#anyways. i should probably start tagging individual characters in these posts. sigh

[mourningarchivist]

Sorry. I need to draw these two at least once a month or else I turn evil. Can you tell I love that version of Critic from "Finishing A Story" episode yet. Anyways. Time to skedaddle and disappear for a few weeks again.

[acaplaya-musings]

Voiceplay Visuals - Christmas Don't Be Late (The Chipmunk Song)

VoicePlay didn't actually release a full-length Christmas song in 2021 (just a couple of Christmas Minis instead), and so we're jumping ahead to the 3rd of December, 2022, when VoicePlay released what may in fact be my favourite Christmas song cover of theirs ever!

As a group, VoicePlay have had quite a lot of experience with performing this song over the years, as it was a regular part of their setlist when they used to perform at Mickey's Very Merry Christmas Party at Walt Disney World. If you wanna learn more about that, check out these posts by @jules-has-notes linked HERE and HERE (and I hope Jules doesn't mind me tagging them but seriously their blog has *so much* stuff about old VoicePlay stuff, further back than I go that's for sure!)

Anyway, the original arrangement for this song, i.e. the one VP used for live performances, was done by a guy called Chris Diaz, who is (was?) in an acapella group himself, but Geoff made quite a few alterations to the song/arrangement himself, and so both him and Chris are credited with the arrangement! Geoff was also in charge of the video, he co-directed it with Tony, and yes, he added additional music bits and original lyrics of his own, because of course he did 😄

And of course the song features the amazing DeeJay Young, but enough talking, let's get into this!

First of all, love the way VoicePlay started the song with the kinda "old-timey" effect on the visuals (and the audio too!). They did something similar for the start of Sh-Boom and In The Air Tonight, and did it for a brief moment in We're Good as well.

Second of all, do you recognise the set? You should! It's the same one Geoff used for his Way Down video, just with a bit of added Christmas flair!

Not the most perfect screenshot but I just had to give a shoutout for how Geoff suddenly runs into the shot. Like seriously neither words nor individual screencaps do it justice but I find it very amusing 😝

(Also, Eli is again weaing black sneakers with thick white soles)

Cesar as Alvin is literally perfect casting honestly. Like nobody else could do it better.

(Also Cesar was in fact genuinely filming stuff on his phone during this bit, and that footage got included in the BTS video for this cover, and it's just as entertaining and hilarious as you'd expect)

I want that shirt

DeeJay is looking pretty stylish there too! (And yes Cesar also looks great in his blazer)

Alright so Layne is Dave (the human guy character), Cesar is Alvin, Deejay is Theodore, Eli is Simon, and Geoff is... Geoff? 😂😅

"ALVIIINNNN!!!!!"

(*pfft*)

*ding*

(Yeah this video definitely still makes me laugh 😂)

"Alvin! Stop riffing so much and stick to the music!"

Unfair! DeeJay and Eli do heaps of riffing all the time! (And we love them for it, lol)

Also I don't know what the sheet music "says" in terms of the music notes, but I love that it at least appears to be a legit page of sheet music for the song, complete with VoicePlay logo at the top!

"So listen for those nine reindeer!"

Also it's not a visual thing, but given that quite a few reactors didn't seem to notice/realize it, I gotta point out that the sleigh bell/jingle bell sound here is very much done by Layne! Probably with a little bit of post-production effect, but still, very impressive!

"A brand new bottle of hair gel!"

"A bright green dress like ✨Tinkerbell!✨"

*PFFT*

This line is specifically a reference to the fact that they used to perform this song at Disney World, as I mentioned at the start, but this line has also been used in some of their older performances of it too I believe?

Also whenever I sing this song to myself, I literally can NEVER, sing the "bright green dress like Tinkerbell" line, because I always start laughing every time!

"Dooon't be la-ate!"

(I think he really wants that dress you guys 😉😝)

*sigh* He's so pretty and handsome, I love him (look, about 90% of my Voiceplay Visuals posts involve at least one moment of me pointing out how good Geoff looks! I apologise for nothing!)

(Also it took a decent bit of restraint for me to not include even more Geoff screenshots in this just because)

"So put your sleigh in- (so put your sleigh in its top gear!)"

I don't think I've actually noticed this bit before but damn Cesar ain't messing around! He wants presents NOW! 😂

"A tweet from Musk would make me grin!" (heavy grimacing)

I actually checked the lyrics for this song cover on Spotify (back before Spotify made lyrics available only to Premium users, rip), and this line is actually changed for the audio-only version it seems, to "a gift from mom would make me grin", which is fair, because the very faked sincerity of this line wouldn't convey as easily without the visuals.

"Front row seats to Hamilton!"

VoicePlay are no stranger to including references to modern day media stuff in their Christmas Don't Be Late performances, but this is also a not-super-subtle shoutout to the fact that DeeJay was on tour as a cast member in Hamilton! (And still is performing in Hamilton I believe?) He's been playing the role of Aaron Burr I believe? Which is very very impressive, shoutout to DeeJay!

"We can hardly wait!"

(Also hey is that a little Eli Eyebrow Raise I see?)

And I have to give a shoutout to the bridge section of this cover - another Geoff Castellucci original, it's so good! Fits in perfectly, as all his lyrics do! (Original song WHEN?)

"I've been so wonderful!"

I love how the responses of reactors to this moment have been a mix of "aww yes you have Cesar!" and "hmmm I'm not so sure (light-hearted) but I still love you regardless" 😄😁

Get it Cesar! Love the dancing!

Only just noticed Eli has the Hamilton booklet thing shoved in the back pocket of his jeans, lol

Cesar what are you doing? 😆

"Great job, chipmunks! Even you, Alvin! Now let's try it with some helium!"

*pfft*, what a way to end the video honestly

Geoff looks confused, Eli looks uncertain/doubtful (another Eli Eyebrow Raise!), DeeJay looks like he's either down for it or hasn't fully processed it, and Cesar looks HORRIFIED XD

(Also what would Geoff even sound like on helium when singing bass? Normal? /j 😂)

So that's Christmas Don't Be Late! VoicePlay turned a song that's really quite short, slow, and overall fairly forgettable, into an absolute bop and banger, and the video is super fun as well. Like seriously, this is one song that no one else has done or will do in the same way that VoicePlay has, and that's a big part of what I love about it! Until next time!

[asset35-maya]

I am sleepy but I gotta make a request before the busy tomorrow so 2 things on my mind! Sleepy and the 'oh my god they were roomates' vine xD with any characters and aus I love everything you write anyways xD Happy timezones and best vibes your way >^<!! 💖💞💕💕

Oh my god, they were roommates…

//

“The rental market in Detroit is absolute shit! How dare these bloodsuckers charge such high rates for the most under-developed properties! This city’s going to the dogs!”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have to pay your own weight in gold just to live in a shoebox for a year. Nonsense!”

“Uh…”

“Are you even listening to me, Tina!

Tina?

Goddamnit Tina!”

Gavin thumped his fist on her desk, but Tina’s eyes barely flicked up from her phone.

“Oh my god, you sound like my grandpa…”

Gavin turned red and his brain buzzed with a thousand colourful retorts. He was just about to pick one when Tina stopped scrolling and turned her phone screen towards him.

CYBERSCALIA @ NEW JERICHO

The suburban paradise for executive androids and humans alike. Located 25 minutes drive from downtown Detroit, with a full amenities.

Gavin’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. He balked at her.

“You’re joking? How could I possibly…?”

“Get with the times, boomer…”

Tina lazily skimmed her thumb over the screen. The webpage promised plenty of greenery, good infrastructure and modest but spacious rooms. The extremely reasonable price tag was Gavin’s dream come true. He’d spent weeks apartment hunting in the wake of an early lease termination by his cantankerous landlord. Gavin knew he’d never find a better deal.

“Shit, this is so good, T! Why the phck does it have to be in that- that place!”

His friend arched a sceptical eyebrow.

“What place?”

“The Tincan ghetto!”

Tina smacked him on the arm. None too gently.

“It’s subsided public housing located in an android-friendly estate… because they’re the ones that need it most right now. And frankly, you seem to be in just as much need, so you should really get off that high horse.”

“Fine, fine. You’re right. I should seriously consider this place, even if my neighbours are gonna have more in common with my car than me. But damn, it seems a little too good to be true. There’s probably some fine print, hidden costs that’ll come out later.”

“Hmm… let’s see…”

Tina scrolled further and then let out a half-laugh. She held her phone up again.

“Nothing shady about the rates, but there is something you should know…”

At the risk of being called old again, Gavin squinted at the screen and read aloud.

“Bearing in mind the founding principles of New Jericho, all human occupants may only apply for tenancy in co-habitation with at least one android citizen of the United States of- JESUS PHCKING CHRIST! Absolutely not! I am not going to live with a plastic prick!”

//

Gavin had to get through half a bottle of wine before he could bear to scroll through the rental listings. Unlike other humans who had happily moved into New Jericho with their android friends or partners, he had to find an android who was also looking for a flatmate.

Some listings came from ardent supporters of Markus. These were the androids who wanted to ease the post-revolution transition by reaching out to humans. Some listings were put up by the android equivalent of frat boys. These individuals were clearly looking for someone on the fringes of human society, someone who could show them a good (if not illegal) time.

Other posts came from eccentric androids who craved company but had likely been rejected by their own kind. Gavin felt a strange twisting sensation, almost like pity, when he came across a post written entirely in third person by someone called Ralph.

He had almost given up hope when he came across a simple little listing for a two bedroom apartment in Cyberscalia.

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87: Seeking a neat, self-sufficient co-renter. Human or android, no preference. I spend most of my time working and will be out of your way for the better part of the day. I only ask for silence during my nighttime stasis cycles, timely payment of dues and upkeep of cleanliness.

Gavin sighed in relief.

//

“Your room is the first door on the left, mine is the second. The bathroom, laundry and kitchenette are shared, as is the living room. I scarcely find use for the latter, so you need not worry about my intruding on any of your social gatherings, or vice versa. As long as you adhere to the terms of the agreement, our paths will not cross much.”

The tall, stiff-necked android dropped a set of keys, both mechanical and digital, into Gavin’s open palm.

“Er thanks.. RK… sorry I forgot your full model number…”

“You may call me Nines. Although, I’d rather you didn’t call me much of anything. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

In a swish of black fabric, the android turned on his heel and disappeared into his room. Two rapid clicks indicated the shutting and locking of his door.

Gavin sighed and looked around the open-plan living room. It was nothing fancy, but it was far beyond any of the other properties he’d viewed in weeks of unsuccessful house-hunting.

He sat down on the simple black couch with a huff and contemplated his situation. He’d ended up where he’d truly never expected to go, but objectively speaking, things were good… barring the high-handed manner of his robot flatmate, but who gave a shit about that.

He pulled out his phone to text Tina his thanks.

//

“I can’t! I refuse to! It is a violation of my personal ethics and I will simply not take this assignment any further. Good day to you sir!”

Gavin nearly dropped his bowl of cereal one morning when his roommate burst out of his door and rushed into the open balcony.

He hadn’t seen Nines in days, which was perfectly normal. The android came and went at odd hours and made hardly any noise. It was almost like living alone. The only reminder of Nines’ presence was the sight of several dark shirts and trousers regularly hung out to dry on the rack above the washing machine.

Gavin set his bowl down and watched the android tightly grip the bars of the railing and take several unnecessary breaths to calm down. He’d seen deviant colleagues express emotion many times before, but this was the first time he witnessed such a potent mixture of rage and sorrow from a synthetic being.

Out of empathy, but mostly curiosity, Gavin approached cautiously.

“Hey Nines… is everything alright…?”

There was no response for several moments. Then Nines turned around with a grimace and hands held upwards in a placating gesture.

“I apologise for the disturbance. It was hypocritical of me to disrupt the very peace and quiet I demand of you.”

“Uh… no worries…? Are you okay?”

There was a flash of steel blue eyes.

Gavin kicked himself mentally as he realised too late that he’d broached uncharted territory. Their interactions didn’t extend beyond curt nods on the rare occasion they found each other in the same space. It was almost as if Nines engineered the lack of contact, which wouldn’t surprise Gavin at all if it were the case.

“I’m fine. I merely experienced some frustration with my work.”

Perhaps it was boredom, perhaps it was his usual lack of self-preservative instinct… Gavin threw caution to the winds.

“What do you actually do?”

Nines’ expression remained stoic but his LED went through a spectacular series of colours and flashes. His next words were reluctant.

“I’m a private investigator.”

“Oh shit! I’m actually a cop.”

Gavin pointed dumbly at himself and then let his hand drop when he saw absolutely no surprise cross the android’s face.

“I know. That’s why I let you stay with me.”

“For safety?”

“Certainly not for your fashion sense.”

“Wow okay, I didn’t think I’d be much protection for a big scary droid like you.”

Nines hummed dismissively and started to move out of the balcony, body language fully indicating the end of the conversation.

Unable to help himself for some strange reason, Gavin blurted out another ill-advised question.

“What pissed you off so much?”

Nines paused halfway through side-stepping the human. A thrill went through Gavin at the shards of ice he observed for the first time up close in Nines’ irises.

“If I tell you, will you promise to stop asking pointless questions?”

Gavin nodded earnestly, and frankly… rather foolishly.

“I helped a client gather evidence to initiate divorce proceedings on the grounds of infidelity. I provided ample photo and video evidence for his lawyers to work with. Now they want me to keep following the spouse to capture more details that could gear any future settlement in his favour.”

“So what’s your problem?”

“They’re offering me an incredible amount of cash to follow her 24/7. To stake out her workplace, her gym, her parent’s home. They want me to crouch under the window of the bedroom where her children sleep. I can do a lot of things, but not that. It’s deeply insulting that they even asked. That’s why I was so… pissed.”

Nines slipped past and was nearly back to his bedroom when Gavin spoke.

“I respect that.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know, but for real though, I think ethics are important in our line of work. Not just because of we need morals or a sense of right or wrong blablabla, but because we need… clarity.”

Silence floated through the hallway as Nines paused with a hand on his doorframe.

“Clarity?”

“Yeah, like a sense of direction. We don’t just take cases right-left-centre because they make us money. I mean, we could, and people do… but they never become specialists or experts of any kind. You gotta strategise if you want a career. Ethics helps with that. I think…”

Gavin wasn’t sure what made him say any of that. He was neither one for small talk, nor a man of many words… but something about Nines prompted that unusual level of introspective discourse.

“Sorry that was weird. Never mind.”

“That was actually… very astute.”

Their eyes met and Gavin could’ve sworn he saw the hint of a smile.

“It’s good to see that not all humans are as one-dimensional as I thought.”

The door clicked shut, but there was no locking sound.

//

Since the morning of Nines’ uncharacteristic outburst, the frequency of their encounters in the common areas of the apartment increased. Wordless nods became hellos, and hellos eventually became full sentences.

Not that he’d admit it, Gavin actually looked forward to enquiring about the android’s day and the cases he was working on. It was utterly fascinating to hear about legal investigations without the constraints of police procedure.

For his part, Nines would share as much as he had the patience to, before disappearing into the confines of his room. Though the time he spent outside steadily increased every day.

Another morning, while Gavin was making his coffee, Nines emerged from his room, still in his pyjamas and looking as livid as he had the time before. Gavin had never seen him in anything but crisply ironed businesswear. Before he could voice any concern, Nines stiffly asked Gavin to keep a lookout for a homicide suspect.

He nodded and immediately reached for his phone to text the sergeant on duty at his station. By midday, there was an arrest.

That evening, when Gavin settled in front of the TV with his usual glass of wine, he heard the familiar sound of Nines’ door opening. The couch dipped beside him.

“Thank you.”

“Just did my job. I should thank you for the tip.”

“Hmm.”

Gavin chanced a glance at his roommate, and found him looking right back.

“What?”

“Nothing… I just had the realisation that much of my work is impotent without the authority and means to take any kind of action.”

The sitcom began to play and Gavin thumbed the remote to reduce the volume.

“Takes all kinds to keep the streets clean. PIs can do things cops can’t. We rely on guys like you for intel all the time, you know.”

“I know.”

No words were exchanged for a while thereafter. Gavin found himself unable to focus on the TV show with all the brooding energy emanating from his right.

“If you feel like being a private eye doesn’t make enough of a difference, then why didn’t you… um… you know…”

“Join law enforcement?”

“Yup.”

“Plenty of my fellow androids have done so. I know for a fact that my predecessor model chose to remain there. You might know him.”

“Connor? Yes. Very annoying.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

“Totally. But why didn’t you join too? You’d be brilliant on the Force.”

“My skillset is certainly well-suited, but I didn’t want to become another puppet of the state.”

Gavin really didn’t know what to say to that. He nodded uncertainly and looked back at the television. He wasn’t sure why Nines was suddenly this social.

“What are you… watching?”

Androids could scan and detect just about anything in the world, so there had to be something else to the question. Gavin, strangely, was happy to oblige.

