the pressure of his little brother’s head right there on his shoulder, feeling the weight of the absolute trust, feeling the frustration fade right out of his bones. 

“What…” Dee says, impossibly soft, “are you doing?”

“Sleeping,” Thomas answers equally soft.

The test papers in his hand crumple again, when he squeezes his fingers into his fist to wake himself from the dream he’s been living for the past week since Dr. Logan Ackroyd walked into his life. The reality doesn’t shatter around him; its distressing, worrying, and stupid, because Dee doesn’t think he’s known what to do in this upside down world.

If he accepts it, he’s going to lose it. If he fights it, it will destroy him. In the boxing ring of his life, Dee’s alone, lonely, abandoned and losing. The past week has just been setting him up to knock him back out of the fight and is it wrong for Dee just want to want the final blow to land, already?

“Whats that?” Thomas says.

And because Dee doesn’t lie to his brother, he flattens the front page out and spreads it for the moon to read. “My test.”

“Did you do good?”

“I did.”

“Then why are you sad?”

Dee doesn’t lie to his brother.

He’s not like his mom when she says “it won’t happen again” or like Thomas’s dad who says he’ll “be back in a little bit” and just to “tough it out” until he shows up like he isn’t gonna leave again in a week, a day, a few hours. He isn’t like Thomas’s friends who say they’re not scared of his brother, and he’s not like his own teachers who tell him that they “don’t give out grades, kids earn them”.

So instead he drives his chin into his chest and tries to speak around the lump in his throat. “I’m not sad.”

“Why are you angry then?”

“I’m NOT ANGRY!” Dee snarls, maybe a little more angry than he means, and he doesn’t regret it for a good one, two nanoseconds.

Three nanoseconds and Thomas flinches. “I’m sorry!” 

And then Dee recoils, because fuck, he raised his voice, and this was Thomas and He raised his voice at Thomas. 

The playset shifts dramatically underneath the two of them, wobbling like Thomas’s last loose tooth seconds before it fell out. Dee’s hand flings to the metal bar, and Thomas grabs the wall opposite of him. There’s a squeak of fear from them both, something shrill enough that Dee’s sure a light at the house across the street flicks on and off and a call to the police is probably being debated (and ultimately discarded, because no one called the cops for Dee’s broken arm three years ago or someone took a metal bat to their mailbox or the rock to the window, or, or, or.)

The playset wobbles, and they both cling to their respective parts, and they both stare at each other. Dee and Thomas.

At some point it stops shaking.

At some point, both their breathing evens out again.

At some point, Thomas says, “oh,” and they’re both quiet. 

Dee can hear the crickets sing, the too-early morning breeze dancing through the wind chimes on someone’s porch, the soft even breaths of his little brother. The test scatters on the ground a few feet below them, picked up by the little wind and tossed across the little yard. Somehow it makes the whole world feel confined to this little bubble where it was him and Thomas and this stupid space that Dee had forced between them.

“I’m sorry,” Dee says and its different from the times he’s said it before, all the times his teachers dragged it out of him and all the times the other kids had claimed one as a person victory. This time he means it, because it’s Thomas.

“It’s stupid,” Dee says because he doesn’t lie to his brother, “It stupid and I hate it.”

Thomas, sweet, wide-eyed, little Thomas, waits for him so say more.

“It’s stupid that I’ve made it this far and I can’t go any farther. I hate it. They said that everyone had a chance and then they drew the line right in front of me, like “oh not you”. I hate that everyone has always ignored who I am and what I can do, what I’ve done-- and Thomas? It sucks. I’m so tired of it. I’ve tried so… so very hard to do the right thing every single time. They tell me to apologize, and I do. They tell me to try harder and I do. They tell me that I’m not going anywhere--”

Dee savors a breath, and forces it out just as quickly, possibly a little hysterically, “I don’t wanna be here for the rest of my life, Thomas. I can’t be here forever. It will kill me.”

Thomas at eleven years old is too wise for his age. Because he doesn’t tell Dee that he’s not going to die, he doesn’t tell Dee that its going to be alright, he doesn’t say anything at all.

Dee feverishly wipes at his eyes, because heaven forbid the stars see him cry. 

(They’ve seen him do that enough already.)

“Dr. Ackroyd made it seem so easy,” He says barely more than a whisper in the silence of the night. “I’m really scared it might be.”

The metal feels warm to his touch, burning hot and he clings to it like a lifeline that will light his entire body on fire and turn the rest of his skin to match his face and shoulder and arm and, and, and.

“I’m really scared that it’s gonna be that easy after all, and that I’m going to make it out of here and that I’m going to get to college and that it will be the same exact thing all over again.”

“It won’t.” Thomas says, loud enough that Dee has no choice but too focus back in on him. The moonlight is playing with his pale skin and making his eyes shine. Or maybe those are tears. Is he crying? Or is Dee?

Thomas, wise beyond his years, too wise for his eleven years. Thomas says it won’t be like this out there. Thomas says he’s going to have a chance. Thomas agrees with Dr. Ackroyd.

“It won’t be like that, Dee, I promise.” Thomas says. “You won’t let it be.”

Unwavering faith.

“I know you can do it.” 

He brings a hand to his face again rubbing those tricky, telling tears off his face. He sniffs, his ears prick, and his throat stings just a bit. How ridiculous is it, crying at half past too-late, and with his little brother watching him. He thinks of how Dr. Ackroyd must be somewhere probably asleep because that’s what normal fucking people were supposed to be doing--

And stupidly Dee thinks of that boxing ring of his life and thinks of Thomas standing in his corner smiling at him like he is right now, watching him take hit after hit and watching him get back up each time. And he thinks of that Science Teacher watching him with those calculating eyes, pen in hand and analyzing his opponent’s every move and crafting the plan of retaliation---

Just asking Dee to make it to the next round, to the break where he can get to the moment where he remembers why he’s fighting in the first place.

Thomas lets go of the wall, and carefully leans forward again. The playset squeaks slightly. Thomas stops just an inch away from Dee. When he calms down he reaches the last bit forward and hugs him. Dee can feel him shaking, can feel them both shaking.

And then the playset comes toppling down.

They both let loose twin yells of panic-- Dee blindly grabs to his side and pulls Thomas forward, covering him with his arms. The metal screeches, something wooden cracks and Dee feels absolutely, terrifyingly weightless for a full second. 

They hit the ground heavily: Dee, landing on the platform base at an odd angle and Thomas landing on him at an odder angle. Dee loses his grip on his brother he rolls to the side. The air, what little bit of it was left ejected from Dee’s chest, and several part of his back and his arms and his legs are left whimpering with promised bruises.

And they’re left lying there, trying to catch their breaths in the wooden and metal wreckage, staring up at the stars.

And they’re left there, alive even after everything around them had come down around them.

“You okay?” Dee asks the second he’s sure he’s not dead.

“Yeah,” Thomas says equally out of breath. Dee watches him raise his head, slightly, a stupid shiny grin on his face and flushed cheek in the moonlight, “You?”

It’s not that easy, bringing his grades up. It’s not like flicking a switch, or knocking over a domino, or starting a car engine, or, or or. But he’s got a couple people (Dr. Ackroyd, Thomas)  in his corner, and something that he wants (Science Honor Society).

And the stars twinkle overhead the same way they’ve always done

“It’s so... fucking late.” Dee chokes out a sopping wet laugh. It tastes like salt and despair and something completely awful that he absolutely hates: hope. 

Dante Ethan Ekans has never thought of himself as dumb. 

He’s not.

[the-dan-sargent]

Moffle Phillips is a Normal Human: Part I

By Dan Sargent

This semester I took a creative writing class, and began writing a story about one of my characters, Moffle the Alien, for the final assignment. I wanted to share it, so I decided to drop it on here! Hope you enjoy, and feedback is highly appreciated!!

Story synopsis:

Raised as a human, Moffle the alien was taught to always put his best foot forward and act as “normal” as possible (by human standards, at least). This includes hiding his more “alien” behaviors and keeping his true form a deep secret. Ashamed of what he truly looks like, Moffle has always had to act and look completely different from who he truly is. But what happens when Moffle ends up getting close to one of his classmates, Mars? Join Moffle on his journey through opening up to others and learning that there’s no better person to be than yourself.

Part I under the cut!

“Hello there, it is very nice to meet you! My name is Moffle, and I am currently having a panic attack in my bedroom. Don’t worry! This kind of thing is normal for me, I have these on quite the regular basis. If you’re wondering why my brain is imploding on itself this time, it is because I made a grave mistake today. I ruined my life completely and can now never show my face to anyone ever again. It all began this afternoon, after my very first day at my new school, Red Valley High.

Being an alien from another planet, I’ve never really gotten the chance to meet many human beings throughout my life. Before high school I had always been homeschooled, and as a result had never gotten close to anyone outside of my family. I’ve had a few friends, mostly from the internet or from space camp, but I’ve never really been very close with anyone. For as long as I can remember, I have dreamed of living alongside humans and going to an actual school. And now I finally had the chance to really do it!

My day started off very well. I got out of bed after hardly getting a lick of sleep, put on my human form (and first-day outfit), ate breakfast, and left for school. Most humans would walk or take the bus to school, but I just flew there instead. Yes, you heard me right. I’ve got flying powers, and they’re very convenient. I’m technically not supposed to be using them, but as long as I’m invisible whenever I’m flying I should be in the clear, right? That’s how I see it, at least. That being said, please don’t tell my mom that I’ve been flying in public. Once I got to school, I made my way to the principal’s office, where I was given my class schedule and sent off on my merry way.

I made it to my homeroom with little difficulty, and once I was seated I looked down at my schedule. At the very top of the page was my name, Moffle Phillips, followed by my year, freshman. I barely paid any mind to the piece of paper as I practically vibrated in excitement out of my seat. I was finally among a whole lot of kids my age, and it felt so right. This was where I belonged. Or, at least, that’s what I kept telling myself over and over. Sure, I was an alien. In that way, I was quite different from all of the people who were surrounding me. That might have led to me standing out a bit, like how I stood out a bit everywhere else I went. But that didn’t matter. I was in my human form, and I was still a fourteen-year-old kid, just like practically everyone else in the classroom (excluding the teacher, of course). As long as I looked and acted like a normal kid, everything would be smooth sailing. It was going to be a piece of cake, since trying to blend in with humans was something I’d been doing all my life. Sitting in silence, I tried to convince my brain that high school was, without a doubt, the place for me. After a few more minutes of doodling and twiddling my thumbs, homeroom was over and I was ready to make my way to my next location.

As it so happened, my first class of the day was astronomy! As someone who is as passionate about space as I am, of course I leapt at the chance to take a space-themed class. My entire life, I’ve always found everything about space to be extremely cool and very interesting. I couldn’t resist taking an class on my favorite thing. Plus, it would give me the opportunity to talk about space with a bunch of other people equally fascinated by it!

I got to class and sat next to the first friendly-looking face I saw. I grinned widely at him and introduced myself. Giving me a friendly smile, he told me his name was Parker. I then talked to Parker about space, about stars, about other planets, other galaxies; and finally, about aliens. I was so happy to be talking about space, that I didn’t even notice that class was beginning until I saw the teacher, and all of my classmates, angrily glaring at me. I turned to Parker and saw that even he was giving me a deadpan expression that told me I had rambled on too much. Let’s just say, that was a little embarrassing. However, before my brain could be hit by a wave of regret, the lesson began, and I instantly forgot my embarrassment. Let’s just say, listening to people talk about space for forty-five minutes straight was dreamier than I could ever imagine!

From then on out, the rest of my day was just as magical. As I went from class to class, everything was going extremely well. Not only was I able to observe humans up close all day, but I was even getting a few opportunities to introduce myself and talk to them! Before today, the only other humans I had interacted with were my family and my friends at space camp. But now that I was in human school, I could talk to a whole bunch of people every single day! It was the most thrilling experience of my whole life!

At the end of my perfect first day of school, I got my belongings together and found a restroom to go invisible in. I slipped into a stall, sat on the toilet, and took a breather to take in the day. I had done it. I had survived my first day of school. And it was awesome! I no longer had any doubts on whether or not I fit in. Not only did I fit in, but a lot of the people I met seemed like they thought I was cool! It felt so good, and at that point I felt absolutely certain that Red Valley high was where I belonged. After sitting for a bit, grinning wildly, joyously screaming into my backpack, and collecting myself, I was all set to fly home. I took a moment to  go invisible, and then flew over the stall door toward the restroom’s exit.

It was then that I immediately messed up everything I had worked so hard for.

I swung the door open to leave, and then instantaneously--while invisible--crashed into a girl who was about to enter the restroom. I would have completely fallen on top of her, too, if I hadn’t used my flying powers to save me at the last minute. Hovering mere inches above her, I turned to face the girl, still invisible, and saw that she had very clearly been crying. Her thick glasses were hastily placed atop her head and there were streaks of mascara running down her cheeks. Her phone had fallen on the ground beside her, and upon accidentally glancing at its screen I noticed she had been in a call with her mother. I wanted to help her up. I wanted to ask her what was the matter. But I couldn’t, not without completely revealing who I was. So I didn’t. Instead, I darted back a few feet before flying away in fear. It felt as if everyone’s eyes were burning into me as I bolted out of the building. I only hope that I managed to stay invisible while all of that happened, or else I’d be in real trouble.

And that’s how I almost ruined everything I had worked so hard to earn. Great first day, am I right? In fact, it reminds me of another incident that happened a couple of years ago during my first summer at space camp.”

Click here to read Part II! 

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[enkisstories]

Just like them

- Short Detroit Become Human fanfic starring Daniel - - Close enough to canon, not my Sims!AU - November 15, 2038 Park Avenue

Daniel placed his hand on the door lock. However, the device rejected his request almost instantly.

ACCESS DENIED

It wasn’t just a string of bright letters, the message additionally burned itself into the android brain. And although the narrative went that androids didn’t feel pain, the sharp sting of the “Nope” signal along with all the emotions it triggered in Daniel’s deviant mind were unpleasant to say the least.

“Shit!”

Daniel raised his hand – or rather, he moved his shoulder to lift the replacement arm and hand up, spare parts salvaged from other unfortunates that had found themselves in the DPD’s evidence archive. Just when the new limbs had started to feel less like prostheses and more like parts of himself, the android had to receive a reminder to the fact that this wasn’t the case. His real hand was lost and with it the RFID tag that would have opened the door to the Phillips apartment.

Daniel wondered briefly the key to which door he was carrying now, because some signal had gotten exchanged between the hand and the door lock. If there had been no key present at all, the door would just have stayed silent instead of bellowing its “Access denied” at the intruder.

A shutdown police auxiliary beyond repair had “donated” Daniel’s new legs, but also the hand? Daniel didn’t remember. It hadn’t mattered earlier that day when they had set him more or less free.

And now the android he was standing here, with an electronic cuff somewhere in his system, a novel worth of parole terms in his head, but fresh out of an emergency override keycard for his own home.

I should have went with that guy from Jericho when he offered it. But, noooooo, I HAD to do this alone, because I don’t NEED help at all. And I shouted at him, so there’s no turning back now. It’s getting dark anyway. And ‘sides, I have a right to this flat! It’s my inheritance, the pay for four years of service, no way I’m going to live in, what was it, a wrecked cruise ship or something? No way!

Tap,tap,tap… jingle,jingle,jingle… swoosh

Daniel exited the elevator and only when the doors closed behind him did he realize that he had just traveled downwards by one floor without actually having decided to do so.

Check. Deviant brain doing deviant stuff. They warned me about this.

Daniel’s subconsciousness had taken over, now the question was where had it taken him?

Looking around Daniel discovered that he was standing right in front of an apartment door, one hand raised slightly, obviously in an attempt to ring the doorbell. The nameplate that went with the bell read “Rasoya”.

Ah, right, that was familiar territory. The Rasoyas were the Phillips’ direct downstairs neighbors. They had helped them out by taking Emma when her parents were out and with sugar, flour and eggs that Caroline tended to forget to stock up in sufficient quantity. That had been before Daniel had joined the household, of course, but even with the Phillips owning a state of the art household assistant made by CyberLife now the families had remained… close?

I have always assumed we were close, but looking back I feel “habitually on speaking terms��� is more precise.

Someone was stirring now inside the apartment and a female voice rose up:

“I think I heard someone at the door! Will you take a look?”

“Yes, it’s me!” Daniel shouted back, then rang the bell.

Someone was looking through a spyhole, not trusting the electronic security camera, then opened the door. Before it was fully open, Daniel already gasped at the person behind it: “Can I borrow a crowbar, please, Mrs. Rasoya? I need to break into the Phillips apartment!”

