#commenting on my activities and arguing with me and stuff like that in my entries

[victorluvsalice]

Valice Calendar In Honor Of 15 Years

Yeah, you read the title right -- as of 2023, I will have been shipping Victor Van Dort from Corpse Bride with Alice Liddell from American McGee’s Alice and Alice: Madness Returns for FIFTEEN YEARS. I actually went back into my old LiveJournal/Dreamwidth entries some time ago to see if I could pinpoint when the hell I actually started shipping them -- turns out it was June 22nd, 2008 when I first mentioned having shipping thoughts about them (in response to a TV Tropes binge apparently). Granted, it was in the context of “what the fuck, me, you know they’d be a terrible pairing,” but -- yeah. We see how long that attitude lasted. XD And that means that next June, it’ll be 15 years! Holy hell.

So! Given that 15 years is a bit of a milestone, I thought I’d set up a “Valice Calendar” for the next year so I know which dates I should try and acknowledge as Important Valice Dates. :) Some of these should already be familiar to my regular followers, as I’m already in the habit of doing something special for them, while the rest are from that deep dive into my journaling past:

January 27th -- the date that I posted my first Valice fic, “Suffocating,” on my LiveJournal! Which was obviously in 2009, not 2008, but still a momentous occasion! Also, conveniently, the birth date of Charles Dodgson, aka Lewis Carroll.

February 14th -- Valicetine Day, obviously :)

May 4th -- the historical Alice Liddell’s birthday, and thus my Alice’s birthday!

June 9th -- Johnny Depp’s birthday, and as I have a habit of using actor birthdays if a canonical one is not given for a character, thus my Victor’s birthday! (Also, amusingly, the birth date of Michael J. Fox, and thus also my take on Marty McFly, which comes up in “Secundus.”)

June 14th -- release date of Alice: Madness Returns in North America! (According to Wikipedia, anyway, but I can confirm because I got my copy from GameStop the very next day.)

June 22nd -- as stated above, the first time I mentioned thinking about shipping Victor/Alice back in 2008! Even if I thought at the time it was also a pure crackship. XD

JULY 7TH -- Victor and Alice’s wedding anniversary! Which I picked because a) I liked the idea of a summer wedding and b) it’s easy to remember. *facepalm*

September 10th -- first mention in 2008 of me associating songs with the ship (I believe it was “Love Me Dead”); the entry indicated I’d already started associating any vaguely romantic songs with them, but this was the first time I mentioned a specific one, so we’re going with this.

September 23rd -- release date of Corpse Bride in the United States! (According to Wikipedia again, but I’m inclined to believe them.)

October 6th -- Mad Hatter Day (because of the date -- 10/6 like on his hat) and thus just a general Alice day of mention. (I’ve also seen it stated as a release date for the first game, but I’ve never been able to fully confirm that.)

October 31st -- Halloween! Not a specific Valice date, but this is the holiday that sees the biggest spike in interest in the two fandoms, sooo. . .

November 27th -- first mention of me starting to seriously think about fanfic for Valice! Seems weirdly appropriate I’d publish the first one exactly two months later. :p

December 6th -- release date of American McGee’s Alice in North America! (Again, according to Wikipedia -- as stated above, I’ve also seen October 6th cited, and November 22nd on at least one site, so -- I’m just going with this!)

December 8th -- the first time I had one of my RP Alices (”save_us_alice,” though she didn’t have her journal at the time) call one of my RP Victors (”deadgirlsliekme” -- the proper spelling had been taken!) her “boyfriend.” While I’d obviously started genuinely shipping them before that, this is the first date that I saw anything about the pairing being Official, so again, we’re going with this.

December 27th -- my birthday, which -- as the person who came up with this ship -- I feel deserves to be recognized. :p

So yeah, that’s kind of the official Valice Calendar! :D Except -- well. You guys know that a certain OT3 has become very popular around here as well, huh? So yeah, because I know me, here’s also a handful of Valicer dates --

January 8th -- the actual creation of Smiler Always, the sim that informed the look of all my human/humanoid Smilers for my AUs, and their insertion into the Chill Save.