//

Nines made an appearance every evening, without fail. He would sit through the TV shows if they were of interest, or he would bring his case material and notes to the coffee table to work in silence beside Gavin.

Sometimes Gavin liked to work on jigsaw puzzles on the dining table. Nines would sit beside him, pretending to read a paperback novel, but actually scanning the puzzle and passing the right pieces over from time to time.

Against all odds, an evening ritual and a tentative friendship developed. It was simple, but it was warm. Comfortable. Like nothing Gavin had ever had before, even with humans.

//

He awoke one morning with a slight crick in his neck but the feeling of being very well-rested.

His eyes flickered open and fell upon the window. Familiar greenery came into view… but wait… had everything slightly shifted to the left? And was that the New Jericho Capitol building? He couldn’t see that from his room! There was a tree in the way! A tree that was now a few feet away from where it used to be.

Gavin sat up in alarm as he realised that he was not in his own bed. His heart flew into his throat as Nines walked through the open doorway. Shirtless and carrying a mug of blue liquid.

“Oh good, you’re up.”

“Wha-what happened!?”

Nines frowned and sat down on the edge of the bed. He set the mug on the floor and pulled on a plain black t-shirt.

“You passed out on the couch last night. I think you finished a whole bottle waiting up for me? Sorry, I was out working later than expected.”

Gavin looked down and sighed in relief as he found all his clothes still on him.

“I didn’t want you to injure yourself sleeping at an odd angle so I brought you here. Your door was locked.”

“You could’ve easily opened it.”

“Yes, but that would’ve been an invasion of privacy. I reserve that for working hours alone.”

Gavin looked deep into the sparkling blue eyes and as usual found no trace of humour.

“Thanks…”

“Don’t mention it. Now get out. You’re ruining my silk sheets.”

//

Against his best efforts, Gavin could not keep the thought of being carried to bed and tucked in safely out of his mind. How many years had it been? Since something like that had been even remotely possible for him?

He knew that Nines was just being kind in his own pragmatic little way… but Gavin found that he wouldn’t mind the prospect of waking up in the android’s bed in a wildly different context.

He realised he had it bad when Tina caught him smiling to himself at work one day.

“Why so happy?”

“Oh… nothing. Just remembered something my roommate did… He’s a… funny guy.”

“Huh. Well, look at you getting along so well with androids.”

“Android. Singular. Just him.”

“Wowwww… he sounds special.”

//

“Who did this?”

“Gavin, the damage is merely superficial-”

“Who phcking did this??!”

He reached forward and gingerly touched Nines’ split cheek. His synth skin was smeared with blue blood and glitching in and out. Nines winced at the contact.

“Shit, sorry. That must hurt like a bitch.”

“Androids do not feel pain.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m merely experiencing a surge in sensory input wherever my chassis is exposed. I’m fine.”

“Shut up and give me your first aid kit or whatever toolbox equivalent you tincans have.”

A shade of embarrassment appeared over the android’s features.

“I… actually don’t have one. I didn’t think I’d ever need it.”

“Didn’t think anyone could kick your ass, huh?”

“No… I didn’t think anyone would ever spot my hiding place.”

“Huh. How’d that happen?”

Nines’ eyes dipped, but as always, he answered the question.

“I was… distracted.”

Something in the air solidified and both of them felt it. Gavin cleared his throat and slapped his knees like an old man about to stand up.

“Right. Let me go check if the neighbours have anything that might help with your face.”

//

“So who’s this dapper young gent you’ve brought to the party, Gavin?”

“Er… he’s my uh… roommate.”

Captain Fowler nodded and winked.

“That’s what they called it in my day too.”

Nines shifted beside Gavin and cleared his throat.

“He’s a PI. But I think he’s wasting his talent taking pictures of cheating spouses. He’s quite interested in police work. Maybe we could get him to assist on a couple cases now and then?”

Fowler put down his drink and extended a warm hand to Nines.

//

“Oh thank RA9!”

Nines came running to the cluster of police cars and enveloped him in a giant hug. Gavin laughed as he patted him weakly on the back.

“Watch the ribs, big guy.”

“I was so worried.”

“Why? Your info was good. No chance of error.”

“I meant about you.”

Gavin pulled back and regarded Nines with confusion. The flashing red and blue lights of the cars made it hard to read his LED.

“Why?”

“I can’t believe you have to ask.”

The android pulled him into a bruising kiss. The officers standing nearby broke into wolf-whistles and applause.

“What the-”

“Oh I take full credit for that, sir.”

Fowler glanced at Tina.

“The case, Chen?”

“Oh of course. I solved the whole thing. But I mean that specifically.”

She waved a hand in Gavin and Nines’ direction. The two held each other tightly and seemed unlikely to come up for air anytime soon.

“Like I helped Gav find an affordable place in New Jericho and then he met this handsome investigator droid and they were roommates.”

“Oh my god, they were roommates…”

“Yeah legit.”

//

\\\

Thanks so much for the request @jude-shotto

This ended up being a lot longer than expected, but I couldn’t help it. Your prompt just took me on a whole journeyyyy <3

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 76: Interlocking Horns

Chapters: 76/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Culture Clash Imminent, Protective Dad

Summary:  You and your father discuss your living situation, and you mull over your thoughts on Buridag.

Loki was agitated when he lay beside you that night. You'd spent most of the evening showing Tara and your father around to all the places you spent your time. The library, the training grounds, the courtyards, the banquet halls, the common rooms, and even the throne room, which was empty at the time. Over dinner, you told sanitized versions of your adventures; the battle with the Huldra and the Frost Giant, The magical illusion lessons, and the magic you were also capable of, how you had exploded a plate, and met the legendary Sleipnir, whom Tara demanded to see as soon as possible. You showed them your knife, and told them about your armor, and your glorious helmet.

Your father was not terribly impressed by the food. “Not enough seasonings.” he declared, and you told him about the time you'd pranked Loki by putting chili pepper in his meal. He got a good laugh out of your description of the composed prince turning purple, and trying to pretend to all onlookers that everything was just fine.

“Hope he didn't get mad at you.” Tara said.

“Nah. The thing about Loki is that he actually appreciates it when you get the best of him. He likes getting legitimately got. I get the feeling he had to deal with a lot of sycophants growing up, while at the same time being overshadowed in everything he did. Loki can sense lies, did you know that? He can just tell when you're lying. Imagine growing up surrounded by people who don't even like you, but will constantly lie to your face about it. And keep doing it even after they know you can tell they're lying. And they're still doing it! It's wild! Some of these aristocrats are stupidly bigoted, and they keep trying to fool Thor or Loki into making laws that exclude humans from things, but both of them have personal reasons not to do that, as well as political reasons. I mean, there's seven billion of us, we're not gonna be excluded from anything on this planet, and it's ludicrous to even try. But I guess they've been at this for so long, that they can't even think of doing things any differently.

That's part of where I come in. Loki says I represent an inevitability. That humans like us will come to be a part of Asgard, just like the Vanir and Alfar did before us. Some of these nobles want to put that off as long as possible, but I think Loki and Thor are right; better get that integration started early.”

“Then why is there only you?” your father pointed out, “Why not integrate more humans in a group? Why not those people in the weird lodges outside the city?”

“Couple reasons.” you said, “first off, I think they wanted to make sure humans and Asgardians could be culturally compatible. Like, that we could stand to live with one another.”

“Yeah, saw some of that cultural compatibility just a little while ago.” your father grumbled.

“We used to do stuff like that too, you know. And until recently, too. I think there's still some places that do dowries and such, just not us. But if you think about it, Asgardians live to be thousands of years old, and they used to visit Earth a lot. There was cultural exchange for sure. It's just that we change and evolve culturally at the speed of light compared to them. He really should have asked me about it though, I coulda told him it didn't work that way. He does love surprises, and he wants to preserve his culture, but we could have at least discussed it.”

“You discuss things with him? And he listens?”

“Sometimes. That's a part of my job too; advising, on human matters especially. That's why he should have asked, but I think he just really wanted to impress you.”

Your father rolled his eyes. You sighed. This was going to be difficult.

“Dad, this is so important. Doing this for me is unprecedented. I know it doesn't look like it, but we've been working hard, and dealing with some tough situations, but we've come through them all, and kept going. He's proud of me, I'm proud of me, and I am okay with my life here. I'm happy with it even. I miss you, and I know you miss me, but I like my work here.”

“You've almost died three times! In one year! Three times! Keeping you alive is the most basic possible thing, and he's almost failed three times!” he exclaimed.

“His only fault is not seeing the future, then!” You exclaimed back. “Who could predict that a crazy man would come all the way out here to try and assassinate literally anyone he saw? Who could expect that one of their own people would be so monumentally stupid as to hit me right in front of him? Why would anyone ever think that there were giants sleeping under our feet for a thousand years? How could anyone plan for any of that?”

“You're starting to talk like them, you know.” Tara pointed out. “You're picking up the accent. Your vocabulary's changed.”

“I've been studying a lot. I hadn't noticed the accent though. Is it very obvious?”

“Eh, it's no big deal. If you'd just moved here on your own, you'd probably sound kinda Icelandic anyway. I just think it's cute, you sounding like all these high-falutin', fancy alien folks.”

You wanted to thank her. For years and years, when you and your father had started arguing, she would brazenly interrupt with something completely off topic, and completely derail the dispute. Your father was as passionate an individual as you were, which was probably where you got it in the first place, but Tara had always known when to interject.

“The point is,” you said, much more calmly, “is that the world has gotten weird. And since I've been studying, I've been finding out that it was weird in the past too. We've just been coasting by on a short period of relative calm, but it's not going to last forever. In fact, it's over. There is an entire alien species  living on Earth now. Nobody has to like them, but they are here. Loki can't demand forgiveness, and he's told me he's prepared to accept that there may be people who never accept him, no matter what he does. But he is doing things. He's doing good for his people; he knows how to do that. He's trying to do his best by me, and I'm helping him to know how to do that. I clearly need to communicate with him a bit more about that. He doesn't have to do any of this, but he chose to. From the beginning, he chose to do this. I mean, don't get me wrong, he sucked at it in the beginning; he had no idea what he was doing.  He was kind of an overbearing creep, and when I got hurt the first time, I swear, he was inches away from locking me away in a closet somewhere so no one else could hurt me.”

Your father raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, he totally freaked out. I had to convince him that there was no way he could protect me from everything, but he sure wanted to. I wasn't gonna let that happen though. Maybe I can't leave, but I haven't let this place become a prison either.”

“Baby girl, I'm proud of you, don't ever think I'm not, but a father really never cares for a man who takes his daughter away.” your father said, “I don't think he deserves your defense. But you seem happy, and that's what I'm supposed to care most about right? I'm not gonna be his friend, but I'm not gonna cause trouble while I'm here, for your sake, and also because I gotta represent humanity, right? I love you, and I'm not trying to ride your case, I just don't like that guy. I'm not as forgiving as you are. But I'm not gonna get into a public fight with him or anything.”

“Thanks. And hey, I'm not gonna demand that you be friends with all my friends, I just have a really big day looming over me, and I'm already stressed. But, like, if you have any questions, now is probably the best time.”

“Oh, I got a few!” Tara said. “What actually is wrong with you?”

“Uh, loaded question.”

“No, no. I mean, yeah, but no. I mean, you said these guys were taking care of your medical problems, but you never actually said what they were. Have they figured out what's going on?”

“Ehhh, kinda. It's not exactly a medical problem. It's this.” You held out your hand, showing the mark. “You know how we couldn't figure out what caused this? It's magical in nature.”

“You told me you got drunk and got a tattoo!” your father accused.

“What was I supposed to say? I didn't know what had happened at the time! I didn't even know it was Loki I had grabbed, I didn't find that out until later. Tara saw: I took his hand to get his attention, and this shape burned into my palm. It did the same to him, I found out. It made us both sick. But when we're close together, we heal. Even when I got hurt, being close heals me faster. This is also what woke up my magic. It was always there, but this was what made it accessible. The whole thing is just magic. The only thing we don't really know is why it happened.”

“Magic. It's so weird.” your father said. “It just doesn't make any sense. What is magic? How do you do it?”

“It's a kind of energy manipulation. Like electricity or solar power, but it's less generalized. Like, some things are actual spells that always work the same way, but I haven't learned much of that yet. Gotta get my specific magic under control first. I'm getting pretty good at it. I do it by...well, it feels a certain way. So I concentrate on feeling like that...”

A bowl of apples disappeared from the end of the table, and reappeared in your hands. Both Tara and your father leaned away in surprise as you set the bowl back on the table.

“I move things from one place to another. I don't know the upper limit on size or distance yet. Maybe someday I will move mountains.”

“Does that scare you?” your father asked. “All this magic stuff?”

“Sometimes. It's so strange to think that it's me doing this, and not some woman in a book, or a movie. That it's really real. Even after everything that's happened over the past few years, it's still hard to really understand that all this is real. That every single person you've seen here is hundreds of years older than you, and was born light years away, in space, on a whole other world. That they have millions of years of history that I'm learning about. Some of these people remember a time before the language we are speaking even existed.”

“That's freaky.” Tara said.

“Don't I know it. But somehow, they manage to live in the moment in a way I find kinda enviable. They're looking to the future, but they aren't worried about it like I used to be. It's so liberating not to have to worry about that. About rent, or healthcare, or who's gonna take care of me when I get old, or if I'm even gonna get old. All of that has been lifted off of me, and I'm free to study and learn, and be something unique, and I actually really like it.”

“I'm glad for you.” Tara said. “So who's your tailor?”

You giggled. “I'm super fashionable, for someone a thousand years ago, aren't I? This isn't actually Asgardian fashion, exactly. It's more of a fusion. Isn't it fancy?”

“It's freakin' gorgeous. Is it some kind of uniform?”

“It didn't start out that way, but it sorta became that. The seamstresses hadn't visited Earth in like, a thousand years, so all the illustrations and memories they had were from then or before. So at first they thought that must be how I was supposed to be dressed, and then it just became my signature. It's really comfy, and pretty, and most importantly, it's warm. I mean, I know the place is called Iceland, but I was still surprised at how cold it gets. If you want, I bet I could get you some.”

Tara went to bed happy, and your father went to bed grumpy, but quiet. Then you went to bed, and Loki slunk under the thick blankets with you, holding you uneasily.

He got like this occasionally, cradling you as if he feared you would disappear in the night. It wasn't any real surprise, when you thought about some of the things he'd been through, the abandonment, the loss. You knew he wasn't, and would never be perfect, but you were still prepared to defend him to all comers. You weren't going to vanish from his arms, but you'd probably have to prove it every night. You could do that. You were more than willing to; there hadn't been another man in your life that had made you feel so safe and comfortable when sleeping, and you wanted to keep that feeling.

Tomorrow was the first day of Buridag festivities. Loki said it would start out with a parade that would lead to the site of the new courthouse. There would be traditional poetry and song, and everyone would perform the building task that had been assigned to them weeks ago. Then there would be the First Feast; a meal composed of worker's foods, prettied up for the nobles palettes. You'd seen the menu; it was grain salads and porridges, hearty soups and rustic breads with eggs, jams, young cheeses, winter vegetables, dried fruit, and herbs and spices in approximation with traditional Asgardian flavors. It was a reminder that, in Buri's day, Asgard's prosperity had not been assured, and many of the working class had to make do with rougher fare. Supposedly, the First Feast was meant to rebuke those who took workers for granted, and remind everyone whose hands had built their world.

Personally you thought that was a little patronizing, but you also didn't come from a monarchical culture. Perhaps this was something like an Asgardian Saturnalia, a festival of transformation. A celebration of something being built from nothing, Asgard being built by Asgardian hands.

And yours. Loki and Thor would be laying the foundations and blessing them with some of their more ephemeral power, the thing that awoke the primordial fear in you, made you instinctively cower and search for a tree to hide in when Loki became truly angry. The power that was beyond magic, that reached into the divine.

You, however, had been assigned a brick. It was a decorative brick, that would line a window, and it lay in a stack of other window-bricks at the site. Just one piece of a huge community project. You rather liked that. You knew for sure that the aristocracy did not engage with the common Asgardian nearly often enough before the tragedy of Ragnarok, but now both Loki and Thor went out among their people often, nobles and commoners mingled every day, and the community was becoming less and less divided. There were people who resisted that, of course. People who wanted to claw back every ounce of their perceived power, who tried to pass deliberately discriminatory legislation, people who simply hadn't yet come to accept that their lives had changed.

You were change. Loki was very approving about it. You represented the New, the Necessary Change, the Social Upheaval that led to a Bright Future. You couldn't help but wonder if that was too big for you to carry all by yourself. On the one hand, you weren't exactly alone; Loki was beside you all the way, Andsvarr, Saldis and the Valkyries supported you, even down to the twins. Saga, and even the strange Lofn approved of you.