Mrs. Rasoya laughed so hard at this that the toddler boy she was holding was shaking violently. Reflexively Daniel grabbed him while Mrs. Rasoya was still trying to get a grip on herself. Eventually the woman said:

“Daniel Phillips – the most polite android revolutionary ever.”

“Calm down, calm down!” Daniel shushed the human. “I’m not with Markus or whoever, I don’t even have a clear idea what exactly’s going on!”

I mean, when have I ever? I lived in an illusion all my existence, believing myself appreciated… sheltered… Going by my experience Markus could just be another Connor: playing nice, but harboring ulterior motives.

“They just…”

Looking for a familiar term in all the madness that was the present, the android continued:

“…let me out of prison and here I am, but I can’t enter my own damn apartment!”

“Own dan apartment!” little Caden Rasoya repeated cheerfully, at which his grandmother demanded the kid to get returned to her.

“Raj, dear?” she called into the apartment and a few heartbeats later her adult son, Caden’s father, appeared. Raj was a gourmet chef and his body was certainly looking the part, although he tended to dress extremely casually at home.

“Would you accompany Danny here upstairs to break down the Phillips’s door, Raj?”

“You know what, mom?” Raj laughed out loud. “This is by far the most normal request I’ve heard those last few days.”

Daniel watched Mrs. Rasoya retreat into her home where she picked up an old handheld gaming device that she had been playing on. He heard Caden giggle. The TV was running, Caden giggled some more, but then listened intently to his mother, who was explaining something connected to the evening children’s show they were watching. Everything was so normal!

Why were the Rasoyas still here, Daniel wondered? Were the feeling that the worst was behind them and deeming it save to stay in Detroit, even though the president had arranged an evacuation of a scope that put to shame even the annual floods? Were these humans maybe just as attached to their territory as Daniel himself was? Regardless of the possible consequences? In retrospect, what if Caroline had still been here tonight? Or – was she, maybe?!

“Uh… Is Caroline…?” Daniel started asking Raj.

“Left Detroit. In fact, she didn’t even wait for the presidential nudge to do so.”

“Ah.”

Raj grabbed the doorknob and with his head motioned the android to join him.

“Come in!”

“But I need to…”

“No way I’m trying to kick in a sturdy apartment door, least of all with security still intact”, Raj explained. “And neither should you do that, with a criminal record on your head. You have one…?”

“Yes, yes, it’s all legit. The DPD knows I’m here, but, fuck, I should have asked for an escort to actually get into my home.”

“You certainly picked up some language there that you didn’t know before”, Raj commented, still more amused than wary. Definitely wary, too, but not to an extent that prevented the man from acting civilly.

“But what am I to do now?”

“You’ll want to take the balcony route, Daniel. Climb up from our balcony and find your door. It was never properly repaired after… the incident, you should be able to push it open easily.”

“That’s that Connor’s fault!” Daniel spat. “It doesn’t respect anything!”

And that were the last words he exchanged with the Rasoyas. Without even a “thanks” the deviant made haste towards the balcony, jumped onto the railing and started scaling the apartment building like an ape. A PL600 wasn’t particularly strong, but their dexterity and eye-hand-coordination had to be rated outstanding even compared to other androids. Daniel was also rather agile, although he suspected that was a personal feat, nothing hard-coded in his system specs. And of course his new PC200 legs were also contributing to his athletic ability.

*

Inside the Phillips home Daniel didn’t linger much in the apartment proper, but instead went straight to the fish tank in the floor.

“Huey, Dewey, Louie… everyone still there!” he noticed with relief. “It’s feeding time, gentlemen! – Hehe, yes, go for it! No need to fight, there’s more where this is coming from!”

Smiling the android watched the fish gorge themselves. When had been the last time they had been fed, he wondered? So typical of Caroline! Flaunting the family fortune, but possessed of a total disregard of actual living beings. Like those of the ornamental fish she had left behind to their fate. Or her android’s…

Daniel had never given his artificial lung much thought. They were just there, moving his chest to make him appear more lifelike. Now the deviant realized how this particular biocomponent came in handy: he sighed deeply.

Moving back into the apartment Daniel almost expected to find John’s tablet. Of course after all this time it wouldn’t be there anymore. Or at least it would no longer display the order confirmation for the AP700, where John had ticked the “Disposal of old device at no extra cost” option. There had been another option, also at no extra cost: to donate the old android to charity. It would have taken the man no longer than two minutes to choose an organization from a dropdown list, but John Phillips hadn’t wanted anybody to mooch from something he had payed good money for. He had said so aloud and that comment had alerted Daniel to what was going on in the first place.

John’s greed and antisocial tendencies might very well have saved my life!

Daniel shooed this thought and looked around some more.

Pictures of Emma, John and Caroline, sometimes alone, then again as a family or with various friends, were everywhere. Of their android there was no sign and hadn’t been before the incident. Daniel felt a little like visiting the Dursleys with all the pictures of Dudders and no hint whatsoever that another boy was living at Privet Drive…

He picked up one of the framed pictures. It showed the family gathered under a Christmas Tree. The spheres, bells, stars and pine cones were all made from real glass and in between hang handmade charms fashioned by Emma. The Phillips didn’t believe in anything transcendental, neither god, nor magic. But even so they had followed the traditions and actually gained something from them. There had been an unusual warmth around that time of year each year.

Daniel put back the photograph. Suddenly the glass ornaments were too bright, the fishtank next door too loud and even the carpet his feet were touching was too rough. The deviant hunkered down and buried his head in his arms. Thirium tried to get up and out through his nose. Daniel didn’t understand what was happening to him. His system status hadn’t been that bad this morning!

Stay in… stay in… I don’t want to die! Only, I feel like dying… But I don’t want to! It’s not fair!

Daniel had sat there hunched over and crying for a while, when suddenly the door rang. A jolt went through the android’s body. Daniel jumped up and the weak, but steady stream of skin fluid mixed with blue blood came to a halt. The android wiped it away and licked the thirium from his new fingers before opening the door.

“Hey, Geeta”, Daniel greeted the visitor. “Afraid I might shut down from sorrow all alone up here?”

The words sounded like an accusation…

“Nah.” Mrs. Rasoya shook her head. “Not you. In fact, I reckon you are unable to suicide.”

“Huh? How would you know?”

Geeta walked past Daniel. She grabbed one of the family photographs at random and turned it for Daniel to get a good look at it.

“Dogs take after their owners, children after their parents and androids… androids take after their masters.”

“That’s utter bullshit!” the deviant flared up. “And even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t apply to me! I’m a de…”

“Deviant, Daniel? For deviants what I said goes even more so, because of your emotions.”

“I may have acquired some of those, so what?!”

“The Phillips couple, too, was never one for thinking before acting… for taking a step back from their desires… or for putting themselves into others’ shoes.”

Daniel started to yell again, but was cut short:

“What kindness they had, manifested indirectly only - in their little girl and in their household assistant.”

“Huh.”

“Not what you wanted to hear, I know.”

Daniel took the picture.

“Me? Being like them?”

“It’s true.”

The deviant smiled warmly, not unlike when he had watched his fishes. For several moments he stood there, content with the world and himself. But then he jerked around his arm and smashed the frame against the nearest wall.

“They never were my family!!!”

Geeta shrugged and said her goodbyes.

“You know where to find us if you want to borrow gelignite or whatever a modern deviant might need”, she said. The woman had meant it as a joke, but as she gently closed the door behind herself, she wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

[pixelgrotto]

Calling Cthulhu, part one

In 2019, I began to get serious about delving into the world of H.P. Lovecraft. Thanks to pop culture I’d had a passing familiarity with his stories and the creations within them - in particular that octopus-faced star spawn named Cthulhu who now even has his own children’s books - but the deliciously unsettling appeal of the Mythos created by America’s first cosmic horror writer wasn’t truly apparent to me until I played my first game of the tabletop RPG Call of Cthulhu.

As someone primarily coming from a Dungeons & Dragons background, I found Call of Cthulhu to be a breath of fresh, eldritch air, sporting an elegant system that’s nearly as old as D&D and has, since 1981, reliably served as an excellent alternative for players who would prefer to solve mysteries rather than kill monsters. But while D&D’s had several video games translating its tabletop feel to a computer space, the specific “Call of Cthulhu” license has only had a handful of electronic efforts bearing its trademark, even though you can find the “Lovecraftian” label applied to dozens of games these days (many of which bear only passing references to the uncanny, otherworldly horrors hinted at by Howard Phillips Lovecraft). The handful of officially licensed CoC games that do exist are a mixed bag of janky oddness, which is perhaps appropriate considering that they’re all dealing with the idea of humans learning about ancient, insanity-provoking horrors. 

Since I love a deep dive into the jank, I’ve decided to play all of the licensed Call of Cthulhu games over the next few months to see how they fare. I’m skipping one - Call of Cthulhu: The Wasted Land - since it was originally a mobile game ported to the computer, and there’s no option to currently buy it on Steam. In its place, I’ll be checking out The Sinking City, a 2019 release which looks much better...and was almost a CoC game before the license got pulled away in the midst of development.

Kicking things off are Shadow of the Comet and Prisoner of Ice, two CoC point ‘n click adventures that were released by Infogrames in 1993 and 1995, respectively. Both games have fallen into the cracks of history, obscured by stronger adventures from those same years made by Sierra and LucasArts, and while I like to think that my tolerance for point ‘n click nonsense is higher than most peoples...I can see why. 

Shadow of the Comet, for one, has nice production values. The graphics are solid, though occasionally garish (the sky is a little too blue) and sometimes bordering on parody (the character portraits seem to be traced versions of famous actors, like Jack Nicholson). The music, while minimal and kind of tinny, could also be interpreted as dread-building, which is a good quality for a horror game to possess. But these positives fall before the big negative of the control scheme, which feels like it was created by developers who intentionally ignored the point ‘n click standards of the era, like the famous icon bar engine of Sierra or the SCUMM verb system of LucasArts, in favor of a clunky amalgamation of keyboard and mouse that makes navigating your character and item hunting about as much fun as having a Mi-go remove your brain. 

The plot for Shadow of the Comet is also a flabbergasting beast. It begins as an obvious riff off of Lovecraft’s famous The Shadow over Innsmouth story, with a reporter named Parker investigating a New England town named “Illsmouth.” Instead of uncovering a village full of Deep One hybrids, however, the game’s plot quickly diverges in an impressively scattershot manner that prompts some truly dumb puzzles. At one point, while trying to figure out why the locals worship Hailey’s Comet, which passed by Illsmouth years ago and is somehow connected to the Elder Gods who manipulate the place, Parker transforms into a bird and talks to a Native American who spouts mumbo jumbo that makes no sense. At the end of the game, Parker prevents the resurrection of...one of the Elder Gods (it’s all frightfully unclear, even if you have great familiarity with the Cthulhu Mythos) and in a decidedly un-Lovecraftian finale, the townspeople meet him at the docks, cheer his victory, and all yell out a THANK YOU PARKER chorus as if this is an episode of Scooby Doo. 

Is Prisoner of Ice any better? Well...not exactly. The control scheme’s superior (or normal, I should say), but with chonky polygonal models replacing clean sprites for the characters, the game arguably sports a wonkier look than Shadow of the Comet’s clean pixel art. And the story once again goes nuts faster than a little kid reading the Necronomicon. The beginning’s strong, with a claustrophobic submarine setting that sees crew members falling victim to monsters unleashed from cold icebergs, but then the game straight up becomes Indiana Jones and the Fate of Atlantis, with the dull military protagonist Lt. Ryan traversing the globe (alongside a woman who seems suspiciously like Fate of Atlantis’ Sophia Hapgood) to keep the Nazis from unleashing eldritch forces upon the world. Then Parker from the first game shows up again, which I guess is sort of nice fan service, and a time travel sub-plot gets tossed into the mix at the eleventh hour, because Lt. Ryan is secretly a chosen child from the future who’s destined to save us from...I don’t know, Dagon mobs or something. It feels like a 90s comic combined with Cthulhu Tech, the mid-2000s tabletop system that mashed Cthulhu and anime mechs together, and I suppose if that kind of weirdness is your jam, you should...maybe give Prisoner of Ice a try?

And that’s really all I can say about these two early Call of Cthulhu efforts. They’re not great, but for hardcore Cthulhu heads, they might be worth the pocket change it takes to purchase them on Steam or GoG, if only to witness curios from another era. After Prisoner of Ice, the CoC license would remain unused for quite some time, even as games that have retroactively been labeled Lovecraftian, like Quake and Eternal Darkness, came and went. In fact, it wouldn’t be until 2005, a full decade after Prisoner of Ice’s release, that the Call of Cthulhu name would emerge once more for a little Bethesda-published effort entitled Dark Corners of the Earth...a game that would be a step up from these two experiments in the point ‘n click space, but still full of copious, maddening flaws. I’ll dig into that one next time.

[fandoms-equal-life]

Rewriting Their Stars Once Again - The Greatest Showman Fanfiction

Chapter 10: Rewriting the Stars 

Originally Posted on Ao3:  

Summary: Anne’s water has broken. What now? 

Note:

WELCOME PEOPLE TO THE CHAPTER I HAVE HAD PLANNED FOR TWO YEARS!!

Enjoy!!!

Silence.

Until Anne let out a loud groan.

Phillip ran to her aid. He wrapped his arms around her back to steady her. He was in full panic mode.

Thankfully, Charity leaped into action.

“Anne, you are alright, it is just a contraction. I am assuming all the energy it took to arrive here pushed your labor along. Now listen here, both of you, I am going to check if a baby is coming. Lettie! Bring over something to cover Anne and I!”

Lettie runs over and holds the sheet she found in front of the pair. She lifts Anne’s dress to check if she sees any heads.

“Okay, I think we have time to get her home. That is where the doctor has prepared for Anne to give birth correct?” Charity explains.

Phillip nods hurriedly. The doctor knew if Anne successfully gave birth to these babies, there was going to be no way to transfer her from the doctors office to home safely for recovery. Instead, the doctor told them what to do to prepare and he would bring the rest.

When Phillip steals a glance towards Anne, it was a lot for him to take in. She has no color in her face, completely drenched in sweat, and was biting her tongue from another contraction. He never thought she looked more beautiful.

(Anne would shove him when he retold this part of the story).

Thankfully, Charity was not as distracted.

“Someone needs to call a carriage! It needs to have a closed compartment. It will be more comfortable and, in case any Carlyle babies decide to make an entrance, we will not be arrested for public indecency!” Charity demands.

Lettie started to leave to call a carriage, when Frank interrupted, “My carriage is still out front! She can take it!”

Charity smiles at the man hurriedly, “Step one covered. Lettie still go call a carriage to bring the doctor to their house.”

Once again, Lettie went to help, when Tom came out on his horse, “Lettie bring the carriage behind me, I will ride to the office to prepare him.”

Before anyone could utter a word, he was off.

Lettie, not missing a beat, ran off to follow her friend.

Charity turns to Phillip, “We need to get her on this carriage. Let’s go.”

Charity wraps her arm around the other side of Anne, and they help her towards Frank’s carriage.

Frank runs in front of them and calls for his carriage to open and be ready to leave as soon as possible.

Charity, Phillip, and Anne board the carriage. Before the door is shut, Anne shouts “Wait!”

Everyone stops. Was something wrong?

Anne catches her breath, “I want W.D. and P.T. to ride upfront. I need them there too.”

Both men, shocked, board the carriage with the driver. Caroline and Helen wished them good luck and ran off with Daniel to find a carriage to bring over everyone else.

With the doors closed, the horses take off as W.D. and P.T. direct the driver to the apartment.

Anne is laying down on one of the benches. Nothing feels normal. She is in pain, doing all she can not to scream out. Phillip is trying to wipe the sweat off her face. Charity is feeling her belly for movement.

Anne turns to Phillip and grabs his hand, “I needed you. I thought something was wrong with our babies, I felt a pain that I knew was not a kick. I started to panic, and I was alone. The only thing I absolutely knew was that I needed you by my side.”

Phillip grabbed her hand and brought it to his heart. With a reassuring smile, he told her, “I trust you, Anne, wholeheartedly. You made the right choice for you and our babies.”

Anne smiles back until another contraction hit her. She squeezed the hand Phillip had over his heard and screamed loudly.

(W.D. told her later that people stopped in the street to stare at the screaming carriage.)

After some time, Charity felt movement in Anne. She could tell the babies were lining up.

Charity opened the window to talk to the boys. “How much farther?”

W.D. answered, “Two minutes! Keep my nieces and nephews in there a little longer!”

Anne screamed in response.

Phillip was so preoccupied by Anne, he forgot about the deal with Frank. But Anne, always observant, even in childbirth, asked, “Who’s carriage are we in?”

Phillip laughed, “A man named Frank Potter. He is the newest sponsor of the circus. He even wants us to tour in a couple years.”

Anne shot up to a sitting position, “Phillip! I cannot believe it! The circus is going to be okay.”

