#anyway if it's been 20 years since your tetanus shot it's time to get a new one!

[wildwood-faun]

guess who got DOUBLE VACCINATED today 💪

[deathonyourtongue]

Care Taking Ideas : “Person A giving person B an injection” with Henry or one of his characters sounds adventurous😂💓

Title: Evasion  Word count: 1446 Warnings: Needles, tears, anxiety? It’s fluff, don’t worry.

I had to do this with Sy, ‘cause I legit could not figure out how else to work out a non-medical person giving a shot. :P  Also as someone who has ZERO fear of needles of any sort (I legit ask them which arm they wanna poke if I have to get bloodwork done), I hope I did the fear of needles justice.

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You know you’re due, but you hide out in your office anyway. With all the commotion and paperwork that comes with a tour change, you hope to ride out the last day and have him forget that you’re in need of a shot. 

Though you’ve got a full sleeve of tattoos and a chest piece to boot, the mere thought of getting an actual injection makes you queasy. Rolling your neck to rid yourself of the urge to throw up, you guzzle down half your beer and silently focus all your energy into willing the ‘lights out’ call to come sooner. 

The door opening breaks your focus, but before you can even move to bar him, Syverson is in and has the door locked behind him. His smile makes it clear he’s up to no good, and though you can’t see a syringe in his hand, you know damn well there’s no other reason for him to be here, so close to the end of his shift. 

“Evenin’, sweetheart,” he grins nervously, his eyes scanning the top of your desk for any weapons, finding none. 

“I will shoot you in the face, Sy, so help me God.” He laughs, holding both hands up as though surrendering, allowing you to see the bottle of whiskey in his hand for the first time since he entered. 

“Easy, doll. Just wanna enjoy a drink with the prettiest woman on base, that’s all.” 

“You’re a shit liar and it’s not happening.” You answer, stonefaced as you turn up the metal you’ve been listening to try and calm your nerves. 

“What, the drinking, or the fun that comes after?” He asks, taking a seat across from you and reaching to the top of your mini-fridge for two glasses. Pouring expertly, he gives you the fuller glass, making it clear he’s got ulterior motives.

You and Sy have been dating for nearly five years, maintaining the lowest of profiles solely so that you two aren’t shipped off to different corners of the world. Although drinking after lights out is routine for both of you, it’s rare that you’re doing it while still wearing your uniform; usually, you’re both naked in Sy’s room, enjoying the privacy his higher rank brings. 

Taking the offered drink, you down it in one go, steeling yourself for what you know is about to happen and vowing that Sy’s not gonna get laid for a week out of spite. Sy watches you shoot the alcohol, his face a mix of sympathy and awe that you can still drink like coed despite having long passed your 20’s. Eyes locking with yours, he gives you that puppy-dog-eyed, crooked grin of his, his chin tilted down for maximum effect. Damn him and his blue eyes.

“C’mere, gorgeous.” He pats his lap and despite your better judgment, you find yourself standing and moving around the desk, pouting as you move. 

Sy wraps you up in a bear hug the moment you sit down, his strong arms holding you close as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek, his way of asking for a kiss. Tipping your head down, your lips meet his with petulant reluctance, making him smile as he kisses you back fondly. When he pulls away, he’s smiling ear to ear and you can’t help but melt a little as he gazes up at you with the utmost affection. Your eyes close as his hand cups your cheek and you lean into the touch, feeling the stress of the day dissipate, forgetting the real reason he’s here for a moment. 

“Watching you out there today, putting those boys in line and scaring the shit out of the ‘em, was so sexy,” he growls, and you can’t help the soft sound that escapes your lips as he kisses your neck slowly, ‘lovin’ up’ on you as he so often calls it. His lips press against yours once more before he pulls away, his eyes kind despite what you know is an impending betrayal. 

“You know I love you very much, right, darlin’?” You let your head fall back while groaning, unwilling to accept that he isn’t just here for you.

“And you know I wouldn’t do this to ya if I didn’t have to, right?” Your head snaps back up and you look at him with narrowed eyes and a lifted eyebrow.

“You don’t have to do anything. You could just let Doc do it.” You counter, poking at one of his pecs accusingly.

“Yeah, well, Doc bruised you last time he gave you a shot, and you passed out and fell off the table ‘cause he didn’t believe you, so...I’m gonna be more gentle, and this time you won’t end up with a concussion. Besides, there’s a treat in it for ya if you hold still and let me do it quick.” 

“That’s what she said,” you respond flatly, still not convinced. Sy chuckles, both hands moving up to roll up the sleeve opposite of him. 

“Please, Sy, no. Can’t we just wait until...I don’t know, until I cut myself?”

“Out here? Absolutely not. If we were back home, maybe. But I’m not taking any chances with this stuff out here, sweetheart.” He tells you softly, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek even as he fishes the pre-filled syringe and the alcohol swab from one of the many pockets in his pants. 

“Hey, look at me, mama. Deep breath.” Sy tells you seriously, his free hand framing your chin as he inhales deeply and lets it out again in a slow rhythmic pattern. Keeping your attention, his eyes never leave yours as he swabs your upper arm, forcing you to keep breathing deeply. 

Tears fill your eyes as the smell of the alcohol hits your nose, and the nauseous feeling rises up again just as Sy tucks you in close. Holding your head against his chest, he covers your eyes gently with his fingers, uncapping the syringe with his mouth and quickly moving the needle out of sight. Certain you can’t see it, he wraps his free arm around you tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

“Hold onto me, darlin’. Squeeze tight,” he encourages, and you do as he says, crying softly into his favorite shirt, panicking. 

“Deep breath. Hold it.” Sy’s voice is soft and patient, a stark contrast from how he normally speaks around others, especially new recruits. 

You squeak and cry a little harder as Sy pushes the syringe into your upper arm, hitting the mark with precision and gentility. A flurry of kisses are pressed to your face as he pushes down the plunger, injecting the Tetanus compound deep into your arm. Pulling the needle out as quickly as it went in, Sy presses a fresh patch of gauze to the sight, his hand pulsing gently to ease the sting and burn of the shot. 

“‘Atta girl. All done.” He murmurs, recapping the needle before shooting it and the rest of the waste into the garbage can by your desk. His face falls as he lifts your chin and sees that you’re still crying. 

“Well, that just won’t do,” he whispers, more to himself than anyone else as he shifts you so that you’re facing him, Sy wrapping your legs around his waist as he stands up. You don’t hesitate to loop your arms around his neck, unable to actually be mad at him, knowing he has your best interests at heart. With one hand under you, the other runs laps up and down your back, comforting you in the best way he knows how. 

Taking you back to your room, he sits down on the bed and just holds you, knowing the tears aren’t just from the shot, but from all the anxiety you’ve built up throughout the day to deal with it. Rocking gently back and forth, he lets you cry it out, knowing you need the release. His lips press kisses anywhere they can reach, and after a few moments, you settle, resting your head on his muscular shoulder, hiccuping. 

You feel his smile even before you hear it in his voice, Sy’s tone warm and full of love.

“You’re adorable, y’know that? My beautiful, adorable, tough-as-nails sunflower. Relax now, mama, it’s all over.”  Sighing softly, you squeeze him gently, a silent thank you for doing everything with such care and regard for your very-real fear. 

“What’s my treat?” You ask after a moment, pulling back to look into those gorgeous baby blues of his. His smile turns impish and he kisses your sternum before resting his chin there. 

“Gotta be naked to get it, darlin’.”

[thelastspeecher]

Recoil - Chapter 2: Ricochet

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   AO3

So, I’ll be updating this fic weekly on Thursdays, it looks like.  Y’all have three more weeks of scheduled uploads, then it’s back to my regular bullshit.  Anyways, the Fiddle boy finally shows up in this chapter, Stan shifts into Ultra Dad Mode, and Ford uses his cuteness as a weapon.  Enjoy.

(Again, this fic was inspired by “1 Step Forward, 20 Years Back” by @infriga)

Ricochet (noun): a shot or hit that rebounds one or more times off a surface

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              Ford sat on the couch in his study, abruptly feeling drained.  Was it the leftover exhaustion from the last week or so?  A side effect of becoming a child?  Children did need naps, after all, though Ford had no idea whether children of his current biological age did.  Or was it simply that Bill filled him with a panicked energy, and sharing the information with Stan had helped to ease that burden, share it?  Ford wasn’t sure which one, but as a tense silence fell, he resisted the urge to look at Stan, sitting next to him.

              “Okay.”  Ford stared at Stan, surprised by the single word response.  Stan’s expression was thunderous in a way that Ford remembered from their childhood.  It was the same look Stan would get any time someone messed with Ford.  The implication was dumbfounding.

              Does…does Stanley want to punch Bill?

              “I had no idea what to expect when I came here, but this sure as hell ain’t it,” Stan said, putting his hands on his knees.  His eyes were still stormy, but he plastered on a lighthearted smile as he looked at Ford.  Discomfort began to uncoil in Ford’s stomach.

              He’s treating me like a child.  From the moment he’d awoken, Ford had gotten the feeling that Stan was, so to speak, using kid gloves.  He’d banished that feeling, telling himself that it was just his misperception of Stan’s protective nature.  But he could no longer dismiss that possibility.  Not with Stan smiling at him so reassuringly after being told his own brother had made a deal with a literal demon.  Ford opened his mouth to tell Stan off.  Although, isn’t this better?  Their brief reunion as adults had been tempestuous and violent, and all Ford wanted at the moment, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, was a calm voice speaking warm words.

              “Why are you taking this so well?” Ford finally asked.  Stan shrugged.

              “I’ve been through a lot,” he said vaguely.  “This is the weirdest thing I’ve seen, yeah, but it’s not the worst. Nah, that’d be…”  Stan shook his head.  “Never mind.”

              “I just told you that if I fall asleep, I could become possessed by a demon!” Ford protested.  Stan raised an eyebrow at him.

              “Then why didn’t you get possessed earlier?” he asked.  Ford flushed with anger.

              “You don’t believe me.”

              “No, I do.  After seeing you get turned into a kid, I can wrap my mind around this weird shit. Also, you’re a terrible liar,” Stan added.  Ford flushed again, but this time from embarrassment.  “Seriously, why didn’t you get possessed when you fell asleep last night?”

              “I- I don’t know,” Ford confessed.  “Maybe it’s because my body was so weak that Bill deemed it pointless to control.”

              “Brute force isn’t the only way to get things done.  If he’d taken you over and asked me to turn on that – what was it, a portal?  If he’d asked me to turn it on again, I woulda done it.”  Stan spoke casually, like he wasn’t discussing events that could bring about the apocalypse.  “You say he’s a smart guy.  He coulda found a way around you being stuck like this.”  Stan poked Ford’s small, hairless chest.  “So why didn’t he?”

              “I…”  Ford was lost for words.  Stan’s logic seemed airtight.  Bill had billions of years of experience.  Ford being stuck as a child wouldn’t have been a major hurdle, just a minor annoyance.  But Ford couldn’t think of a single reason why Bill didn’t do anything while he slept. Ford rubbed his eyes tiredly.

              “You look like you could use a nap.”

              “I can’t sleep.  Not until we protect the house from Bill’s influence.  Otherwise, he could possess me this time.”

              “Can he?”

              “Stanley-” Ford started.  Stan held up his hands.

              “Think about it.  Are you still the same person Bill made a deal with?”

              “Why wouldn’t I be?” Ford demanded.

              “For one thing, you’re a kid.”

              “I- yes.”

              “Minors can’t sign contracts, y’know.”