May 31st -- the actual opening date of The Smiler roller coaster! (It was supposed to open earlier, but delays in the final construction meant that it missed the first two dates.) Meaning this is the birthday of my own Smiler!

December 27th -- yes, doubling up with my birthday, because -- well. December 26th of 2021, I watched “One Night In - Alton Towers” with my parents, which led to us looking up a bunch of the rides on YouTube so we could see what they were like. Which included one called “The Smiler,” which I found myself very intrigued by the next day. . .meaning you can trace my Smiler obsession and the eventual creation of the OT3 to me binging Smiler videos and lore posts on my birthday last year.

December 31st -- the date four days later where I realized that the “private hypnokinky AU with Victor and Alice using the coaster’s theming for private fun times” had somehow become “I have made a human Smiler, a vampire Smiler, and a robot-run-by-an-eldritch-abomination Smiler for three different AUs VICTOR WHY DO YOU WANT TO FUCK A ROLLER COASTER” XD AKA the more EXPLICIT creation date of the OT3.

Okay, that should cover just about everything. XD Next year, we celebrate Valice (and Valicer) in style! :)

[fictionadventurer]

Hobbies need to be accessible. I believe that it’s becoming more and more important for people to have physical hobbies that create real things and develop real skills--giving people a sense of accomplishment and overcoming feelings of helplessness. But so often, it seems like even beginner-level instruction is aimed at making the entry barrier as high as possible.

I was reading this book where this guy argues that people should develop areas of “micromastery” when getting into a hobby. Find one small, achievable, but still impressive task to master, so you have a cool skill to show off (and the sense of accomplishment) without having to master an entire huge area of knowledge. Instead of learning to cook, learn to create a really good omelet. Instead of learning an entire new language, learn to count to ten. And then you have a knowledge base to help you if you want to explore further. Seems very common sense. Very accessible. Learning is for everyone, not just people who want to devote tons of time to a new hobby. But even that guy, in his instructions, keeps telling people to buy the most expensive equipment to have the best possible results. There’s even a point where he says “the more expensive, the better”!

That infuriates me. I am enraged. The guy who’s trying to make learning accessible to the masses is now saying this is the realm only of the rich! It’s telling people to buy into the marketing ploy that more expensive is automatically better! It’s absurd. It’s insane. There probably is equipment that improves the outcome of the final product, but it’s not necessarily the most expensive stuff, and you certainly don’t need the expensive stuff when you’re just starting out!

Yet, tutorials and craft books keep pushing this message. If you want to start drawing, you need an expensive sketch book and seven different pencils and different weights of pen, and the right eraser. If you want to bake, you have to have the best flours and the appropriate sourdough technique. If you want to knit, you better have the expensive yarn. That’s garbage, and it makes things more difficult than they need to be.

When you’re just starting out, you’re learning if you even like the activity. Do I like spending time drawing? Do I even like the process of knitting or woodworking or building model airplanes? It’s pointless to spend tons of money on good yarn only to find that you hate the process of knitting. Pointless to get the good pencils when the process of drawing makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

If you want to try something, just try it! As simply and cheaply as possible. Want to draw? Get a free pencil and a bit of notebook paper. Want to knit? Get a pair of knitting needles from the thrift store and some dollar store yarn. As you get deeper into the hobby, you’ll probably want to upgrade your supplies--but now that you know more about the process, you know what problems can be solved by better supplies.

I was always intimidated by bookbinding--the tutorials always talked about having the right glue and the right book press--until a guy in the comments said, “I use Elmer’s Glue and my laptop.” I could manage that! That was accessible! I got some glue and some big textbooks and made a book! Not perfect, but it wouldn’t have been perfect even if I had the fancy supplies--I was just starting out! And then I figured out that a paper cutter and some kind of tool to smooth the endpapers would be useful. So I got that--as cheaply as possible. I have made books and I have enjoyed it without a huge investment in time and money. And more tutorials need to take that approach. I refuse to believe that we have to give tons of money to the crafting industry. I refuse to believe that we have to be consumers in order to become creators.