On the other hand, your father was right; you were still the only human who actually lived here. The first and only human with Asgardian citizenship. A trial run, essentially alone, to see if you, as a stand-in for all humankind, could make it. It was heavy.

But you were doing it. In a little less than a year, you had learned a great deal of Asgardian history and law, had helped actual royalty with things like resource management and policy reform, learned knifework, learned actual magic! You had met several of Earth's greatest heroes, were going to be titled, were becoming a liaison between Asgard and the human settlements growing next door. You had learned some Asgardian, become a prince's lover, and even learned how to play a drum. You yourself were becoming something new. Embodying the Necessary Change.

And maybe that was what you had needed in the first place. For so long, it seemed like you had been trying to let go of an old self, let go of everything you'd gone through. Shed your old skin and emerge, clean and soft into the light of a new day. And so you were. You just hadn't realized that once you started, it would happen again and again, skin after skin, quivering and raw. But you felt new. Despite the pressure, you felt new.

[eldritchteaparty]

Chapters: 7/20 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter summary:  Frustrated by his physical condition and his lack of connection to the Eye, Jon asks Martin to visit Hill Top Road with him.

***

Chapter 7 of post-canon fix-it is up!

Read on AO3 at link above or here below.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters here.

***

Over the next few days, Jon continued to struggle. He remained insistent on going into the Institute every day, but even with Martin’s encouragement he had trouble finishing entire meals.

“It’s all right,” Martin told him more than once. “I know you’re trying. Just keep trying.”

Jon would nod. If they were at work, he would catch Martin’s hand between his, just below the edge of his desk, and Martin would quietly tell him about his morning. At home, he would lie back on the couch with his head in Martin’s lap. Martin would come up with something to talk about, unrelated to the entities or the archives or anything that had happened to them. He started saving up topics that occurred to him just so he could have them on hand: a movie he remembered, a funny reddit post, a weird bug he found in the stacks. It wasn’t like Jon really cared; he watched Martin talk more than he listened, anyway. He seemed contented, and that was what mattered. Sometimes he was able to eat more afterward, if he didn’t fall asleep.

***

“Are there still more interviews to be done?” Jon asked Martin one morning, late that week, as they were walking to the office.

“I don’t know,” Martin answered. “I imagine there are. I don’t think Tim’s followed up with any since the ones we did. And I think Sasha’s been around the office the whole time.”

Jon nodded.

“Wait.” Martin reached out a hand to stop him; they faced each other on the pavement. “You're not considering doing them, are you?”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to do something different.” Jon took Martin by the elbow and urged him to keep walking. Martin sighed, but did as he wanted.

“Is it—” Martin measured his tone very carefully and started over. “Is it because what you’re doing isn’t working?”

The Eye, you mean?” Jon looked up at Martin. “No, that’s not why.”

“But also, it isn’t working. Right? You would tell me, wouldn’t you?”

“Nothing’s changed,” Jon confirmed. “But that really isn’t it. I’ve… I’ve run out of information. I’m just going further and further back, through anything describing events and people involved in all of it, and it’s pointless. There was nothing here before we came. Nothing real.”

“Yeah?” Martin asked, recalling that he had done most of the talking between them that week. “I assume you’ve looked into—well, let’s start with Jonah Magnus. What was his deal?”

Jon shrugged. “Him, Robert Smirke, Mordechai Lukas—I’ve looked into all of them. They all existed, they were obsessed with the same ideas and concepts, perhaps because of the pull from our dimension… but there was nothing on the other side of those ideas. Not here.”

“I see.” Martin nodded. “And you think the interviews will give you more?”

“Maybe. It’s the only evidence we’ve had of real connections with individuals. You met Oliver Banks. Tim’s discussions with his police contacts—it was Callum Brodie, by the way. They won’t officially release his name, but it was easy enough to find on social media.”

“So that’s what you want to do, then—look for avatars?”

“Yes,” Jon answered. “They pose the greatest threat, and I think they require the most—advancement in their patrons.”

Martin considered. “You’ll let me go with you?”

“I won’t even pretend I could manage alone right now,” Jon said. “I could go with Tim, I suppose, but he wouldn’t go if you said no. That means it’s your decision.”

“Jon.” They were coming upon the Institute now, and Martin stopped him one more time. “Can I ask—if you just let go of all this—what would happen?”

“What do you mean? Happen how?”

“To you. What would happen to you? Would you get better? Would you get worse? I know you don’t know, but—what does it feel like?”

Jon considered. “You’re right, I don’t know. But… it also doesn’t matter. I can’t just let go. I need to do what I can to fix it, whatever that might be. Don’t ask me to let it go. Please.”

“All right.” Martin had already assumed the answer would be something like that. “Then we do the interviews.”

“Thank you,” Jon said quietly, as Martin put his arm around him before walking into the building.

***

Martin asked Sasha if they could do the interviews. She seemed surprised, but was agreeable enough, probably because Martin was the one doing the asking—it provided an implicit indication that Jon was feeling well enough to go, and Martin felt a bit like he had lied to her just by asking. Tim was a little more skeptical when Martin asked him for the contact forms. He ignored Martin and addressed Jon directly across the office.

“You know, Martin and I could still go.”

“No,” Jon said. “It’s too—it’s better if I’m there.”

“You sure?” Tim tried again. “Look, I don’t really know what the issue is, but if you’re worried about Martin, don’t be. Frankly, he’s doing much better than you are, and we’ve—”

“That’s not it. I just want to be there myself.”

Now Tim looked back at Martin and raised an eyebrow, and Martin shrugged.

“All right then,” Tim said, and reached for a drawer on his desk. “There’s a couple that will bring you down toward Crawley, if I remember, and a couple more that are spread out up north.”

“Can I look at them?” Jon said. “I’d like to see what they’re regarding.”

“Knock yourself out,” Tim said, handing them to Martin.

There were no names they recognized, and Jon didn’t think any of them looked particularly promising, but Martin was able to get ahold of two of them and set up appointments for that afternoon. The discussions were frustrating for everyone involved. For one thing, Jon hadn’t quite come to terms with the fact that things went very differently when people weren’t compelled to tell their stories, and Martin had to keep reminding him to be patient. For the same reason, it was hard to tell what was what; one of the stories might have been legitimately Corruption-related, but it could have also been a very bad case of health code violations combined with an active imagination.

“How did you know before if they were real or not?” Martin asked, as they were headed back on the train. “Like, in the beginning?”

Jon leaned back in the seat next to him with his eyes closed. “Well, when they were written down, there was the fact that I couldn’t record them except on the—on the tapes.”

“Right.” Martin frowned. “Obviously we’re not doing that again, but maybe we could try recording on our phones or something and seeing if it works?”

Jon gave a slight nod of his head. “Maybe. We don’t know if it will be the same, though. We don’t really know why that was. Maybe it was all Web, from the beginning.”

“True.” Martin turned it over some more. “Well, when you were talking to people directly how did you know?”

“I just did,” Jon sighed. “I didn’t think of it as anything more than a feeling until later.”

“And you couldn’t tell today?”

“No. Not even a hint.” Martin was relieved to hear it, although he opted not to share that with Jon.

They rode in silence for a while. Martin was surprised to see Jon had not fallen asleep when he checked on him.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

Jon opened his eyes and turned to Martin, then to the back of the seat in front of him. Martin prompted him again.

“Jon? What are you thinking?”

“Come to Hill Top Road with me.”

“What?”

“Come to Hill Top Road with me,” Jon repeated.

“Why?”

“I need to know if I can feel anything there.”

“Why there?”

“When we came here—” Jon stopped and thought for a moment. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s where the separation—the barrier between us and them—would be the weakest.”

“Then it sounds like we shouldn’t go there.” Martin turned in his seat, and Jon finally looked at him. “It kind of seems we should actively avoid going there. Like, ever.”

Jon took Martin’s hand in his. “I just need to know. You—you could be right. About the Eye. Maybe it’s not coming back for me. Maybe it’s done with me.”

Martin breathed out slowly, a careful, measured exhalation. “And what if it is done with you?”

“Then…” Jon paused again. “Then I need to accept it.”

“And if it isn’t?”

A little bit of life came back into his voice. “Then it isn’t, and like I’ve been saying, it’s better to know and get on with it.”

Martin wasn’t sure he agreed, but he kept silent.

“Come to Hill Top Road with me,” Jon entreated him again. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Martin exclaimed loudly, and a woman two seats up across the aisle looked back at them. “Oh—sorry. Sorry.”

He waited until she had smiled and turned back to try again, more quietly. “Tomorrow? Really?”

“Yes. In the morning, first thing. Tell Sasha we have therapy.”

“If we go…” Martin sighed. “If we go and you don’t find what you’re looking for, will you—will you try to let it go? I don’t mean everything, we can talk to Tim and Sasha, we can do whatever you want, just—will you try to live without it?”

Jon considered, a troubled look in his eyes.

“I’m not asking for a promise, Jon—I don’t want one. I’m just asking what you’ll do.”

Jon took a deep breath. “I’d like to try. I think I would try.”

“All right.” Jon had won. Martin squeezed his hand, more to reassure himself than anything. “I’ll go with you. Tomorrow morning. I’ll tell them when we get back.”

“Thank you.”

Then next time Martin checked on him, Jon had fallen asleep.

***

Jon’s alarm went off the next morning right around sunrise, before Martin’s usual waking time. Martin was surprised by how much energy he seemed to have; he wanted it to be because he was feeling better, but he suspected Jon was running on fumes and willpower.

“Not going to shower first?” he asked, when Jon stepped out of bed and immediately went to the closet.

“No,” Jon answered. “I’d like to leave as soon as we can.”

“Well, you are going to have breakfast,” Martin grumbled, sitting up and trying to blink away the sleep.

“Martin—”

“That’s not debatable. I couldn’t get you to eat anything last night.” They had ended up taking a cab back from the train station, and Martin had worried for a moment that he was going to have to carry Jon up the stairs. “Use some of that energy to—go pour yourself some cereal or something.”

“Fine.” Jon started to leave the bedroom. “Do you want anything?”

“Nope.” Martin groaned as he started to stand up.

“Well, if I have to, then you should—”

“I ate dinner last night. And part of someone else’s dinner that I didn’t want to go to waste. And it is way too early right now, and—”

“Fine. I get it. I’m going.”

After Martin was dressed, he joined Jon to find him scraping at the bottom of a bowl of cereal.

“How full was that?” he asked, suspicious.

“Overflowing.” Jon regarded him from his seat on the couch.

“Really?”

“No. I don’t know, normal?”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Martin sighed. “I’m still really worried, ok?”

Jon softened his gaze. “No, I’m sorry. I’m—I’m nervous. I just want to get this done.” He put one last spoonful into his mouth, and it made chewing and swallowing look extremely distasteful. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’m going to be,” Martin said. “Let’s go.”

The train ride out was long, and they had to switch to a bus line in Oxford. They barely spoke, but it wasn’t a particularly uncomfortable silence. Part of it was probably the early hour, although Jon seemed more awake and alert than Martin had seen him in days. He was probably anxious about what they would find; Martin was, at least, so it was easy to imagine Jon was feeling the same.

When they arrived, they stood together, side by side, staring at the front door. The house that occupied the property was the same as he had imagined it from when the other archive staff had visited it before the apocalypse. Apparently built as student housing, no one had ever actually moved in. The front porch was covered in cobwebs. Martin broke the silence they had maintained during the walk from the bus station.

“I don’t like this.”

“Me neither,” said Jon.

“Yes, but—I mean I don’t want to go in.”

“I understand. You can wait for me out here.”

“No, that—” Martin looked down at Jon, who continued to stare at the house. “I don’t want us to go in. Either of us.”

They let the silence take over again. It went on long enough that Martin wondered if they could just stay on the front lawn indefinitely, if he didn’t say anything; it seemed like it might be the most reasonable option. Unfortunately, Jon did eventually speak again.

“Martin, I really do understand if you—”

“No. If you’re going in, I’m—I’m going too.”

“I am sorry.” Jon started to step toward the house, but Martin caught him by the arm.

“Wait. Where is—where is Annabelle? Where has she been?”

“What?” Jon asked, turning to look at him.

“I know we haven’t talked about it, and maybe this is a bad time to bring it up—but she came here with us, didn’t she? To this dimension.”

“Presumably, yes.”

“Where would she go, if not—if not here? I mean, even without what you said about it—just look at it. It’s got to be crawling with spiders.”

Jon furrowed his brow before responding. “She could be here. It’s possible.”

Martin’s pulse quickened. “Well then—wouldn’t we want to not be here? Isn’t that a good reason to stay out?”

“I’m not concerned.” Jon shrugged, leaving Martin in disbelief.

“Can I ask why not?”

“It’s just a theory, but—” Jon walked a few paces and sat on the front step. “I think—I think the entities are getting stronger, regaining their power, in the order that the fears evolved and separated from one another. The dates I’ve pieced together from Sasha’s notes, the avatars—”

“What?” Martin was dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

“Right. When I���after I killed Jonah, there was a, um…”

“A statement?”

“Yes.”

“Of course there was.” Martin shook his head and moved to take a seat next to Jon.

“I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“It’s all right.” It still hurt every time he remembered Jon had gone up to the tower without him, and Jon knew it. “Go on.”

“They were born in our dimension. They grew there, as one being at first. Then, as animals and humanity developed and changed, and their fears became more specific, more distinct, so did the entities themselves. The Hunt, the End, the Dark—they were first.”

“I see.” Martin thought. “And we’ve seen Oliver Banks and now Callum Brodie. What about—”

“I suspect we want to avoid anything having to do with Daisy, if we can.”

Martin’s eyes unintentionally drifted to the scar that still stood out vividly on Jon’s throat before he caught himself. “And where does the Eye fit in?”

“Soon. If I’m right.”

“Ok.” Martin now realized there had been a deeper layer to Jon’s recent desperation. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I honestly thought it wasn’t important. But now—you brought up Annabelle, and—”

“Right. So where does the Web fit into this theory?”

Jon considered. “If I’m right—if I’m right—we have time. If she is here, she’s likely much weaker than I am. She would have more to fear from us than the other way around.”

Martin sighed. “Any chance we can just burn the place?”

“Tempting.” Jon grinned just enough for Martin to see it. “In the long run, though—”

“Yeah, yeah—it would probably just make things worse.”

“Shall we?” Jon asked, starting to rise to his feet.

“If you have to.”

“I do.”

The front door gave way at a light touch; the knob and deadbolt were completely useless. It seemed like the sort of place that had been broken into so many times that the owners had simply stopped replacing them. The inside of the house was at least as covered with webs and dust as the front porch.

“Well,” Martin said, “I hate this.”

“I don’t love it.” Jon reflexively reached for Martin’s hand. “Come on.”

They walked further into the depths of the house, which was quite large. There were multiple small rooms, which made sense for student housing, and a larger sitting room; it looked like there was a kitchen in the very back. He was so busy looking up to make sure he didn’t accidentally walk into anything, that he jumped about a foot when Jon stomped his heel against the floor.

“Jon, why would you—”

“Spider,” Jon said.

“Oh. Carry on, then.”

“Remember when you used to get upset with me for—”

“Don’t.”

Jon squeezed his hand, and Martin had the odd feeling that he was somehow more comfortable now than he had been for a while. They looked around them from what appeared to be roughly the middle of the floorplan.

“Should we go upstairs, or—”

“Look,” Jon cut him off, and pointed to the floor. Beneath the dirt and footprints of previous trespassers, Martin could see an unmistakable pattern in the wood stain that ran across multiple boards, beyond the edge of the room they were currently in. It gave the appearance of a long, dark, jagged crack. He may not have noticed it if he hadn’t been looking for it, but he couldn’t see anything else now.

“Do you think that’s—where it is?” Martin asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Jon started to pull Martin toward it, but Martin stayed where he was.

“Do you really have to stand right on it?”

“Just give me a moment.” Jon slipped his hand out of Martin’s before he had a chance to protest. Martin held his breath and gave him five seconds, then ten seconds.

“Anything?”

“Wait.”

Twenty seconds. Thirty seconds. He was counting each of them.

“Jon—”

“Wait. Please.” Jon was growing tenser, more anxious.

A minute.

“Jon, I don’t—”

“I told you to wait.” Jon snapped at him this time.

The momentary sting was quickly replaced by concern; that just wasn’t like Jon. He bit his lip, unsure what to do. If he insisted on interrupting him, tried to convince him to leave, Jon might not feel like he really gave it enough of a chance—or worse, he might blame Martin for the failed attempt to find whatever power he was seeking. He’d be too kind to say anything, of course, but they would both know.

He decided to continue waiting, as long as he could make himself. He pressed his hand to his mouth as a reminder. The house was so quiet; it occurred to him he should have been able to hear sounds from outside, but something about the place seemed to be swallowing them up before they could reach them.

In the stunted silence, Martin had the sudden feeling they were not alone.

Before he could make up his mind to disrupt him again, Jon spoke.

“There’s nothing,” he said meekly.