              “I highly doubt Bill would care about the finer points of legal arbitration,” Ford snapped.  

              “Fair.”  Stan was now looking at Ford with a careful eye, like he was trying to find something out of place.  “I don’t think you are.”

              “You don’t think I’m what?” Ford sighed, tiredness beginning to seep back.

              “The same person that Bill made a deal with.”

              “It doesn’t matter whether I’m not physically the same person, mentally, I am. And Bill’s domain is the mind.”

              “Are you sure about that?”  Stan’s voice was soft, careful.  Like he was prodding at a wound to see how severe it was, prepared to retreat the second it began to throb.  Ford was silent.  He waited for Stan to elaborate.  “You, uh, I think you don’t remember this, but when you first got turned into a kid, you had a breakdown.”  Fuzzy memories began to surface in Ford’s mind.  “And not like, a breakdown that you woulda had if you were an adult.  The kind a kid has.”

              Ford could see it now.  Stan crouched next to him, his face and voice infuriatingly calm.  Instructing him to breathe in and out, to let his mind lay still until he could collect himself.  Ford pulled his legs up and close to his chest, feeling his face burn from shame.

              I fell apart like a child in front of Stanley.

              “Hey.  It’s okay.” Stan rested his hand on Ford’s shoulder. “You’re a kid.  Nothin’ wrong with that.”

              Yes, Stanley’s always enjoyed spending time with children.  Even when they were teenagers, Stan would jump at the opportunity to mentor kids younger than them.  Ford could remember clearly one brisk autumn day, Stan telling a long story to a group of children that, by the time he was done talking, had more than doubled in size.

              “You should be a babysitter,” he’d teased Stan that day, once all the children had dispersed.  Stan had flashed him that crooked grin he always kept locked and loaded.

              “Nah.  This is just for fun.”  A contemplative look had brushed across his face then, an expression Stan rarely wore. “And, I guess, for practice.”

              “Practice?  For what?”

              “…Being a dad,” Stan had answered softly, like he was worried saying it would prevent it from happening.

              “A- really, you want to be a dad?”

              “Yeah.”  Stan had hunched his shoulders up then, retreating into his defensive, closed-off position.  The conversation was over.  “Nothin’ wrong with that.”

              “Uh, Ford?”  Stan’s voice drew Ford out of the memory.  He blinked up at Stan.  “You kinda disappeared for a second there.  You okay?”

              “Yes.  I was just…remembering something,” Ford said quietly.  Stan seemed like he wanted to press further, but he dropped it.

              “Well, like I said, I really don’t think you’re the same person Bill made a deal with.”

              Right.  We were discussing Bill.

              “I sorta wonder…can you feel him?”

              “Pardon?” Ford asked, still recovering from the abrupt tonal shift between his fond memory and the present.

              “In movies or TV or whatever, if someone gets into your mind, you can feel them.”  Stan’s eyes bore into Ford.  “Can you feel him?”

              “No,” Ford answered truthfully.  He frowned.  “Wait.”

              “What?”

              “I- I should be able to sense his presence at the back of my mind. I haven’t warded myself or the house against his influence, after all.”  Confusion colored his voice.  “The only reason I wouldn’t be able to detect him would be if the deal had been broken.” Ford looked up at Stan again. “…You might be right.”  Stan merely nodded.  “Of course, if Bill were to possess another person and come after me-”

              “How did you summon him?”

              “I read an incantation off a cave wall.”

              “And what are the odds someone else would do that same thing?” Stan asked. Ford had to think about that for a moment.

              “Even in Gravity Falls, I’d say low.”

              “So he’s not a problem, then.”

              “He most certainly is.”

              “Yeah.”  Stan’s expression had turned thoughtful.  “But not the biggest one right now.”

              “…That would be an apt assumption,” Ford grumbled.  “I suppose the pressing matter is returning myself to my appropriate age.  I’ll need to examine the portal, go over the output data from while it was running, and I should probably-”

              “Uh, no, Sixer,” Stan said, interrupting him.  “The biggest problem isn’t that you’re small.  It’s that you’re dead on your feet.”

              “I’ll be fine.”

              “Yep.  After you rest.”

              “I don’t have time to-”

              “You just admitted you did,” Stan said quickly.  Ford scowled at him.  “If you have time to spend working on turning yourself into an adult again, you have time to spend resting.”

              “I don’t-”

              “You’ve been a kid for less than a day,” Stan said in a pleading voice. Taken aback by the plaintive tone, Ford was quiet.  “I’m not your dad, I’m not your legal guardian.  But I’m already half-convinced that Child Services is gonna break down that door and take you away.  And then the cops’ll throw me in jail for child neglect.”  Stan’s voice hitched slightly.  “I’ve got a lot on my record, but I’ll be damned if I let that get added to the list.”

              “But-”

              “You’re a kid,” Stan said firmly.  The pleading was gone, replaced by determination.  “And not just any kid.  You’re my brother.  That means you’re under my jurisdiction.  So here’s what we’re gonna do.”  Stan met Ford’s eyes.  “You’re gonna take a nap.  I’m gonna fix the broken heater.  When you wake up, we’ll have food and clean up this sty of a house.”

              “Since when have you cared about cleaning?” Ford mumbled.

              “There’s pieces of rusty metal on the damn floor.  You’re not gonna get tetanus on my watch.”  Stan took a breath.  “And then we’ll go to bed.  And we’ll do those things for however long it takes for you to get back on your feet.  Then we’ll try to turn you back.”

              “I don’t see the point.”

              “Kids can’t handle this stuff!” Stan said, gesturing at Ford.  “They’re not designed to live on coffee.  You need sleep and you need food.  So that’s what you’re gonna get.  Whether you like it or not.”  Part of Ford wanted to continue arguing.  But the rest of him was simply too tired.  He rubbed his eyes again.

              “…Very well.”  Ford yawned widely.  “We’ll revisit this tomorrow, though.”

              “Sure.  We can do that.”  The fervent passion that had filled Stan moments ago seemed to have faded.  He watched Ford with a fond expression. “Let’s get you to bed.”  He picked Ford up.

              “Stanley, you don’t…need…to…”  Before Ford could finish his sentence, his heavy eyelids closed.

----- 

              Sometimes, Stan wondered how things might have been.  There were a lot of scenarios that he would play in his mind while he waited to fall asleep in the latest dingy motel room.  But there was one he kept coming back to, particularly with the current situation.  As he attempted to comb Ford’s unruly hair, Stan wondered what would have happened if those pregnancy scares he’d had with previous girlfriends hadn’t been false alarms.

              He always felt stupid wondering about it.  He wasn’t the type to get tied down, and it was for the best that he didn’t knock up the women who left him and stole from him, sometimes in that order, sometimes in the reverse order.  Stan felt like an idiot for merely thinking about it, so he did his best to quash the small part of him that wanted it.  That wanted to be a dad.  It was difficult to suppress, though, and felt especially difficult right now.  Stan set down the hairbrush and crouched down to Ford’s eye-height to look intently at him.

              After only two nights of full sleep, Ford seemed healthier, though still much more sickly than Stan ever remembered him being at this age.  At least the circles under his eyes were hidden by his glasses.  The plan was to use some of the money Ford had left to buy some groceries, but Stan had been uncertain of whether he’d take Ford along, depending on what shape he was in.  Stan managed a smile and ruffled Ford’s hair.  Ford pouted.

              “Why bother brushing my hair when you were going to mess with it right after?” Ford asked.

              “It’s what people do to cute kids like you, Sixer.  Better get used to it,” Stan replied, straightening to his full height. “I think we’re good to go.  You sure you remember the way to the grocery store?”  Ford bobbed his head.  “Good. So, what are the rules?”  Ford sighed.

              “We’re posing as a regular father and regular son visiting a relative,” he rattled off.  “The relative we’re supposedly visiting is actually me.”

              “And?” Stan prodded.  Ford scowled.

              “And I can act precocious, but I still have to act like a child.”

              “Yep.”  Stan dug his car keys out of his back pocket.  “Let’s go buy some food.”

              The drive to the store was uneventful, aside from the brief shouting match over where Ford would sit in the car.  While Ford was napping the day before, Stan had dug out the book on rules for the road that he kept in the glove box.  He couldn’t decide whether he was proud or embarrassed that the thing had clearly never been read.

              “I told you, the law is that people under thirteen can’t ride in the front seat,” Stan said for the twentieth time, looking at Ford in the back seat.  Ford scowled and slumped further down his seat.

              “Caring about driving laws is incredibly out of character for you,” Ford griped.  Stan turned his attention back to the road, biting back his explanation, that he was determined to stay out of trouble for Ford’s sake.  “Actually, caring about laws in general is out of character.  Or was it not you who stole multiple items of clothing for me yesterday?”

              “Kids’ clothes are expensive,” Stan grunted.  “So are speeding tickets.  All I’m doin’ is saving as much money as possible.”

              “Uh-huh.  Sure,” Ford muttered.  He simmered in barely controlled anger as the car was parked, they grabbed a cart, and up to the moment they walked into the grocery store.  One step past the automatic doors and Stan could feel small, six-fingered hands gripping his jacket.  Stan looked down at his brother.  Ford seemed terrified, but Stan wasn’t sure why.  He crouched down.

              “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.  Ford looked down at his feet.

              “N-nothing.”

              “C’mon, Ford, you can talk to me.”

              “Bill.”

              “Don’t worry, Sixer.  Even if he’s here – and he isn’t – I won’t let him hurt you.  Got it?” Stan said.  After a moment, Ford nodded jerkily.  He was still visibly nervous, but even the small reassurance seemed to have calmed him down a bit.  “Good.” Stan stood again.  “Any clue where the bread aisle is?”

              “Um…”  Ford looked around, clearly out of his depth.  “No.”

              “Guess we’ll just wander around until we find something, then.”  Before they could even begin their search, a woman swooped in and peered closely at Ford.

              “Well aren’t you just the cutest cutie to ever be cute,” the woman gushed. Ford blanched and hid behind Stan’s leg. Stan forced a laugh.

              “He’s a bit shy, Miss…?”

              “Susan,” the woman supplied, sticking out her hand.  Stan shook the offered hand, unleashing the wide, smarmy smile he used as a traveling salesman.

              “Susan.  It’s great to meet you.”  Stan broke off the handshake and patted Ford’s head.  “Like I said, my son here is pretty shy.  Especially in new places.”

              “Oh, that’s right, you don’t look very familiar.  Where are you from?”

              “Vermont.”  Stan wasn’t quite sure why he’d chosen that state, but he went with it.  “Ford and I are visiting my brother.  He lives here.”

              “Isn’t that nice.”

              “Yep.  We don’t get to see him very often, so it’s a treat.  We’re actually here to pick up some groceries for dinner.  Do you know where the bread is?”

              “Of course!  Third aisle.”

              “Thanks.”  Stan winked at Susan, who giggled, waved at Ford, and then exited the store.  Stan let out a soft sigh.  “Now we know where the bread is.  That wasn’t too bad, was it, Ford?”  Stan looked down.  His eyes widened.  The boy that had been clinging to his leg a moment ago was gone.  “Uh, Ford?”  Stan spun in a circle, panic rising like bile in his throat.

              Don’t panic.  Don’t freak out.  Stan swallowed.  He’s still in the store.  Just look for him.  He can’t have gotten far.  Stan began to make his way down the various aisles, fear mounting as each one was distinctly free of twelve-fingered eight-year-olds.  He just finished the canned goods aisle when his ears picked up on a high-pitched voice.