[goldenchocobo]

So me and two of my friends have started a Gaming Culture Exchange. It’s where we give one game that means a lot to us, or embodies us as a person for the other two to play. I, of course- picked Kingdom Hearts.

It took a bit of thought to whittle it down, but in the end, I chose to get my friends to play KHII.  Because 1) it’s a fan favourite, 2) It has MUCH better combat and fluidity of controls than KHI, and 3) While yeah- you should play KHII and CoM, you can still glean the story; which is what I wanted them to play for. And if they don't understand anything- I'm here.

We meet up every Saturday night, and they play for 2-3 hours whilst I watch and act as a guide/tip-giver.

I wanted to document their experiences because they’re (mostly) fresh eyes in ‘24. This took so long to do because I kept forgetting to ask their permission to do this. How long? When we devised this, the KH series was announced that it was coming to steam during the VC call. I kind of laughed at the irony.

For now, let me introduce you to my friends! I’m not using any of their real names/what I call them due to identity.

Isopod: She/They: We get along really well and often watch shows together, play games or hang out. They’re more of a slow-paced gamer, liking farming sims and the less action-heavy Minecraft parts, but overall she loves genetic sims/ family tree games (wobbledogs, niece etc…). She’s seen little bits of KH, but doesn’t know a whole bunch. Their game for this exchange is Rainworld.

Dog: He/Him: We’re good friends that can get on each other's nerves and argue over pedantic stuff. He likes grimdark things and was the one who introduced me to Berserk. We, along with Isopod, watched Dungeon Meshi together, and I got him to watch Demon Slayer, which he’s enjoying. He actively dislikes/is uninterested in KH, not liking the style clash. His game for this exchange is Eldenring.

Due to the lag with getting permissions, each new entry will be each day until I've caught up, then every Sunday. Each day will be a reblog of this post with a Keep reading spoiler tag so that it doesn't clutter, but can be read in order.

Now that the stage is set, the journey starts below;

-

The game starts, and we jam out to Sanctuary. Isopod already kind of remembers who Roxas is and why he's here, but Dog doesn't- instead, he comments on the 'Gaming Rig' Roxas has got set up (the weird contraption with the light up star in his room) while Isopod laments that they'll never own a lamp as cool as his fish one.

'oh no, our ___ are gone!' "Your WHAT" -Dog

"I thought my audio glitched for a second" -Isopod

We then have to wait because Dog needed to eat dinner because his timing with that is impeccable, let me tell you. This let Isopod explore a bit and examine Roxas' outfit- which she concludes is a 'disaster'(lovingly).

It's then noted that Isopod is playing with Keyboard and mouse, and I m horrified. Dog is playing with an X-box controller and I lovingly refer to him as a heathen.

When Dog came back, the tutorial was completed, but I noticed that Dog... never really read the text. "I read it when Isopod has it up on her stream" he says. This'll bean important fact later.

During the Siefer fight, Isopod picks magic and Dog picks defence.

"woah whatda-" "Demon! actual demon!" Isopod and Dog during their first sighting of a Dusk. Quickly followed up with Isopod saying "why's he got cheeks though???"

The Dusk fight was quickly finished, and they both liked the reaction command (important for later).

"Why are they not calling for an adult. This (strange man) had pictures of children. That's VERY concerning" -Isopod "Yeah, the adults in this aren't very reliable" -Me, all knowing.

"COUNT DOOKU WHAT'RE YOU DOING HERE?!" -Dog upon hearing DiZ.

I then let the two do a few chores for munny. Dog does the Cargo Climb, and Isopod the Mail Delivery.

After a short while, I could hear them bemoan doing the same thing over and over; then I say 'yeah- you don't have to collect the full amount, you can go now', which fills the conversation with relief.

"Oh my god Roxas is hallucinating now" - Isopod "I think his friends are gaslighting him" -Dog upon the Pickpocket scene.