“What?” Martin asked.

“There’s nothing,” Jon said again. “I don’t feel anything. I really thought—” He cut himself off, his expression a mix of loss and confusion and sadness, and Martin was filled with a deep, distressing pity for him.

“Hey,” he said, crossing to Jon, forgetting his trepidation toward the mark on the floor. It seemed meaningless now, nothing more than an ugly accident at the lumber factory. He pulled Jon into his arms. “It’s going to be all right. We’ll figure it out.”

Jon didn’t answer, but he allowed Martin to hold him, eventually letting the weight of his head fall against Martin’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Martin said quietly.

“Are you?”

“Yes,” Martin answered. “Part of me is relieved, I’ll admit, but I don’t want you to be miserable, Jon. Honestly, I don’t. We’ll do whatever we need to do to help make this better, ok?”

Jon fell silent again, and in that silence Martin remembered the feeling he’d had just before Jon had spoken.

“Jon—can we get out of here? Sit outside? We can talk there. On the porch, even. I just have this feeling like—like we’re being watched.”

“What?” Jon pulled away enough to look up at his face.

“Not like—watched, I don’t think that even feels like anything. I just mean—like, regular being watched. If that’s a thing.”

Jon concentrated for a moment, but quickly gave up. “All right. We can go.”

Martin felt a second wave of relief wash over him. It’s over, he thought to himself, at least for the time being. He released Jon from his grasp, turning him gently toward the door—the faster they could get outside, back to the fresh air, the better for both of them.

A few steps, though, and Jon stumbled. Martin, instinctively reaching to support him, assumed at first that he had stepped wrong or tripped over something—but that wasn’t right. Jon was heavy in his arms, and Martin nearly fell himself trying to stop Jon from hitting the ground.

Ok. Martin collected his thoughts as quickly as possible as he gently set Jon down. He’s fainted. That wasn’t great, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected, given how he had been feeling and his inability to eat. I just need to give him a minute and he’ll come around.

That wasn’t right either, though, Martin quickly realized, because Jon had stopped breathing.

Shit, shit, shit. He had taken a CPR class many years ago, but he hadn’t thought about it in almost as long. What were the steps? He knew Jon wasn’t choking, and he remembered something about checking for a pulse, although he didn’t remember if you were supposed to do that right away or—

Do something.

He reached for Jon’s neck, pressing two fingers against his carotid artery. He waited.

I’m doing it wrong.

He readjusted. Still nothing.

“Shit.” Panic started to well up inside him again. Breaths? Chest compressions?

Call for help.

He pulled out his phone and started to dial, but quickly realized he had no reception. He held it up, moving it around, even standing again to see if he could get a signal, but no matter where he moved he couldn’t get a single bar of service. He thought about going outside to try there, but couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Jon alone in this place.

Chest compressions.

He knelt next to Jon, placing one hand on top of the other the way he thought he remembered. He pressed the heel of his palm against Jon’s sternum, just inches away from the scar he had put there only months ago.

Don’t.

The scar where he had driven a knife through muscle and maybe bone—he didn’t think it was supposed to be so easy to do that, but the cracking sound—

Don’t, not now.

—the cracking sound and then suddenly it had been so much easier, the knife went in and there was that single gasp of pain, and then he’d pulled the knife out because he couldn’t stand to leave it in, but all the blood came with it—

I killed him.

Jon was dying. The tape unspooled; the tower crumbled around them, and Martin held on. Jon lay dead in his arms as the world disappeared around them, and he held on. He held on for so long.

God, it hurts.

“Martin—”

I’m so sorry.

“Martin, let go.”

Martin opened his eyes and tried to remember where he was. His pulse was racing.

“Martin.”

He was sitting on the floor with Jon—Jon needed him to let go. He did, and Jon immediately took a deep breath. Martin still couldn’t quite remember where they were.

“You were dead.”

“No,” Jon answered, still breathing hard. “No, I just blacked out. I think I’m ok.”

“No. I killed you. There was—there was the knife—where did it—”

Jon, understanding, reached for Martin’s face. “Look at me. We’re at Hill Top Road. We came here together.”

“What?” Martin tried to remember, and eventually the details of their current situation came back to him. He looked around at the house. Jon was so pale. “Oh god. Jon, are you all right?”

“I think so. I think I just blacked out.”

“You weren’t breathing. I swear you weren’t breathing, and I couldn’t find a pulse—”

“Are you sure? Or were you…”

“I—I think so?” Although now that he thought about it, Martin realized he couldn’t be completely sure. “Maybe?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m—I’m ok now. I’m breathing.”

Martin looked around again. He hated this place. “Let’s leave. Please. Right now.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

It was harder to help Jon to his feet than either of them expected. His energy from earlier in the day had vanished almost entirely, and he leaned hard against Martin as they walked toward the door. The porch, which had previously seemed as dreadful as the house, now felt like a sanctuary as the sun streamed onto it through the support columns. It was almost unbelievable that nothing stopped them from reaching it, and Martin collapsed onto the wooden deck as soon as they did.

He made sure Jon had a relatively comfortable spot to lie, and then dragged himself to the steps, pulling his knees into his chest and blocking the light from his eyes with one arm. He stayed like that until he’d relaxed enough to reach into his pocket for his phone again. He had a little reception out here, at least. He scrolled through his contacts until he’d pulled up Sasha’s number.

“Hi Martin,” she answered cheerily. “Everything going all right?”

“Sasha, hey,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “Listen, I’m sorry to do this—”

“Martin, I can barely hear you. Is everything all right?”

“Yeah—it is. Mostly.” He was too miserable to think up an actual lie. “Jon’s not feeling well today. I think—I think we’ll need the whole day off.”

“Did you say—is Jon ok?”

“He’s—” He looked at Jon where he lay in a patch of sunlight, eyes closed, taking shallow breaths. “He’s—I don’t know. He’s not great.”

“I’m—I’m sorry to hear that. Do you need anything?”

“No. We’ll manage.” He wasn’t sure that was true, but he had no idea what kind of help he could even ask for.

“You’re breaking up, but—please keep me updated? I’ll check in later.”

“All right.”

Martin ended the call.

[ommsims]

story process challenge

i was tagged  by @xldkx​​ to do this challenge, created by @herpixels​​​ , like a month? a month and a half? ago and it’s been sitting half finished in my drafts for nearly as long. *sigh* (regardless, i love stuff like this so even if it takes me forever to get to it, i appreciate the tags! 💕). 

i decided to answer all the qs because it took me damn long enough to get to this, so i might as well put some extra elbow grease into it (plus it was fun!). btw it’s all going under a cut b/c it is long. i apologize in advance.

1. My Writing Process - used to be a hot damn mess. literally word docs strewn throughout my pc. However, I recently switched to using Onenote (it’s what i use to organize my d&d campaign notes) and hoo-boy is it so much nicer. this is how it’s set up and it’s honestly night and day. i can have a page with outlines, a page to organize & order screenshots, and a separate page for drafting text, and i can easily toggle though them without having to switch windows? a big thumbs up from me.

When it comes to actual writing- I used to write my drafts in novel format, which i enjoyed but it made “converting” them into tumblr posts time consuming and frustrating. I ended up scrapping most of the text in the process, retaining pretty much only the dialogue. 

Anyway, nowadays I write in more of a screenplay format: dialogue only + key scene information with the occasional note to self. 

I do keep a master “arcs” page with key events and each individual character’s arc from beginning to end and secondary “outline” pages with slightly more detailed outline for each leg of the project. No screencaps b/c spoilers galore! 

My typical work flow process for a scene goes: (1) brainstorm scene ideas, (2) take screenshots, (3) organize screenshots into a rough storyboard, (4) add 1st draft of text, (5) edit photos, (6) edit text, (7) upload to "drafts” here on tumblr, (8) let sit for a bit (9) take a final look at things/proofread and edit as needed. It may sound counterintuitive, but i find it much easier to write dialogue for a set of images rather than attempt to take images based on prewritten text. I feel more comfortable editing and tweaking tone and content in the text this way. Otherwise, I get frustrated when I “can’t” shoot a scene exactly as it appeared in my head.

2. How I build my scenes - A lot of what i do is rooted in gameplay, therefore my sets are usually (a) play-tested and (b) not super pretty. I’ve certainly improved at decorating & building over the years but more often than not I download lots off tumblr and the gallery because I don’t have the patience, aptitude, or time to build all of my own sets. That being said, I frequently gut builds only to build a number of completely unrelated mini sets inside to reduce the number of times i have to replace lots. I also keep a list of “important locations” and where certain characters live / will move to, to help keep this all straight as there aren’t nearly enough lots per neighborhood or even per world in this damn game...

my least favorite part of scene building is actually decorating. lol. Don’t get me wrong, I love clutter. I honestly do. but fuck me if i expect myself to spend hours meticulously decorating a set, spend another 3 hours toggling back and forth b/w BB & live modes adjusting things to get rid of the damn routing errors. (yeah, yeah, i know i could ignore them, they’re not important, especially in those scenarios where i’m using a set for screenshots and nothing else, but idk. it really grinds my gears.) and then have to replace the lot like a week later because there aren’t enough lots in the game. *sigh*

3. CC/Pose Making - i do not consider myself to be a cc creator nor a pose maker but i do dabble occasionally. And to be completely honest i’d much rather spend my time doing other stuff, so it’s not high on my list of priorities atm. plus there are so many talented cc creators in this community; i can usually get by with what’s already out there.

4. Getting in the zone - Honestly, I do a lot of brainstorming for plot & dialogue in the shower. I don’t have any particular playlists to get me “in the writing mood” but I do enjoy listening to music as I work. Either instrumental stuff or simply artists/songs I like. If something just so happens to “fit” a scene I’m working on, one i’ve got planned, or even just gives me vibes for a certain character or group, I add a quick note to the top of said scene’s draft. Most of the time I stick it in the recesses of my brain and add a quick link when I finally get to the point of posting the draft to tumblr. For whatever reason, when I have one of those “oh this song is perfect for X” moments it’s essentially ingrained in my mind for the rest of eternity. 

5. The screenshot folder - this will most likely give some of you out there major anxiety. but i swear it’s an organized chaos. :)

yep. 32.9gb of screenshots & related things... 

So with the raws from a single random scene selected, you can see i take roughly 10 screenshots per image posted. not terrible i guess but i’m working on it. Typically I take screenshots and once I’m done editing a scene I’ll move them from the general folder to a more specific project folder.

6. Captions - I’ll answer this in three parts:

for my townie story. not really. I prefer using the text box. I tend to write (& re-write) the dialogue for each one of these scenes several times over as I add more “scenes” into my drafts. It would be incredibly inefficient, time consuming, and would waste a lot more space on my pc to have to save .psds of each image just so i could edit dialogue when I decide: “oh hey maybe so and so needs to bring up X in this scene” and then change my mind an hour later.

for niko, noor, & co. I’m a text on image type gal here. don’t really know why, but it gives the project a different energy. ironically it makes it feel more laid-back to me. which i guess makes sense, it’s a much more light-hearted “story” than my townie project. which is, imo, very soapy haha.

for legacy stuff. all text goes below the images in the text box. reasoning: it’s gameplay, I don’t brainstorm, outline, or pre-write for this. I play the game, take screenshots, plug ‘em into my drafts and write some commentary / dialogue to go along with it.

7. Editing - i am a creature of habit and have not majorly changed my editing process in probably a year and a half (when I began using reshade and had to adjust my color correcting psd). it’s a super basic system:

drag & drop my “color correction” psd.

run actions in ps. (i made my own “all-in-one” actions to really streamline the process; i have different “actions sets” for my premades’ story and for other things that get posted to tumblr. even if no one else notices it, i like the little details that keep my projects separate and “identifiable”. 

voila. all set to upload.

sometimes i crop images, add “text effects”, or do more in depth editing (i.e. editing a phone screen or adding rain etc.) but overall i try and keep it simple for myself. 

8. Throwback - i posted an image of one of the first (but never posted) scenes I’d written for my townie project up above. but as for how would i redo a scene i’d already posted. well i’m currently re-doing my townie story so i guess i’ll just say you’ll see how it’s redone when i get to part 1! 😉

anyway, no tags because i’m so embarrassingly late to this party but if you hadn’t gotten around to this tag, wanted to do it but didn’t get a tag, or started it and left it to sit and now you’re thinking “oh god that was months ago should i even post this anymore?!?” consider yourself tagged by me and go ahead and post it for all to see!

[horansqueen]

You & Me : chapter 2

A Niall Horan fanfiction ; rated MA

Sequel to AM CONVERSATIONS

CHAPTER 1 

NOTES:

-one chapter is her pov, the next is his. -4k -im sorry, i never proofread, i hate it. -there WILL be smut. but not only smut. -this is a romance, comedy, smut story. -for the summary, check my MASTERLIST.

- notes: 1- haha syke (sort of lol)! 2-thats why i asked this question, now you know!

yes, thats the only notes you need lol! oh and FEEDBACK PLEASE! :) please tell me how you think their coffee “date” will go?? would mean a lot!

Chapter 2 : Her chapter

OLIVIA

"Honey! I'm home!" I yelled as I walked inside, closing the door behind me and throwing my purse on the couch.

"Kitchen, babe!"

I followed the voice with a small smile and leaned against the door frame as I watched him bend down to take something off the oven. I crossed my arms and stared at him, trying to suppress a chuckle. With a quick head movement, he pushed a lock of his hair out of his face and raised his eyebrows at me with a smirk. I moved closer to him, taking a few steps slowly as he put the cookies he had just not burned for once in a plate.

"You know your son is way too young for cookies, right?"

His eyes became smaller as he looked at me and it made me laugh even more.

"I made them for you, silly!"

"Louis, come on." I pointed out with a frown. "I just spent two hours tasting wedding cakes and you think i'm in the mood for cookies?"

With a grimace, he grabbed two cookies and put one in front of me before sitting next to me at the table. I made the cookie turn around as I stared at it, feeling suddenly a bit nervous. I wasn't really sure I wanted to have this discussion but I told Louis everything. I was surely not going to keep that kind of information from him.

"Okay my queen, talk to me, what happened?"

He slid his arm on the table until his hand reached mine. I let go of the cookie and gripped his fingers tight. His hand was warm, as it always was, but it took me a few seconds to look up in his eyes. When I did, my heart skipped a beat. He was clearly concerned and worried and I just shrugged a shoulder before looking down again.

"I saw Niall."

Suddenly, the grip of his fingers became tighter and I held my breath. Louis and I had been through so much together during the past year and I was scared this would somehow change the dynamic we had. I knew he kept talking with Niall from time to time but it was far from being the way it used to be between them. I never asked Louis to choose between us, and I never even made allusions to it for the simple reason that they were friends before we were and I knew he still considered Niall like a brother. Who was I anyway to decide who Louis could and couldn't hang out with?

That being said, Louis and I had worked on ourselves individually a lot. We both went to therapy, tried to follow our dreams, found love and learned to accept ourselves as full human beings. We didn't need love to be complete and we didn't need our soulmates either. Of course, it didn't feel so easy when Niall was close but if I wanted to be honest, I thought it would hurt a lot more to see him again.

"He was with his girlfriend?"

"No." I replied with a shrug before adding a 'thank god' in my head.

"How did that make you feel?"

I took a few seconds to think and finally looked up, my eyes meeting his as a small smile spread across my lips.

"It's... Niall, you know? I'll always feel something when he's around. That's what you said, right? Soulmates and all that?" He nodded slowly and I shrugged a shoulder. "I mean, I will love him forever but... he broke me, and I don't want to let him break me again."

Louis' face change and he sent me a sincere smile before nodding quickly this time. He squeezed my fingers and tapped my thigh a few times a bit too roughly.

"Ow!"

"That's my queen!"

He got up and kissed the top of my head, making me roll my eyes but chuckle. He walked to the fridge and took a beer out before opening it and throwing the cap in the sink. I stared again at the cookie on the table and swallowed, playing over and over the encounter I had with Niall in my head. He looked good and happy and I couldn't help but think that he never regretted his decision to break up with me. Of course, it took him a few months to get a new girlfriend but when he did, something inside of me died. I remembered exactly when I found out he was dating someone and it was probably the biggest slap in the face I had ever had. I cried for a week, wondering what the fuck was wrong with me. All I could think about was how his love for me, if it ever existed, was clearly not strong enough but even worse, he didn't even try to keep my friendship.

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?"

I sighed and closed my eyes for a few seconds as I tried to get my heartbeats back to a normal pace. I couldn't hide anything to Louis, even if I wanted.

"Not so much him but what I meant for him."

Louis walked back next to me and crouched down, one of his knees on the floor and his hand on my thigh. He waited until our eyes met and he raised his eyebrows.

"We've been through that, remember?" Louis pointed out in a soft tone. "He was scared to be trapped and he let go of the most important person in his life. You were not the problem, Liv."