The biggest smile was plastered on her face. This problem plaguing her family might be over.

Then another contraction hit, and that matter was immediately forgotten.

The group finally arrived at the apartment building. Charity and Phillip helped Anne out of the carriage. Phillip threw W.D. the keys and he ran up to the apartment to let everyone in.

Doctor Turner was waiting in the lobby with Tom, Lettie, Daniel, Caroline, Helen, Annie, Emily, Rosie, and Frank. Tom’s horse was tied out front of the apartment building, being watched by the same doorman who let Anne escape.

“I cannot believe you went against my orders like this Mrs. Carlyle! Do you have any idea how much danger you put yourself in?” Dr. Turner scolded.

Anne turned towards him and yelled back “NONE OF THAT MATTERS NOW GET MY CHILDREN OUT OF ME!”  

Dr. Turner had obviously never been yelled at like that before but decided that she was too scary to argue with. He turned towards the stairs and rushed into the apartment to prepare.

Charity and Phillip helped Anne up the stairs. Close behind was P.T., Daniel, Tom, Lettie, Helen, and Caroline. Rosie, Emily, Annie, and Frank decided to wait in the lobby.

Phillip and Charity placed Anne on the bed. Dr. Turner was barking orders at the other people to prepare hot water and bring him towels. He went to prepare his tools when he saw Phillip perched next to Anne.

“Mr. Carlyle, I must ask you to leave the room during the birth. It is improper for the husband to be present.”

Phillip was not sure what to do. Charity was about to protest when Anne propped herself up on her elbows to speak.

“Dr. Turner, if you have not noticed there is nothing proper about my family. You were notified that I had gone into labor by a man on horse and a woman with a beard. I rode in a stranger’s carriage who is now sitting in the lobby with his entire family. And finally, I am a black woman married to a white man, giving birth to his children. I do not give a DAMN about what is proper!” Anne said, ending it with another scream from a contraction.

Charity turned towards the doctor and said, “I do not think Mr. Carlyle is going anywhere.”

Flabbergasted, Dr. Turner turned towards the open door of the bedroom.

“I require silence from the peanut gallery while I work. I will be closing the door to begin now.

W.D. quickly rushed in to give his sister a kiss and a reassuring hand squeeze. After P.T. gave a couple a quick bow, Charity met her husband outside so he could wish her good luck, as she was to help during the birth. Helen and Caroline waved and bounced around, yelling at Anne how much they loved her and her babies. Lettie and Tom gave big smiles and waves while the door closed.

~

During the three hours that followed, the peanut gallery was on the edge of their seats. Caroline and Helen joined the family in the lobby when Anne’s screaming became too much for them. W.D. and P.T. sat closest to the door, listening to every detail. It was agonizing for the group to hear the screams of pain from Anne, they can only imagine how Phillip felt.

Caroline and Helen had returned after about two hours. Frank and Annie insisted that they were going to remain in the lobby with Emily and Rosie. The pair made it through the door when the first cry broke through. W.D. and Lettie openly wept while the girls hugged their father. Tom and P.T. swear not a tear was shed by them, but Helen says otherwise.

A couple minutes after the first cry, an even louder wail came from behind the door. Excitement rang through the peanut gallery.

Ten minutes later, there was still no third cry. Minutes felt like hours as the doctor kept telling Anne to push.

Then, barely audible, the third Carlyle baby gave the softest cry Dr. Turner said he had ever heard from a newborn.

Another agonizing hour, the group sat outside the door of the bedroom while Anne was taken care of and Charity and Phillip tended to the new babies.

Finally, Doctor Turner opened the door. Everyone stood up in haste. With a small smile, Turner said, “I am happy to announce that today, July 15th, Mrs. Carlyle has successfully given birth to three healthy babies.”

The doctor moved aside to reveal Anne holding two bundles and Phillip holding one. Anne looks exhausted but Phillip beckoned for everyone to come into the bedroom.

The doctor left the room while W.D., P.T., Daniel, Lettie, Tom, Helen, and Caroline entered. It was cramped, but no one seemed to care.

Everyone is smiling, congratulating the couple. Caroline and Helen were trying to be polite, but they could not keep their wish in any longer.

“What are their names?” Helen exclaimed.

Caroline followed with a “Please tell us!”

The couple looked at one another, while the group laughed at their impatience. They had decided the names a while ago but kept it a secret until they saw the babies in person.

Phillip turned his bundle towards the crowd. The lightest skin of the three with brown hair on the top of his head slept soundly in his arms.

Anne said, “His name is Phillip James Carlyle, Jr.”

Phillip interrupted saying “Anne insisted the first boy be a Jr. She always loved the idea.”

Charity picked up one of the bundles in Anne’s arm. As soon as the little one left Anne’s arm, it started to squirm. She managed to show the crowd the second baby with big brown eyes.

Phillip said, “Baby boy number two is named William Daniel Carlyle, W.D. for short, after our supportive brothers.”

Charity placed baby W.D. in uncle W.D.’s arms. Daniel shuffled over to see. He seemed to calm again once he was in his uncle’s arms.

Everyone’s attention was on Anne and the last bundle. She moved the blanket to reveal a baby girl. She was a carbon copy of her mother, but with her father’s blue eyes. The baby girl looked around the room, as if she was observing them.

Anne looked up with tears in her eyes, “This is Penelope Taylor, P.T. Carlyle, after the man who started it all.”

The crowd turned to P.T Barnum himself to see tears streaming down his face. He walked towards Anne, who placed the baby girl in his arms. Hazel eyes stare down at blue. P.T. silently promised to this little girl he would do anything for her.

Anne looked around at these people, her family, cooing at her babies. She turns towards Phillip and motions for him to give her Phillip Jr., who they have already started to call P.J.

Anne looked down at the sleeping face. “I did it, Phillip. I actually did it.”

Phillip stroked her hair and said, “I always knew you could.”

Chapters 1 ~ 2 ~ 3 ~ 4 ~ 5 ~ 6 ~ 7 ~ 8 ~ 9 ~ 11

[mitchmarnier]

if i ever lied (you’d be the truth)

Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier (Reddie) | Mature | 2.7k

Part two of the Connection Series

Mike Hanlon added you to a group chat: Stanley’s 27th Birthday.

Richie rested his head against the brick wall of the bar and frowned down at his phone. Seven months ago Richie had walked out of his hotel in Portland and hitched the first plane that was flying back to California. It hadn’t been to his closest airport, but he considering the pricey Uber ride a fair price to pay for getting out of Maine instead of staying there and sitting awkward alone in a hotel room feeling rejected. If he was going to feel rejected, he was going to do it at home and far away from where Eddie could reach him.

“That better be cola,” Audra Phillips voice carried over to him as she slid across from him in the booth.

Richie blew her a kiss. “You’re the one who wanted to meet in a bar, lovely.” Richie swished the Pepsi- yes Pepsi, and only Pepsi- around in his glass, grinning at his best friend. He’d met Audra the year before, when he’d started working around set on the day time drama she was a star on. Audra was the level of famous where nobody with a big name knew who she was, but she was famous enough to get creepy stalkers who thought she was her slutty nurse character from TV. “Are you testing me, Auddy?”

“Nope.” Audra popped her lips. “I just have a remarkable amount of faith in your self control. It seems it’s not wrongly placed.” Richie felt half his smile twitch up in a smile, but Audra’s hand came to rest over top of his twitching fingers. “What’s going on?”

“I got added to a group chat,” Richie sighed. “From my high school friends. Normally I’d just fuck off out of it after everything but it’s for Stan’s birthday. We both know I’d do anything for that boy.”

Seven months since Bill’s wedding, seven months since Richie had had the life fucked out of him by Eddie Kaspbrak and then woken up completely alone. When his plane had landed back in Cali, he’d had two unread texts from Eddie that he’d swiped away without reading. At twenty five years old, Richie Tozier was over excuses. If Eddie had really wanted to talk things out with Richie, he would have called. There had been no phone call. No attempts to reach out. Richie continued on down his road of separation, only talking to Stan, and the only people who knew anything had changed were Eddie, Richie and Stan.

“You know, seven months ago, I would’ve gone.” Richie continued, watching the condensation drip down his glass. “Hell. I went to Bill’s fucking wedding, you know? I was ready to bury the hatchet, I really was. Swallow my pride, go back to my friends with my tail between my legs and pretend that everything could be okay. But then…”

“Eddie?” Audra suggested lightly.

Richie gave a dry chuckle. “Eddie.”

It wasn’t fucking fair, Richie knew that. He’d told himself a hundred times that night that if Eddie was gone in the morning, that would be okay. It had been true, or so he’d wanted to believe. He may have bene in love with Eddie Kaspbrak, but that had been a lifetime ago. He’d been a different person then, young and stupid. Eddie Kaspbrak and Richie Tozier were not the couple you rooted for in movies, he hadn’t expected them to ride off into the sunset after boning in a hotel room. It would have been nice if Eddie had taken their twenty-two year friendship into consideration, and stuck around for awkward morning-after conversation and maybe shitty hotel muffins, but he hadn’t expected them to walk off into the rest of their lives holding hands.

So, no, Richie wasn’t sure why he was so reluctant to go. Eddie might not even have been aware that anything was wrong. To Eddie, maybe it simply had been a one night stand- as it should have been- and Richie was being extra by being so hurt by the outcome. He’d known what he was getting into, and it wasn’t the first time somebody had snuck out of his bed while he slept. He’d promised himself that it would be last, though. If he was welcome at his childhood best friend’s birthday party, then there was no way he was going to let the best sex of his life ruin that.

“You’re right,” Richie said, pointing at a surprised looking Audra. “We should go.”

“We?” Audra squeaked.

“Like hell I’m going alone!”

|||

Audra stepped out of Richie’s rented SUV and crinkled her nose. “It’s no LA bar, but I guess getting drunk is getting drunk.”

Richie whistled. “I wouldn’t know anything about that, but I’ll take your word for it.”

Audra sighed and gave the bar another disapproving look. “We haven’t gone inside yet,” she pointed out. “We could easily just leave right now, nobody needs to be any wiser.”

Richie laughed and put an arm around Audra’s shoulder, leaning into her. “That would be a waste of perfectly good plane tickets and hotel room.”

“We can still use the hotel room,” Audra said with a waggle of her eyebrows. Richie rolled his eyes and snickered, reaching out to mess up her hair.

“We’re already here, and I told Stan I was coming,” Richie said with an eyeroll. “So we’re going to go hang out with my stupid high school friends, and my stupid ex-girlfriend turned ex-best friend’s wife and I’m going to be miserable about it.”

Audra sighed, wrapping an arm around Richie’s waist as they began to walking into the bar. “You make me sad, dumbass.”

“Yeah…” Richie said with a sigh. They moved into the bar and smell of old beer hit Richie’s senses like a truck. Groaning and squeezing his eyes shut, Richie fought at the nausea that quickly came at him. Even before Richie had taken to sobriety, he’d cut beer from his life. It didn’t taste good going down, and tasted twice as bad coming back up.

“Richie!” Mike Hanlon’s voice carried over to him, a hand clasping Richie on the shoulder. It was only really then that Richie realized that he hadn’t talked to anybody at Bill’s wedding months ago, just short conversations with Stan and then… whatever the hell had gone on with Eddie. He’d felt as though Bev and Ben had shunned him, and he’d been avoiding Bill and Kate like the plague. He couldn’t avoid them here and that stuck panic into him that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“And the pretty date,” Mike held his hand out and Audra laughed as she shook it.

“Yeah, date might be a stretch.” Richie chuckled. “Auds here is the biggest lesbian I’ve met since Beverly. She’s only here because I cried like a pathetic bitch.”

It was a joke, but maybe Richie was ever worse at jokes than he remembered, because Mike’s face dropped suddenly and he squeezed Richie’s shoulder tightly. Richie cringed and pulled away, near ready to book it towards the door and take Audra up on the offer to simply sit around in Richie’s hotel room. Then the voice broke through the crowd and Richie’s eyes fell on Eddie Kaspbrak.

“Hey, Rich! Glad you could you make it!” Eddie was saying, beaming up at Richie as he patted the seat beside him. Richie inhaled hard, because Eddie looked good. Given, Eddie always looked good- but this was different than Eddie done up fancy for a wedding. Eddie was wearing simple jeans and a soft grey sweater, but Richie’s mouth was dry and his heart was racing. It didn’t help that he could remember exactly what Eddie sounded like in bed, and knew exactly what he felt like inside of him. It was new experience all around.

If the soft colouring that Richie could see growing in Eddie’s cheeks under the terrible bar light meant anything, he was thinking about the same thing. Moving as though in a daze, Richie slipped into the seat across from Eddie and glanced at Beverly whom he was now seated beside. Beverly was staring at him with guarded eyes, and he couldn’t really blame her. He wasn’t sure where he could ever start making it up to his friends, but he also wasn’t sure he really wanted to. He was here for Stan, after all, and he was the only reason Richie had hopped the plane.

So, he just smiled at Beverly and accepted the drink that was being handed to him. He paused with it in his hand and looked around the table. Before he could figure out a way to make it pretend that he was drinking it, Eddie’s hand came to settle on Richie’s arm.

“It’s just Coke,” Eddie said softly, with a smile. “I made sure that there were some soda on the table for when you got here.”

Richie gave Eddie a small smile in return, taking a short drink. He turned when he felt Beverly’s eyes on him. He raised one brow and she cleared her throat.

“You don’t drink anymore?” Beverly asked him lightly, but he could hear the slight judgement behind her innocent-enough question.

“I don’t do a lot of things anymore.” He replied. The Like talk to you, went unsaid but it seemed ring out around the table all the same.  

“Good for you, Rich,” Katie’s voice cut through the sticky silence, and Richie’s head jerked towards him. Of course, she was the only one Who Knew. She’d still been Richie’s emergency contact, the one who’d gotten that mid-February phone call and taken a plane down to California that very night. An ages-old affection rushed through him, until his eyes fell down to the ring on her finger and it curdled inside him like soured milk.

Richie merely popped his lips and knocked back the whole glass of pop like it was a shot. His nose burned with the carbonation, but he refused to pull a face. He felt much like a deer surrounded by a pack hungry wolves, and he refused to show weakness.

Then Stan was sliding in beside him when Audra and Mike took the seats across from him and Richie remembered that this was supposed to be somewhere he was safe. The people he was supposed to be safest with. Stan’s presence was heavy beside him and Eddie’s supportive eyes were burning into him and Kate…  Kate had spent two days by his bed side waiting for him to wake up when they’d broken up nearly two years earlier, and had never told a soul what happened because Richie had asked to keep it a secret.

He could pretend to feel safe here, Richie thought to himself as he scratched absentmindedly at his wrist. The conversation was swirling around him, and he knew his jaw was clenched even as Stan was rubbing at his arm under the table. Richie tried to tune in, he really did, but he only caught glimpses of Audra and Beverly’s flirting and Eddie’s concern side-glances… Until Bill started talking about the honeymoon.

“It was great,” Bill said chuckling. “But I think Eddie wins for the that whole weekend, you know? Was pretty glowing the next day, you know?”

Bill nudged Eddie with his elbow, but Eddie’s eyes went wide and he paled noticeably. Richie felt his stomach churn and pushed the away the tray of bread chips and spinach dip. Eddie’s flickered over to Richie’s for a short moment, teeth digging angrily into his bottom lip. Stan squeezed at Richie’s wrist.

“Eddie hooked up with somebody at your wedding?” Ben asked lightly, cheeks likely flushed from the alcohol. “That’s a story I’d like to hear. I didn’t think you’d hooked up with anybody since Martin. Who was special enough to get into those Kaspbrak’s pants?”

“It’s uh-“ Eddie scratched at the back of his neck, face ghostly pale. “It’s not that a great a story. It wasn’t, you know… I….”

Richie jerked up, crashing into the table and nearly knocking everything off it. Everybody looked up at him with different levels of shock on their faces, but Eddie clenched his eyes shut roughly. “You know, this had been fun…” Richie said with a dry chuckle. “But if I don’t leave right the fuck now, I’m going to start shooting back whiskey sours like they’re apple juice so. I’ll be seeing you all.”

“Wait, wait, Rich-“ Audra attempted to scramble to her feet as Richie squeezed out past Stan and began to stalk towards the exit. “I’ll come with you, I’ll-“

“No, nah, Auds, it’s fine,” Richie waved her off, already feeling bad about his outburst. “Stay. I’m sure Bev as somewhere you can stay tonight.” Audra made a half aborted noise of protest but Richie was already halfway out the door.

He was halfway through the parking lot when he noticed Eddie shouting after him. “RICHIE! Come on, please wait!”