              “But it’s me!”

              Ford.  Stan took off in a sprint, rounding the corner to see Ford talking to a visibly disheveled and disoriented man.  The man smiled weakly at Ford.

              “I told ya, sugar plum, I don’t know who ya are.  And I think I’d remember a lil one as cute as you,” the man said in a thick southern accent.  Stan walked up behind Ford and put a hand on his shoulder.  Ford froze.

              “Sorry, sir,” Stan said through gritted teeth.  Ford had the grace to act abashed.  “My son can get excited.”

              “Oh, that ain’t no problem,” the man said, waving a hand airily.  His hair stuck out in all directions and his clothes were visibly stained and torn.  Stan wasn’t sure what his deal was, but he was glad to see the stranger grab his basket and walk away.

              “You’re lucky I can’t ground you, because if I could, you’d be grounded for a month after that,” Stan ground out once the stranger was gone.  Ford turned around and crossed his arms.

              “I was merely talking to an acquaintance.”

              “You sure?  He didn’t seem to recognize you.”

              “Wh- of course he didn’t recognize me,” Ford scoffed, throwing his arms up in the air.  “I’m eight! The last time I saw him, I was my chronological age.”

              “Why were you trying to get him to recognize you anyways?” Stan asked. “I thought we were gonna be discrete.”

              “Yes, but…”  Ford looked away.  “He was my research partner.  He’s the one best suited for helping me with my situation.”  Ford drooped slightly, like he bore the weight of something.

              Clearly, something happened with Ford and that guy.  But we can talk about it at home.

              “We’re just getting food today,” Stan reminded Ford.  Ford nodded sullenly.  “Tomorrow if you’re up for doing things, we can try to find this guy again.”  Stan held out his hand.  Ford glared at him.  “You ran off. Either you’re holding my hand or I’m holding yours.”  Ford reluctantly took a hold of Stan’s hand.  “By the way, what’s that guy’s name?”

              “Fiddleford.  Fiddleford McGucket.”

----- 

              Despite Stan’s assurance that they would seek out Fiddleford the next day, they didn’t.  They didn’t look the next day, either.  Stan had taken one look at Ford both those days and deemed him too physically weak to go on a search.  Ford found himself unable to protest too vociferously; Stan was right that children weren’t built to run under the conditions Ford had been subjecting himself to as an adult.

              Two weeks had now passed since the initial incident.  Ford sat on the floor in the living room, perusing his journal for any information he might have missed, while Stan folded laundry.

              “Any luck?” Stan asked, neatly folding one of the T-shirts he’d stolen for Ford.  Ford scowled down at the journal.

              “No.  I told you, the only way to make any progress into a cure is to get outside help.”

              “Why?” Stan asked idly.  “I did all the stuff you asked me to do.  Grabbed the ‘data output’ from the portal, found the other blueprints that you hid in the woods for some reason.  How would this Fiddlesticks guy be able to figure out something that you haven’t?” That was a question Ford had been asking himself lately.  Part of him worried that the regression was blocking certain aspects of his mental faculties.  He understood all of his research, which was promising.  But when trying to reverse engineer conclusions he’d made previously, he found himself struggling with the logic behind them.

              It’s like I have all the information I need, but lack the reasoning and logical skill to connect the dots.  Ford realized that Stan had been waiting for an answer.

              “He’s…a very smart man,” Ford said quietly.  “His area of expertise is different than mine, so he might have some different ideas than I do.”

              “Makes sense.”  Stan set aside the folded T-shirt.  “C’mere.” Ford got up and plodded over to Stan. Stan pressed the back of his hand against Ford’s forehead.  “You’re still a bit warm.”  Ford pouted. Last week, Ford had caught what he insisted was a nasty cold, but Stan was convinced was something more insidious.

              Just because I had a slight fever, Stan acted like I was on my deathbed. Granted, I did feel ill and weak, but that’s what colds do!

              “I’m feeling better,” Ford argued.

              “Yeah, and you look better, too.”  Stan sighed.  His hand dropped to his lap.  “But I don’t think you should go running around town looking for Fiddlesticks.”

              “His name is Fiddleford.”

              “Whatever his name is.”  Stan took a pair of pants from the pile of laundry.  “We’re not gonna go on a wild goose chase yet.”

              Dammit, Stan!  Ford had learned by now that if he wanted to get his way, he couldn’t argue.  Stan would immediately shut down and refuse to listen to him.  The trick to successfully wheedling his brother was to do what Stan had mentioned at the beginning.  Weaponize his adorable appearance.  If that’s what I need to do, then I’ll do it.  I remember Fiddleford’s regular haunts.  I can convince Stanley to take me to one.

              “Stanley?”  Ford adopted a high, plaintive tone.  Stan looked up from the clothes.  Ford widened his eyes.  An odd look crossed Stan’s face.  “Could we go to the library today?”

              “Really?  You wanna leave the house?” Stan asked.  Ford nodded vigorously.  He felt his unruly curls bounce.  “You know that whenever we leave the house, you have to pretend to be my son.”

              “Yes.”

              “Okay, I’ll bite.  Why do you wanna leave?”

              “I’m bored,” Ford said.  It came out as a whine without him intending it to.  A small grin appeared on Stan’s face for a second before he stifled it. “You won’t let me do anything.”

              “Yep.”  Stan took another shirt from the hamper.  “Last time you did something, you made a deal with a demon and got turned eight.”  

              “Please, Stanley, I want to pick up some books to read.  Like I said, I’m bored.  I need to occupy my time with something.”

              “Well, you did say the magic word,” Stan said slowly.  “All right, we’ll head out after the laundry’s done.”  Ford crossed his arms.

              “Why is it that you’re suddenly so responsible?  I’ve never seen you do laundry without being threatened first.”

              “I got a kid to look after,” Stan said with a shrug.  “If I fuck up, I don’t just screw things for me, I screw things for you.  I’m done screwin’ things for you.”  He glanced at Ford.  Ford looked away quickly, preventing Stan from seeing his expression.

              “Well, how long do you think you’ll take?” Ford asked, in a carefully measured tone.

              “Dunno.  But it’d go faster if I had help,” Stan said.  Ford huffed again, but sat down on the floor and took a pair of pants from the hamper.

              “I’m not good at folding,” Ford muttered.

              “You’re a physicist.  You’ll figure it out.”

----- 

              The Gravity Falls Public Library was somehow even less like a library than Stan had imagined, which was saying something.  But the second they’d set foot inside, Ford had darted off to the Classics section, leaving Stan alone to wander around.  Stan ambled over to a pile of newspapers and picked up the one on top.  He was glad Ford seemed better after getting sick the week before, but knew that if Ford tried to push himself too hard, he’d end up bedridden again.

              People always said I was the stubborn one.  They were wrong.  We’re both stubborn as all hell.  Stan sighed and dropped the newspaper back onto the pile.  How Mom managed to raise us without tearing all her hair out, I have no idea.  He glanced over at the Classics section.  Letting him run off might not have been a good idea.

              “Please, just listen to me!” Ford’s voice begged.  Stan blanched.

              It definitely wasn’t a good idea.  Stan strode quickly in the direction of the Classics section.  As he approached, he could hear another voice speaking to Ford.

              “Cutie, I am listenin’.  And I think ya have a wonderful imagination.  But we should prob’ly find yer parents, okay?”

              “My parents aren’t-”

              “Ford,” Stan said shortly, finally catching sight of Ford talking to the same person he’d accosted at the grocery store.

              Fiddlesticks, right?  Something like that.  Ford glared at Stan.

              “Not now,” Ford hissed.

              “I told you to stop bothering people.”  Stan walked over to Ford’s side.  He placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder.  “Sorry about him, Mr.…?”

              “McGucket.  Fiddleford McGucket.”

              “Got it.  Sorry about him, Fiddleford.”

              “No problem,” Fiddleford said with a soft chuckle.  “It’s difficult to get upset with eager children.  They’re so excited to tell the world ‘bout every thought that crosses their minds.  It’s rather charmin’ of ‘em.”  Fiddleford looked at Stan.  A strange expression crossed his face.  His gaze became more focused, his eyes roving over Stan’s features.  “If we’re goin’ to be crossin’ paths this frequently, maybe you should tell me your name, too.”

              “Uh, Stan.  Stan Pines.” The effect was immediate. Fiddleford recoiled from him, backing into the shelf behind him.  A few books tumbled to the ground.

              “Pines,” Fiddleford rasped.

              “…Yeah.  That’s- that’s my last name.  Buddy, you all right?”

              “I- that- I knew yer face was familiar.”  Fiddleford kneaded his forehead.  “You wouldn’t happen to be related to that rat bastard Stanford Pines, would ya?”  Stan couldn’t help it.  A small snort slipped out.  Ford scowled at him.

              “He’s my twin brother.”

              “Why didn’t he-” Fiddleford muttered to himself.  He shook his head.  “Never mind.  I guess yer visitin’ him, then?”

              “Technically, yeah.”

              “And you brought yer son.”  Fiddleford shook his head again.  “That weren’t the best idea.  He’s not safe.”  A heavy discomfort began to settle in Stan’s stomach.  “It’d be fer the best if the both of ya left Gravity Falls.”

              “I mean…that’s the plan.  Eventually.”

              “No, do it sooner rather than later,” Fiddleford said firmly.

              “I have to help him with something,” Stan said.  Fiddleford locked his eyes with Stan’s, a sympathetic expression on his face.

              “Speakin’ from experience, the longer ya help him, the worse it ends up bein’ fer you.  Really, you should leave while ya still can.”

              “I- I can’t leave.”

              “Oh, really?”  Fiddleford crossed his arms.  “Why?”

              “Because…”  Stan looked down at Ford.  Ford took the opportunity to step forward.  He took a hold of one of Fiddleford’s hands.

              “Fiddleford, it’s me,” Ford said quietly.  “I’m not Stanley’s son.  I’m- it’s me. Stanford.”  Fiddleford’s jaw dropped.  “There was an accident, and-”

              “I s’ppose you want my help,” Fiddleford said, his voice thick.  “Well, yer a world-class genius, right?  You can figure it out on yer own.”  He pulled his hand out of Ford’s grasp.  “Best of luck to ya.”

              “No, Fiddleford, please,” Ford begged.  “I don’t- I can’t do it on my own.”  Fiddleford now seemed conflicted by Ford’s pleading.  “I’m sorry for everything that I’ve done, but I desperately need your help, I-”  Tears sparkled in the corners of Ford’s eyes.

              Either he’s laying it on extra thick or he actually feels terrible about whatever happened.  Whether Ford was acting or not, it worked.  Fiddleford gently stroked Ford’s hair.

              “Okay,” he said softly.  “Okay. I’ll- I’ll at least hear ya make yer case.  I can’t promise I’ll help, but I’ll listen.”  Ford nodded tearfully.  He leaned against Stan’s leg.  “I took my own car here, so I’ll meet ya back at yer place.”

              “Got it,” Stan said with a nod.  He cleared his throat.  “Um, and thanks.”  Fiddleford stood.  His face hardened.

              “Don’t thank me quite yet.  I said I’ll listen, not that I’ll help.”

              “Either way.  I- we appreciate it.”

              “…Well, I ain’t exactly heartless,” Fiddleford mumbled.  With that, he walked away.  Stan looked at Ford, who was still using his leg as support.

              “You didn’t need more books, did you?” Stan asked.  Ford shot Stan a small grin.  Stan sighed.  “This is what I get for telling you that I could be manipulated by cute kids.”