"He's with someone now." I just said, shaking me head, after letting out a long sigh. "And with her too I mean, he replaced me with her."

Louis nodded very slowly, pressing his lips together and making the left corner of my lips raise up.

"Yes, besides you, my friend Neil has very bad tastes in women."

It was not true at all but I appreciated the lie and I tilted my head to stare at Louis. I had moved back to my apartment after Niall broke up with me and Louis was the one who had picked my stuff at Niall's for me. We hung out together and he's the one who pushed me to write what I wanted to write. My father agreed to make a special section for my story on his site and within a few hours, there were more views than any other page of the site. I found someone to play the male character and I gave myself the role of the female one until I got the e-mail that literally changed my life.

Netflix. I barely believed it and I had to read the e-mail twice but it turned out to be real and after some negotiation, my tv show was about to be re-made with a bigger budget and real actors and this time, it was going to be seen by way more people. I didn't have to insist to keep playing in it, they quickly agreed to that term of the contract and it surprised me. Apparently, I was not so bad of an actress, who would have known? That's why I moved to L.A. with Louis : to live a dream I wasn't even aware I had before, when I was dating Niall. There are so many things I didn't know when I was with him, including who I was. Now, it was different.

"So." Louis continued, getting up to grab his beer again. "Did you girls go with Liam's request and pick chocolate?"

I raised my eyebrows in amusement and my lips parted a bit as we stared at each other.

"How do you know that?"

Louis' smile turned into a smirk. "He asked me and I said I wanted chocolate too! So I said he should harass Julie and he said I should harass you. So I had to challenge him, and he lost."

My face twisted and I frowned, suddenly a bit scared.

"What was the challenge?"

"Oh, darling, you don't want to know." his accent had turned thicker and his smirk bigger, making me shake my head. "Trust me."

"You're right, I don't want to know."

He laughed a bit and moved his chin in my direction as he leaned against the counter, his beer still in hand. He took the last sip and put it away before swallowing and licking his lips. I loved Louis. I really, really loved Louis.

"So? Chocolate?"

I grimaced and sent him an offended look as I shook my head again.

"It's like you don't even know me!"

"What did you pick then?"

I didn't have time to answer. My lips just parted a bit before we both heard the doorbell. I jumped on my feet and we both rushed to the living room to reach the front door.

"Me!" I yelled as I tried to be faster than him.

"Oh please, it's clearly for me!"

I laughed as he pushed my hips with his and even more when both our hands ended up on the knob, twisting it at the same time without opening the door. We laughed and when the door finally opened wide, my smile grew.

"So, who won this time?"

I forgot the game I had with Louis and barely even heard my boyfriend's question. I just tilted my head and bit my bottom lip. He looked pretty and the way he smiled always got to me. Louis let him walk in and he just opened his arms, bending down slightly to wrap them around my waist and pull me up. I laughed like a school girl and looked down at him, bringing my lips against his.

"Clearly, I won." I whispered only for him to hear, licking my lips before kissing him again.

He chuckled against my mouth and finally put me down but I kept him close and deepened the kiss. The fact that we were still acting like new lovers was nice and I hoped it would never stop.

After moving here, we were about to cast auditions for the other characters but I was mostly nervous about the male lead since I was going to do most scenes with him and even kiss him. I was allowed to have a say in who they would pick but before we could even start the auditions, I received a message on twitter. My account was not private anymore and was even verified, which was something I never thought would ever be possible. I was not the kind of person who liked attention but it was still important for me to remain on social medias, even if I wasn't online as much as other people.

Most of the messages I was tagged in were about Niall and I couldn't blame his fans who asked about me but it was surprising to see it even after so long. At first, the tweets about some of them being 'devastated' by our break-ups made me cry but now I just felt nostalgic of what I once had with him. One time, though, I got a notification that I was tagged in a post and when I clicked on it, I choked on my coffee. Dylan O'Brien. Dylan fucking O'Brien had tagged me and had added 'would love to play in your show!'

After a few days of chatting online, we had finally decided to talk on the phone and I realized he was the funniest and sweetest guy in the world. It's only really the very first time I met him that I realized I had it bad, though. He came to the audition but in my head, the part was already his, and when our eyes met, I felt it inside of me. It could have been just me being starstruck but when he had smiled at me, my heart had fluttered in a way it hadn't since... since Niall.

"You two get a fuckin' room." Louis let out, but I could hear amusement in his voice.

I turned to him and he sent me a smirk just as I showed him my middle finger.

"I live here too, remember?" I asked jokingly.

The plan when we moved here was to buy a house together, support each other and spend as much time as we could with each other. Did Louis and I ever had sex after that infamous night? Maybe, but quickly, we had both stopped needing it. Not because we weren't in pain anymore, but because we had other distractions and other things to focus on. I hadn't received my first check yet but it was coming and I knew it. I couldn't wait to give some of my money to Louis for the house but only as a rent. He was keeping the house to live in it with his girlfriend while I had planned to move with Dylan very soon. Everything was falling into place, and just as I thought my life was exactly the way it was supposed to be, I saw Niall again.

"Yea well you two lovebirds will have the house for yourself tonight." Louis explained, grabbing his wallet from the coffee table and looking for his keys. "I'll be gone all night."

"Say hello to Eleanor for me!"

Louis sent me a smirk and a wink before walking up to us and bending down to kiss my cheek.

"Will do." he promised in a low tone. "Goodnight queen."

A few months earlier, I had heard Louis cry himself to sleep at night. It was not something unusual, I knew it happened from time to time since his mother had passed away, but I remember leaning against the wall of his room for half an hour, listening to him cry and crying with him. If he had wanted me to be there with him, he would have asked, I knew it, that's why I didn't knock or tried to talk to him, but at the same time, it was hard to handle, and I couldn't pretend I knew him as much as Eleanor did. He was also crying for her, I was well aware of that, and on that night, I had messaged her. I didn't have to beg her to come over, she just did. She literally took a fucking plane to come here and comfort him. If that's not love then I have no idea what is.

"Goodnight, pet."

Louis raised his eyebrows and pointed his finger at me. "Don't call me that, ever, remember?"

I just shrugged and laughed, feeling Dylan's hand grab my fingers gently as he chuckled too. He suddenly turned to me and raised his eyebrows.

"Oh hey, you were trying out wedding cakes today, how did it go?"

"She didn't pick chocolate mate, don't even bother." Louis grimaced, making Dylan smile more.

"Of course she didn't, i'd say..." he turned to me and his eyes got smaller as he pondered. "She hesitated and almost picked raspberry but ended up choosing.. strawberry and cream."

My lips curled and I shook my head. "How do you know me so well?"

"O'Brien, I hate you." Louis just said, slapping gently my boyfriend's chest. "Thanks for making sound like a loser."

"You're welcome!" Dylan joked as I rolled my eyes at their interaction.

I waited as Louis typed something on his phone and he finally looked up at us and smiled before leaving. As soon as the door closed behind him, I received a text message and walked up to my purse to look at it.

'Tell him!!!!' Louis had typed with clearly too many exclamation points.

I just sent him a thumb up and when I went back, I felt my lips curl very slightly at the sight of the emoji Niall sent me. It was good seeing him, it felt amazing to be near him. It was so hard to realize that my best friend was not my best friend anymore, and although I knew that life is just like that sometimes, it still hurt. This year away from each other was needed, at least for me, to find myself, but I always thought Niall would remain in my life forever.

"So strawberries and cream uhm?" Dylan said to catch my attention. "I can live with that."

I threw my phone on the couch and sighed with a smile, turning his way. I grabbed the front of his shirt and finally looked up in his eyes, licking my lips as his hands reached my waist.

"Can you live with me?" I asked, raising my eyebrows and making him chuckle low.

"Damn right I can."

He pulled me closer and kissed me, making my heart skip a beat. I had never compared Dylan to Niall but at that exact moment, I couldn't help myself. They were both smart, kind and funny, the main difference being that Dylan hadn't shattered my heart in pieces, at least not yet. The way they kissed was different too. Niall kissed me passionately, impatiently and deeply. Dylan kissed me gently, like I was something fragile, something important he didn't want to break, or simply because he wanted to take his time and feel every second of it. He kissed me like every kiss actually meant way more than we both thought.

I felt him deepen the kiss and my heart jumped again. I couldn't do anything with him before telling him about my day, and all I could see behind my eyelids was Louis' text message.

"Mm, I have something to tell you." I whispered against his lip, making him pull away immediately.

He stared at me for a few seconds, his eyes roaming on my face, and I suddenly felt extremely nervous. He was never the jealous type but I don't think anyone could enjoy their lover meeting again with their ex, especially knowing Niall and I's history.

"What's wrong, babe?"

"Nothing's wrong, no, don't worry." It wasn't a lie. I sent him a small smile and shrugged. "I just wanted you to know that... I saw Niall, today."

His eyebrows raised slightly but fell back down half a second later. He stared down at me, mostly trying to decipher how i felt about it instead to react to it, and it made something in my heart stir. He was perfect and I loved him, I really did.

"Are you okay?" he finally asked  gently after about a minute of silence. "How did it go?"

"It went... well." I admitted, nodding slowly and glancing down before looking up in his eyes. "He asked if we could meet again for a coffee but I didn't message him yet. I'm just not sure if I should go."

Dylan's lips curled slightly just as his eyebrows raised. "Not because of me, yea?"

I shrugged both shoulders, feeling suddenly embarrassed. One of the reasons why I was not sure was him, but an other part of me, a part I didn't want to show, was simply scared. I was scared that things wouldn't be like they used to be, I was scared that we wouldn't really get along, I was scared that the old me would resurface and I was scared... I was scared of the feelings I could have again if I spent time with him.

"You can go see him, Liv." he let out softly, bringing one of his hands to my face to caress my cheek with his fingertips. "Not that you were waiting for my approval or that you need it but, I know there's so many things you want to tell him and ask him and... it's normal. I can't even begin to understand the relationship you two had, all I know is... it was intense. There's some part of you that will always love him and I'm fine with that. Just... go. And you'll see."

Slowly, my lips curled as I stared at him. I brought my hand to his hair and slipped my fingers in it before sighing. I felt suddenly lighter and I was not sure why. Perhaps knowing that my boyfriend was fine with it helped.

I mouthed a 'thank you' and he smiled more, shaking his head.

"There's no reason to thank me." he just said, pulling me closer and kissing my lips. "I love you, Olivia."

I wrapped my arms around him and closed my eyes, inhaling him before squeezing him tighter against me. It felt good and I felt safe but I finally pulled away and smiled.

"Okay so food and a movie?" he proposed, raising his eyebrows before I grimaced.

"Oh I wish, I mean food, but i'm gonna have to eat in front of my computer." I explained with a sigh, letting my head fall lightly on my shoulders. "I need to write and my mind is lazy these days."

"Why don't you inspire yourself of what we're going through right now?"

I stared at him and raised my eyebrows at the idea before Dylan just chuckled and winked at me. I knew that to write something good, it had to be close to something I was living, but playing it on screen was about to be a challenge if I did that.

"I'll make food you just... work."

I thanked him and grabbed my phone before sitting in front of my computer. I started typing a few ideas here and there but the truth was, I couldn't stop thinking about Niall. Dylan was right, there were many things I wanted to tell him, many things I wanted to ask. but at the same time, I was well aware that I wouldn't be able to let it out all at the same time. I also knew we had to be in a public place, if only to be sure I wouldn't end up yelling or in tears.

'Coffee tomorrow afternoon, are you free? 🤪’

I didn't want to let Niall make me emotional the way I used to be when we were dating, or even before. He always had so much power over me and I didn't want him to anymore. I didn't want anyone to have to much power over me.

'Always free for you 🥰’

The emoji he picked made my lips curl and I quickly texted him a time and place before putting my phone away. I stared at my work on the screen and sighed to myself. I didn't really want to add Niall to my story, I was too scared of how realistic it would become, since my real boyfriend was already playing my on-screen boyfriend, and I decided to push this idea away.

Dylan came back with a plate of pastas and it made me wonder how long I had spent in front of an almost empty document. He sat to face me and my eyes moved up to him.

"I'm stuck."

"Did you message Niall? Are you gonna see him soon?"

I felt my heart skip a beat at his question but he kept staring at me as he brought the fork to his mouth. The fact that it was super casual for him made me squirm a bit on my seat. Was that a good or a bad thing?

"Yea, tomorrow afternoon."

"Good." he nodded, pushing the plate my way. I sent him a smile and started eating too. "Maybe it'll inspire you."

His eyebrows raised and he chuckled when some sauce landed on my shirt and I quickly tried to wipe it off, making him laugh even more.

"Guess you're gonna have to take it off." he just pointed out.

I looked up at him only to see a smirk gracing his face and I chuckled too, tilting my head. I pushed my plate away and leaned closer to him, sending him an amused smile and keeping my voice low.

"Maybe you should take it off yourself."

[dgcatanisiri]

So. Did see Rise of Skywalker today.

“Flawed, but probably as good as we were going to get” is my two cent summary, especially given some of the whispers I’m hearing about what went on behind the scenes that, in effect, this was “the Disney shareholder’s” trilogy more than any individual, and I think you all can guess my opinion of the Disney shareholders in general... (plus the inevitable difficulty of trying to unify two movies that honestly had a lot of tonal and thematic clash to begin with).

You want more details, they’re behind the cut, because I’m going to respect the spoiler tags.

First things first, let me get this out of the way first, Kelly Marie Tran and Rose Tico DESERVED. BETTER. Like, bare minimum, I think there should have been a scene between her and Rey at the start while Rey is reading the Jedi tomes. Just a little something that connects the two. Better still, use her as a touchstone character for what’s happening at the Resistance base in the first half - yeah, sure, you can only do so much with the jiggered footage of Carrie Fisher, but SO. WHAT. Leia doesn’t have to be in those scenes. 

Hell, have her and Connix talk, considering that Connix was significant enough to both be in charge of the D’Qar evacuation AND Poe’s right hand during the mutiny. Since Connix is played by Billie Lourd, Carrie Fisher’s daughter, it’d have been a fine connection there, especially if you want to include some foreshadowing of Leia’s eventual death, talk about them being concerned about the way that the General is handling everything happening, losing everyone so close to her.

Like, that’s the off the top of my head ways to enhance Rose’s part in this movie without significantly altering any of the plot. Truthfully, I think she should have been part of the group the whole time anyway. 

I still don’t particularly like the return of Palpatine as the big bad, meaning that we’re pretty much completely undermining the end of the original trilogy. I mean, wasn’t that what Anakin Skywalker’s death in Return of the Jedi meant? At least when the Legends line brought him back, it was a) still during the post-RotJ war clean up, where the Empire was still fighting after Endor, still part of the same war, and b) left ambiguous enough if that was genuinely Palpatine or just a clone that claimed to be the original Palpatine.

But I can also appreciate the thematic relevance of Palpatine, the Emperor, Darth Sidious, whatever name he uses, being the overarching villain of the Skywalker Saga. So... We’ll call it even? Meh.

I will RELUCTANTLY allow the idea of Leia sacrificing herself to pull back her son from the dark side, mostly on the basis of being limited by the footage of Carrie Fisher, so using her death to have story meaning can be tolerated. Still don’t like it - I have firmly been of the believe that, given all the times he made the active choice to be evil, he could not simply return to the light, be redeemed or forgiven. But since he did, ultimately, die, I will allow it - I’m only going to be able to view his death as, effectively, him making the only effort at atonement that could be done, stopping Palpatine, before his true penance came in not being able to be a part of the galaxy he helped to save.

That said, I do NOT accept the kiss. I will only even possibly pretend it happened under the pretense of being a heat of the moment victory thing that meant nothing. Because FUCK REYLOW.

First half of the movie is HORRENDOUSLY compacted. Like, I legit feel like there was a good fifteen minutes or more hacked out of it. Too much is happening right off the bat and just doesn’t stop. It settles down eventually, but MAN could that have done with less compression.

Honestly, overall, it feels like at least two movies crammed into one, like Disney refused to split it up because “but it’s a TRILOGY!” Which, uh... Not to open the “TLJ discourse” can of worms, but... That was always going to happen, considering the massive tonal clash between Abrams and Johnson as writers and directors. Especially with Johnson having basically done nothing that would advance a core arc, by way of having the main characters of the trilogy interact - TLJ had Rey, Finn, and Poe all in different plots in separate areas, which made no sense to begin with, considering these were supposed to be the core characters, shouldn’t they have actually gotten to interact sooner? 

Like I said in the summary, TFA and TLJ have little that actually connects them. In the sense of creating a coherent narrative, it’s not unreasonable that Abrams downplayed a lot of Johnson’s elements, considering that Johnson did the same with elements Abrams included in TFA - Finn’s potential Force affinity (I’ll get to that), the Knights of Ren (suddenly back with no explanation), the conscription of child soldiers as stormtroopers (which really SHOULD have been a core part of TLJ, instead of the child slavery on Canto Bight, considering it mattered to Finn’s character as already established), the idea that Luke had been searching for something (because why would he have left a map to where he was going in TFA if, as TLJ said, he went to Ach-to to wait for death?)... TRoS was always going to be in a bind on these things, and, really, considering that neither film prior was written with an ending in mind, there was no real solution but to just dance around the subject.