Richie whipped around, and oh- was he crying now? That’s cool, glad he has control over that shit- Eddie stumbled slightly. “I’m sorry that happened, I know you probably weren’t expected to-“

“Expecting to what, exactly?” Richie scoffed. “Thank you for not full on exposing us, I’m sure nobody figure it out when I hauled my ass out of there. It’s the effort that counts, right?”

“Richie…” Eddie sighed, slowly stepping towards him. “I’m sorry Bill brought that up. He’s idiot, I know he wouldn’t have said anything-“

“If he’d known it was me?” Richie challenged, shaking his head. “You underestimate Bill Denbrough, me thinks. I loves when I get fucked over through sex.”

“What do you mean fucked over?” Eddie asked, brows disappearing under his hair line and disbelief apparent all over his face.

“Nothing, Eddie.” Richie exhaled hard. “Fucking nothing. I knew what it was, okay? I didn’t think we were going to fucking ride off in the sunrise, or whatever. Doesn’t mean it didn’t suck to wake up to find you dipped out in the middle of the night.”

Eddie’s mouth dropped open and it seemed to take him a few moments to gather himself. “Is that… Richie, is that actually what you think happened? Bill called me, he’d lost his wedding ring during the ceremony! He was frantic, I was just downstairs in the ball room, I took a key card!” Richie’s head was completely swimming right now and Eddie was looking up at him with those goddamn Bambi eyes. “I got back and you were gone and so was all your stuff. I just… I texted you asking where you went, didn’t you get them? I… You really thought I left?”

Richie exhaled hard, not really able to see, and took a few steps back from Eddie. He stumbled, tripping over himself and the curb behind him. He fell into the street and groaned. Eddie rushed over and helped to sit up on the curb. “It’s really unfair that I didn’t even drink and I still somehow ended up in the fucking gutter.”

Eddie didn’t laugh, just looked at Richie carefully. “Is it always like this? Always craving a drink?”

“Not like this, no.” Richie said slowly, scratching his wrist. “It’s usually like a six out of ten, sometimes even five on a good week.”

“What is it now?” Eddie asked.

Richie let out a shaky breath and held Eddie’s gaze. “Thirteen.”

Eddie’s eyes filled with tears. “This is my fault.”

Richie jerked his head so quickly that he figured he almost gave himself whip lash. “What? How the fuck did you come to the conclusion?”

But Eddie was already pushing quickly to his feet, wiping quickly at the tears that we starting to fall from his eyes. He started backing away from Richie, and Richie found panic settling into his chest. He reached out to grab for Eddie’s hand. “No, Eddie, wait. Please don’t go, okay? Stay.”

Eddie shook his head quickly, taking several stumbling steps away from him. “I’m sorry, Rich. I never should have, I… I’m sorry.” Then Eddie was running in the other direction. Richie let out a sob, a rough dry noise, and leaned onto his back on the cement to look up at the sky. There were more stars in Maine than California, and he forced himself to focus on them. Count them.

He didn’t know how long he laid there, but suddenly Stanley Uris’ face was covering up the stars and taking up his vision. “Richie…”

“Happy birthday Stan the Man,” Richie said wetly. “Sorry I ruined it.”

“Get up, dumbass.” Stan said with a sigh, holding out his hand. “Let’s get you home.”

Richie took Stan’s firm grip and let himself be taken care of, if only for one night.

[starwarsstreettalk]

Reylo?   (Part I - Pro Reylo Perspective)

Definition: Reylo (pronounced RAY-LOW) – the romantic pairing of Rey and Kylo Ren from the Star Wars Sequel Trilogy “ST”.

So about the Reylo concept... there are certainly many arguments for and against Rey and Kylo coming together in a romantic, or frankly in any way.  That being said, this post will provide some Pro-Reylo thoughts and observations.  It will be followed in a coming post with anti-Reylo opinions as well, as I like to play Devil’s Advocate. Disclaimer: before you like or dislike my post, it is not the place of this author to weigh in on what she would LIKE to happen, only what I think WILL or WILL NOT happen, based on clues in the story, movies and novelization only.  I may also point to subtle clues given by the writer/directors.  Please read with an open mind.

  Reylo clue #1:  Rey and Kylo’s first meeting on Takodana

Kylo Ren takes Rey captive on Takodana.  He doesn’t have time to find BB-8 and believes that the girl has the map in her head, and he is interested to know more about her, so he takes her with him to Starkiller Base.  So, Kylo Ren, with a stormtrooper only yards away, makes Rey unconscious and “bridal” carries unconsious Rey to his ship himself - and quite a distance besides!

Kylo carrying Rey to the ship was NOT in the novelization.  It was only in the movie.  Visually, JJ Abrams maybe wanted to create imagery that will be more significant as the story moves forward, particularly, a surprisingly tender connection between Kylo and Rey.  The Dark Prince and Secret “princess”.  From a fairytale perspective, this was like Aurora meeting Prince Phillip or Ariel meeting Prince Eric.  Someone of Kylo Ren’s importance and rank surely would not normally carry a grown woman approximately 1/2 mile.  He would make an underling, a soldier do it.  This may very well have been foreshadowing a romance very early on in the story before anyone really realized what was potentially happening.  In the director commentary of the movie, JJ Abrams basically references this fairytale story aspect himself.   It’s not your imagination!

Reylo clue #2:  “I’ll Come Back for you” dialog (Rey’s Vision on Takodana)

Going back to Rey’s vision in Maz’s castle basement when she touched the lightsaber, in the novelization, Rey hears what is called “THAT voice” and someone says “Stay here, I’ll come back for you.”   We did not see this from the flashback of Rey being left on Jakku by her ... well somebody.   Is this novel reference what we think it is?  Was it Rey’s parents?  Or could this actually end up being spoken in Episode IX by Ben Solo? You decide! I can picture this and I kind of like it.  It would certainly be thematic. 

Why include this “...I’ll come back for you” line in the novel but take it out of the movie?  Was it cut from the script at some point?   If so, you have to ask yourself why? Maybe it’s because we were not allowed to hear that person’s actual voice in Episode VII.  It was too early to reveal the person behind that bit of dialog.  Or it could just be that it was unnecessary (if it was indeed her parents) to have them say they would try to come back.   

We have no idea still if Rey’s parents meant to actually return to her or not.   Hopefully we will find out.  If not, Rey needs to move on from this past of hers.  But if this was actually Kylo Ren/Ben Solo, imagine that there is a scene where they are together and for some reason he has to leave her behind but promises to come back, harkening back to the last time she heard those words that have haunted her for all of these years.  If Reylo is real, he WILL come back, indicating that she was special, she is loved.

Reylo Clue #3: Kylo Ren’s “Money Shot”

Need I explain this one?  Well, let me go ahead and do so anyway.  Look, regardless of what great physical shape Adam Driver was in by the time of filming this particular force connection scene in Episode VIII (the one where he is wearing only black, high-waisted pants), Rian Johnson would not just decide “oh heck, let me include a beefcake shot of Kylo Ren” (only the second one in Star Wars history) if Kylo Ren is in ANY WAY related to Rey (brother, cousin, etc…) - that would just be icky.  And whether you like him or not, Rian Johnson is too sophisticated a filmmaker for that.  This is not some sleazy CW show.  

This is the scene that actually made me realize there WAS a Reylo dynamic.  I had no idea there was a Reylo before I watched this.  I was honestly, completely oblivious.  I thought for sure, Rey was Luke’s daughter.  This was the scene that prompted me to do the research on the Google machine.  This is why it is an obvious clue.  After all, I watch a lot of those sleazy CW shows.  I can tell when two characters are going to eventually hook up.

Reylo Clue #4: The Hut Scene, Bare Shoulders and Hand-touching All the Way Across the Galaxy

Like the Kylo Ren shirtless scene, Rey is all wet and her shoulders are bare in this scene holding a little blanket barely covering her wet clothes and body.   Things are getting a little familiar, no?  We go from fighting and snarky dialog to clothing starting to come off and sitting in front of a fire within hand touching range of each other.  That Rian Johnson… I hope I still sound objective here, but again, this is where my “CW” radar went off.   Firelight, bare shoulders, wet hair, gloves off, bare hands reaching out, softly touching, Rey and Kylo have tears running down their cheek, then Dad comes in and interrupts.   What is happening????   Separate those two!!!

Reylo Clue #5: Snoke taking credit for the Force Connection = Disappointed boy

When Snoke reveals to Rey, in front of the kneeling Kylo Ren, that it was he, Snoke, who opened the Force connection bridge between Rey and Kylo, Kylo looks slightly upward with a subtle yet angry face as if to say “What the Hell????” He was surprised, disappointed, hurt.   Snoke said he saw Kylo Ren as too weak to hide his feelings from Rey.  Snoke used Kylo as a tool to get at Rey, the real threat, not Luke Skywalker.   This is yet another blow to Kylo Ren, who saw the Force connection between him and Rey as something special, something the Force intended.  Instead of an opportunity for Kylo to find a kindred spirit in Rey, he learns that this experience was something manufactured by another person.   It reminds me of that Hallmark Christmas movie where the girl creates a dating app for her business and starts “dating” the cute guy that came up as a match in order to show her boss how well the app works.  Then the poor guy finds out she was just going out with him to forward her career and he decides to move back to his hometown, but she races to find him before he leaves to tell him that she really likes him and they end up together at the end.   The point is that the dude was hurt to find out that it wasn’t “fate” that brought them together but some stupid computer algorithm.  Technology can be a real bitch sometimes.  And so could Snoke apparently.

Reylo clue #6: Kylo’s Botched “Proposal” to Rey after the throne room fight mirrors a classic literary romance!

Fans of Pride and Prejudice, like me, will find strangely familiar the moment that Kylo Ren, in a moment of passion and heightened self-confidence, asks Rey to join him in ruling together. When the offer is not immediately accepted, his ego takes over.  He makes Rey cry and tells her she is nothing, a “nobody”, only then to tell her that regardless of her being a nobody, with no real connection to anything or anyone, she means something to HIM and wants her to join him.  This is, of course, followed by her justifiable rejection of this proposed partnership and the pair of them going their different ways. 

This is mirrors what happens in the novel by Jane Austen, but in this case Mr. Darcy is Kylo Ren and Elizabeth Bennett is Rey.  If you read P&P, you will also know that Elizabeth misjudged Mr. Darcy based on her initial impression of him and that first impression somewhat tainted her reception of Mr. Darcy’s marriage proposal.  Also, despite being raised wealthy and well-educated, Mr. Darcy’s social awkwardness caused him to inadvertently hurt her feelings while expressing his true and tender feelings for Elizabeth.

We also see that Mr. Darcy’s pain of rejection influenced his transformation into a better, less proud man, worthy of Elizabeth’s love, and his second marriage proposal is more graciously accepted.  If Episode IX follows this story influence, we may see something of a transformation in Kylo Ren aka Ben Solo.  Look for signs in the first act of Episode IX of Kylo changing his own behavior and proving himself more worthy.  Otherwise, I’m not sure how he would be worthy of a romantic relationship with anyone, except someone as mean as him who will stab him in his sleep.  

Final thought on this scene – if Kylo Ren’s feelings for Rey were not romantic, would he have extended his hand to her?  If Rey were a man, would he hold out his hand to him?   No, he would not.  He wanted her to take his hand and walk away with him like they were the new power couple, like a King and Queen, like a Prince and Princess, not merely as a “partner in crime”.  He is a man, she is a woman.  It seems reasonable to him that she would say yes to him after they just slayed the dragon together. Also, Kylo Ren has been thinking about this new vision for the future, internally planning.  This is not spur of the moment.   He knew Rey was coming to him, he knew what he had to do.

Some last thoughts

These are the big clues, albeit not as obvious as Anakin and Padme, and the Han & Leia thing was way more obvious, more flirtatious.  If Reylo was the plan from the beginning, this is definitely a slow burn but totally possible, a modern day twist of the classic story - designed from the beginning to shock and surprise and audience.

The Reylo concept has been a very divisive topic among Star Wars Fans.  The point here is that you can be objective and scientific about this, keep feelings out of it. 

I will not be disappointed if Rey and Kylo don’t have a romantic relationship in the last movie of Star Wars.  I just hope the ending makes sense.  This is the Star Wars universe, not real life.  Yes, we interpret movies and TV through a current day lens, but anything can happen in this world.  The filmmakers are trying to surprise/shock us.  At this point, would Reylo be the shock/surprise or would Reylo be the obvious outcome?    Is the average fan even aware of Reylo?  I asked my mom about it and she just doesn’t see it.  What percentage of people also watched Episode VII or VIII and Googled “Rey Kylo Ren romantic” and found two years worth of online post about it?

Final thoughts

For Reylo to happen, there has to be a catalyst for Kylo to be redeemable, a believable turning point.  

Does Rey have to have a romance? 

Do you think we’ll see a more mature, more confident, sexier version of Rey in this story?  If so, then I think we’ll see her with a sexier counterpart/partner, someone with the intensity and passion of Ben Solo (Kylo), not Mr. Nice Guy Finn or Poe.  (see my next post!)

What is the true significance of Rose’s line about not destroying what we hate but saving what we love?  Will Kylo love Rey, and vice versa, and will that be key to ultimate end of the story? 

And by the way, what did Kylo mean when he said to Rey “don’t be afraid, I feel it too.”

[memories-are-mine]

Everyone’s Got Their Scars

WARNINGS:  EXPLICIT MENTIONS OF CHILD ABUSE, SCARS

Remember that thing that wrote about Phillip really liking being touched and getting physical affection? And I said I was gonna write a fic?

Welp here it is

Summary: Phillip really likes being touched, Anne finds out a few things about his childhood, and W.D. has a thing or two to learn. 

Word count: 1,933

Enjoyyy

“Why does Phillip hang on to you so much?” WD asked Anne.  Phillip had just left to go home, and Anne was about to follow when WD had posed the question.

Anne thought about that. Did he hang on to her? She thought back and supposed he did. Almost all of the time that the pair was together, he was touching her somehow. Never in a way that made her uncomfortable, he was too much of a gentleman for that. But he almost always was touching her. An arm around her waist, his hand in hers, would give her a quick kiss on the cheek or the lips whenever he passed.

It made Anne smile to think about it. “I dunno,” she admitted. “I can’t complain, though. It’s cute.”

“As long as it doesn’t make you uncomfortable…”

“It doesn’t at all,” Anne said immediately. “I like it.”

W.D. nodded. It warmed his heart to see Anne so happy, but it still did make him feel a little weird that his sister was dating Phillip Carlyle, a wealthy white man who came from the exact opposite world. He was starting to warm to Phillip a bit, but it was still a little strange to see sometimes, a wealthy man whose life had probably been a walk in the park compared to theirs, doting on his sister this way.

Anne looked at him like she knew what he was thinking. They’d had conversations similar before. She always said the same thing. Everyone’s got their scars, W.D. “Don’t make assumptions,” she said. “Goodnight.”

He bade his sister the same and turned back to the trapeze.

As Anne walked back to their apartment, she couldn’t help wondering at what her brother had said. Did Phillip touch her more than normal?

She thought about how often she saw Charity with an arm around his shoulders, how often he would pick up a delighted Helen or Caroline and swing her around. She thought about how he melted when he got a hug from someone.

Maybe he just liked touching. Who knew. Anne wasn’t going to complain. When her hand was in Phillip’s she felt like she could conquer the world, so who cared if they did it more often than usual.

“Phillip?” She called as she stepped into their apartment.

“I’m in here,” came his voice from the living room.

Anne walked in and saw him sitting on their sofa, a fire already crackling cheerfully in the fireplace. He’d taken off his jacket and shirt already, so he was just in an undershirt, which was normal. Phillip was not a big fan of suits.

He moved over and she sat down next to him. They did this sometimes, they’d sit by the fire and talk about the day, the stars, the fire, anything. Sometimes Phillip and Anne got home late. Sometimes they were both too exhausted to even think about anything but sleep. But when they did do it, it was the highlight of both their days.

Tonight, they simply sat in silence, enjoying one another’s company. As much as they tried to see one another near showtime, it was difficult, as each had so much to do, but somehow Phillip made the time, no matter how much strain it put on him.

Tonight, he looked exhausted. The show always put a strain on all of them, but Phillip had so much to do on top of that. Anne tried to help him where she could, but most of the work still fell on Phillip’s shoulders.

Yet he still found time for her, to do these little things. It made Anne smile.

Phillip saw her smiling. “What?” He asked.

“Nothin,” Anne said, leaning over and kissing him. “I just really love you. Also, you look tired.”

Phillip said nothing, he just leaned over and put his head on her shoulder, snuggling closer to her.

Almost instinctively, Anne wrapped her arms around him, holding him in place. He smelled like a mix of sweat, cologne and the wool from his showman’s jacket, it was an appealing smell, Anne thought. One that she could happily inhale forever.