[suzannebyrne]

Animal Shelter Disputes Lena Dunham’s Story About Lamby, the Dog She Gave Away

Lena Dunham with Lamby at an airport in 2015. (Photo: Ron Asadorian/Splash News)

The no-kill shelter from which Lena Dunham adopted Lamby — the dog she recently gave away after what she described as “four years of challenging behavior and aggression” — isn’t buying her story.

On June 21, the Girls alum shared on Instagram her “heartbreaking” decision to give away Lamby to an “amazing professional facility” in L.A. to be cared for by someone “educated in a rescue dog’s specific trauma.” Dunham noted that “Lamby suffered terrible abuse as a pup,” which “made having him in a typical home environment dangerous to him and others” and she and boyfriend musician Jack Antonoff “needed to be responsible to ourselves, our neighbors and especially our beloved boy.” They also needed to save their home, as the dog “ruined floors and couches and our life.”

A lot of you have been asking where Lamby is these days since he's always been the star of my gram and I've been posting pics of my poodle girls. Well, you know honesty is my jam but this one has been really heartbreaking to talk about. But I feel I have to share that last March, after four years of challenging behavior and aggression that could not be treated with training or medication or consistent loving dog ownership, Lamby went to live at an amazing professional facility in Los Angeles @matt_thezendog where an awesome person named @therealdanishay (who is educated in a rescue dog's specific trauma) loves him so hard. Lamby suffered terrible abuse as a pup that made having him in a typical home environment dangerous to him and others- we needed to be responsible to ourselves, our neighbors and especially our beloved boy. Jack and I will miss him forever but sometimes when you love something you have to let it go (especially when it requires tetanus shots and stitches.) Someday I'll really write about the pain and relief of letting Lamby go off and really be Lamby, biting and peeing in his own mouth and all. There were so many lessons in it, about forgiving myself and loving with an open palm and giving in to a larger plan. Shout out to @jennikonner for listening to endless hours of Lamby pain, and especially my partner @jackantonoff for loving him even when he ruined floors and couches and our life. Jack knows what Lamby means to me and he let me come to the decision in my own time even when it made his days challenging. Susan & Karen will never be my first loves, but they are fuzzy and hilarious stuffing for the hole Lamby left and we cherish them deeply ❤️#lamby #thefirstcutisthedeepest #foreverlamb PS If you have a similar situation, please know its possible to responsibly re-home your rescue rather than sending them back into the shelter system. It can require patience, diligence and often a financial contribution but there are solutions that leave everyone happy and safe. You will always have been your dog's first stop outside shelter life and that's beautiful.

A post shared by Lena Dunham (@lenadunham) on Jun 20, 2017 at 9:33pm PDT

A spokesperson for BARC Shelter in Brooklyn — where Dunham adopted Lamby in January 2013 before going on to make the dog a star by detailing his adoption in a New Yorker article, showing him off in magazine spreads like Vogue, and spotlighting him on her Instagram feed — has a different story though. For starters, the pet didn’t have a long history of abuse prior to Lena bringing him home.

“We checked the records for Lamby,” Robert Vazquez told Yahoo Celebrity via email. “He was ‘owner surrendered, not enough time,’ so we do not know where she got ‘multiple owners that abused the dog.’” (In her New Yorker piece from March 2013, Dunham said the dog had “three other homes, three other names, but now he’s mine mine mine.”)

At the time of his adoption by the star, the dog was just 1 “nearing 2-years-old” — and he didn’t have a history of being aggressive.

“When she adopted the dog from us, it wasn’t crazy,” Vazquez continued. “I have pictures of the dog loving on Lena and her mom, which is weird if the dog was abused. It wouldn’t be cuddling with her or be in the bed with her ‘boyfriend’ in the pages of Vogue.” (Lamby appeared with Lena in a 2014 Vogue spread, which also featuring her co-star Adam Driver. The dog, which seemed like a trained pro, was with the pair on city streets, in bed, and chilling with the pair in the bathroom.)

Vazquez says he personally was there “the four times Lena visited Lamby” prior to the adoption “because I’ve been in-charge of the dogs for the last 14-15 years at BARC. If Lamby had a bad past or was abused, do you think BARC would have adopted him to Lena knowing she’s a new star and put her  — or the dog — in that situation? We would have told her if the dog had issues. We are a no-kill shelter. We don’t lie about the dogs’ histories because that gets them returned — and mentally it’s not good for dogs.”

Lena has previously said the dog’s aggression started immediately. In the New Yorker piece, she wrote that despite Jack’s allergies to dogs, she adopted Lamby anyway. Things were fine at first — because Jack wasn’t there — but the first night the singer met the dog, the dog bit him. In 2014, she posted an Instagram photo of her blood-stained panties after she said the dog bit her in the rear. She tweeted that it was the second time Lamby bit her (both times the dog became upset because Lena was “sobbing”). After the incident made headlines, she posted again about how the “special-need rescue dog” was working with “an amazing trainer.”

The BARC rep said, “It’s just hard to believe the dog was nasty when she took Lamby to every green room with her when Girls was still a thing 4 years ago.”

Vazquez is also disappointed that Lena got two new puppies shortly before giving away Lamby. (Dunham brought the cute canines with her to a Tonight Show appearance in February. During the interview, in which the new pups were passed around, she didn’t hint at trouble with Lamby. “Their brother, Lamby, lives in California. He’s more of a Cali kinda guy. More of a laid-back, West Coast dude,” she said.)

“[She] didn’t admit she bought her two new dogs [despite writing in the] New Yorker that dogs shouldn’t be dumped or thrown away because they have feelings,” he said.

Additionally, Vazquez pointed out that BARC — like other shelters — has a provision in its adoption papers mandating that if things don’t work out with the pet, which happens, it must be returned to the rescue organization instead of being re-homed, as Lena did and urged her 3.3 million Instagram followers to do. (“If you have a similar situation, please know it’s possible to responsibly re-home your rescue rather than sending them back into the shelter system,” she wrote. “It can require patience, diligence, and often a financial contribution, but there are solutions that leave everyone happy and safe. You will always have been your dog’s first stop outside shelter life and that’s beautiful.”)

“Really the only thing we can say is that she is still under contract, which states that if it doesn’t work out, they have to bring back the dog to us, so we can evaluate it,”  Vazquez said.

A rep for Dunham had no comment on the matter.

Yahoo Celebrity also reached out to a source close to Dunham, who said the actress went to great lengths to get the dog help before ultimately deciding to re-home him in an environment where he’s getting the best care and love. “Lena had Lamby checked out by at least six different vets,” the insider said. Those medical professionals were the ones who determined that the dog suffered from “past abuse” — and even “possible brain damage.” Lamby now lives at the L.A. canine rehabilitation center, the Zen Dog, which takes in and treats dogs with intense behavioral issues. (The Cut recently profiled the facility.)

And a spokesperson for The Humane Society of the United States, Michelle Cho who does celebrity and entertainment outreach, told Yahoo, “Every dog is an individual with unique needs and all are deserving of a family or guardian in an environment in which he or she can thrive. We are deeply grateful to Lena and Jack for finding Lamby a loving home where he can do just that. Lena is a wonderful advocate for dog adoption and [we] hope she will continue to use her platform to spotlight the homeless animal crisis and urge her legions of fans to consider rescuing.”

Read more from Yahoo Celebrity:

Rob Kardashian’s Instagram Gets Shut Down After Blac Chyna Posts

Snoop Dogg Shares Dismissive Take on Blac Chyna and Rob Kardashian Mess

Stars Celebrate the Fourth of July 2017

[citrusrei]

Iridescent. 01.

JB - GOT7 Fallout!AU Synopsis: After living your whole life in Vault 83, you decide to venture out, your best friend Jackson tagging along, in hopes of finding the illusive safe-haven - Vault 099 - which may or may not exist. Genre: Angst, Suggestive Themes. Word Count: 10k.

*This series contains Mature themes including Violence, Weapons, Mentions of Death, Blood, and Uncomfortable Situations. 

        "Y/N! Just stay there! I'll come and get you, I promise!" The adrenaline which had been moving at light speed through your veins was quickly coming to a halt. The only sound you could hear was your heartbeat as your eyes started fluttering shut, the darkness weaving in and out of your vision. The pitch black seemed like home as it called you, as it gripped your wrist, pulling you into its realms, or no, this was a person's touch? The calloused fingers tightly latched on to your fragile wrist, another reaching for your back. "Is she okay? What happened?!" "Yeah! I thought you were watching her! What the hell?!" "Listen guys, now isn't the time to fight, we have to leave now!" Your limp body was thrown over a shoulder as gunshots rang off in the background. The heartbeat that was once so prominent, was now a mere whisper. The slow beat of a drum and the shrill sound of a ring were the only things you could make out as a muffled voice attempted to break through the chaos. "Y/N, I'm so sorry. I-I didn't make it to you in time. Please keep fighting. Don't leave me. Please."

       You awoke, jumping straight up in your bed, fingers gripped tight around your white cotton sheets. Your breathing was irregular as your eyes adjusted to the dark. As you looked around your surroundings, a calm washed over you; Your bedroom. The faint red light coming from the Exit sign above the door, something you've grown to be so comfortable with, sent a pang of fear slithering it's way down your spine. With a loud sigh, you made your way to the bathroom, trying to stay quiet as possible as you realized it was still quite early. Each family in the Vault were still to be sleeping, packed safely away in their own private chambers. With a click of a button, the bathroom door glided open, revealing a small, clean and pure white room holding only a stand up shower, toilet and sink with a mirror connected to the basin. It smelled of detergent and bleach, making your nose crinkle as you inhaled the fumes. Another click signaled off, and the door wisped shut, sealing the room off with a mechanical growl. You made your way to the bathroom sink, the temptation to turn on the water and fill the small ceramic glass on the ledge was overwhelming. Your mouth was parched from the night terror you had a mere few minutes ago. Right as your fingertips latched on to the faucet handle, the message heard over on the P.A. system earlier replayed itself in your mind. 

         "Hello, fellow Vault 83 dwellers! This is Overseer Magnolia speaking. Us workers at Vault Tech try and bring you the best and the most quality of living experiences, well as quality as you can get after a Nuclear Apocalypse aha! Ahem... Anyways, unfortunately the pipes to the main water supply seem to be malfunctioning yet again! Now," She continued, clearing her throat,  

         "Don't worry as this is just a small issue and we have workers being sent to take a look as we speak! This is just an announcement to let you all know we are using our reserve supply of water and we have 75% of the tank left! So please be sparing, cut the showers short! Buy some bottled water from the cafeteria and if it is yellow then let it mellow! Haha! Alright, thank you for listening. Please return to your daily duties. Also! Dr. Wang, could you please head to the Overseer office. Thank you!" Another loud sigh escaped your lips as your mouth attempted to fill with as much saliva as it could.  

       Her tone was too upbeat for your liking and you hoped that the other Vault Dwellers could pick up on the greasy layer of fakeness that hid itself in her voice. Even though Overseer Magnolia said this was a minor issue, the same problem has been happening more and more frequently over the past couple of month. Not even just with the water pipes either. Plumbing pipes becoming decayed due to the hundreds of years they'd been used. Electrical wires chewed to the core by mole rats and radroaches which resulted in numerous blackouts ranging anywhere between 15 minutes to 3 days. The rusting of certain areas in the Vault were becoming hazardous to be around and caused an influx of tetanus shots to almost 50%.  

       Most people in the Vault blindly followed the words of the Overseer, completely believing her fabricated words. That being said, there were an odd number of people who knew something else was definitely going on, one of them being you.