Let’s talk briefly about the Poe background stuff, which... *sigh* It was so POINTLESS to introduce the idea that he was a drug dealer. Like, first of all, RACIST AS FUCK to make the Latino man a drug dealer. Secondly, when and how, considering his canon back story is that he is the son of minor Rebel heroes, how did he have the time for this to happen? Third and not least, the guy’s an ace pilot, why WOULDN’T he know about hotwiring vehicles? He should know them inside and out!

Zorii is... There. That’s about all I really can say about her. Same with Jannah. Both of these felt like characters who SHOULD have had more relevance, had they been introduced sooner (and in which case, I’d toss Zorii and swap in Rose anyway). Considering they’re dropped in at the last second as they are, they honestly end up just feeling like props meant to portray Poe and Finn as straight, which... 

Okay, Disney overlords are homophobic cowards. Let’s just acknowledge that right off. Finn/Poe was a ship that was never going to be allowed off the ground. We all knew it going in. So make Finn/Rey a thing and let Poe be read as gay, even if it’s not said. It would have been that simple. TFA laid the foundation, and that hug in TLJ was a good building block as well. But no. You have to be cowards and not “rock the boat” by both not having an interracial relationship AND trying to appease the Reylows. Ugh.

Anyway, any and all flirtation between Poe and Zorii is PURE mlm/wlw joking with one another. Stormpilot is endgame. Rey/Rose is real. Fuck Disney and fuck canon. MOVING ON.

Also on that note, FINN IS FORCE SENSITIVE, GODDAMMIT. The adamant refusal to acknowledge this REALLY pisses me off, because Finn is a PERFECT mirror to Kylo Ren and should have been his counterpart throughout this trilogy - Finn was a nameless stormtrooper with no past, Kylo was the heir to legacies, Finn refused to slaughter innocents, Kylo gave that order. Finn embraced the Resistance, Kylo led the First Order. THIS is the duality of characters that should have driven this trilogy. I’m not trying to take away Rey’s significance, but...

When people complain about Rey’s lineage, I’m just not all that big on this matter. First of all, I was neutral on the subject from day one. As time has gone on, however, I have reached a point where I’m just ‘...well, yeah, of course she’s got an important lineage.’ Because TFA made a big deal of this fact. This was her driving motivation. On top of that, TLJ trying the “they were nobodies” thing actually legit pisses me off, because what abandoned child just casually accepts “they were nobodies”? Even if they weren’t significant (which, again, by way of Maz and the lightsaber calling to her in TFA, there was a strong implication of them being significant, particularly with the stage directions in the script for Luke and Leia when interacting with Rey), they weren’t nobodies FOR HER. But TLJ basically has her discard the search casually.

So you want a hero who comes from nothing? Again, may I present FINN, the stormtrooper who came from nothing, who should have been leading a stormtrooper uprising, who should have gotten to be a Jedi, who DESERVED BETTER THAN THIS TRILOGY GAVE HIM...

Gah. Okay. I’m tired of ranting about the things that I didn’t like. There ARE positives, I swear!

Chewie’s breakdown over Leia’s death about broke me. Like, the moment he collapses... God, that was choking me up an hour later, too. How much it must hurt Chewie and Lando to be the only ones left... Honestly, I was half afraid that the Falcon would be destroyed during that final conflict. 

Honestly, I know the idea was that Han’s appearance was just a figment, a manifestation of the inner thoughts, but I’m going to call it confirmation of Han being Force sensitive. Mostly because I picture Han losing his shit at the idea. And, honestly, I can’t help but wish that, at the least, we could have had Leia appear there, but we weren’t going to get that either way.

Speaking of Leia, honestly, I think they did the best they could with what they had of her, and, truthfully, I think it was a fine tribute to Carrie, to have Leia there, die within the context of this movie, and not just die off between films. Yes, it bound their hands some, but... It wouldn’t have been right without her, either. 

Though I do reiterate that the binding with the footage is no excuse for hacking Rose practically out of the film entirely.

I focused on the issues I had against the movie, mostly because I feel like they stood out more than the things that I liked. The problem this trilogy has had since day one is that they went into this without a plan. This trilogy never knew where it was going until this movie came along. So two movies of basically throwing everything at the wall, leading to one movie having to tie it all up. This movie was always going to struggle, but in the end, I think it probably came out as best as it could.

If you want to call that damning with faint praise... I suppose it sort of is, but, more truthfully, it’s seeing it for what it is and judging it as such. This movie was hobbled before it could walk, that it managed what it did as well as it did is really a tribute to those who tried to make it work.

I feel like that’s all the major things I have to bring up right now. Though I will add... Yeah, let’s be real. They call this the end of the Skywalker Saga, but in twenty years or so, we’re going to get a fourth trilogy. Because we’re basically at the point of “every generation’s going to have their own Star Wars trilogy.”

[starker-stories]

An Accord (WIS), Chapter 3

I’ll be re-creating my individual chapter posts for An Accord over here on the blog that replaces starkerstories. Until I hit the current chapter, I’ll be posting daily. They’ll have links to both tumblr and AO3 chapter links. I’m sorry if that bothers people who’ve seen this all before in the tag. I’m content to leave all my other fic as AO3 only, but this is my current favorite child, so I’m spoiling it rotten.

Just because I suck and I can... @starker-stories the writer formerly known as ;) starkerstories. Here I am. 

This fic is on a weekly update schedule. Hopefully every Friday. More chapters may appear sooner if the writing is going well. Because I have 0 self-control.

Tumblr Chapter Links: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12, ch13 AO3 Chapter Links: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12, ch13

Tags: Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Polyamory Negotiations, Polyamory, Cheating, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Domestic Nightmare Tony Stark, Reconciliation, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, WinterIronSpider, Happy Ending, Clothed Sex, Domesticity, Peter Parker is legal age in the state of New York, College Student Peter Parker, Takes place about 2 years after Civil War. Closeted Character

Summary: “Russian naming convention. Natalia Romanova. Natasha Romanoff. Or Ms. Widow, to you kid.” Bucky grinned. “She’ll die when I tell her that.” ——————————————————————————————

Chapter 3:  Colonel Flappy-coat

“You shouldn’t let me make you miss so much class,” Tony said, rolling over and nuzzling the spot behind Peter’s ear.

“You’re lucky I don’t take advantage of the fact that while we’re still not completely out about our relationship, every one of my professors knows that I’m Iron Man’s boyfriend. Because Tony fucking Stark told them as he signed the checks to fund their departments.”

Tony laughed. “What’s the point of being a billionaire if you can’t embarrass your boyfriend with it? As soon as you’re legal…”

“I’m legal now, Tony.”

“…in all fifty states, I will be more than happy to sing it from the roof of my tower that you are my beautiful boyfriend who puts up with far more from me than he should ever have to.”

“Do you think Bucky’s okay up at HQ?” Peter asked.

Tony brought out his phone and checked. “Company helicopter picked him up here, he flew himself there, he’s been in with Fury for almost three hours. So, no, he’s not okay. He’s been in a room with Nick Fury for three hours.”

“We should pick him up.”

“The helicopter’s there with him. We could take mine, though. Leave the other to self-pilot home.”

“I thought yours was the only one that could…” Peter rolled his eyes when he saw the way Tony was looking at him. “Can you not tinker with anything that comes within a thousand yards of you?” he asked rhetorically, giggling.

“Nope. Impossible. Didn’t you hear the story about how I upgraded a reporter’s phone just by glaring at it one day?”

“That was awesome. There’s evidence!”

“Of course there is. Who do you think ’shopped the evidence?”

“FRIDAY,” Peter said confidently. “You are the laziest computer genius in the world.”

“FRIDAY does things she can do; I do things she can’t. A more effective use of my time. Which leaves me more time to do this…”

“Not if we’re going to pick Bucky up from HQ,” Peter said, putting his hand up between them.

“Why am I doing that instead of fucking my beautiful boyfriend?”

“Because we’re rescuing him from Nick Fury.”

Tony sighed. “You had to go invoke that name and kill the mood. All right.”

~~~~~

“Do I have your attention, Sergeant Barnes?” Nick Fury asked, noticing Bucky staring out the window.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. The helicopter I flew here in just lifted off. Without a pilot.”

“You get used to that sort of thing when Stark’s around.”

“He’s not around though.”

“If his helicopter just took off, he will be. Now, about Korea… Would you mind not gawping at every technological wonder Stark pulls out of his ass? His ego doesn’t need the polish,” Fury said.

Bucky gawped at the larger helicopter landing, also pilotless. That time he saw Peter and Tony get out of the passenger area though. He smiled.

“I can see that we’re done for the day.”

“Sorry sir.”

“Go on,” Fury said disgusted at Bucky’s distraction.

“They think they’re fooling people,” he muttered under his breath as he stood, watching Tony and Peter head toward the main door.

“No,” Bucky said, smiling. “They just don’t give a fuck.”

~~~~~

“I’ll be back in a minute, baby,” Tony said, putting a kiss on Peter’s head when they met Bucky in the entrance.

“You look like you needed rescuing,” Peter said smiling. He took Bucky’s hand and held it briefly. “How are you holding up?”

“It’s fine. What I expected. More pleasant, actually.”

“With Nick Fury?” Peter said disbelieving.

“He’s professional. Calm. There’s an obvious agenda, but it’s obvious. He has a less obvious agenda naturally, but it’s obvious as well. I see why Tony insisted he handle my debrief.”

“Tony says Fury scares the shit out of him.”

Bucky chuckled. “You believe him?”

“Of course not,” Peter said. “But I let him think I do.” He paused. “I know the things that scare him.”

“I’m one of those things,” Bucky said.

Peter nodded. “He doesn’t want you to be though. I believe him on that.”

“Everyone here knows you’re together,” Bucky said, changing the subject.

“We’re not exactly subtle,” Peter giggled.

“I thought you were trying to keep your relationship quiet.”

“From the press. I’m still not legal age in a lot of states. If it got out of the small circle of people — Avengers, Tony’s personal staff, our friends and family — it… wouldn’t be great,” Peter said understating it. “When I turn eighteen, we’ll come completely out then. People will still talk and everyone will know that we started before. But there’ll be nothing that can be done about it.” He looked at Bucky sideways. “It doesn’t bother you? It bothers everyone. Even people who are our friends.”

“Peter, with my past… Is he hurting you? No. All right. Then he’s already a million miles above things that I have done to people younger than you.”

“Not you.”

Bucky sighed. “Maybe not, but my body did them.”

“Do you want to talk to someone about it?” Peter asked gently.

“Like a head shrinker?” Bucky scoffed. “What shrink is going to understand me?”

“Yeah. I get it. Hi. I can lift seventy tons and not break a sweat. I can literally feel my broken bones knitting back together. And I have trouble sleeping.”

Bucky laughed. “We’re not exactly couch material, any of us in this building, I don’t think.”

“This is true. There are some in the medical department here that try, but… even if they’re in on the whole secret identity thing, they just don’t know. And that’s just dealing with the superhero part. Not the whole… I was a secret assassin whose brain got regularly put into a blender for seventy years. Oh! I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

“No,” Bucky said, trying to keep from laughing so hard. “You should’ve. You definitely should’ve. You have no idea what it’s like when everyone around you is tiptoeing around…” He caught Peter grinning. “Of course you know. All three of us know.”

He paused for a long time. “You know, Tony’s right. You do got some wisdom about you, kid.”

“What this time?” Peter said smiling softly. It was something he and Tony knew, but no one else understood. Age didn’t have anything to do with it. They understood each other. There were things Tony understood and Peter didn’t. There were things Peter understood and Tony didn’t. And there were things they both understood. Age was experiences and maturity. Age had nothing to do with understanding.

“What you told me last night. Comparing… pain. The number of pains doesn’t matter, really. Because when you’re in the middle of one… it’s just as bad as the other guy’s is. No matter what the count. Counting just makes you hate yourself. Either you don’t think you have the right to feel that way because others have it worse…” Peter sighed and nodded. “…Or the weight of it is…” Bucky closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked at the ceiling before looking at Peter again. “…It’s incomprehensible. When you start comparing, the spiral of hating yourself never ends.”

Peter reached across on the bench they were sharing and touched his fingertips to Bucky’s metal ones. Bucky started to pull away. Peter put his whole hand over the back of Bucky’s.

“People don’t touch me there,” he said quietly.

“Why?”

“It frightens them.”

“Huh. Really?”

“I suppose.”

“Can you feel it?”

Bucky tilted his head to the side and looked at Peter.

“Can you?” Peter asked again.

“No one’s ever asked. Not even Steve.”

“Really?” Peter’s eyes went wide. “Well, can you?”

Bucky nodded. “It’s not the same though.”

“I wouldn’t think so. The neural net would have to be totally different. Even this one that you got in Wakanda, it can’t interface with what isn’t there. It has to interface through the nerves of your shoulder… It does interface there, right?” Peter asked.

Bucky nodded. “Through my shoulder.”

“Tony’s latest suit that he's working on will interface directly to his mind. He'll think ‘do something’ and it will. Nerves don’t have to be there.”

Bucky paused. “How do you know how my arm works?”

“Data mining. Tony backdoored into Fury’s system, like, ages ago. JARVIS ran the program.”

“JARVIS is Vision now.”

“Uh… yeah mostly. Anyway, Tony got everything. What he didn’t was in the files Ms. Widow released…”

Bucky laughed quietly. “Ms. Widow? Does Romanova know you call her that?”

“No. I haven’t seen her since Berlin. It just didn’t seem right for me to call her…” Peter smiled. “She’s amazing and so… Wait. Romanova? I thought it was Romanoff.”

“Russian naming convention. Natalia Romanova. Natasha Romanoff. Or Ms. Widow, to you kid.” Bucky grinned. “She’ll die when I tell her that.”

“You know her? I mean… Yeah, of course… It just sounded…”

“I was her weapons trainer in Russia,” Bucky explained. “We went on missions together. Another me, another her.”

“Anyway,” Peter changed the subject, “whatever Fury knows, Tony knows, which means FRIDAY knows, which means Tony thinks I don’t know, except I think he really does know that I know…”

“Planning on coming round to your point anytime soon, Pete?”

“Fuck. How long has he been there?” Peter asked Bucky.

“Long enough to know that FRIDAY and I need to have a talk about you,” Tony said.

“Yeah, but what are you going to do about JARVIS’ air-gapped source matrix who tells me how to break into FRIDAY?”

“Will you shut the hell up, kid?” Tony said in a warning whisper. “Did you not just see Mr. Flappy-coat walk by here a few moments ago?”

“Wouldn’t that be Colonel Flappy-coat?” Bucky asked.

“Hush. Say his name three times and he appears,” Peter warned.

“That would be Beetlejuice, Parker,” Fury said. “Barnes? Ten a.m. tomorrow morning. I have business elsewhere, Hill will handle your next debrief.”

“Yes sir,” Bucky said, standing.

“Jesus fucking Christ, pretty, if you salute him…”

Fury raised his eyebrow at Tony’s nickname for Barnes.

“You don’t salute a retired officer in civilian clothes, Tony.”