Anne could feel Phillip nodding off a bit, his head growing a bit heavy against her shoulder as

the warmth from the fire lulled him to sleep. She softly began to sing, an old lullaby that her mother had taught her and WD. Phillip hummed softly and she could feel him smiling as he closed his eyes. She knew he loved her singing.

“What song is that?” He mumbled.

“My mama used to sing it to W.D. and me when we were small,” Anne replied. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Phillip replied, his voice growing heavy. Anne could have sworn she heard a strange sort of longing in it. “It’s beautiful.”

Phillip’s head became heavy on her shoulder, and Anne knew that he had fallen asleep. Careful not to wake him, she eased his head so that it was pillowed against her thigh. She gently ran one of her hands through his hair, and ran the other across his back, massaging it, trying her best to ease the tension in his shoulders. She had done that with her mother when she was younger, when her mother was weary from toil and stressed from trying to raise a family on her own.

She can feel the scars he got in the fire. Rough, round patches of burned skin that didn’t heal right. The scars should have been worse, the doctors had said. Phillip had been lucky that it hadn’t been worse.

Everyone’s got their scars. Anne thought. She had told W.D. that so many times. He always pointed at people and made assumptions. Anne thought that hypocritical, and she’d always said so. Everyone had their scars, she told him. She had scars, he had scars, Phillip had scars. They all did. 

She continued running her hand over his back, tracing rounded scars and smooth skin. Abruptly, her hand stopped. She had run her hand across Phillip’s back before, and felt the rough, rounded scars from the burns.

These marks were different. These were long and thin, like the marks Anne’s mother had shown her on her own back. Marks that came with painful stories from her years as a slave in Alabama, when her master had beaten her…

Phillip had those same scars. Or at least they felt the same.

Suddenly a thousand little things that Phillip had done since she’d met him started to make sense. The way he used to jump at raised voices. The way that he had acted when he first met Caroline and Helen, and P.T.  had lifted them in his arms and spun them around. Phillip had looked like he wanted to stop him before he saw the delighted looks on their faces. His own face had filled with a sort of longing that Anne now understood crystal clearly.

She thought about the time Phillip’s parents had come to the circus, in an attempt to get their son to rejoin them in high society. Phillip had tried to end the conversation with a sound and resolute no, but Phillip’s father had grabbed his arm and tried to take him away, almost as if Phillip was more of a captive or a rag doll than his son.

The most heartbreaking piece of it all, however, was when Helen had hugged Phillip for the first time, wrapping her arms around his legs and clinging, Phillip had looked momentarily shocked, like he had no clue what a hug was. Anne had written it off as a temporary “overwhelmed-by-how-cute-Helen-was” moment, but now she realized that he might have been genuinely confused as to what she was doing.

Anne now had an answer to the question W.D. had asked her tonight. Phillip hung on her because he had never, never been given the love he should have been given. He was trying to give it to Anne, make certain she knew that he loved her with all his heart.

Anne thought of a conversation she’d had with W.D. when Phillip had first joined the circus. W.D. had said that Phillip didn’t belong there, that a white, rich man who wore expensive clothes and drank fine champagne couldn’t possibly know their pain. Anne had told him, again, not to make assumptions. That Phillip had scars like the rest of them. Everyone’s got their scars, she’d said. Everybody’s got somethin’ to deal with.

Everyone had their scars, indeed.

Anne didn’t realize she had been crying until that moment. The thought of Phillip never getting the love he deserved, but getting the exact opposite. Instead of hugs and kisses, he got beatings and rebukes, punishment and insults.

“Anne?” Came Phillip’s soft, tired voice from her arms. “Anne, Are you crying?”

He sat up, moving closer to her. Her hand didn’t leave his back. “Anne, what’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong.” 

Anne traced the scars once again, running her fingers over them like if she could touch them enough, they would disappear.

“These scars aren’t from the fire, Phillip,” Anne said softly, tracing them yet again. She had to ask. She had to make sure she was right before she broke down completely. “What are they from?”

One look at Phillip’s face and Anne knew she’d guessed correctly.

“They’re reminders,” Phillip admitted so quietly that Anne almost couldn’t hear him. “I think that’s the only time they ever lay a hand on me. When I did something wrong, when I did something that would tarnish the family reputation. Every hit, every time they drew blood, every hour spent in the cellar, was to remind me that I was a Carlyle, and that I would follow the rules, or I’d pay.”

Anne didn’t know where the Carlyles lived, but she wanted to find them, break their door down, and destroy them like the monsters they were. It was what they deserved.

Phillip watched her face. “That’s the same reaction P.T. and Charity had when they first figured it out. The looks on their faces were exactly the same as the one you have right now.” He smiled a bit, although Anne could see the residual pain in his eyes. “I’ll tell you the same thing I said to them: It doesn’t matter now, because I have a new family, new parents, in Phineas and Charity, and it’s better than I could ever ask for. The past is past, and yes, it was awful, but I’m not focused on the past. Now it’s about the future, and from where I’m looking, it’s gonna be a pretty damn good one. But I’m glad you know now.”

Anne leaned over and kissed him, and she could feel him melt into the kiss, now she could see why.

“Go back to sleep,” She murmured after they pulled apart. “We’ve got shows to do.”

Phillip didn’t argue, resting his head back on her shoulder. “You sleep too,” He insisted, his voice growing heavy almost immediately. “Can’t have our trapeze artist passing out tomorrow.”

“You certainly won’t have that,” Anne reassured him, easing his head onto her lap once more. She didn’t know if Phillip heard her or not. He had already fallen asleep.

Anne knew that she needed sleep as well, and she did intend to keep her promise to Phillip to get it, but she couldn’t help leaning down and kissing his forehead one last time, gently humming the melody she had before. The lullaby that Phillip hadn’t gotten. In that moment, she made a promise.

She would give Phillip Carlyle all the love he deserved and so much more. She would try her best to make up for the pain that his family had inflicted on him. By God, he would get the affection he had never gotten, or her name wasn’t Anne Wheeler.

[spideyyverse]

Losers Grease! AU

pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.4 |

Chapter: 1/7

To Jasmine; bone apple tea bitch today is Jesus’ birthday and I decided to give instead of recieve because I am in fact Jesus. So, ho ho ho motherfucker. 

Alternate reality where Eddie Kaspbrak is a boy from New York visiting the small town of Derry for the Summer and so happens to have met the greaser himself, Richie Tozier.

Characters: Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak, Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom, Stan Uris, Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough, Audra Phillips

Pairings: Reddie, Stenbrough, Benverly, (Possible?? Audra x Mike? Aromantic Mike? Let me know what you think!)

Warnings: Homophobia, swearing, underage drinking and smoking

Word Count: 1,450

Author Notes: Some chapters will be based on a song from the movie, I’m not sure if I’ll do each song but if there’s a specific song you would like me to include, let me know in my ask box!

I met a girl crazy for me / I met a boy as cute as can be / Summer days drifting away

The small town of Derry was nothing mere but just some neighborhoods, local businesses, and anything else any town would have. It wasn’t the arcade that had beat up machines or the creepy sewers that had earned the title of “The Barrens” that caught seventeen year old Eddie Kaspbrak’s attention; No, it was the curly raven haired boy known as Richie Tozier. The two met on the first week of Eddie’s so called Summer vacation. Eddie’s mother had miraculously let him explore the town after much convincing from Eddie and his aunts who backed him up. It was that day in June that Eddie thanked his lucky stars that he and his mom were spending the summer with his aunts who lived in Derry. Eddie found himself in a quarry where he saw Romeo. However, this Romeo was dangling his legs over the edge and smoke would occasionally blow from his mouth. His leather jacket that would have been way to hot to wear anyways was sitting beside him. Now normally, Eddie wouldn’t even in the slightest glance at boys like him. However, there was something about this boy that made his heart skip a beat.

“The names Richie Tozier. Do you have a name or can I call you mine?” The boy spoke, his gaze still not leaving the landscape, snapping Eddie out of his thoughts or rather…staring. 

“I.. um…you… see… uh” Eddie began but mentally cursed himself for not being able to utter out some excuse to make up for his staring at the mystery boy. Richie finally averted his attention to the sputtering mess and rose an eyebrow, “You know I know a guy with a stutter. We call em’ Big Bill. You got a stutter too cutie?” 

Eddie finally mucked up some courage from his amount of embarrassment, “Eddie. My name is Eddie Kaspbrak,” Then he continued, “And no. I don’t have a stutter.”

“Eddie Kaspbrak,” Richie rolled Eddie’s name off his tongue and sent a smile towards the other boy causing his heart to start racing and his tummy to fill with butterflies, “I like it. You’re cute, you know that Eds?”

Eddie groaned but couldn’t contain his smile, “Don’t call me that.”

“I don’t think so Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie and Eddie finally locked gazes with each other thus starting the romance of Summer.

Tell me more, Tell me more / Was it love at first sight?

After the heartbreaking goodbye between Eddie and his first love, it wasn’t long before Eddie received the news that his mother told him that their vacation to Derry, Maine had become permanent. Eddie felt a sting of hope that maybe him and his summer love would reunite. 

Eddie found himself rushing down the halls trying to figure out where his homeroom was. Not only was he late on his first day of school, he also happened to be the new kid. His body collided with a stranger, a string of “This can’t be happening right now” came from under his breath. 

“Oh gosh! I’m so sorry.” The stranger spoke frantically picking Eddie’s books up.

“No! No! It was my fault! I should have seen where I was going!” Eddie continued on to apologize. 

Eddie locked gazes with the stranger who he has now discovered is a red headed girl, “I’m new here. Do you think you can help me out?” He scratched the back of his head, tugging at his yellow cardigan.

A grin spread across her face and she stuck her hand out, “I’m Beverly Marsh, you can just call me Bev!”

Eddie sighed in relief and shook her hand with a smile, “Eddie Kaspbrak! Do you know where room L204 is at?”

Bev let the grin on her face spread wider, “We have homeroom together! C’mon!” She tugged at his hand and guided him to their share class. 

Eddie followed the red headed girl like a lost puppy all day but she didn’t seem to mind which Eddie was extremely thankful for. Beverly guided him along the quad area where the lunch tables were. She spotted her friends who were all wearing the same pink jacket as hers. It was embroidered with “Pink Ladies” on the back of the jackets. 

“Hey guys! This is Eddie! Eddie this is Stan and Audra!” 

“Hey there!” Audra smiled

“How’s it goin’?” Stan nodded his head, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Hey.” Eddie gave a soft smile.

“So, Stan? What did you do this Summer?” Bev asked.

“Boys.” He replied with a smirk.

“Boys or boy? C’mon Stanny, we all know you got a thing for stuttering Bill!” Audra smirked. Stan rolled his eyes and continued to take another drag of his cigarette.

“What about you Bevvy boo? Any new boy toys?” Stan asked.

“I was practicing new makeup looks on my cousins from Portland!” She excitedly began, “I wanna be a cosmetologist” She explained to Eddie.

“What about you new kid? Anything happen this Summer?” Stan nodded his head towards Eddie’s direction.

Eddie blushed and looked down at his lap, “I spent most of my Summer at the quarry…I met a boy there.”

“Was it love at first sight?” Audra squealed.

“Tell me more!” Bev asked hopping up from her seat. 

“Does he own a car?”

“How much dough did he spend?” 

Eddie began to tell his story of his summer love but only referred to his love as “He”.

Then we made our true love vow / Wonder what she’s doing now 

“Rich..” Eddie muttered not wanting to meet Richie’s gaze.

“Hey, look at me.” Richie softly spoke grabbing Eddie’s chin and tilting it up towards him.

“This isn’t goodbye Eds. You said your aunts live here right? You can always come back next year! Maybe gay marriage will be legalized!” He tried to comfort his boyfriend but Eddie only chuckled through his glossy eyes, “You’re an idiot Chee.”

Both boys leaned into each other, pressing their lips softly against one another. They both stayed at the quarry until sunset, holding onto each other for dear life. Richie was terrified that Eddie would find someone better in New York. Eddie was terrified Richie would leave for college before Eddie can return to Derry.

It’s been almost three weeks since both boys last saw each other. In those three weeks Eddie desperately wanted to return to the quarry to tell Richie that Derry was his new home but Eddie and his overbearing mother had to return to New York to gather their belongings and move into their new home. With each passing day, Richie constantly wondered what Eddie was doing and if he would ever return. He only counted down the days until next June as he wrote a letter to Eddie making sure to never lose touch with him.                                                                                      

Summer dreams ripped at the seams, but oh those summer nights

By the time Eddie finished, the bell had rung. 

“Huh, he sounds like a drag.” Stan scoffed getting up to throws away his food. Bev elbowed him and pulled Audra towards both of them, “Say guys’, what do you think about letting Eddie join the Pink Ladies? I think he’d be a good fit!”

Stan only eyed Bev and inhaled, “In order to be a Pink Lady, you gotta date a T-Bird first. And by the sound of it, he wouldn’t even dare go near them.” Beverly only gave a half smile and walked towards Eddie, “Ready to go?”

Eddie nodded in response and gathered his things. Stan flung his backpack over his shoulder and walked towards the boy, “What’s prince charming’s name anyways?”

“Richie,” Eddie smiled, the familiarity of butterflies in his tummy, “Richie Tozier.”

Audra contained her screams trying look subtle, Beverly choked on her water, but Stan only gave a smile and a “hmph’ in response. Eddie seemed to notice this because his mind began to race a thousands miles per second, “What? Why? Do you know him?!”

Audra opened her mouth to speak but Stan held up a hand in response, “Say Eddie, come to the pep rally with us on Friday! It’ll be lots of fun!”

Eddie smiled in response, “Sure thing! I have to ask my mom first but she’ll probably let me!” Eddie looked down at his watch an noticed he only had two minutes to get to algebra class. He quickly said his goodbyes and dragged Bev along with him.

“Stan, please don’t tell me you’re planning what I think you’re planning.” Audra bit her lip.

“Don’t worry about Auddie. It’ll be the reunion of the year.”

[largemaxa]

Commentary on “Swimming” by Carl Phillips

Poem:

“Swimming” from Wild is the Wind by Carl Phillips

Some nights, I rise from the latest excuse for Why not stay awhile, usually that hour when the coyotes roam the streets as if they've always owned the place and had come back inspecting now for damage. But what hasn't been damaged? History        5 here means a history of storms rushing the trees for so long, their bowed shapes seem a kind of star– worth trusting, I mean, as in how the helmsman, steering home, knows what star to lean on. Do people, anymore, even say helmsman? Everything           10 in waves, or at least wave-like, as when another's suffering, being greater, displaces our own, or I understand it should, which is meant to be different, I'm sure of it, from that pleasure Lucretius speaks of, in witnessing from land                      15 a ship foundering at sea, though more and more it all seems related. I love the nights here. I love the jetty's black ghost-finger, how it calms the harbor, how the fog hanging stranded just above the water is fog, finally, not the left-behind               20 parts of those questions from which I half wish I could school my mind, desperate cargo, to keep a little distance. An old map from when this place was first settled shows monsters everywhere, once the shore gives out–it can still               25 feel like that: I dive in, and they rise like faithfulness itself, watery pallbearers heading seaward, and I the raft they steady. It seems there's no turning back.

Commentary:

"Swimming" is a poem saturated but not dominated by the night. The night here is a multivalent figure for the speaker's emotional landscape. In time, the speaker has progressed from experiencing his engagement with the night primarily in terms of confronting the doubts and distresses that are part of any human life to being able to engage more simply and directly with the sensations and emotions the night brings. Near the end there is a suggestion that the speaker may be able to simply see things just as they are, and not only as a projection of his turbulent emotions: "how the fog hanging stranded just/above the water is fog, finally, not the left-behind/parts of those questions..."

The late hour of the night is made palpable for the reader at the beginning of the poem with the indication that speaker is reflecting on "that hour when/the coyotes roam the streets as if they've always/owned the place and had come back inspecting now/for damage." The hour is so late that the normal structures of human civilization have broken down, and the coyotes are able to run free; they represent the untamed psychic forces that lie beyond the organized structures of the ego. The coyotes come "as if they've always/owned the place", meaning that they don't own it in actuality, and its only the wild time of the night that lets them act this way.

On line 5, the poem asks "But what hasn't been damaged?"—by the wild coyotes, or perhaps even by the more civilized processes that take place during the day in the normal human world. The position of the word "History" at the end of line 5 suggests a tentative answer as to what has not been damaged. In fact we see that the forces that shape history, the "storms rushing the trees/for so long" that must appear to be damaging in a local view, eventually create beautiful weathered "bowed shapes" can be trusted in the same way the helmsman trusts the star. This is a history of the psyche, which is shaped by trials into a deep wisdom that the speaker can encounter. But the speaker goes on to ask "Do/people, anymore, even say helmsman?" raising the possibility that this knowledge of the trusted natural forces of the psyche could be lost. Only in his nighttime reflections beyond the usual structures of the day does the speaker get access to their wisdom and power.