       Your reflection in the mirror showed a distraught, tired version of yourself.Your eye bags were prominent, as were the beads of sweat surrounding your hairlines. Your face gaunt, and paler than usual. You weren't sick, no.This was just the 3rd time this week of you waking up in a cold sweat, terrified to the bone, from having the same nightmare each of those nights.

       You had learned about recurring dreams in school. A brief lecture on psychology. A recurring dream are dreams which tend to repeat events with little to no change or variation, the often include events of the dreamers own experiences and most usually take form of an extremely unsettling or disturbing variant. But you had never experienced what was being dreamt about. Having grown up in the Vault, all 18 years of your pathetic life, you really hadn't experienced much.

       Life in the Vault was easy. Every dweller had their own job or duty or place. The adults had a multitude of options. Doctor, Chef, Hairstylist, Teacher, Child Care specialist, etc. and of course, there was the role of Overseer. The few Mr. Handy's still around were in charge of keeping the place clean while the Protectrons kept things in order. Not that anything was out of order to begin with.  

       From the day you are born until the day you die, you are taught how to be an "outstanding member" of Vault 83's society. From a young age you are forced to start deciding on what to be and how to contribute to the Vault. There's little to no room for change and it's been that way since this Vault has been in effect. A little more than 300 years ago. All of your family, and your friends family and their friends family and the generations before them grew up in this Vault. No one leaves and no one comes in. Except for once.  

       There has only been one case where an outsider from the wasteland came in. About 20 years ago a man who went by the name Lou had somehow found and unlocked the Vault's door. The only want he would have been able to achieve that is with a pip-boy. A special gadget, similar to that of a watch but with many more features then just letting you know the time. Pip-boy's let you know your body's vital signs, they hold a mini-map of the immediate area and also keep stock of whatever you're holding if you enter them into the database. The most interesting feature however, was that each Pip-Boy contained a universal key. It could unlock any Vault door the handler desired.  

       This man named Lou claimed to not have came from a Vault at all. Instead, he told everyone he was born of the Wasteland- which resulted in him being questioned as to where he had got a hold of his Pip-Boy. He was held under investigation for 3 weeks and a trial was set where all of the Vault dwellers banded together to decide whether or not this man should be thrown back out into the Wasteland and be fed to whatever it was that roamed out there or, to live amongst us and train him to be a viable member of this society. Every Vault member had voted, all 350 of them. Of course a large number voted to kick him out. They were too scared of someone who they weren't familiar with, someone who didn't know the way of the Vault. But the rest of them, a solid 72%, decided that this man was far too interesting to be let go. And so, Lou was cleaned up, stripped of his weapons and was handed a blue vault suit with a large, yellow '83' printed on the back and shown to his quarters. For someone who didn't grow up in a Vault and had very little knowledge of what they even were, he picked up the routine quickly, finding solace in Cafeteria work.  

       His stories of the wasteland attracted many listeners. Each night at dinner, a large crowd would surround him, some who weren't even from the same wing of the Vault, and they'd listen. They'd listen to his adventures and what was really out there. His exact words being "Nothing good is out there, everything wants to kill ya, and it'll try to and if it doesn't... Well... Then that means you killed it first." Lou told stories of the gangs out in the wasteland, the irradiated creatures that lurked around every corner. It was all very unpleasant, but the people loved it. Someone in particular loved it a little too much; A young girl who'd just recently graduated the school program at the Vault and was in line to work at the Childcare Center. Her name was Allie and she was one of the most beautiful girls in all of Vault 83.  

       Allie had taken an immediate liking to this stranger. Her sense of Wanderlust was somehow appeased when she heard of the man's tales. She was living vicariously through him. And boy, did he take note of that interest immediately. The not-so-subtle glances cast towards each other when passing in the halls or during his night time reminiscences are what started it and it wasn't long before those two were seeing each other privately, meeting in the middle of the night or in storage closets. Anything they could get. They were inseparable.  

       Soon enough, Lou and Allie were married and she were to become pregnant shortly after the nuptials. Their happiness never faltered. She had a steady job at the childcare center and he was doing his part in the Cafeteria, nothing could come between them and nothing could ruin what they had. Until the night Allie had gone into labor.  

       The whole pregnancy went smoothly. She was healthy, the baby was healthy so, what had gone wrong? After twelve hours of pain and pushing, Allie and Lou welcomed a beautiful, healthy 8 lbs 2 ounce baby. That baby was you. Your mothers heartbeat settled as she cried at the sight of you. A slur of "I love you's" and "You are so beautiful" and "You're gonna grow up and do great things" spilled from her lips.  

       The blissful moment ended when her body went into anaphylactic shock, an allergic reaction to one of the injections the doctors gave her to make the pain subside. Your small body was whisked away by a nurse in the room, the heart monitor going crazy and your small cries echoing throughout the vicinity.  

       "What’s happening to her!?" A frantic Lou yelled at the Doctor.  

       "Please remain calm, we're trying to get her heart rate down. If you don't calm down we'll have to have you escorted from the room." "Like hell I'm gonna leave the room! Fix her! Fix her now god dammit!" He screamed. The Doctor motioning to another nurse as she nodded, quickly leaving the room.

       "Sir, Please calm down or else we'll have to retrieve a Protectron." A maniacal laugh escaped his lips. "You think I'm scared of that walking bag of bolts out there! I've seen worse, fought worse. I'm not scared of th-" His speech being cut off by a volt of electricity behind him. Lou fell to the ground, electricity zigzagging throughout the course of his entire body. "Please move him to another room while we take care of this." The Protectron agreed and lifted Lou's limp body by the arms, dragging him out and to a room of his own.

       When Lou awoke, he sprang up from the bed, the surroundings unfamiliar to him. He scanned the room quickly, his eyes picking up every detail there was to be found, something that the wasteland had taught him. As he was just about finished, his eyes gravitated to a small glass container next to his bed. His facial features immediately softening, and his heart rate decreasing exponentially. As he tiptoed over to the container, he was met with a small you, sleeping peacefully, having absolutely no idea of what was happening and what has happened.  

        A smile found his lips as his scarred hands fit perfectly around your tiny body. He scooped you up into his arms, tears falling from his eyes as he looked at you with eyes that held a million worlds, each of them belonging to you.  

       Of everything he'd done, and everything he'd accomplished out in the wasteland and in the vault, you were his proudest moment. His favorite word. "Hey, little Wastelander." He chuckled softly, his tears staining his cheeks as they dried. "You are so beautiful. You came out looking like a mole rat! I was scared you'd be as ugly as me!" His laughter picked up, stirring you awake. Your little eyes which were adorned with long, thick eyelashes fluttered open and then closed and then open again, your newborn eyes adjusting to the fluorescent lights ahead of you. "Hey! You should look at someone when they talk to you!" Your father joked, his laugh still thundering through his chest. Only moments after he said that, your orbs opened, and remained that way, blinking every now and again to rid them of the sleep clinging onto them. Lou's heart rate increased as he saw his daughter. His own flesh and blood. He'd never had a treasure so precious. He'd never loved something so much, not even your mother. And that scared him. It scared him to the bone. All those promises he made your mother when she was still carrying you, the promises to teach you real world skills, to teach you right from wrong, to teach you about love – he wasn't sure if he could do a good job or even do it all. The real world skills he knew? What, wielding a weapon? You'd never need to know that. Not when you were living in a Vault as safe as this one. Teach you right from wrong? How was he to know what right from wrong was. He grew up in the wasteland. His rights were always wrong. No one taught him that so how could he teach you? How to love? Lou never loved anyone until he met your mother. Every other woman or even humanoid "woman" he'd been with before had always been a fling, never making it past the night they'd spend together as he'd always slip out before she'd awaken. There's no such thing as love out in the Wasteland and it's every man for himself. No attachments, mean no headaches. Or so he thought. His life had turned inside out once reaching the vault, and he knew that if he were to stay here then well... Do as the Romans do.

       Lou's smile had fallen off his face a while ago, your orbs still gazing up at him, taking in the sight of this foreign person before you. Your father was extremely handsome and he knew it. He knew the right clothes to compliment his figure. He knew how to style his jet black hair in a way that showcased his jawline and the slight stubble that was growing from it. He had dark eyes. They seemed almost black. It was one of the things that drew your mother to him. To her, his eyes held so much mystery, so many stories, so much experience and when he'd start talking, a glint of happiness would shimmer out of them sending your mother's heart into a frenzy. Lou's thoughts of doubt quickly left his head as thoughts of his wife replaced them. Panic set in his heart again as he stood, your small frame still in between his hands. "Alright little Wastelander... I'll be back, I have to find your mama, okay?" His words were hushed and hurried as he feathered your forehead with three quick pecks, then he was out the door.

       The smell of the medical ward nauseated him. His heart was lurching in his chest and todays lunch decided it would try to swim back up stream. With a heavy swallow, the vomit in his throat settled. He ran straight to the room where you were birthed only a few hours ago, kicking the door open just in case it'd been locked to prevent him from entering in a frenzied state. A loud bang blasted throughout the walls and then it was silent.  

       The bed where his wife had previously laid was empty, a new pair of cleaned white sheets replacing her. A desperate scream rattled through his throat, his hands locking into his perfectly combed hair, making it stick out every which way. "Sir..." A voice said from behind him. Lou turned slowly, his nerves completely on edge, ready to snap at any moment. He was met with a woman, Overseer Magnolia to be correct. "Lou..." Her voice was quiet. It almost seemed strained as she was met with uncertainty. "Lou... your wife... Allie. We couldn't-" A shaky breath left her mouth, then she began again. "They couldn't save her. The doctors tried everything they could. Months worth of supplies were used. My, this will set us back quite a bit." The last part being said quiet enough for Lou not to hear. "You're lying." He seethed. Overseer Magnolia's eyes widened, her palms becoming clammy as fear ran through her spine. No one had ever talked to her with the amount of venom he held in his words. "Lou... I wouldn't lie about this." She ghosted. "Please follow me, we need to take care of her body quickly." Overseer Magnolia reached for his hand, to give him some kind of comfort. He declined violently. Instead, Lou grabbed the older woman's arm and twisting it behind her back, almost snapping it in the process. His lips hovered over the overseer's ear, leaking nothing but a tone of hate, grief and hostility. Lou's wasteland senses had been kicked into gear, greatly petrifying the Overseer. "Take me to my wife. Now. And she better be alive. Or else... I'll break your arm. And don't you think I won't." He said, twisting her arm just a tad more, a scream of pain gurgled from the back of Overseer Magnolia's throat. "Lou, listen!" Her words were desperate. "I'm telling you the truth! Allie didn't make it!" And with that, he twisted. Her arm fell limp as did her body, howls of agony diffusing into the air. The Overseer gaped up at the man before her. He stood there, a psychotic display plastered to him. "Doctor! Doctor Wang, call for the protectrons! Hurry!" She managed out. A chuckle bubbled out of him as he stepped over her body lying still on the spotless hospital floor. As he left the room, a frantic Dr. Wang ran right into him. Lou grabbed the white doctors coat as his chest, balling his fists and ramming him into the wall across the hall. "Take me to her. Now!" Dr. Wang nodded quickly and Lou let go, pushing him towards the direction he had just came.

        The two walked past a few doors and nurses, their faces showing fear as they huddled close to each other. Dr. Wang took Lou down a few corridors. A left turn here, a right there, until finally reaching their destination. The Morgue. Tears welled up into Lou's eyes, vowing to himself not to believe anything until he saw for himself that his beloved Allie was no longer here. With a quick twist of the doorknob, Dr. Wang ushered Lou into the room.  