“But standing’s a nice touch,” Fury said as he and his flappy-coat left the building.

~~~~~

Bucky started to climb into the cockpit of the helicopter.

“Flies itself,” Tony said. “Unless you’re particularly in the mood,” he added with a shrug.

“Habit,” Bucky said sheepishly and climbed into the passenger compartment with Tony and Peter.

They sat in awkward silence until Bucky finally broke it. “Will you be reviewing everything I say to Fury?”

“Directly? No. FRIDAY will be. I don’t really care if you killed JFK or if that’s a rumor.”

“Not a rumor,” Bucky said, staring out the window.

“So?” Tony said dismissively. “There are things she knows I’m interested in. Anything to do with Stark. Anything to do with the Avengers or enhanced individuals. A bit of financial data here and there.” Peter looked at him sideways. Tony shrugged. “All that,” he said, nodding towards the Avengers compound shrinking in the distance, “doesn’t pay for itself. It’s only insider trading if you get caught. I don’t.”

“About Steve?”

“I could lie, but I don’t. Yes, about Rogers. Past and present. Do I care about his current location? I care more about what happened on the Grassy Knoll. But I will not be blindsided by him again. I stopped giving a damn about him when he left me for dead in Siberia.”

“We left you. You were alive.”

“Only one of you was walking under his own steam. You went where he brought you. Away from me, which was sensible at the time. But this?” Tony tapped his arc reactor. “Not a fuckin’ night light. The shield cracked through the suit’s RT, through the sapphire-glass, and left the coils damaged. FRIDAY was busy trying to decide which was more important, keeping my heart functioning or keeping me from dying of hypothermia.” Tony’s anger and voice rose as he spoke.

“I didn’t know,” Peter gasped. “You were fine when you brought me home from Berlin.”

“I called a new suit with a replacement arc reactor. Which drained the shattered one in me more. But even at Mach 7, it takes over an hour to get from New York to Siberia. Long time to be lying there at sub-zero while your heart is deciding whether or not it wants to keep going for a little while longer. Not that Rogers gave a damn.”

“I didn’t know,” Bucky said, repeating Peter. “Steve said you had it removed.”

“I did. Steve also knew that I had to have it put back when smaller pieces of shrapnel started moving, broken off when Doctor Wu removed the larger ones. He was very aware of what an attack here,” Tony touched the arc again, “would do.”

“I was trying to power down your suit,” Bucky said quietly. “Not kill you.”

“From my perspective, it looked like you were. Rogers could’ve told you. He could’ve told us both a lot of things. He didn’t. So yeah… I’m going to be picking your debrief over for things about him.” Tony took several steadying breaths and tried to hide the fact that his hand dropped to the seat, seeking Peter’s. Which it found.

“I’m not going after him, Bucky. He can stay gone. If he walks through those doors?” He nodded again in the direction of the compound, which had faded from sight. “I’m not sure I can operate under his command. That’s disingenuous. I’m sure I can’t operate under his command. I’ll go back to being a consultant to the Avengers and to being Iron Man. Two very separate things.

“Things are complicated. I don’t want them to be, but they are. I have issues over who you are and… who you’re not. You’ve got issues over me and Rogers about this. It’s not going to resolve in a day or two. I know that. But the fact that you’re sitting here, of all places?” Tony nodded. “It’s a hell of a lot more responsibility for… things… than he’s taken. I can respect that.”

“That you opened the elevator door given everything… I can respect that as well.”

“That’s something to start from,” Tony said.

“And it always ends with what are you going to feed me?” Peter said. “Spider metabolism, remember? We slept in. No breakfast. We flew upstate. No lunch. Are you trying to starve me?”

“I’ll cook. You have an entire grocery store in your cupboards, Tony,” Bucky said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“The Depression was almost a century ago.” Tony rolled his eyes.

“For some people in this helicopter it was about fifteen years ago. I’ll cook.”

“Billionaire, remember? I’ll order in.”

“What do you do with the food in your house?”

“He mostly burns it,” Peter cheerfully offered.

[hannahindie]

Breathe - Part 2

Pairing: Dean x Reader Series Warnings: Fatal illness, character death, blood, canon violence, language, eventual smut, kidnapping. Word Count: 2,083 Square Filled: Fatal Illness Summary: A year earlier, the reader finds out exactly what’s going on and has to make a difficult decision. That decision affects her present day life with Sam and Dean, and she has to decide what to do; keep herself at arm’s length, or let Dean in. A/N: This is the second part of my SPN Angst Bingo Card, hosted by @spnangstbingo. It will be seven parts, and the schedule has already been posted. It will post twice a week (Monday and Friday) until it wraps up. **Disclaimer for this particular chapter: I don’t know much about cancer. My life has been affected by it way too often, but the information I wrote here I got from the Mayo clinic website. I may be taking some liberty with it, simply because I don’t have super in depth experience. I apologize ahead of time if it isn’t 100% accurate.

It was beta’d by the ever fantastic and my writing soulmate @trexrambling: “This ending was damn straight perfection, Han.”

My beautiful twinny, @pinknerdpanda: “I need MORE!”

And my dear, sweet angel baby @masksandtruths: “ Damn it, you are breaking my heart....again.”

Thanks to all three for helping a girl out so that her words make sense. I owe a lot to all of you.

As always, tags are at the bottom. If you’d like to be added, please let me know.

One Year Earlier…

Growing up, I watched my parents hunt. Their parents were hunters, and their parents’ parents were hunters...it is just what my family does. Well, what it did. I don’t have a large family, and hunting doesn’t really promote a flourishing family tree.

I saw my parents die. I watched the larger than life werewolf tear them apart, I heard my father scream for me and watched as he threw his gun as close to me as he could get it before its yellowed teeth clamped down on his throat. I stared at my hands as they grabbed the gun, as if they belonged to another person while they wrapped around the cool metal and pearl handle and squeezed the trigger. I remember being carried from the woods and placed in the backseat of a stranger’s car, the fear that had wrapped around my heart turning into a numbness that lingered for years after the fact.

So the feeling that is coursing through me now in this too sterile room, the rubbing alcohol burning my nostrils, is familiar. It’s familiar and terrifying and I’m not sure what I’m more afraid of; the fear itself, or the numbness that I know is coming.

“You have what is called small cell lung cancer, or SCLC.” She pulls an x-ray from a manila envelope and places it on the display. I don’t know much about human anatomy, but I’m pretty sure my chest shouldn’t look like it does. “As you can see, you have a pretty significant tumor in your right lung, and it has grown into the space between your lungs and your heart. If you look here-” she points to two darker areas- “there are separate parts to the tumor, in two different lobes.”

I know she’s speaking English, and that so far she’s keeping it pretty simple, but I can’t help but look at her like she just babbled at me in Ancient Greek. “So...what...what does that mean?”

She turns off the light to the display and pulls a stool over next to me, “It means that, out of the four stages that you can possibly have, yours is a IIIB. Each stage has different features that qualify it...right now, yours meets all three features. It has also spread to the lymph nodes near the carina, which is where your windpipe splits into the left and right bronchi and in the space between your lungs.”

This sounds bad, and of course it’s bad, it’s lung cancer, but I’m only thirty. How does this happen? I take a shaky breath in an attempt to steady my voice, “Is there any good news at all? Because right now it feels like you basically just handed me my death certificate.”

“Honestly, I don’t have much, and I’m sorry. The good part of all of this is that it’s in the limited stage, which means it’s only in the one lung and the lymph nodes affected are on the same side. It also hasn’t spread to any other organs. That is incredibly lucky, because only about one out of three people catch it this early.” Her small smile falters, and I brace myself for the other side of this shit sandwich. “However, the five year survival rate of small cell lung cancer compared to non-small cell...it’s drastically lower.”

“How much lower?”

“Ms. Y/LN, I need you to keep in mind that these survival rates are only an estimate, they can’t predict what will happen to any individual person-”

“How much lower?”

“The five year relative survival rate for stage III SCLC is about eight percent. But we can treat it, we have options. They are limited, but they are options, and there has been some success.”

The rest of the conversation is a blur. She hands me pamphlets and offers me a glass of water, displaying a kindness I'm sure she's gotten down to a science in this line of work. I know what she’s saying is important, she’s listing medicines and writing scripts and explaining that we can get chemotherapy started right away, but I don’t hear it. There is talk of procedures that will make it easier to breathe, but right now it’s taking everything I have to force myself to keep going, to focus on the air coming in and going out. Her words are fading into the background as the same thought keeps screaming, drowning out everything else.

I am dying.

Now…

Every so often, Dean’s eyes flick up to the rearview mirror. They don’t linger; it’s almost as if he’s checking to make sure I’m still in the back of the car. He hasn’t mentioned what happened back at the hotel, and I’m hoping he forgets about it. However, as I watch his eyes flick up to the mirror again, I know he won’t.

I scoot up and lean on the back of the seat, “So, uh, Sam, what’s up with this ghost, anyway?”

I see Sam’s massive shoulders shift slightly as he shrugs, “It’s pretty straight forward. The hotel actually used to be a mansion owned by a doctor, who was married with eight children. The doctor was well known and seemed to be liked by everyone in town, and honestly his life was pretty normal until his children started dying suddenly. Like clockwork, the children became horribly sick, in order from youngest to oldest, and within three weeks all eight of them had died. Rumor was that the wife had something to do with it, but at the time there was no way to prove it. Shortly after the last funeral, the doctor didn’t show up to open his practice, which was very unusual. His nurse called the police, and when they arrived, the front door was open. The doctor had been killed, and his wife was nowhere to be found. To this day, no one knows what prompted the deaths of the children, or why the doctor was killed. No one ever found her.”

I settle back into the seat and look out the window at the scenery passing in a blur, “That’s uplifting.”

“Well, you asked.”

I don't answer, and the car falls silent aside from the rock music playing softly in the background. I quietly flip my bag open and shuffle through the books and papers, searching for the little box that so far has given me life. My fingertips rest on the Altoid can and I flip it open, grabbing a pill and a mint at the same time. Can't be too careful when it comes to covering up my lies.

“Hey, can I get one of those mints?” Dean's hand pops over the back of the seat and I lock eyes with him in the mirror. He's testing me; like Sam, he's catching on.

“Sure.” I drop one in his hand, popping the actual pill into my mouth as I smile and snap the tin closed. His eyes narrow for just a second, then his gaze drops back to the road.

I'm tired. My head drops back onto the cool leather seat and I let my eyes slip shut. My chest hurts, and it feels like someone is sitting on my sternum. I concentrate on breathing, careful to make it sound normal, like I'm not struggling to get enough air. I wonder how long this is going to drag on, how much more time I have.

The car begins to slow and I open my eyes as we pull into a gas station. Dean immediately goes for the gas pump so, before he has a chance to settle his sights back on me, I walk quickly into the convenience store.

“What's going on?” I jump and nearly drop the bag of Combos I am contemplating, then glare at the guilty party.

“Jesus, Sam! Can you not? And what do you mean, ‘What’s going on’?”

He crosses his arms and tilts his head, “You and Dean have been weird. What happened before we left the motel?”

I roll my eyes as I make my way towards the drinks, “Nothing happened. And could you define weird? Because the only interaction we've had since we left the hotel was him asking me for a mint.”

“Exactly!” Sam gestures wildly, his voice still loud even though I can tell he's trying to whisper. “You guys talk all the time. Music, movies, food. You're like the female version of Dean. You guys haven't spoken the entire time. It's weird.”

I grab a Coke, then turn to face Sam. He's looking at me expectantly, and I sigh, “Nothing happened. I'm just tired, and I'm sure he's tired, and that's it. We left the room like ten seconds after you, there wasn't time for anything to happen. Cool your jets, would you? It's fine.” I walk towards the counter, “They've got some organic snacks over by the chips, make sure you get some so you aren't cranky later.”

I grab a couple other snacks as I make my way to the counter, pay, then walk outside and toss Dean one of my last-second purchases.

“Oooo, teriyaki lime jerky. Someone knows the way to my heart.” He pulls the nozzle from the tank and it clunks into place on the pump. “What did I do to deserve you?”

I shrug and lean against the car, “I am truly a gift. You should probably appreciate me more.”

Suddenly, he's directly in front of me, his moss green eyes burning into mine, and then his hand is on my waist. He's close, so close I can smell the shampoo he used this morning and the faint mix of toothpaste and the motel coffee he called breakfast. “I would like very much to show that appreciation.” He smiles, and for a second I am tempted. Oh, am I tempted.

“Dean, we’ve talked about this-”

He tilts his head, and his eyes do that squinty thing he does when he’s thinking about what to say. What I want to do is reach up and smooth the worry wrinkle between his brows, trace the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, but instead I hold my ground. Barely, but it’s held.

“No, you talked about this...and I let it go, because I mean...you’re right. Our lives,” he scoffs, “our lives are fucked up. People like us die young and we die bloody. And if we are lucky enough to live to the ripe old age of sixty, we also live long enough to see everyone we love killed. And it sucks, God, it sucks, but it is what it is. But I’m tired of that, alright? This-” he gestures between us- “this is worth it. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it. You can’t tell me that you haven’t felt it since Omaha.”

Omaha. Low blow, Winchester.

“Is this really the time to discuss this? As lovely as this gas pump is, this isn’t exactly a romantic way to bring it up.” He is still staring at me, his mouth set in a determined line, and for a moment I want to tell him to quit making that face, that his lips look better when he smiles because they’re full and pink and beautiful, but that would not help this situation. Instead, I sigh, “Omaha was a mistake, Dean. It was fun, but...it was a mistake.” His hand drops from my waist and I would take all the cancer in the world if it meant I never had to see that look on his face again. If I thought my chest hurt before, it is nothing compared to what it feels like now.

His tongue darts out and wets his lips, the bottom one catching between his teeth as he stares at me. It looks like he’s going to argue with me, and there’s a little part of me that is begging him to fight for it, for us, to convince me that my plan is garbage, but instead he walks away. He’s opening the driver’s side door by the time Sam gets to the car and looks at me quizzically.

“You okay?”

I clear my throat, “Oh, yea, I’m fine.” I climb into the backseat and settle in against the door. The car starts with an echoing roar, and he accelerates out of the lot faster than is necessary.

For the rest of the drive, his eyes never look up into the rearview mirror.

Read part 3 HERE.

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[ghostsinthewoods]

Chapter Three: Born to Lose

“You really think it was him?”

The old Birthday Zone of the Party Barn was the same as it always was: dusty, quiet, and littered with birthday streamers. Mae and Gregg had been the first to arrive, like usual, and the two best friends sat alone on their makeshift stage.

“I mean, I didn’t really get a good look at him the last time I saw him, but he looks like what I remembered,” Mae sighed. “Only, you know, not bleeding and crying.”

Gregg was acting like Beatrice had when Mae told her about this; surprised, but not entirely disbelieving.  Mae kind of liked having her friends believe her. Then again, running into someone from an old softball game was a lot more likely than ‘Oh, hey, ghosts.’

Not that ghosts were impossible. In fact, in Mae’s opinion, they were very possible. The possiblest.

“That sounds like a pretty garbage night,” Gregg said consolingly.

“And the worst part is I didn’t even see Bombshell!” Mae blurted.

“Oh!” Gregg said. “Uh, yeah, I guess that’s… worse?” He blinked in confusion. Mae realized almost immediately that Gregg wouldn’t really be able to get this. He’d been dating Angus for years, after all. He probably didn’t know remember anxious seeking out someone you were into was.

“I mean, on the plus side, Jackie didn’t, like, blow up at me or anything,” Mae began.

“Jackie’s cool,” Gregg interrupted. “She’s really intense.”

Wait. Gregg knew Jackie? Well, Mae thought, everyone in Possum Springs probably knew at least a little bit about Jackie. It was a small town, and she’d been big news.

“I guess,” Mae sighed. “Whatever. Yeah, it was a garbage night.”

“Throw that night in the garbage can, where it lives,” Gregg said.

“I saw a raccoon living in a garbage can once,” a voice said.

Mae nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard it. She knew who it was, of course, but she hadn’t seen him where he was standing. He was partially obscured by one of the Party Barn’s support beams. It didn’t look like he was trying to hide; it was just where he’d chosen to stand.

“Oh, hey, Germ,” Gregg said to their visitor. He didn’t seem as freaked out as Mae.

“Hey,” Germ said, stepping out from behind the pillar. He walked up to the stage, hands in his jacket’s pockets.

Mae frowned. Honestly, if Germ hadn’t saved their lives and given them sodas, she’d have been a little mad at the little weirdo. As it was, she was merely perturbed. Not that Mae new what ‘perturbed’ meant.

The scraping sound of the rear door opening filled the room, and was followed by a pair of voices talking to each other.

“Yeah, he’s coming home in a few weeks, so I’ve gotta visit her.”

“You really should talk to him about that, Angus. You’d think he’d understand.”

Beatrice and Angus stepped into the Birthday Zone. Neither of them was smiling. None of them were smiling. Well, Germ never emoted much, but for the rest of them, it was clear they were all kinda moody.

Gregg, at least, perked up when he saw Angus. “Hey, Cap,” he said. “How was work?”

“Someone came in trying to sell ‘cursed video tapes’,” Angus said.

“Holy shit,” Mae said, amazed. “Where’d they get them? A warlock flea market?”

“Those aren’t a thing, so no.” Angus responded. “And they were just old jazzercise tapes from the 90’s.”

“Jazzercise is a type of curse,” Bea said.

Mae found herself laughing at that, despite feeling down. When she heard her laugh, Bea looked over at her, concerned. It made Mae feel weird. Why the heck did Beatrice have to be such a Mom Friend? Jeez, Bea.