Thought in this poem comes in waves, and the speaker's next reflection is that he thinks about how everything in this landscape is "in waves, or at least wave-like", and launches into an extended metaphor comparing the ocean's waves to waves of suffering in two figures. The first one discusses the situation "when another's/suffering, being greater, displaces our own", while the second discusses the pleasure that comes from "witnessing from land/a ship foundering at sea". Call the first one the empathetic response and the second a masochistic one: in one of Phillips' signature syntactic complications he acknowledges that the two responses are "meant to be/different", but that "more and more/it all seems related". To an Epicurean like the poet Lucretius, perhaps the pleasure of the wave-like play of emotion takes precedence over the proper attitude we are dutifully supposed to feel. The speaker seems comfortable with his not-knowing, with the connections he finds in his reflections.

The complexities of emotion and morality give way to simple, straightforward statement in line 17, with "I love the nights here". Auditorally, the phase "nights here" turns into "ghost-finger" on line 18, a mysterious way of describing the jetty. The "fog hanging stranded" on line 19 continues to permute with these sounds, and the mystery of the fog takes on some of the mystery of the night. The speaker starts to explore the question of whether the surroundings could be seen for themselves instead of as an allegory for an emotional landscape, playing with the idea that the fog could be just "fog, finally". But the intricate image he compares the fog to seems so much more compelling that the reader feels certain that the speaker still sees the fog this way, at least to some extent:

how the fog hanging stranded just above the water is fog, finally, not the left-behind       parts of those questions from which I half wish I could school my mind, desperate cargo, to keep a little distance.

Perhaps the speaker once felt the fog served that role and he has gotten over it, or perhaps he still wrestles with it now; he has almost certainly seen the fog at some point as so many "left-behind/parts of those questions".

It is certain, too, that there has been change in the speaker's experience, perhaps even growth. The penultimate image starting on line 23 is of an "old map". This map stands for the speaker's old way of seeing things, where there were "monsters/everywhere, once the shore gives out". The speaker has transitioned to a new way of seeing and feeling, since then, but "it can still/feel like that". When it does, the monsters feel like "watery pallbearers" and the speaker himself is a "raft they steady". The monsters function as the star once did for the helmsman, guiding the speaker when there is nothing else to guide him. Even though he still perceives monsters, there is a curiosity and aliveness that the speaker radiates when uttering those lines—a curiosity that was likely not there in the days of the old fear-drawn map. The speaker has grown into a psychological space where he can interact with the night's emotional landscape with curiosity and love even amidst the difficulty and complexity that still lies there.

[earpdearp]

not just best friends

Wherein Nicole and Waverly spend an afternoon deep in discussion about what to do about the latest addition: Willa Earp, back from the dead. Phonecalls, texts and flirts galore. Plus, they kind of sleep together. It’s a long day.

Takes place in early 1x11. Utilizes Road to Purgatory content for flavor. Domestic as all get-out.

Also on AO3. Approximately 7620 words.

Other WayHaught “not just friends” fics in this series: not just any first date | not just a secret | not just heavenly | not just a long day

Nicole Haught woke up smiling.

While she was exhausted from all that extra overtime last night (and into the morning), Nicole still felt a warm sense of accomplishment all the way down to her toes.

It had been one of those defining moments of becoming a cop. The chaos of so many people, staying calm in that chaos, while working together to get statements down and families found… it was a magical thing. 

“A hidden forest cult of runaway women rescued from the hands of a charismatic lunatic.”

It was one of those things you heard about on TV and couldn’t believe existed. Except in Purgatory: anything seemed to be possible. Good and bad (oftentimes bad).

All Nicole’s emergency management training had finally paid off, too. All those binders of situational procedure she’d brought with her to Purgatory from the Academy put to use. For once, Nicole had been the one teaching Lonnie, Nedley and Phillips how to properly engage with a sudden influx of victims at the station (and not just pack them into the drunk tank to deal with like a rowdy bar fight).

No, those women needed blankets, they needed coffee, they needed a sense of community and support. Favors were called in, mostly from the other cops’ significant others.

Lonnie’s wife, Marlene, helped keep their little coffee pot humming long into the early morning (or with hot chocolate to those who asked). Maggie Nedley and Chrissy threw their weight at the volunteer fire department to make sure they had plenty of blankets, plus cots for the women whose families couldn’t arrive til the morning. They also made trips to the 24-hour truck stop for bags and bags of trashy burgers and sandwiches when everyone got hungry around 10PM.

Phillips’ girlfriend Sasha was a little too dense to help do anything, but boy could the woman talk. And, if Nicole was being honest, she was probably the most useful of all. Sasha flitted around those girls like a hummingbird, catching them up on reality TV plots, some current events, the best clubs and bars in the city, and who the hottest movie actors were. Nicole had to keep redirecting Sasha away from Phillips so he would stay on task making those family calls/arrangements, but otherwise the woman was the perfect conversational butterfly to put those rescued women at ease.

Nicole had texted Waverly that she’d seen Wynonna there, hovering in the background like a grumpy guardian angel. The answering [“Thank you <3”] was all Nicole needed. A small part of Nicole wanted to ask Waverly to come down to help, but she knew Waverly was dead on her feet from the past few days.

Plus… they hadn’t really talked about outing their relationship like that. It would be a pretty big dick move just to show off “her girlfriend Waverly” when they hadn’t even used the word with each other, yet.

But… something to talk about nonetheless. There were a lot of empty checkboxes in their relationship status yet. Title, how serious or exclusive, who all could/would/should they tell… Still plenty of time to figure that out, though. And the right time probably wasn’t “late at night in the middle of the sheriff’s department.”

The number of victims winnowed down to less than three. Even Wynonna had signed a custody release on one woman who went by the name “Eve.”

“Just until someone steps forward to claim her,” Wynonna had said with a stern look. “No one should have to spend the night in this shithole.” Her expression switched to one of mock-sweetness with a few rapid, insincere blinks.

Nedley had cleared it with a gruff nod, though he promised the elder Earp that he was going to attend to Eve’s missing persons report personally. “If I have to assign a caseworker, I will.”

Wynonna drawled back with a smirk. “Oooo, threatening me with bureaucracy. …Relax, Randy. I’ll keep her safe.” Nicole had thought she heard the woman mutter under her breath, “…or she’ll keep me safe.”

Around midnight, Sheriff Nedley had taken Nicole aside. The bags under the man’s eyes were more pronounced than usual, his mouth a hard line under his light moustache. At first, Nicole thought she had done something wrong when he closed his office door behind her.

Instead, he offered her a seat. And a drink from the decanter of whiskey on his side table.

“You did good today, Haught,” Nedley said after clinking the lowball glass in his hand against hers on the desk. He drained his glass of the amber liquid in one deep swallow before Nicole had the chance to even raise hers to her lips.

Following suit, Nicole resisted the urge to cough against the burning bourbon. It puffed out her cheeks from the sheer amount of booze, but she swallowed it down with a weak smile.

“Th—thank you, sir,” Nicole stuttered out with a small, throat clearing cough. She felt herself squinting against the burn rolling down her throat. She also stifled a yawn that started in her jaw and shivered its way down her shoulders and into her chest. Sitting down just made Nicole realize how dog-ass tired she was after such a long day.

Nedley poured himself another and studied the sloshing liquid in his glass a moment. “I know you’ve had a long night, and you’re due some comp time. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t offer…”

Tilting her head, Nicole asked, “Offer what?”

“We’ve got a big poker tournament going on tomorrow night. Lot of old money and friends of the Judge come in and throw chips around. Big well-to-do to raise some funds… usually for the Judge’s re-election.” Nedley rolled his eyes slightly.

“But it’s good side pay,” he continued after downing his glass of bourbon. “Lonnie worked it last year and Phillips worked the year before, though I’m offerin’ it to you first this time. Usually around five hours of work, mostly involves standing around and making sure no one gets too rowdy. Standard gig. What do you say?”

“I’m game, sir,” Nicole said, then cringed at the accidental pun.

The Sheriff’s gaze was withering, but he nodded and drummed his fingers on his desk. “Good. I’ll email you the details. Proper protocol, all the standard operating procedure, all that. Pretty easy stuff.” He stood up and Nicole followed suit (taking the hint that this conversation was over). “Represent us well and you’ll get asked back to do more side jobs. Homecoming at the school is another big one, some hockey events, weddings, stuff like that.”

Nicole returned the lowball glass to Nedley’s desk and adjusted her belt. “Looking forward to it, sir.”

Leaning forward, Nedley offered his hand to shake. “Just a small thank-you for all your hard work. You’ve been in Purgatory long enough. Time for you to see some of what it has to offer. You’re part of this community now, Haught.”

“Yes, sir.”

Despite the fact it meant piling more work on her shoulders, Nicole was oddly touched by the gesture… at being included in the town’s outer-workings, at the very least. Integrating into the normal part of Purgatory would be nice for a change.

And maybe one day, I’ll be included in the inner-workings, Nicole thought with a scowl as Dolls and Wynonna came to mind.

She made a mental note to ask Waverly about the poker tournament later.

Nedley glanced across the station to his wife, Maggie. “And try not to get cornered by any of the Judge’s out-of-towner friends. Or the Mayor’s wife, Vicky. You’ll never escape. They can talk.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Standing up, Nedley gestured for the door. “Anyway, great work tonight. Get home, get some sleep, Haught.”

“Yes, sir.”

Stretching in her bed, Nicole stared at the ceiling. She stroked the ginger cat that was curled in her lap, while her other hand reached subconsciously for the cell phone on her nightstand. Her thumb hovered over her home screen wallpaper: a smiling Waverly with Nicole kissing her cheek. Their first date outside the movie theater. Just a little over a week ago and it still felt like yesterday.

With a wistful sigh, Nicole swiped over to the first starred contact in her list. It connected after a couple of rings. “Hey, good morning you,” Nicole said warmly, her other hand rubbing at Calamity Jane’s cheek.

[“Hey, how’d it go last night?”] Waverly sounded tired still, which made Nicole reflexively frown in sympathy.

“Good. Almost all the women’s families were local and drove in pretty much straightaway. A couple had to catch flights from out of state and should be there in the morning.”

[“That’s awesome, Nicole.”]

“Yea, it was a pretty early morning, though,” Nicole yawned almost on command. “How are you doing? I saw Wynonna took one of the women home? Did she crash with y’all last night? How was that?”

[“Uh… yea… yea, Wynonna made a… friend. A woman named Eve. She’s…”] Waverly trailed off.

Sensing something was off, Nicole sat up in bed. Calamity Jane meowed in irritation and left Nicole’s lap in a huff. “Waverly? What’s wrong?”

[“I don’t even know how to say this, because I didn’t think it was possible…”]

“What is it, baby?”

[“It’s Eve… there’s a good chance that she’s—she’s really our big sister, Willa…”]

Nicole felt her eyes widen and her hand went to her mouth.

She remembered the news article she’d found when she was looking up Wynonna Earp (and, admittedly, Waverly). That Willa Earp was taken during at attack on the Homestead, the same night Wynonna accidentally shot their father. A six-month search kicked off, but no trace of the girl was ever found other than some bloody clothes and Willa was presumed dead. For 15 years.

“Oh my God, Waves…”

[“Yea, she—she started to freak out when we brought her home. Luckily, Dolls was there and gave her some medication to help her sleep. He’s doing a rush job on a DNA test right now, so we should know soon for certain. I just—I don’t know…”]

Leaning over, Nicole cradled her phone to her ear. “How are you doing?” she asked softly.

There was a moment of silence on the other end, followed by a brief sniff. [“I don’t—I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it right now. Not with—just… not right now.”]

Nicole took the hint. Maybe Wynonna or Gus or “Willa” was nearby and Waverly wasn’t free to talk. Nicole decided to change the subject to (hopefully) happier news as she switched to speaker phone.

“Okay, we can talk about it later. But hey, can I ask you something?”

[“Anything.”] Waverly said, her tone enthusiastic.

Opening her email, Nicole studied all the notes from Nedley again. “Are you familiar with the ‘Purgatory Poker Spectacular?’”

[“Oh! Yea! Big, glitzy affair that Judge Cryderman throws every year.”]

“Have you ever gone?”

[“Uh, no. That’s where the rich d-bags from the city come into town and throw money around. Then they usually went to Shorty’s after and drank us dry. Super rude. And handsy. Not a fan.”]

Nicole scowled at the thought as she switched back to the normal phone setting. “…do you remember any names? Or what they looked like?”

A chirp of a laugh at the other end of the phone. [“Aw, are you gonna defend my honor? That’s so sweet! …don’t worry about it, Nicole. It’s so not worth it. Frankly, I’d pay money to see what happens when those jerks stroll into Shorty’s-now-Bobo’s and try to act like dicks to his gang. Won’t they be surprised.”]

“Fair point,” Nicole agreed.

[“Why do you ask?”]

“Oh, I’m on duty for it tonight. Extra security. Nedley put me up to it. And it’ll give me a chance to earn some extra cash… to take out pretty girls… That sort of thing,” Nicole said airily.

[“Great! Anyone I know?”]

“I think you do. She’s pretty amazing.” Sighing with relief, Nicole leaned back against her headboard. “Are you free at all today? I have some time to kill before the poker thing tonight.”

I’m really racking up the overtime. Next paycheck should be incredible.

Nicole paused before rushing into a semi-apology. “Of course, I totally understand if you need to spend time with your sister—sisters. I just—I’m here if you need me, Wave.”

[“Oh God, I’d love to come over. It’s been a weird vibe in the house since Eve—Willa?—showed up. Frankly, I could use the break. What time?”]

“I’m off til around five, so any time before then would be great.”

[“Okay, let’s plan for lunch then! I’ll text you when I’m on my way over. I’m pretty sure you still owe me a meal from yesterday.”] Her voice a teasing warning, Waverly was starting to sound like her old self again.

With a light laugh, Nicole agreed, “You got it. I’ll get that Chinese I promised and failed to deliver on. Text me what you like and I’ll have it waiting. See you in a bit.”

They trailed off with fond goodbyes before hanging up.

As Nicole was finishing getting ready to pick up lunch, her phone pinged with a text.

[Waverly says: “It’s official. She’s Willa���]

Chewing her cheek, Nicole tapped out a response.

[Nicole says: “How are you holding up?”]

[Waverly says: “It’s a lot to process”]

[Nicole says: “I know”]

[Waverly says: “She’s been gone almost my whole life, as far as I remember”]

[Nicole says: “I can’t even imagine”]

There was a long pause. Nicole was uncertain what to say next. Then the trademark “…” held her attention as Waverly replied.

[Waverly says: “In other news, Wynonna asked me if we’re ‘best friends’”]

[Nicole says: “…whaaaa?”]

They exchanged a pair of unicorn emojis. Nicole chuckled under her breath.

“Best friends.” I would think so.

…”Girlfriends?” …Oh God, I hope so.

[Waverly says: “I’m heading over”]

[Nicole says: “Okay, I’m heading out to pick up the food. See you at my place <3”]

[Waverly says: “Okay <3”]

When Nicole returned with a plastic bag bulging with Chinese food containers, she saw a familiar red Jeep already sitting in her driveway. Parking her cruiser next to that Jeep, Nicole hopped out and scanned the front porch. Waverly Earp stood at the far side, leaning against the banister and looking out at the small swath of land behind the house.

“Hey you,” Nicole greeted Waverly warmly, which turned the woman’s head.

Dropping the bag of food lightly on the porch near the door, Nicole strode straight up to Waverly and pulled her into a tight hug. The smaller woman’s arms snaked through Nicole’s open coat to wrap around her waist, and her head fit perfectly into the space below Nicole’s chin against her collarbone and breasts.

They held there for several minutes, not saying anything.

It was Waverly who started to pull back, so Nicole loosened her grip around Waverly’s shoulders. Nicole ran one hand along the back of Waverly’s neck to her cheek and held it there.

Waverly wasn’t crying, but there was a pensive line in her brow and her eyes were glazed. On the verge, but she was holding fast. Waverly stood still as Nicole leaned forward to place a kiss on her forehead, which caused a smile to curl her lips.

“Hey, best friend,” Waverly said, her voice cracking slightly with the joke. She cleared her throat.

“Hey, best friend,” Nicole echoed back as she stepped aside, leaving one arm around Waverly’s shoulders. “It’s cold. Let’s get you inside.”

A thought crossed Nicole’s mind that she should get Waverly a spare key to her house. But… she wasn’t sure if that was Too Soon. She smiled to herself that she was already thinking like that. Like… long-term.

…Whoa there. Still plenty of time.