       The room only had one light on the ceiling, giving off an eerie feel. Shadows casted from the objects in the room seemed like monsters in their own. The atmosphere felt stripped of any heat source, any oxygen. On the other hand, it was quite empty, signaling that they didn't use this room often, and if they did, you couldn't tell.  

       Only a few rows of hatches for the bodies were lined up. Dr. Wang reached for one in the middle. Number 3-3. He fumbled with the lock momentarily before opening the door slightly. The tears were free-falling from Lou's face at this point. Any emotion of anger or hate being replaced with mourning and hopelessness. A sigh fumbled from Dr. Wangs lips, "Lou... I know you don't want to believe us, but we really did try everything we could. I was close to her, I mean, not as close are you were. But I saw her when we were kids. She was a few years younger than me. Allie was always getting into some kind of trouble. We always thought it was cause of her parents accident and I think we were right. She calmed down so much when she met you." A small smile grazed Dr. Wang's lips. "Thanks for the kind words, Doc. But I don't want to hear that right now. Please show me my wife." Lou sounded completely defeated. The door was swung open and the Doctor pulled the metal gurney out. And there she was. A pained cry sputtered out of his mouth, his hand reaching to graze the ashen locks that he was so fond of. "Baby... I'm so sorry. I..." The volume of Lou's cries heightened as a mechanical roar sounded off in the distance. Dr. Wang pushed her back into the small space and locked the hatch door once again, Lou falling to his knees, his hands firmly clasped around his mouth. "Violence will not be tolerated." The mechanical voice said. "Right this way, Protectron Ace!" It was the overseer. She had gotten her damn robot but at this point, Lou couldn't have cared less. He had completely given up at this point. "Protect and serve the people of Vault 83. Violence will not be tolerated." The Protectron was behind him now, the claws clasping onto his vault suit, dragging him to his next destination, wherever that was going to be. Lou knew he was in trouble, a lot of it. What he didn't expect though, was to be kicked out of the Vault.

       "You're kicking me out of the Vault!?" He screamed. The Overseer and her jury sat before him, sending him looks of confidence in their answer. "You heard us. We shouldn't have let someone like you in to begin with. That was a mistake on our part. You have 20 minutes to leave. All the supplies and weapons you arrived with are waiting for you at the Vault gate." The Overseer turned on her heel, getting ready to leave, "Wait! What about the baby?! She IS mine! I don’t want to raise her out in the wasteland!" He pleaded. Overseer Magnolia huffed, rethinking her decision to kick him out. As soon as that thought went into her head, it left as she glanced down at the cast her arm was situated in, then she was sure of her answer.  

       "Don't worry about the baby. We have a family here who have already welcomed her into their home. We wouldn't want someone as animalistic as you to raise her anyways. Don't forget, 20 minutes to leave. Or else we won't hesitate to resort to violence. Don't you think we won't either." She taunted.  

       Lou sat there in the cold metal chair, reliving the events that took place in the last 24 hours. He went from having everything, to having nothing. When he released they were in fact being serious about the 20 minute time frame to leave, he thought of his Wife who he'd loved with every fiber of himself. He thought about his newborn baby girls. Someone he wouldn't get to see grow up. He'd never see the two of them ever again. And with those thoughts, he left. Never to return to Vault 83. Lou left with 200 tons of pain weighing down on his heart, tears never ending, even after months he had left vault. He was stripped of the only family he'd ever really known, family that was truly his.  

This was why he didn't like attachments.  

       You stood there at the mirror. The nightmare fresh in your memory, sending chills through your body. 'Get a hold of yourself, Y/N. It was just a dream.' But nothing could ease your nerves. Everything about it felt incredibly real. The voices sounded as if they were right next to you talking. The hands gripping at you, you being swung over someone shoulder. It all felt like real sensations. Now, if only you could place those voices to their face.  

       A knock at the bathroom door brought you back to Earth, making you jump. "Hey! Y/N are you in there?" An older, manly voice yelled in a hushed tone. "I need to start getting ready to head to the Infirmary." You gathered yourself, smacking a hand across your face lightly. "Yeah one second! I'll be out." The feet outside of the door shuffled until you could no longer hear them. 'Well, Y/N... Seems as if everyone is getting up now. No more sleep for right now then.' Begrudgingly, you pressed the button that whizzed the door open and stepped outside of the restroom.  

       The lights were on now, and a few feet ahead of you sat the man who'd been the only father figure in your 18 years of life. "Sorry about that, Dr. Wang! I really had to go..." You let out a breathy laugh. Dr. Wang glanced up as you from the small newspaper he was reading, a smile dancing on his lips. "It's no problem, Dear. And I've said numerous times before. Please, call me Ruiji!" He mused. The corners of your lips turned upwards in a shy smile, bowing your head lightly. "Now, as I go and get ready, will you go wake up Jackson? That boy could sleep for 10 years if someone let him! My wife is already at the child care center as well. I'll be gone before you kids are ready so don't forget to eat something before heading to class! And tell Jackson I said for you two to have a good day." And with that, the Doctor you had grown up with as your father, left for the bathroom. You headed straight to the door next to yours, Jackson's room.  

         Light from the living room flooded into Jackson's bedroom as the door mechanically opened, showcasing his personal items. Like his framed certificate for winning the Vault wide Spelling Bee when the two of you were 10. Or the worn down baseball trophy he won for a short story he wrote when you both were 15. A smile came to your lips as the memory replayed in your head, visualizing clearly a stressed out Jackson as he tried to think of a word that rhymed with 'Orange' only to come up with 'Door Hinge.'  

       You walked over to him, his mouth slightly ajar as a soft snore rumbled from his throat. You took a seat next to his still body, careful not to disturb him as a sleeping Jackson was one of your favorite sights. Relaxed and quiet, not worrying about the future like he always did. Your 'dumb Worry-Wart', you dubbed him.  

       "Jackyyyy..." You drawled out softly. His eyes squeezed tighter shut and his lips pursed as a whine cut through the air. Your eyes rolled. He was such a baby in the morning, always wanting 5 more minutes which if you allowed him that, it'd turn into at least 15 more. "Hey... Jackson. You gotta get up and get ready for school. Another groan escaped his mouth, "(Y/N)... Just a few more minutes please." Your tongue clicked in disapproval, "Uh-uh, you have to get up now or else we'll be rushing to class just like we usually are. C'mon. Can't you just get up at a decent time this once?" Jackson whined once again and threw his arm over his eyes, blocking out the light that seeped in from the doorway. Playfully you grabbed both of his arms, wrapping them around your body in an attempt to wake the younger man up. "Hey! What are you doing?!" He shouted, trying to untangle his arms from you. Jackson was never really a fan of skinship, he'd always shy away from any touch sent to him. "Wake up, Jackson boooooo." You said in a singsong voice, your lips outstretched trying to plant a peck on to his cheek. Jackson sat up abruptly, cringing away from your shows of affection while you were a giggling mess.  

       "Why are you like this? I would have gotten up by myself." You scoffed, "Yeah, okay. And you would have totally been on time to the last Monday of our school career, right?" The younger boy pursed his lips, no longer putting in his input as he knew you were right.  

       "You could sleep for a month straight if you could." You said, keeping the joke going. His eyes squinted, casting a glare that could have very well sent you straight to a grave. "Uh-huh, and what, you're queen of waking up on time, right?" The smile slowly dissipated from your lips as he brought up your faults. "I'm pretty sure you've woken up late at least 100 times more than I have!" You shut your eyes in defeat, not wanting to talk about this any further. "Hey... we weren't talking about me. Anyways!" Your hands clasped together as you stood from his bed, "Get dressed! I'll be ready in 15 minutes then we can get some food, kay?" Jackson nodded as you left his bedroom, turning his light on and shutting the sliding door before leaving it.

       20 minutes had passed before the two of you were ready and leaving your personal living quarters. The foyers of the Vault were bustling with people, all heading to their jobs, school or to find something to eat. It was a normal morning in Vault 83. The kids happily played with each other outside of their classroom, waiting for the okay to be let in.  

       The two of you managed to snag some Vault made "Energy" bars, which you concluded was actually just some oats and probably maple syrup molded together to resemble one. The first school bell rang, signaling class were to start in 5 minutes, "C'mon!" You said, stuffing the breakfast bar into your mouth as you grabbed Jackson's hand, dragging him to the classroom before you could be marked tardy.

        You both managed to get to your seats right as the final bell rang, the Teacher walking to the back of the classroom and shutting the door. "Alright, class!" She began, "By the end of this week, you'll all have completed School! I'm so proud of you all. I remember when you guys were mere tots running and mucking about." Tears pooled in the corner of her eyes, her fingers coming to swipe them away swiftly, "I just hope the lot of you go on to be the perfect Vault citizens me and your parents have taught you to be. It'll be very sweet and sentimental to see you all receive your-" Her speech was cut short due to the power going out.  

       A robotic tune decrescendoed from the electricity seizing itself. The back up panic lights fulfilled their duties as their soft green lights glowed, illuminating the classroom.  

       "Oh, well this won't do." Your teacher sighed, before seating herself at her desk, pulling a walkie-talkie from her drawer. The voice on the reciever end and her conversed for a matter of seconds while your classmates whispered to one another. Jackson scooted closer to you in his desk placed next to yours, always getting scared when power outages occurred.  

       "Ugh, not this again." A kid moaned. Cries from the Kindergarten room next door could be heard as their teachers attempted to soothe them.

       "This is happening too often." Another added. "Yeah, if this were Vault 099 we wouldn’t have issues like this." Your eyes rolled as you felt Jackson's presence right up against you.  

       "They always talk about that stupid non-existent Vault," You whispered, only loud enough for Jackson to hear, "It's so annoying. Like, I understand that this Vault sucks but it's what we have to deal with. I don't understand why we can't leave it though. Like, it would make sense to have set Scavengers, right?" Jackson nodded lightly, his hands coming up to your arm. You were his safety blanket in times like this, not that you minded.  

       "Well, it could maybe exist." He mumbled. Your eyebrows quirked as you looked at his face. "You think some Vault that doesn't even coincide with the number distribution could exist? You must be crazy, Jackson Wang." His lips thinned into a straight line as he sat in thought. "Maybe I am, but it could. You never know."

       You let out a soft laugh as you turned your body to face his, "Okay, Jacky. If you think this could be possible, we'll go look for it. Okay?" Jackson's eyes widened, his jaw dropped as if you'd murdered someone. "No," He stammered, "We can't do that! We'd get in so much trouble. How would we even sneak out? The Vault door is always locked, even then, it's always guarded!" Your head shook at his panicked tone, "Nope," You said, accentuating the 'P', "From 3:00am until 4:30am it's not."  

       "And you know this how?" He questioned. "I've had my fair share of early morning walks, Jacky. Now, stop talking. I'm thinking of a plan." Jackson sat there, frantically trying to form a coherent sentence, anything to change your mind from planning an escape. But, he knew you all too well and once your mind was made, nothing would sway it.

       It would be easy to escape, you thought. All you needed to do was figure out the Protectrons route so you'd have little to no chance of running into one. During the lunch break, you paid extra attention to their whereabouts, noting the time was nearing 1:00pm and the Protectrons worked on a 12 hour shift. Every 12 hours, their cycles would reset, making sure they started where they were supposed to and ending in the same place. Luckily for you, the Protectron command room was in a completely opposite wing from yours. 'Alright, so if I were able to get out of the Vault at say, 3:30... They'd be just leaving the West Wing? That gives me roughly 15 minutes to get out.'  