“You feeling any better?” Beatrice asked. “After last night, I mean.”

“Ugh. I guess,” Mae sighed. “I dunno. Like, how am I even supposed to feel? He clearly didn’t recognize me. Which is weird. I mean, you’d think what happened would be pretty memorable. Should I feel good that he didn’t know who I am? Because I don’t.”

“Wait,” Angus said. “Who are we talking about?”

Mae filled Angus in. All about how, the night before, she’d gone to a party, had the world’s worst conversation, didn’t see the world’s hottest Bombshell, and also ran into the kid who she’d put in the hospital.

“Wow,” Angus said. “That sounds like a garbage night, Mae.”

“Hey, that’s what I said!” Gregg exclaimed. His expression got all mushy. “Awww, Cap’n.”

Angus chuckled, but it seemed like he had a lot on his mind, as well. Whatever. Mae could ask when they were done playing. If they actually got around to playing, that is. Lately, band practice had become a support group for death cult survivors.

Only, like, occasionally the support group played a song.

“Alright, chief,” Mae said, turning her attention back to Gregg. “What are we playing?”

Gregg seemed to snap back to reality. The boring version of reality that didn’t involve gushing over his boyfriend. He fidgeted, and soon pulled out an old, worn spiral notebook that he’d been sitting on. Written on the cover, in black magic marker, was ‘CAMG’.

“Holy shit, dude,” Mae said. “Where’d you find that?”

“It was under one of our couch cushions,” Angus explained. “No clue how it got there.”

“I think I stashed it under there once during one of our post-band jam pizza parties,” Gregg said. He passed the old notebook to Mae, who began leafing through its pages.

“What is that thing, anyway?” Bea asked. “What’s it say on the front?”

“Casey, Angus, Mae, Gregg. This is our old songbook,” Gregg said. He was positively beaming, and he probably would have been flailing his arms if he wasn’t sitting down. “From back when we started the band in, like, 11th grade. It’s got all of our old songs in it.”

Mae flipped through the pages, feeling the worn paper between her fingers. Different pages were marked with post-it notes. Originally, they each had tried to use a different colored note for their individual songs, but after the great Post-It Note War, they’d just all started using Angus’s blue ones.

Mae could still remember them trading this book around every few days. It tended to spend most of its time with Gregg or Casey, but Mae had written a few songs herself. She flipped to one of the red post-it notes, and found herself looking at one of her old songs.

She then promptly flipped the page, because it was the song that should not be named. Ever.

The song after hers, however, was one she didn’t recognize. Mae didn’t think they’d ever played this one. It was written in Casey’s scratchy handwriting, lyrics accompanied by simple notes. The song’s title was written up in the header:

‘BORN TO LOSE.’

I don’t know where I’ve come from

Don’t know where I’ll be

I see these folks living their lives

Every night on the TV

Me, I’ve got no life to live

So tell me what you’d see

If I gave it all I’ve got to give

And you said goodbye to me

It took Mae a bit to really wrap her head around this. Casey had never been poetic, but he’d been pretty good at writing lyrics. And these were definitely lyrics from a Casey song. All of Casey’s songs were like this, unless they were about skatboards or monster trucks. But even those songs were kind of downers.

“This is really sad,” Mae mused.

“Yeah, it’s pretty beat up,” Gregg said. “I must’ve sat on it, like, a million times.”

“No, I mean this song,” Mae grumbled. “You sitting on something isn’t sad, Gregg. Your butt isn’t sad.”

Gregg only gave Mae a blank look, but the bassist returned her attention to the song. The more lyrics she read, the more she started to realize something.

“Guys, we have to play this,” she said. “This thing is like a memento from Casey.”

That got Gregg’s attention. “It’s definitely a Casey song,” He said, reading over Mae’s shoulder. “Scratch that. It’s a high school Casey song. He wasn’t that great at music back then.”

Gregg pointed at something written in the margin of the notes. “See? Right here, it says ‘the big solo.’ What’s that even mean? Whose solo?”

“Probably a drum solo,” Angus said. “Casey liked to show off.”

Hearing Casey being talked about in the past tense like that made Mae feel awful. Lately, her dreams had been especially bad. The fire, the stars, the Casey; they were all getting more and more vivid. Almost like it was real.

“Hey, for all you know, I am real.”

“Oh, shut up,” Mae grumbled. She tried to ignore the strange looks her friends gave her.

The band jam had gone pretty smoothly once they’d deciphered Casey’s handwriting. The melody had been simple, but then again, it had been written back when they were just starting out and only knew, like, four notes. On the plus side, it had been pretty hard to screw up.

After they had practiced, everyone was more or less free. They’d all decided to head on out to Taco Buck for dinner afterwards. That was fine with Mae; Taco Buck was delicious, and it was cheap enough that she didn’t feel bad about her friends paying for it.

Germ had tagged along. He hadn’t asked or anything; he’d just sort of followed them. Mae was kind of used to that by now.

“My jacket still smells like barf,” Gregg said as he chowed down on the limited edition pierogi taco.

“It’s hard to clean barf out of a leather jacket,” Angus commented.

“I have no idea what you guys are talking about, but can you not talk about it when I am literally eating?” Bea asked.

“They’re not talking about anything,” Mae said. “They’re crazy liars.” She hurriedly took a bite out of her pizza taco.

“I can’t believe you’d attack our character like this,” Gregg said, raising his hand to his mouth in fake shock.

Angus defensively put his arm around Gregg, as if to protect him from Mae’s words. “This slander shall not stand,” he said, his tone as deadpan as always.

That brought a small round of chuckles out of the assorted friends.

A moment of silence passed before someone finally spoke. When they did, Mae almost wished they hadn’t.

“So, it turns out that moving is kind of really hard,” Gregg said, his mouth full of onions and taco meats.

Mae felt a weight in her stomach. That might have been the pizza taco, though.

“Do you guys, like, have an apartment picked out?” Bea asked. She seemed fine with this sort of talk. Well, Mae thought, Bea was kind of tough. Even if she was sad they were moving, she probably wouldn’t show it.

Mae looked over at Germ to see if he was okay with this talk of moving and Bright Harbor. Germ, as always, seemed unperturbed (Again, a word Mae barely knew). He was busy just shoveling corn chips down his throat. Just, really going at them. Wow.

“We’re heading down there in a couple of weeks to check places out,” Angus said. “Should be fun.”

“I’m totally gonna learn to surf!” Gregg yelled excitedly. “It’s gonna be so cool, guys. God, I can’t believe we’re already so close.”

“Yeah, me either,” Mae muttered. She solemnly took another bite of her pizza taco.

It tasted like sadness and crispy cheese.

After dinner, the gang said their goodbyes, and it was time to head home. As always, the walk home from Taco Buck was a journey of self-discovery and upset stomachs. Mae really needed to stop eating enough food for, like, four people.

Eh. Maybe later.

“It really sucks that I died before I got a chance to eat at the taco place.”

“Oh, god, just shut up,” Mae whispered under her breath. This late, the streets were fairly empty. Even so, Mae didn’t want to risk being heard.

She wasn’t even sure when she’d started hearing Casey when she was awake. It had just happened. He hadn’t even started out as a voice, so much as an idea. And even now, he was just the idea of a voice.

It occurred to Mae that hearing the voice of your dead friend inside of your head probably wasn’t a good sign. Oh, well. She had an appointment with Dr. Feldman in a few days; she’d talk about it then.

“You’re not gonna talk about it. You’re not gonna talk about anything. You’ll clam up.”

“God, you’re not even real,” Mae grumbled. “You’re just, like, stress, or guilt, or whatever. Or maybe I’m going nuts. I was already heading down that road. You know, with all of my brain problems.”

“You should, like, not ever go outside again. You might see Andy again, and then it’d be weird.”

“I am going to drive a drill through my skull and into your imaginary face,” Mae snarled. “I don’t care if you’re real or not. You, face, drill.”

“What?”

Mae froze when she heard the voice. She hadn’t been paying attention, and hadn’t seen Selmers sitting out on her front porch. The older woman was staring at Mae, who did her best to hide her embarrassment.

“You okay, Mae?” Selmers asked. “You were, like, mumbling to yourself.”

Mae sighed. “Yeah. Just… tired. Really, really tired.”

“You say that you’re tired a lot,” Selmers pointed out. “How much sleep are you getting?”

“I dunno. Ten, eleven hours?”

“Oh,” Selmers said. “So, sleep isn’t the main problem, I guess.”

Mae wandered over to Selmers’ front steps and took a seat beside her. Selmers didn’t seem bothered by this. She’d always been laid back and cool, even when Mae was a kid. Almost a big sister, kinda.

“Lately, I can’t stop thinking about all of my screw ups,” Mae said. “Something big happened to me last year, and I kinda thought that it would, like, change the way I look at things. But I guess even if it did, the stuff that’s happened still happened.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Selmers said. “What kinds of screw ups are you thinking about? I think we all, like, think about our mistakes sometimes.”

“I’m talking about the big screw up,” Mae explained.

“Oh,” Selmers said. She evidently didn’t need to ask any more questions. Even if she hadn’t been there during the softball incident, it was a small town, and news traveled fast.

“You know,” Selmers said, “and I don’t know if this will help, but a buddy of mine from the program said that, in AA, they’ve got a thing called making amends.”

“I don’t think I should join AA. I don’t really drink,” Mae said. “My dad used to go to meetings, and he got, like, a bunch of medals or something. For not doing beer.”

“That’s cool,” Selmers said. “Medals are cool.

“But, anyway, if you feel like you’ve made some serious screw ups, you could try that whole making amends thing. Like, try and make it right with the people you’ve hurt. Or something. I dunno. I’m sleepy.”

The idea was scary. Apologize to people she’d hurt? Aside from Andy, there were lots of people that Mae would need to make amends with.

At the same time, though, the idea sounded really good. Mae had no clue how well it could possibly work out, but at the very least, it would provide some closure. Right?

“Selmers,” Mae said, “you give really good advice.”

“Thanks,” Selmers said. “I’m wise beyond my years.”

That night, in her dreams, Mae visited the fire again.

She had been thinking about the party again, so it made sense. Mae usually tried to not think about the Possum Leap party, but her idea of making amends had gotten her thinking about it.

She couldn’t just start off with apologizing to Andy. The next party wasn’t for, like, a month. Or so Mae assumed.

So, it would make sense to start making amends around town. There were probably a lot of people in Possum Springs that Mae needed to apologize to.

“Like who?” Casey asked. “The pierogi guy? Mr. Penderson?”

Mae scoffed. “No, those guys are jerks. All I did was, like, steal or vandalize those guys. I’m talking about people I actually hurt.”

“Like me, when you threw a softball at my head?”

“No,” Mae said. “You agreed to that. Besides, the Frisbee you threw hurt a lot more than some dumb baseball.”

“Do you think my parents still put up posters?” The Dream Casey asked. “A lot of posters been going up lately.  Those folks in the mine had friends and family.”

“Shut up,” Mae grumbled. She didn’t want to think about this. Not that the Dream Casey was giving her much of an option. “It’s not my fault. Those guys were assholes. I’m not upset that they’re probably dead.”

“People still miss them, though. People don’t know what they did, who they were. We all die cold, alone, and in a hole.” The Dream Casey popped what looked like a marshmallow into his mouth. Mae couldn’t really tell what it had been; everything was blurry today.

“That’s inspiring,” Mae muttered. “You got a lot more cryptic when you became a ghost, you know that?”

“Yeah, I’m, like, spooky, and shit,” Casey said. “Assuming I even am a ghost, that is. You might just be going nuts with your guilt.”

Mae said nothing. Why bother arguing in a dream? What would that possibly accomplish? In every dream Mae had ever happened, everything felt like it wouldn’t change. Events just happened. It was scary.

“You should go steal my boat,” Casey said, “and, you know, live in it. Like a boat hobo.”

Mae frowned. “Casey, I don’t even know what you did with your boat. And I’m not going to live in it; it probably can’t fit a mattress.”

“You’re sleeping on your arm,” Casey argued. “You ate too many tacos and your stomach is upset.”

That was all true, but Mae didn’t think it would make her more likely to live in a boat. “I like it better when you’re being spooky and guilt-trippy.”

“Lumpy pillow!” Casey screamed.

And he was right. The pillow was lumpy.

[3minutes20seconds]

Thoughts on Travelers, which probably tend towards the critical side, since I want to be more positive in tags when I reblog gifsets. Gotta get the feelings out somewhere.

To start, the premise of the show has potential. It has time travel and an AI trying to help humanity. Unfortunately it doesn’t execute either as well as 12 Monkeys or Person of Interest for example. The problem with time travel shows is that they’re far easier to mess up than they are to do well.

Season one did a decent job of setting up the characters as people the audience could be invested in, but the pace of the season’s arc needed work. Luckily, the pacing was improved in seasons 2 and 3, though the stand-alones were clunky. Travelers had a tendency to do things for drama rather than purpose. In fact a lot of what pushed me through seasons 2 and 3 was the hope that my questions would be answered in the following episodes. Instead, I usually ended up with more questions.

But like I said, it did set up the characters quite well. I found myself quickly rooting for them (mostly), and I enjoyed their team dynamic. I’ll probably talk more about this in gifset tags, so moving on.

Beyond the characters as individuals though, Travelers didn’t do well with the romantic relationships. All of them ended up with weird and/or unhealthy dynamics. Arguably, the Marcy and David one ended up the best, but it started off quite uncomfortably for me. I know they mentioned over and over again that it’s okay because Marcy is now Traveler 3569 and not a mentally disabled woman, but having her with her host body’s social worker just didn’t feel right. Also, toward the beginnings of their relationships (pre- and post-reboot), Marcy had a tendency to experiment or get David to stop talking by kissing him, which was uncomfortable given that he liked her but didn’t want things to happen like that.

The next was technically not romantic but romantically coded: Trevor and Grace post-TELLs. It’s again one of those inappropriate in their host bodies relationships. I think if the set-up for it didn’t start back when Grace was pre-TELL, I’d more okay with it. Obviously Trevor platonically appreciated original Grace as a good person, hence trying to save her, but the way their scenes were shot had me going, “Oh no, uncomfortable signals.” I trusted Trevor not to do anything inappropriate, but I wasn’t sure where they were going with Grace. I suppose that could just be me not trusting media with teacher/counselor-student relationships.

Then there’s MacLaren and Kathryn. Jeebus, the gaslighting. I was rooting for Kat to get out of that marriage from season one. Screw protocol 5. People divorce. MacLaren was supposed to be dead anyway. Let her go have a new life instead of repeatedly traumatizing her and then telling her everything is in her head. Traveler 3468 angrily saying, “You’re going to throw away our marriage of 10 years and all the years we had before that?” knowing full well that she was right in saying he was a different person? Not cool, dude. Super selfish. Just because you happened to fall in love with her doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve better. When 3468 let Kat have a second chance with her ex when he went back to 2001, I was so relieved.

Quick note about Philip in this regard: it was obvious to me that Jenny was using him from the start. It sucks he couldn’t see it too. Even after knowing the Faction existed, the team trusted other travelers way too easily. And then that weirdness with Carly and the alternate timelines? Why? Maybe they planned on taking it somewhere in a theoretical season 4, but it was so random.

Speaking of Carly, her and Jeff are obviously The Most Unhealthy Relationship in this show. At the beginning of the series, I thought, “Sigh. Aaaand of course we’re going to play to stereotype and have the black woman be in the abusive relationship with her violent black boyfriend.” Then in season 3 when they introduced Carly’s new neighbor, who is also in an abusive relationship, of course she’s a black woman too. The writers probably tried to mirror Carly in every way, but it’s, uhh, not great.

Back from relationships to individual characters, Travelers was not great at setting up character motivation or arcs. Why Jeff was so obsessed with Marcy kicking ass outside the library that it snowballed to David getting trouble with his boss, I will never know. Maybe to show Jeff is an asshole in general and not just to Carly? Maybe just to emphasize to the audience that the writers are aware the David and Marcy relationship could be construed as inappropriate but they want to reassure them that it’s okay now? Why was Jeff even made aware with it in the first place? If memory serves, another cop showed it to him as a sort of, “Hey, you might find this interesting.” Was he looking for other instances of other women suddenly fighting back that night when you wouldn’t expect them to?

Speaking of pre-TELL Marcy, why on Earth would she agree to participate in Ingram’s experiments? Going from having concerns about how the patients are being treated to agreeing to participate in a trial for the mentally ill is a large jump. I can’t fathom the logical steps that lead from one to the other. On the other hand, it explains her MRI better. Congenital deformations in that MRI? I don’t think so. Disclaimer: I am not a neuroradiologist. However, I have collaborated with several for about eight years now. I should probably take another look at the MRI to refresh my memory, but I think it had the appearance of someone taking an ice cream scoop and removing chunks asymmetrically. The brain doesn’t develop like that. It goes from the center out. If anything, I guess that could be a massive stroke? It would fit better with overwritten adults dying of burst aneurysms. I don’t understand why the doctors in this show wouldn’t pick up on that.

This goes back to what I was saying about Travelers doing things for drama and not necessarily what’s best for the storyline. There was very little in the way of setup, building blocks here and there that suddenly built and made more sense as the show went on. Instead, a character would secretly be Faction, and the team magically knows about it (via the Director?). Or a character would switch sides, and we’d just have to roll with it (Luca’s suddenly disillusioned and Faction now?). As a result, I was suspicious of any non-team members all the time. Drama was coming somehow and not necessarily in a way that made sense. Anything could happen. Anyone could turn.

As I mentioned I ended up having a lot of questions. This post barely covers all of them. One could argue that answers would’ve come with additional seasons. None of of us will ever know. Unfortunately, the writing of the three seasons was not tight enough to give me hope on that front.