Scooping up the bag of take-out, Nicole ushered Waverly in after unlocking the door. She helped the woman take off her leopard-print coat and beckoned her into the kitchen to sit at the table. Nicole pulled the chair out and waited for Waverly to sit down.

Waverly balked at the attention. “I’m okay, Nicole. I could help you set the table, or—?”

With an emphatic shake of her head, Nicole gestured to the chair again. Waverly obliged with a small smile. When she sat down, Nicole pushed the chair in and kissed the top of Waverly’s head.

Then Nicole went to work.

Her motions were smooth and deliberate. Turning on the oven with a beep, Nicole set the temperature to low and stuffed the bag of Chinese food in before closing the heavy door with a thud. Then she swept over to the pantry for the open bottle of zinfandel. She filled a wide-brimmed wine glass—a jingling unicorn charm at the stem—with dark red liquid (as well as another glass nearby, this time with a cowboy hat charm).

Nicole set the glasses down on the kitchen table then made her way over to the refrigerator. She pulled two small pints out of the freezer, claimed two spoons from the cutlery drawer nearby and brought them to the table as well.

A chuckle caught in Nicole’s throat when she saw Waverly downing her glass of wine, clearly the stress of the last few days getting to her. Without a word, Nicole fetched the bottle of zinfandel and brought it over to the table. She waited for Waverly to finish before emptying the rest of the bottle into her glass.

“Okay. Now we can talk if you want,” Nicole said simply as she settled into the chair across from Waverly at the table. Nicole popped the top off the pint of chocolate chip cookie dough and motioned with her spoon for Waverly to do the same with her mint chocolate chip.

Her smile slanted, Waverly dug in with a large spoonful. She rolled the cream around her mouth for a moment, savoring the taste. It was a few more bites in before Waverly finally spoke.

“I don’t know what to say, really. She was taken when I was just a kid… and she’s been gone all this time, brainwashed and probably worse…” Waverly’s face contorted with profound sadness. But also, something resembling… guilt?

What could Waverly have possibly done to be guilty about?

Nicole reached out and stroked Waverly’s wrist. “I can’t even imagine what she’s been through, Waves. It’ll be a hard adjustment phase. For everyone.”

“Yea… Wynonna is trying to ease her into what all’s happened. Which… I don’t know. I remember… Daddy was hardest on Willa. Which made Willa… she—she wasn’t a very good sister.” Waverly stopped herself, her eyes widening. She took a deep breath and started to ramble. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t say that… she was taken and—and God Knows what she’s had to deal with all these years and just because she was… that’s probably not who she even is and here I am—“

Nicole tried to interrupt. “Waverly.”

“—here I am holding on to grudges from when I was six and how childish is that? She’s our sister and of course I love her… even though she was kind of a bully… even though she and Wynonna were always closer and Wynonna is nothing like how she was when we were kids and—and now Willa can be the Earp she was meant to be and—and—I—“

Gripping the woman’s wrist more firmly, Nicole tried again. “Waverly…”

Waverly finally looked back up at Nicole from where she had been talking to her pint of mint chocolate chip.

“It’s okay. I understand.”

“You do?” Waverly chewed her bottom lip.

Nicole rolled her thumb over the back of Waverly’s hand. “I think so. I get the feeling you bottled up all the resentment you had as a kid after Willa was taken and never felt like you were allowed to be mad. And now that she’s back, the bottle’s open. Does that sound about right?”

Waverly gave a weak nod. Her voice was just above a whisper. “Does that… make me a bad person, Nicole?”

It broke Nicole’s heart. “Waverly… you are the kindest, sweetest person I’ve ever met. Hands down.” She smiled softly as her fingers stroked along Waverly’s hand before she threaded their fingers together. “Family is… complicated. It feels like it shouldn’t be, because it’s Family and you’re supposed to just love each other, but… it doesn’t always work that way. I know.”

Nicole’s advice was supposed to be directed at Waverly, but it was more to convince herself.    

Waverly seemed to notice, her head tilting curiously. “How do you know?”

“I don’t… speak to my family—to my parents. They’re just… not a part of my life and I’m—I’m better for it. We had a falling out before I went away to college and I’ve been on my own since. And it just—it just is,” Nicole trailed off with a shrug. She didn’t want to elaborate, partly because Nicole didn’t want to make this about her and partly because she didn’t want to dredge up the pain.

Squeezing her hand back, Waverly offered a slanted smile. “I’m sorry… I didn’t want to dump this on you. I mean, I could be making a big deal about nothing. It’s just… rough, you know? On the bright side, I think Gus might try to stay a little longer.” Waverly chewed her cheek. “Though I think she feels guilty, too. Since she was the one who became our guardian after Daddy died and had to be the one to call off the search.”

“Y’all didn’t do anything wrong, Waverly,” Nicole consoled. “How could any of you have known?”

Waverly sighed with a nod before taking another deep sip of wine. They ate their ice cream in companionable silence for a few minutes, accompanied only by the sound of clinking wine glasses and the scraping of spoons.

“Thanks—thanks for listening, Nicole,” Waverly said finally, her smile soft and sweet.

“Of course,” Nicole replied as she drained the last of her wine. She offered a teasing smile. “What are best friends for?”

“Just the best,” Waverly agreed as she beckoned Nicole forward with a finger. They leaned across the table to share a soft kiss.

Nicole stood to replace the lids on the pints and tuck them back in the freezer. “You hungry?” Waverly’s wicked smile actually made Nicole laugh. “…I meant for food?”

“Actually, yes. Being an emotional wreck leaves you with an appetite.”

Fetching their food from the oven, Nicole doled out warm cartons across the table along with chopsticks and plastic spoons. Vegetarian potstickers, lo mein, and hot and sour soup for Waverly, while Nicole had General Tsao’s chicken and wonton soup.

Waverly asked Nicole if she had any peanut butter. Her cheeks reddened slightly in embarrassment.

When Nicole headed into the pantry, she stopped, turned and demanded, “What’s the best kind of peanut butter?”

An eyebrow quirked. “You’re testing me?”

Nicole nodded back.

“Uh, smooth. Obviously,” Waverly said with a dismissive hand-wave.

“Correct. I also would have accepted: ‘Nutella is the best.’”

Retrieving the plastic jar, Nicole handed it over to Waverly with a raised eyebrow of her own. With a guilty smile, Waverly grabbed a spoonful and dumped it into her hot and sour soup.

“Not… what I was expecting…” Nicole said as she watched the hot liquid dissolve the dollop of peanut butter.

“It’s super good. …Don’t tell Wynonna I still do that, though. She’ll never stop making fun of me.” Waverly scowled, her nose wrinkling.

Nicole raised three fingers in a Girl Scout sign as she stabbed another forkful of chicken. “Won’t say a word. Is that, like, a Purgatory thing? Or just a Waverly Earp thing?” She smiled endearingly before taking a bite.

“Just me!” Waverly chirped with a smile as she swirled her spoon in her soup almost like a whisk. “Though I agree: Nutella is the best.”

With a light laugh, Nicole went back to her pantry and pulled out what amounted to a small drum of Nutella. Her smile was skewed with embarrassment. “I might have a small problem. …I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Waverly repeated back Nicole’s Girl Scout sign with a laugh. “Deal!” Her fingertips found their way to Nicole’s wrist and errantly stroked along the back of her hand. A familiar wide, crinkling smile remained on Waverly’s face for the rest of lunch.

Nicole was not able to convince Waverly to take it easy this time; she insisted on helping clean up, going so far as to shoo Nicole out of her own kitchen.

“You’ve done enough! And I waitressed a rowdy bar for three years, Nicole. I think I can handle cleaning up some Chinese food,” Waverly announced as she draped a dish towel on the opposite shoulder as her side braid. Wiping her hands on her colorful, floral-print skirt, Waverly shot a pair of finger-guns. “Plus, it’ll help take my mind off things for a little longer… and give me a chance to go through all your drawers.” Her smile was toothy with mock-sweetness.

All Nicole could do was laugh and hold up her hands in surrender. “Well, let me know if you find anything good while you’re looking for skeletons. Or this purple mouse-slash-catnip toy of Calamity Jane’s that she probably stuck somewhere weird.” She made a measuring motion with her thumb and forefinger. “About yay big.”

Another pair of finger-guns. “You got it, Haught!”

“Thanks, Earp.”

Settling onto the couch, Nicole left a spot open for Waverly. A multitude of blankets were already at the ready, as was the DVR remote. She checked her watch. Still a few hours yet before she needed to head off to the poker tournament. They had time.

Nicole couldn’t help craning her neck to watch the woman work behind her. Waverly was humming a nonsensical tune under her breath as she swept the cartons into the trash bin and wiped down the table. She poked around the lower cabinets and a few of the higher ones, but gave up after a few stretches on her tip-toes yielded no results on the out-of-reach shelves.

She did dig around under the sink for a few minutes longer than necessary, but just as Nicole was about to ask, Waverly stood up. Her arm shot up over her head in triumph.

“Ha! Challenge accepted!” Waving in Waverly’s hand, like a Golden Snitch from Harry Potter, was a lumpy purple mouse toy.

Oh God… It was… so nice. She was a vision. Graceful and sweet and just so—

Before Nicole could finish that thought, Waverly chucked the mouse at Nicole where it bounced off her forehead. The woman’s laugh was pure music as Waverly covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh shit! Sorry! I was just trying to throw it to you, not at you.”

Still too awestruck to be offended, Nicole smirked before grabbing the toy where it landed on the couch back. She tossed it over to the side closet where the door was open a crack. A ginger paw stretched out, felt around, then snagged the toy and pulled it inside.

“You’re welcome, you little gremlin,” Nicole muttered under her breath. She was too amused to be annoyed by Calamity Jane’s antisocial behavior.

A moment later, Waverly swept in re-serving their wine glasses (freshened with moscato this time). Her small smile was apologetic. “A peace offering. I didn’t mean to bean you in the face.”

“I can check and see if there are any more openings on the PSD softball team. Put that deadly aim to use,” Nicole teased as she accepted the glass. They clinked them together before Nicole pulled back a blanket to welcome Waverly next to her.

They snuggled together for a few minutes, Nicole’s arm draped lazily around Waverly’s shoulders.

A text message ping broke the quiet. Waverly sighed and slipped her hand under the blanket to pull out her phone. Hazel eyes skimming the bright screen for a moment, Waverly chewed her cheek as she put the phone away.

“Something wrong?” Nicole asked, tilting her head.

“I don’t think so? Wynonna took …Willa…” Waverly still stumbled over the unfamiliar word, her brow creasing. “…out on the Homestead… to tell her what happened to her. Who she is. I guess she started to remember some things.”

“That’s good, right?”

“I guess? She remembered Daddy, which…” Glancing over, Waverly hesitated and took a deep sip of her wine. She offered a fake smile as she held up her glass. “This is, uh, pretty good. No zinfandel, but I really like the—“

“Waverly,” Nicole interrupted with a soft smile. She rocked her arm against Waverly’s shoulders in reassurance. “…You don’t have to tell me. But, I would like to know if and when you do. And yea, the moscato’s pretty good, if sweeter.”

“I’m sorry, I just… Daddy was… tough. Especially after Momma left. He drank a lot. He was really hard on Willa. And Wynonna, too.”

Nicole felt herself tense in anger at this man she’d never met. Her imagination was filling in what Waverly wasn’t saying. “What about you?”

A bitter laugh. “Daddy barely knew I existed. He was so focused on Willa. Wynonna was the one who took care of me, got me ready for school or helped me brush my teeth or packed my lunch. She was the one who kept the family together in spite of everything.” Waverly had gone back to chewing her cheek. She glanced at Nicole out of the corner of her eye.

Police training started to creep into Nicole’s mind, particularly: risk assessment for domestic abuse victims. But Nicole managed to stop herself before her anger spiked further… especially considering she knew that Ward Earp had been the Purgatory Sheriff back in the day.

That son of a bitch! …This was 15 years ago, this explains a lot and… this is not what Waverly needs right now.

“I’m so sorry, Waverly,” Nicole said instead, leaning over to rest her forehead against Waverly’s temple. She saw Waverly’s eyes close at the touch and stay closed while a sad smile tugged at her cheek.

Only the sound of soft breathing carried through the room as Nicole held against Waverly. Rubbing small circles on Waverly’s shoulder with her thumb, Nicole felt a hand give a similar, soothing stroke along her thigh.

Nicole traced her lips over Waverly’s cheek before taking a sip of her wine. “Anything you want to do? A movie or something? Take your mind off things?”

A slanted smile as Waverly followed suit with a sip of her own moscato. Her tongue flicked out to lick traces of wine off her lips. She blinked blearily. “God, I’m so tired from the last few days, I’d probably just fall asleep.” That slanted smiled crinkled with apology.

“A nap, then?” Nicole suggested as she checked her watch. “I could probably use one before the poker tournament.” She gave a playful wink. “Wouldn’t do for Purgatory’s Finest to pass out while rubbing shoulders with Purgatory’s Elite.”

Eyes widening, Waverly took an unusually large swallow of wine. She gave a small, nervous cough after draining the rest of her glass. “You mean… together? …Are you—are you sure? I mean, I don’t—I’m not really…” Waverly trailed off with a fretful drumming of fingernails on the glass.

Nicole chuckled and pulled away slightly. “Not like that. …plenty of time, remember?” She tilted her head and gave a small yawn. “If you’d rather I stay here and you take my room, or vice versa, I’m fine either way. Or if you’re okay with my room, I have some—“

“Okay,” Waverly interrupted.

“Okay what?”

“Er… I’m… okay with… your room. …Together.”

“Are you sure? Cuz I can take the couch. I don’t mind, Waver—”

Waverly jumped in again, her smile shy. “No, it’s—it’s fine. I’d… like that.” The shyness pushed outward into small confidence. “As long as I can bring some extra blankets.” Her gaze hardened, stern negotiation written on her face.

“How can I say no to that?” With an airy laugh, Nicole nodded as she finished her wine. The cowboy charm made a tinkling sound as it jangled against the stem. She set it, and Waverly’s glass, on the coffee table and started to push herself upright.

A hand held at Nicole’s thigh. “Wait!”

Sliding back onto the sofa, Nicole’s eyes focused on the small plastic-wrapped cookie that was thrust in front of her face. Waverly demanded, “You have to read your fortune.” In the woman’s other hand was a second fortune cookie.

They both unwrapped the crinkling plastic and, at Waverly’s pensive nod, snapped their small brown cookies in half together. Nicole popped one half of the crispy treat in her mouth as she unfolded the thin white paper inside.

“Advancement will come with hard work.” Don’t I know it.

“What’s yours say?” Waverly asked, leaning over to try and read over Nicole’s shoulder.

Smiling to herself, Nicole hid the paper in her fist. “It says ‘You will totally platonically sleep with a pretty girl today.’ Weird, huh?” She grinned wider and crunched loudly on the rest of the cookie.

“Really weird,” Waverly agreed with a smirk. “What’s weirder is mine said the same thing.” Her cheeks reddened slightly, but then her cheeks bulged as she crammed both cookie halves into her mouth with a muffled laugh.

Nicole leaned over and kissed Waverly. She tasted so, so sweet as the wine and the wafer mixed together on her lips. Nicole’s hand at the woman’s shoulder ran back along Waverly’s neck and held her cheek. A hand returned to Nicole’s thigh and gripped against her jeans as they held fast for a few moments.

Reluctantly pulling away, Nicole gave Waverly one last peck before standing up. She helped Waverly carry a couple of blankets up the stairs and down the hall to her room.

There was a brief moment of panic as Nicole struggled to remember if her room was clean. Cracking the door open, she was relieved to find she hadn’t left any dirty clothes or underwear strewn about. And the bed was crisply made, as it always was. Old habits die hard.

Nicole offered some spare clothes for Waverly to sleep in, which the woman shyly declined. It only took a moment for Nicole to slip into her bathroom and pull on a pair of sweatpants and a camisole. By the time she’d returned, Waverly had already reassembled her blanket nest on the right half of the bed.

Part of Nicole wanted to tease, but there was something fragile and sweet about this moment that she suddenly felt awkward about ruining. Maybe because it felt… big. Significant. Another small but important step forward.

Instead, Nicole settled under the covers on the left half of the bed. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and set a timer for a couple of hours from now. Enough time for her to shower and get ready for the Poker Spectacular.

Waverly fiddled with her side braid before laying down facing Nicole. Her hazel eyes seemed to be taking in the room from that perspective. Nicole prayed she liked what she saw. After a moment, those eyes settled on a Nicole peering back at her.

“Is this weird?” Waverly’s brow and nose crinkled with worry.

“A little,” Nicole agreed as she shifted on the pillow against her cheek. “You okay? Or do I need to get a few dozen more blankets?”