       Your pen scrawled the sloppy plans on a small notebook. You'd barely touched the bland, grey food on the metal tray before you. You were in a completely different world from your normal one until a ruler smacked down on the table next to you.

       "(Y/N)!" Overseer Magnolia's nasally voice called. You quickly shut the notebook, stuffing into one of the jumpsuits pockets and peered up to the older woman, a toothy grin plastered to your face.  

       "Yes, Overseer Magnolia?" Your tone was overtly sweet, like a child who'd been caught redhanded for misbehaving and was trying to get out of any punishment. She smiled to you, her red lipstick smudged in the corners, her eyes crinkling behind her thick, black rimmed glasses, "You've barely touched your lunch! You know you need to stay healthy to serve this Vault properly!" You nodded to her, the smile still present, "Yes, you're right. I'll get to eating now!" Overseer Magnolia smiled once again before making her leave.

       "Look at that," Jackson began as he stuffed his mouth with the glop this Vault called food, "You almost got caught and your plans aren't even finished yet."  

       You pursed your lips, giving him an annoyed look, "Hey... Overseer Magnolia wouldn't know what hit her even if it were a 10 pound bag of bricks. Now let me get back to planning." Jackson sat there watching you as you scribbled your thoughts onto the pad of paper, "You're really doing this?" He muttered.  

       Jackson's eyes teared up, genuinely scared for his only friend. "What if something happens to you? What if one of those 'Deathclaws' come and eat you or whatever the do? What if you're in a radiation lake for too long and you get sick and die?! Huh!? Have you thought about that? What if a gang of Raiders find you and abduct you and rape and kill you?!" He was hysterical now. People looked at his sudden outburst with judging eyes. You sighed, standing up and walking to his side, pulling him out of the cafeteria into one of the side halls.  

       "Jackson, I've thought about all of that and honestly, I'd rather try and make it out there than run out of food and water and power and die here. I know I was totally against it earlier but, what if it is real? It's said to be stocked with everything to last a thousand years. The power is never-ending and their water is crystal clear, not to mention the food that's said to be there! Or all of the luxurious rooms. It's a chance I don't want to miss out on now, Jacky." Your arms wrapped tightly around Jacksons neck as he cried into your shoulder.

       "But what if something serious happens... I don't want you getting hurt. I can't stand the thought of losing you." You smiled up at him, bringing your hand to his cheeks and wiping any left over tears away. "Come with me then. If there's anyone I can do it with, it's you. And, if anything happens to either of us, then at least we'd be with one another."

       Jackson stood there, his mouth wide open ready to say that he couldn't. But nothing came out.  

       "Fine. I'll go." Your eyes lit up with joy as he accepted your offer, "But!" He interjected, "If we don't find it within 2 weeks, we come back. We beg our way back in and I'll majorly kiss up to my parents if they haven't decided to disown me already." You nodded quickly, agreeing with everything he was saying.  

       "Thank you, Jacky! It will be fine. There can't be that much out there anyways. I mean, nuclear bombs? I wouldn't be surprised if it was just a barren wasteland out there." You said, attempting to calm his nerves. "But Raiders, and deathclaws... and other things that are potentially out there." He whined, you gripped his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before pecking his cheek, "Like I said, we'll be together. But I really don't think it's going to be that bad. Now..." You yawned, "Let's skip the rest of the day and finish planning."

       The two of you gave some poor excuse of it being that time of the month for you and your cramps being so bad that you needed Jackson to escort you to the infirmary. Your teacher believed it easily, dismissing the two of you no more questions asked.  

       You entered the large living quarters and fled to your room, packing anything you deemed necessary including extra clothes, sanitary items and of course, hair scrunchies. "Hair ties?" Jackson laughed, as he walked into your room, already finished his packing. "Heck yeah! I don’t know when I'm going to need to throw my hair out of my face!" He grinned down at you before his smile dropped from his face.

       "So, we're really doing this?" He asked, his voice trembling. You nodded, looking up at him from your backpack, "Yeah, I guess we are." Jackson sighed, his eyes tightly shut as he held his breath before speaking, "Alright. Let's go over the plan one more time."

       It was foolproof. You and Jackson would sneak out, 3:15am sharp. Walk down the corridor, through the cafeteria and up the elevator to the Vault door. It was almost too easy and it was a little unnerving.

       "(Y/N)… What if we get caught? What will we do? We have nothing to protect us. Protectrons aren't the most forgiving either." Jackson whispered, scared of anyone hearing even though you were the only two in the unit.  

       He was right. You had no weapons and no idea of how to use them even if you did. "Well, where could we get one? Ya know, just incase." Jackson shrugged, genuinely not knowing where to find one or what to use to improvise. "We could go to the Gymnasium and take a couple of bats?" He offered, "Yeah, okay and what, bludgeon a Protectron to death?"  

       Your sarcasm didn't settle well with the already on edge boy before you. Jackson's hands flew up into the air, giving up. "Well, then I don't kn- Oh, wait," His eyes widened as a new thought hit him, the corners of his mouth turning into a smirk, "I know." He began, "Overseer Magnolia's office has a laser rifle hanging above her desk. Now, I don't know if it's loaded, or if there's any ammo laying around in there anywhere, but that's our best option as of now." You smiled to him, "Jackson! You're brilliant! And, it's our only option at this point."

       That night, the two of you slept very little. It was your last night in the tiny bedroom you'd grown up in and you felt no sadness, no remorse, no feelings of doubt. You felt free.  

       You could taste it on the tip of your tongue. You could feel it coursing through your veins, each cycle of blood flow only pumping you up even further.  

        It seemed as though you'd only slept 5 minutes when you heard the hushed tapping against the metal door, "It's me. It's time." Jackson whispered. You sprung from your bed, grabbing the packed bag and taking one last glance around the room you had called home for so long. With a sigh, you closed your eyes, took a deep breath of the stale Vault air, and a breath of freedom. "Let's go." You said to no one besides yourself, and the four rusted walls around you.

       "Okay, the Protectron is still in the West Wing right now. We're early." You added at the end. Jackson sent you a curt nod before speaking, the both of you heading down the Corridor to the North wing where the Overseer's office was located, "It's because your original plan didn't have this in it. Had to give us some more time." He said, talking about the laser rifle.  

       The two of you tiptoed down the hall to the flight of stairs leading to the main room. Each wing was split off from each other there. North, South, East and West. When you finally reached the Main Room, you scanned the area, making sure no one had decided to take one of those late night walks you liked so much.

       Once the coast was clear, you rushed to the North Wing corridor. Jackson lagged behind you slightly. The both of you froze when you heard the distinct mechanical voice. "Protect and Serve the people of Vault 83. Loitering will not be tolerated." Your blood went cold and any color on your face drained from your flesh into a puddle onto the ground.

       All feelings of courage and freedom instantly fled from your body. You were ready to give up right then, until you felt a hand against the small of your back. "It just entered the West Wing, we need to go now, or else we're going to lose our chance." You nodded at Jackson's words, them sending you into fight or flight mode, instantly taking off into the direction of Overseer Magnolia's office, him following not too far behind.

       Finally, you reached the office. Your fingers wrapped tightly around the rusted, copper-colored door knob, scared to twist it in case it'd creak. "Jackson," You said, your breathing heavy and uneven. Who were you to think you could pull off some grand escape from a Vault no one has left in 300 years? Who were you to think you were any different from anybody else who had dreams of leaving, of finding Vault 099. "We should go back." Your words were hushed and hurried as you turned to face the taller boy.

       "We shouldn't do this. We can't this is insane! We can't lea-" Jackson put a hand over your mouth and pushed you up against the door. Your eyes widened at his actions. They were nothing like him. His free hand went behind you to the door knob, twisting it silently and pulling the both of you into the drafty, office.  

       Once his hand was off of your mouth, you began to scold him, your cheeks burning a warm shade of cherry as you weren't used to such a handsy Jackson. "What was tha-" "Shh!" He huffed, huddling down close to the door, listening for sounds of any kind. "I heard something." He whispered. And sure enough on the other side of the door, that damn mechanical voice was present. "Protect and Serve the people of Vault 83. Loitering will not be tolerated."  

       Jacksons gaze turned to you, "We need to hide."  

       No more words were said as you scrambled to find somewhere to hide. The room was decorated with numerous bookshelves adorned with raggedy, dusty books. It had multiple file cabinets which contained every Vault Dweller's information that had lived here. Unfortunately, the only possible place for the both of you to hide was in the small nook underneath Overseer Magnolia's desk. You dove for cramped place ungracefully, stumbling over the legs of the desks chair. Your breathing was erratic as your hand flew to cover your mouth, attempting to silence the loud breaths. You could see Jacksons legs before you as he stood a bit longer. You slipped yours out, kicking him to signal him of your whereabouts, for him to come into the small space as well. He lingered a second longer before stepping on to the desk chair and fumbling with something. After what seemed like hours, Jackson finally clicked whatever he was messing with and then he was seated next to you. "I got it." He hushed.

       Your eyes widened at what Jackson's hands carried. The Laser Rifle. "Jackson, I can-" Your voice was cut short due to the tapping at the door. The metal hands of the Protectron scraped againt the wood, sending shivers down your spine. Light flooded into small office and in the window behind Overseer Magnolia's desk, you could see it. The Protectron.

       "Conducting room search in T-Minus, 30 seconds." Your hands found their way back to your mouth as tears pooled in the corner of your eyes. This was it. You were caught. You were more scared of the punishment Overseer Magnolia would come up with rather than the Protectron, however. Preferring to be dead rather than living being confined in some unhappy situation for the rest of your lives.  

       "Conducting room search in T-Minus, 15 seconds." Your mind was filled with regret as you awaited your final moments to come. You hated that this was your fault. You wanted to go out and search for a better life and now here you were, you and your best friend about to lose said lives. All thanks to you.

       'Mom, I know it's been a while,' You prayed, your eyes sealed tight, "But if you're up there, please help us through this.' The tears fell from your eyes as Jackson fumbled with the rifle next to you, loud enough for the Protectron to hear, or so you thought. "There." He uttered.

       "Conducting room search in T-Minus, 3, 2, 1." A red beam of light splayed across the entirety of the office. The only sounds heard were your heartbeat and the scanner from the Protectron. It marked its way in the room, combing over each and every nook and cranny, horizontally and vertically and then, there was nothing.  

        "Room Cleared. Rerouting." The Protectron clanked its way back to the doorway as relief washed over you. "Thank you." You wept. Your eyes went wide as the words slipped from your mouth. Jackson's gaze turning back to you, his eyes matching yours. "(Y/N)… dammit!"  

        "Warning. Warning. Enemy in bounds, conducting thorough room search." Your relief was replaced with fear. This was truly the end. The Protectron stalked its way around the room, lifting up any chair, or small table in the process. It's heavy footsteps were getting closer, each footstep filling you with emotions you'd never felt before. You latched yourself around Jackson, whispering millions of apologies as the tears fell harder. "Sh." He hushed again. You bit back any sobs, albeit a bit shocked at his tone of voice, but still looked at him through your tear soaked eyelashes.  

        Jackson's expression was stoic. His features were stone cold as he eyes looked ahead, waiting for the Protectron to come. He looked emotionless and you blamed yourself for finally being the person to scare Jackson into nothingness. More tears welled up at the thought, but you blinked them away, not wanting any obstructions from you line of sight. If you were going to die, you wanted to be looking at the only person you'd ever loved. You wished you could have thanked him for being your friend. For being that only person who was able to put of with your feistiness. For being the only person that ever truly cared.