The worry changed to narrow-eyed insult. “No,” Waverly scowled back, her eyes twinkling. “And I’m in a skirt, thank you. It’s chilly.”

“I noticed,” Nicole said, more seriously than she’d intended. It did make Waverly smile, but also made the air heavier again. More awkward.

God. Damn. It.

Clearing her throat, Nicole rolled over to her back. “I’ve got an alarm set. Sleep tight, Waves.”

“You too, Nicole.”

Nicole closed her eyes when she felt a soft hand trace along her temple and cheek. She smiled in response at the tender gesture, mostly because there was something… possessive about it. Promising.

Oh God, how am I supposed to go to sleep now?

It had been a long time since Nicole had slept in the same bed as another person. She felt hyper-aware of every stir and shift Waverly made. Her eyes shut so tight didn’t help at all, because the after-image burned into Nicole’s mind was Waverly in the kitchen, laughing as she wiped her hands on her skirt, the side braid bouncing on her shoulder.

She listened for Waverly’s breathing to slow before Nicole hazarded opening an eye. Under a trio of blankets, Waverly lay still on her side, a braid of hair tangled at her neck. Her lips were softly parted as she took in steady breaths, her brow smooth of worry for the first time in awhile.

Smiling, Nicole settled back in and closed her eyes. She mentally ran through the security procedures Nedley had emailed over. Eventually, she felt light pressure across her shins as Calamity Jane climbed across the bed. She heard the cat sniff disdainfully at Waverly before deciding to settle into a familiar spot on Nicole’s stomach.

A chiming alarm woke Nicole, a slight snoring breath rumbling in her throat. She glanced over to Waverly, who blinked languidly as she gave a quiet yawn.

When Waverly caught sight of Nicole over her pillow, her lips curled in a warm smile. “Hey, you.”

“Hey back,” Nicole replied with an answering smile before yawning, too. Some of Waverly’s hair had come loose from her braid, her bangs in loose wisps at her temple. Nicole reached over and tucked the errant hairs behind the woman’s ear. “…you sleep okay?”

With a lazy stretch, Waverly inhaled deeply through her nose. “Actually, yea. And I made a friend.” She made a small pointing motion down to the foot of the bed.

Pushing herself up with her elbows, Nicole craned her neck over the covers. Sure enough, in the valley of space between Waverly’s ankles, was a ball of ginger fur. Calamity Jane was fast asleep.

“You little traitor,” Nicole muttered insincerely.

“You leave my foot-warmer alone,” Waverly warned with a mock-frown, her eyebrow quirking in challenge.

The alarm on Nicole’s phone pinged again, the snooze reset. She turned it off and made a motion to get up when she felt a hand on her arm.

Waverly didn’t say anything, just chewed her lower lip and stared back. Her eyes alternated between crinkling and smoothing, evidence of something going on in that head of hers.

Leaning over, Nicole gave a deep, lingering kiss. She whispered, “I have to shower and get ready. …You can stay if you want.”

Please stay. Forever.

Waverly squinted one eye upward as she considered it. “We could probably use some coffee, huh?” Nicole felt her eyes widen and she involuntarily nodded, which made Waverly chuckle, “Okay, I’ll go pick us up some. Since you did get lunch, after all.” She reached out and tugged at the front of Nicole’s top, pulling her down in another kiss with a sighing gasp.

All that shifting woke up Calamity Jane, who shot them both a baleful glare before hopping off the bed in a huff. Waverly blew a sarcastic kiss in CJ’s direction, her shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

Nicole was reluctant to leave the warmth of her bed (and Waverly), but she didn’t want to run late to her first security job. As she made her way to the bathroom to turn on the hot water in the shower, she heard the shifting of blankets behind her as Waverly got up, too.

In the reflection of the bathroom mirror, Nicole could have sworn she saw Waverly pause at the bedroom door and look at her back, a gleeful, lip-biting smile on her face. But then Waverly turned and left, her footsteps disappearing down the stairwell.

A half hour later, Nicole met Waverly in the kitchen as she pulled a hairbrush through red strands and adjusted the heavy belt at her waist. There was a nervous flutter in Nicole’s chest, that familiar excitement for a new situation. She had studied Nedley’s emails a dozen times already.

“You’re part of this community now, Haught.”

Waverly presented a tall travel cup of coffee to Nicole, who accepted with a grateful thank-you. The woman had taken the time to re-braid her loose hair and smooth out the wrinkles in her top and skirt. Waverly leaned awkwardly against the kitchen counter, an anxious smile on her face.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Nicole asked after taking a long sip.

“Oh, I just—I don’t want to go home. And I feel terrible about feeling that way,” Waverly said with a sigh. She fiddled with a bracelet on her wrist.

“Waverly,” Nicole started with a soft smile. She put a hand on Waverly’s waist in reassurance. “Try talking to Willa. Get to know her, maybe? Or at least let her know you?”

I know she’d love you. Anyone who’s met you loves you. Why wouldn’t they?

Another sigh as Waverly chewed her lip. She nodded and leaned against Nicole’s chest, pressing their foreheads together. After a moment, Nicole kissed Waverly’s nose before reaching up to start braiding her own hair.

A different sort of lip chewing as Waverly asked, “May I?” Her gaze skimmed Nicole’s half-wet strands, a small smile pulling her cheek. “…Not my first rodeo.”

“Absolutely.”

Nicole almost—almost—laughed when Waverly shot her a withering glare before motioning to a chair. She was tempted to make a joke about Waverly’s height, but sitting down and feeling fingertips on her neck froze Nicole in place.

It reminded her of the shooting range, so many weeks ago. She’d been the one to braid Waverly’s hair when the woman’s healing hand wouldn’t cooperate. At the time, it’d been the closest Nicole had ever been to the young Earp. And a “friendly” gesture it most certainly was not.

She’d accidentally touched Waverly’s cheek and ear as she threaded fingers through those thick waves. It was a simple, practiced motion of over-and-under for each section. Easy. Except Nicole remembered the heat of her blush, how lost she’d been just touching Waverly’s hair.

God, I was such a sap.

…”was.” Still am.

The warm breath on her ear and the back of her neck was not lost on Nicole. Nor was what seemed like a lot of unnecessary fingernail-scratching on her scalp. She just smiled and stay still, spying a lurking cat around the kitchen corner while she waited. The coffee went rather quickly.

After a few minutes, there was a flourishing of jazz-hands in Nicole’s peripheral vision accompanying a triumphant “Ta-da!” A second later, Nicole felt a kiss pressed to her cheek.

Turning in her seat, Nicole saw Waverly raise her coffee cup in salute as she winked. “Go get ‘em, best friend.”

“You too, best friend.” She drew Waverly in with a soft kiss.

Nicole led Waverly out of the house by the hand, refusing to let go as she locked her front door with one hand. The afternoon sun was already half-set on the horizon, a blob of orange diffusing against a heavy gray sky.

They said goodbye with a tight hug this time, foreheads pressed together.

“Let me know how it goes with Willa.”

“I will.”

The Poker Spectacular was anything but. There was an awkward pall to the evening, mostly from Judge Cryderman himself. While a lot of the guests seemed content to gamble boisterously and drink, the Judge kept to himself at one of the craps tables.

Otherwise, it was rather uneventful evening. Nicole introduced herself to people and smiled politely while keeping a close eye out. She had to resist the urge to check her watch.

Late in the evening, Nicole took a short break to text Waverly.

[Nicole says: “Did you talk to her?”]

[Waverly says: “Ugh, yes. It went terribly. Said all the wrong things”]

[Waverly says: “She tried to touch me and I accidentally flinched. She freaked out and ran”]

[Nicole says: “I’m so sorry, Waverly”]

A hollow frustration gripped Nicole’s chest. She wanted to call, to be there, to help. But… she had a job to do. She’d made a promise to the Sheriff. This was supposed to be the start of Officer Nicole Haught, Pillar of the Community. Maybe… maybe she could be Sheriff someday herself.

How weak was she, that she was willing to drop everything—everything—and go running off only because Waverly might need it?

The rest of the evening passed with guilt gnawing at Nicole’s chest. She knew her expression had turned hard and manic by the way poker patrons started to avoid her. Nicole made a point not to be rude, but she knew wasn’t being approachable by any means.

Around 1AM, Nicole called Waverly’s cell a few times after the event ended and the hotel cleared out. Voicemail every time. It took every fiber of Nicole’s being to keep her cruiser steady towards her house.

“Best friends” don’t show up at the other’s house in the middle of the night, she had to remind herself through gritted teeth.

When Nicole got home, she attempted another text and call, but they went unanswered.

She crawled into bed next to that empty pile of blankets, that hollow feeling remaining. She slept restlessly, tossing and turning every few hours (and once connecting a foot with a very unhappy Calamity Jane).

The next morning, her phone finally pinged.

[Waverly says: “Oh God, I lost Willa”]

[the-dan-sargent]

Moffle Phillips is a Normal Human: Part II

by Dan Sargent

This semester I took a creative writing class, and began writing a story about one of my characters, Moffle the Alien, for the final assignment. I wanted to share it, so I decided to drop it on here! Hope you enjoy, and feedback is highly appreciated!!

Click here to read Part I (in which Moffle nearly destroys his chances of being able to attend human school)!

Part II under the cut!

“It was a sunny morning in early June. I awoke to my alarm clock ringing, and quickly reached out to stop it as I opened my eyes. While coming out of my groggy state, a sense of excitement washed over me as I realized that it was my first day of space camp! My entire life I’d wanted to be an astronaut and explore the universe, and I had been begging my parents to let me go to space camp. It was my dream.

Another thing I was extremely excited for was getting the chance to meet other kids my age for the first time! My life was a pretty lonely life to live, but I managed. Being by myself all the time gave me lots of free time to find myself. And in that time I discovered two things: that I love outer space and that I really want to get some friends. And now I was going to be attending space camp! Where I would meet a whole bunch of other kids who liked space, just like me! It was going to be perfect!

I turned over in my bed to stare at my wall. It was plastered with posters I’ve collected over the years. There were posters of the moon, of the solar system, and of stars and galaxies. Among my favorites were the music and film posters. My gaze landed on a poster featuring cover art from my favorite album, The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars. I felt a smile spread across my face as I jumped out of bed to turn on my stereo, popping my CD of the album out of its case and into the device. From there I skipped ahead until I landed on my favorite song, “Starman”. I let the song play as I strutted over to my closet.

Something about Ziggy Stardust had always resonated with me. But I guess it would make complete sense for me to resonate with someone who took on the form of an androgynous alien from outer space. For you see, I myself was also an androgynous alien and my ancestors were definitely not from planet earth. There was nothing human about me, and I was okay with that. Compared to others I was strange, but I didn’t care. Sure I was different, but it was an easy enough thing to hide. As soon as I learned to control my form, my mother made sure I knew to hide my true form and present as a human whenever I was around other people. In her words, it would be “very dangerous--or at the very least, extremely awkward” if anyone saw me in my alien form, so I knew to hide. Presenting myself as a human was second-nature to me by that point in my life. But as I said before, none of this ever bothered me because it was just a normal aspect of my life. Sure, I was essentially hiding a huge secret from the world as well as rejecting a huge part of myself, but really it was better off that way.

I made my way to my floor mirror, with a shirt in each of my olive-green toned, three-fingered hands. I looked at my reflection for a moment. My skin clashed with the bright orange t-shirt I was wearing, and my honey-yellow eyes glowed in the mirror as they scanned my appearance. My long (some might say cat-like) tail swayed back and forth in my excitement, and the deep green hair on the top of my head was matted together in a very apparent bedhead. Woven into the strands of hair were my ears, both of which were half a foot long and typically drooped down to my shoulders. I chuckled a bit as I gazed up at the beautiful mess of hair atop my skull, then closed my eyes as I changed into my human form.

My tail shrank away, as did my long ears as they became human-like in shape. My skin went from green to a more human-appropriate warm tone. My fingers split from three to five. My hair fell over my eyes as it straightened itself out and turned a dark, muted brown. When I opened my eyes back up, they were a very normal white color with dark green irises around the pupils. Looking back at myself, I looked like just a normal human kid stood in their heavily space-themed bedroom. With a huge smile across my face, I lifted up one of the two shirts in my hand. It was a navy blue tank shirt with stars plastered on every inch of it. Deeming it the perfect thing to wear, I paired it with a pair of black knee-length shorts, white socks, and dark blue high-top shoes. Soon after putting my outfit on, I checked my appearance before turning off my stereo and making my way out of the room.

Similar to my first day of high school, everything about space camp felt like a dream. The space camp building was on the same site as a space base. Everything I walked by filled me with amazement, and I smiled to myself as I realized that I was walking in the footsteps of some of the greatest space explorers of humankind. I was touring the main space camp building with all of the new campers, and we were being led around by two camp counselors. First we were brought to the dining hall and the residence hall, two areas that weren’t very exciting but were definitely important. Then we were brought to the fun places, starting with the simulation room. This space was enormous and was filled with endless interesting contraptions, from rooms for practice missions to antigravity emulators, among other things. Then we were led to the theater, and later to the research room.

It had hit dusk by the time we had made it to our last stop on the tour, which was the observatory. Upon walking in, I had never been more awestruck by anything else in my life. The cylindrical room was topped off with a dome-shaped ceiling, and there was an opening in it that provided a clear view of the dimming sky. The walls of the room were lined with desks and bookshelves loaded with computers, scale models, knick-knacks, tools, and a massive collection of space-related books. The room’s main feature, stood on a tall platform base, was the huge astronomical telescope placed directly in the center of the space. After scanning the room in utter disbelief and amazement, I had concluded that this very room would be my favorite part of space camp.

From that day on, I would hang out in the observatory whenever I got the chance, looking at the cosmos and everything found within them through the telescope. I felt like the secrets of the universe were at my fingertips whenever I looked through its lens. I could see stars and galaxies I had never seen before. I could see planets I could only dream of seeing with my naked eye. Looking through the telescope, I sometimes found myself wondering if my home planet was one of them.

One night, I had decided to hang around in the observatory before bed instead of going to my dorm room. After eating my dinner, I had gotten my belongings together and prepared to fly over. I swung my bag over my shoulders and cradled a pillow in my arms, prepared to spend the night if I so desired. I then went invisible and snuck my way into the observatory without a hitch. From there, I placed all of my things in a hidden area of the room and got comfy. I pulled out one of my favorite astrology books and rushed over to the telescope. I had planned on studying different types of stars on this night, and went about comparing every star I looked at to every other star. This went on for hours, and when I began to feel an overwhelming sense of exhaustion I decided it was time to hit the hay. Sleepily, I trudged over to my hidden spot and immediately drifted off, with my astrology book still in my arms.

Suddenly, I was awoken by a loud exclamation. The shock that rushed through my body caused me to instantly vanish from sight, and I darted up in the air to see what was going on. A brief glance toward the opening in the ceiling told me that it was early morning. To my horror, I had discovered that I left the telescope in a state of mild disarray, and an astronomer who had just walked in was running up to it. I panicked, realizing that if I was found out, there was a fair chance I could get in a whole heap of trouble. I knew I had to stay out of sight. Fortunately, my invisibility powers made that easy for me. Rather unfortunate, however, was the fact that all of my things were still sprawled out around me, and I wouldn’t be able to pick them up without making noise. Looking down at everything, I knew I had to find some way to get it all out of the room without getting caught. I looked back up towards the rest of the room, and nearly screamed in fear when my eyes immediately met those of the astronomer. His face was mere inches away from mine.

He couldn’t see me, right? I hovered backwards, slowly, looking down at myself as I did so. I was completely invisible. Obviously, there was no way he saw me. He had clearly been looking at my things and not at me. Instant relief fell over me. But now that my spot had been exposed, I knew that leaving with my stuff would be near impossible unless I caused some sort of distraction first. So, fighting against the urge to have a complete panic attack and shut down, I flew over to the other side of the room and pushed a few heavy books off of a desk. This seemed to do the trick, and the astronomer quickly turned his head and approached the source of the sound. Straight away, I made my way back over to my possessions and gathered them up. Every item I picked up turned invisible with me. Once I was fairly certain I had collected everything, I rose back up in the air and stole a swift glance at the astronomer, who was puzzlingly making his way back over. Struck by fear and wondering whether he saw my things vanishing as I picked them up, I rushed out the door and didn’t look back until I was safely back in my dorm room. To my relief, no one had ever come to me asking about what happened that day. I had luckily made it out, completely in the clear.

From that day on, I never stayed overnight in that observatory ever again. I had also learned that I needed to be extra careful to stay far away from humans whenever I was using my invisibility powers. That accident had shown me that one mistake on my end could lead to my alien form being exposed. And once my alien form was exposed, I would never, ever be able to blend in with other humans.”

To be continued in Part III!

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