        Then, it was there. Finally, standing before you. Its metal clasp locking on to the mahogany desk, lifting it easily, exposing the both of you.  

        "Enemy found. Loitering will not be tolerated." It roared, its menacing tone chilling you to the bone. You could hear it's laser charging, and you muttered a "Thank you." To Jackson, letting go of any hard feelings, and then, a shot fired.  

        Your eyes were shut tight, as you thought it must have shot Jackson first and you were next, but you never felt him limp or falter, the only thing you heard was his held breath finally leaving his lips, and the desk clammering back to the floor.  

        "J-Jackson?" You stuttered, peeping open one eye to see the scene before you. Jackson's eyes were wide as he looked at the robotic beast in front of you. "(Y/N)… we should go. Now." Jackson sprung to his feet as he grabbed your hand, dragging you with him and pulling you to the door.  

        You glanced back, only to see the mechanic being standing there, its head blown clean off. It slumped to the ground as you looked ahead, running hand and hand with the brunette boy. "Jackson!" You yelled, sirens starting to blare in the background as you booked it to the elevator, "Holy shit! You did that?!" "Now's not the time to talk, (Y/N)! More are coming!"  

        The two of you reached the Main Room only to be met with more Protectrons, one coming from each of the corridors. "Keep running!" He screamed, aiming the gun at the West Wing Protectron. One shot and it acquired the same fate as the last one. "Violence will not be tolerated." The East Wing Protectron challenged. Once again, Jackson shot and it was the same - headless.  

        You and Jackson raced up the stairs leading to the elevator. The South Wing Protectron shooting random shots almost as if it were a warning. "Press it, quickly! I'll take care of this." Your finger smashed at the buttons frantically, it's ding signaling it's arrival. "Jackson, let's go!" Jackson shot the rifle again at the robot, relieving itself of its head. "Okay, go, go!" He ushered you into elevator, pressing the button to the entrance repeatedly.  

        "Stop them!" A man yelled, "Kill them if you have to!" Another one screamed. The men ran up the steps, shooting their guns right as the doors shut, little bullet holes punctured the metal doors, thankfully none of them hitting you.  

        The two of you weren't in the clear until you both made it outside and you knew it. The elevator creaked as its strings worked, bringing the small metal box to it's destination. It dinged again as it opened it's doors, revealing the Vault Entrance and the Pad that would usher you out. You were so close to freedom as the both of you ran to the pad, your eyes scanning the machine to the door. "Alright, you have to plug the cord from the pip-boy here, into the port there." Jackson said, showing you with his hands just where to put it. Your eyebrow quirked as you looked at him, "How do you know this?" You questioned, "I think it's common sense." He smiled.

      "Well then, here goes nothing." You unlatched the cord from the device on your wrist, a mere couple of inches away from the keyhole before a voice interrupted you, "Stop right there." It said. Overseer Magnolia.  

      You and Jackson peered over to her. She stood by the elevator, a gun clutched in her hands as she pointed it at the both of you. "Let's talk this through." "Not before you put the gun down, Overseer Magnolia." You hesitated. She lowered her weapon instantly, "Listen, you two. This whole search for this mysterious Vault 099 is a farce. There's no such thing. We're the only one around." Your eyes squinted as she talked, not believing a word that left her slimy mouth. "Only one around? What about Vault 26?" A chuckle left her lips as she smirked at you, "Gone. We lost contact with them 3 weeks ago. Poor things. Wonder what it was that got them." "It'll happen to us too, ya know," Jackson seethed, "We'll die down here if we keep going the same route as we've always been going. Also, how do you know about the Vault 099 thing?" Overseer Magnolia pulled a small notebook from her pocket, her smirk turning into a full on grin, "You should really be more careful with your belongings, (Y/N) dear." A sinking feeling filled your gut, this plan was a bust.

      "Okay, Overseer Magnolia... Say we go back with you. What will happen?" You asked. She stood there a moment, going over multiple options before speaking, "Well, you'll graduate and then go on to your respective jobs. Just like you both have been planning since you were young and... well behaved."  

       You looked up to Jackson to find he was already looking at you. And with only a few looks exchanged, you both deliberated the choice given to you and coming to the same conclusion. Both of you had come too far and caused too much damage to go back - ever.

       "I'm sorry, Overseer Magnolia..." Jackson began, for the first time ever you could feel the confidence exude from him, building your own self esteem, "But, we're going to have to decline your offer. (Y/N), open the Vault."  

       You nodded, sticking the plug into the keyhole and pressing the big red button next to it. The Vault Door hissed as it unlocked, letting in fresh air and soft breezes as the crank turned, something you had never felt before.  

       "You made the wrong decision, you two." Overseer Magnolia said as she raised her gun back to the both of you, but she was too slow. Jackson raised the laser rifle and shot once, piercing her leg. She fell to the ground as she cried out in pain and the two of you ran to the door.  

        Overseer Magnolia raised her gun once again, shooting multiple shots aimlessly, one grazing Jackson's back ever-so-slightly. "Jackson!" You yelled as he grimaced, "Just keep going, let's go we’re almost out!"  

        You and Jackson hopped over the entrance door, turning back to the outdoor lock pad and sealing it at once.  

        And there you were, outside of the Vault for the first time in your life. The first people to ever leave the Vault. The fresh air that filled your lungs felt like Heaven. You savored the cold feel of the night air, the new smells almost overwhelming. "It doesn't smell like metal or abraxo cleaner out here." You joked, eyes shut tight, relishing the moment you achieved your freedom.  

        "Uh, (Y/N)… I think you should see this." Jackson said, his toned was quiet, serious. You opened your eyes, your breath escaping your lungs in an instant. The two of you looked around, shocked at your surroundings. You spun around slowly, mouth agape at the sight before you both. "We’ve been under this the entire time? A baseball park?" He breathed out. Your eyes scanned the place, looking for any indication of what it's name was until they landed on a huge sign in the distance.  

         "Wrigley Field."

AN: Okay! So Iridescent is finally out! Let me know if you guys like it and what you think about it! :) Feedback is always appreciated!

Mac~

[gorderos-blog]

Dumb Things I Did as a Kid

     I've talked at length about my childhood before, but that was focused more on the sad side of things rather than the not-so-sad aspects. As any youth, I experienced the vast spectrum of things that one encounters as a child ranging from good to bad, sad to happy, and normal to near insanity, and now I want to focus on the latter words of the aforementioned list. Kids do inexplicably strange things, there's no doubting that. My daughter and I were playing a couple days ago--she was a forest queen and I was... I don't even know--and I was supposed to request something of her. Being the meme lord that I am, I told her I needed about tree fiddy. She's eight, so she had absolutely no idea what in the holy mother of fuck I was talking about, and rather than explain the entire thing to her (my wife would kill me if I showed her the origin), I just told her it has something to do with the Loch Ness Monster. In her mind, tree fiddy became a character, and the rest of the day is history. I bring this up because, as I said before, kids are weird and they do weird kid things. I could spend all day explaining the questionable things my daughter has said or done since I've met her, but that's something we'll save for another occasion. For now, let's talk about my favorite subject: me. Props if you get the Kikinak reference.     In the spirit of keeping things short, but dragging them out way longer than necessary, I only have a few points I want to talk about today. I have them bulleted below from when I was making notes for this blog entry yesterday. That's right, I take notes now. I AM Dr. Mr. Blogger Dude, after all. The second. Esquire. And a half. Anyway, if you're at all squeamish, then I advise you to not look at the first couple of points because they have to do with stabbing oneself. There's no better way to put that. You've been warned.

    I don't know what's wrong with Tims as a collective whole. My wife claims that every Tim she's ever met has been a nice, charming, kind dude (I'm amazing), but every Tim I've ever met has been... off. Either during my late middle school or early high school days, I had a "friend" named Tim. We had one class today, we kind of got along, and he wasn't a dick to me, so I now refer to him as a friend when in reality he was more of an acquaintance. We discovered one day that if you took a stapler, opened it up like you were trying to staple something to a wall, and smacked it down onto your arm (staples loaded), it didn't really hurt all that much. Sure, bleeding would ensue and digging out the staple could be a pain in the ass, but it was more like getting a shot. There was a quick pinch, then not much else. It's a cool party trick if you're drunk and trying to lose all of your friends. I don't know why we started doing it, we just sort of did. Up until that point, I had never received a tetanus shot, and it'd be about another decade until I got one, so it's a miracle I didn't end up dead because of this.     Much in the same vein, a few years prior, kids in my school had an odd obsession with piercing their skin with a sewing needle, or something similar, guide it through their skin without piercing any further down, and push it out maybe half an inch or so away from the initial point of entry. That's my best attempt at describing this phenomenon that took over the minds of about six people, myself included. I primarily did this on my hands and arms. Oddly enough, it didn't hurt at all if done properly. It just looked cool. It felt cool. I was a pierced badass. Looking back on it, I'm not really sure how a bunch of kids managed to bring needles like that into the school and not have them confiscated. I know now-days schools have actual security measures in place to prevent sharp objects from entering the building, but back then, we just kind of brought whatever we felt like bringing and it was only found if you were stupid enough to pull it out in front of someone who cared.     Quick tangent: One day in class, a bunch of kids brought knives and were showing them off, then the teacher pulled out his own collection of knives and daggers, and I'm pretty sure he was the coolest teacher ever. This wasn't even a planned show and tell thing, it just sort of happened.     This last one is a lot more kid friendly and won't make anyone queasy. This is something that I vaguely remember doing, and I've since been reminded many, many, many, many, many times that I used to do this, and I think a lot of other kids did it as well. You all know peek-a-boo, right? When I became old enough to have some sort of cognitive thought, my brain wired itself to believe that peek-a-boo was ultra-intense guerrilla warfare training. From my bedroom I would hastily stomp my way to the end of the hall as quietly as I could, spying my goal 20 long kid steps away. I would peek around the corner and see my parents in the living room watching TV, those monsters! Strategically, I'd place my left hand on the side of my face, covering the only direction from which my parents would be able to see my eyes, and would make my way over to the cookies on the deep freezer. Grabbing a handful and making a 180 degree turn, I would place my right hand much like I had placed my left, and triumphantly head back to my bedroom to enjoy my well-earned snacks.     Imagine my shock when I discovered that my parents knew the WHOLE time that it was me grabbing those cookies. They just let me get away with it because they were laughing too hard to say anything. This is why I'm fat.     Thinking back on these things, there are some other instances of dumb kid things I did, such as trying to do a weird twirl thing on top of a rusted nail and then hiding it from my parents because I thought they'd be mad at me for being injured. Or the time I had to get a cast because I broke my hand punching a gym mat at school. Can't forget the time I almost drowned. Come to think of it, a lot of these stories all involve pain or near death experiences in one way or another. There will definitely be a follow-up to this in the future, but I think we should take a break from pain for a while. I was a very injury-prone kid, and I'm an even more injury-prone adult. I've been wanting to talk about pets for a while, more specifically our six cats, so I believe that's the direction we'll be heading in next. Don't you worry, I haven't forgotten about Xen'Schet, literally the whole reason I started this blog.     I'm finding it more and more enjoyable to create this varied blog content. I wake up with a spring in my step, a song in my heart, and a topic in mind to talk about before I even sit down to start typing. This is great fun and very therapeutic, and I sincerely thank those of you that take the time to read through all of this and take these journeys with me. You're all awesome and I hope to make you all proud. Thank you!