The Namine scenes had some interesting reactions:

"Why is there a GIRL braking into his room?!" -Isopod "Puberty is sometimes like that" -Dog

"That is a note an adult leaves when they want to kidnap children." -Dog upon reading Hayner's note "Yeah, I wouldn't trust it" -Isopod. "is she a Jojo???" -Isopod Dog then imitates Dio -during Namine's meeting with Roxas where she freezes time.

Then, in the Dive to the Heart, Isopod picks Attack, and Dog picks Defence. Isopod is able to beat Twilight Thorn straight away, but Dog takes two attempts.

The Fourth day is where everything fell apart. The tournament was easy, and neither struggled against Hayner or Vivi. Then came along Axel.

Isopod beat Axel fairly quickly. I thought they'd struggle, but they didn't. Dog, however struggled. I noticed that when he attacked Axel after parrying or blocking, Axel would retaliate- I told him what I saw, but Dog complained 'I can't attack him otherwise'. It took Dog going from Crit to Proud to beat Axel. "Wow Golden, you're cruel to put a new player on the hardest difficulty" you say, and you would be right, but Dog typically loves very hard games, and boasts that it took him 8 solid hours to beat a boss in Eldren Ring and that 'it was awesome', so I suggested Crit to him.

When Axel was beaten, Dog was VERY tired of Kingdom Hearts, and actively tried his best to dislike it, talking bad about the combat and how 'you're locked into an action'. Isopod did not share this, and was enjoying her time. I could tell that Dog wanted this done, but I urged them forward because they were nearing the finale of the prologue.

They did the wonders, made fun of Roxas' friends gaslighting him into thinking he didn't fall off the clocktower, and they both beat Axel fairly easily second go around. They then made fun of Sora's shoes for 5 minutes straight, and ended the session.

-

It was fun seeing people's first reactions to KHII. Dog's reaction was nothing new to me, as I knew this wouldn't be his favourite, and is only playing so me and Isopod play Eldenring. I'm hoping in the future, he'll warm up to it. Isopod is enjoying her time with the game, which is good to hear.

[thornybubbles]

Guess who paid me a visit on Fanfiction.net

So today I went to check up on my stories on Fanfiction.net to see if I got any comments, messages, etc. I saw I had a review on My "Jealous Yandere Jo-Foes" story. This is what it says:

"catspats31chapter 1 . Dec 18, 2022

The writing quality is good in terms of your spelling and grammar, but the following part of the Content Guidelines is broken for being a second person or you-based story:

Entries not allowed: 5. Any form of interactive entry: choose your adventure, second person/you based, Q&As, and etc.

Please remove all elements related to the reader and replace them with a canon character or original character. Switch to first person or third person point of view. You can always put it on another site where it is allowed such as Archive Of Our Own."

Now let me clarify something for those of you that are not in the know (I only found this out myself today)... this person is part of a group that goes around dropping into people's reviews to tell them that they are violating the rules of Fanfiction.net. These people actively flag stories they say are in violation of the rules. These people are not affiliated with Fanfiction.net. They are not admins or moderators and they have no agency or authority to be doing what they are doing. I'm not the only one that this has happened to and I'm not the only one talking about it. This has apparently been going on for a while.

I do not appreciate someone who is not in charge, acting as a rules lawyer for a site that they do not own or work for.

Something else to take into consideration is the fact that if you go to the "reviewer's" profile, they wrote this:

"Second person/you based stories or reader inserts. Sometimes, the reader would feel traumatized when the story puts them in it. I feel that stories like that show a sign of laziness when authors put things like "(name)" or "(h/c)". Can't you use another character from the fandom or an original character instead of putting the reader in the story?"

The whole "traumatizing the reader" is an incredibly weak mindset, but this mostly shows that this person simply doesn't like reader inserts. I feel that this is the REAL reason that catspats31 decided to warn me about my "violation". That seems to be the case with a lot of people in this group as well. They go after both writers of reader inserts and people who write smut. Now, I know that Fanfiction.net has some rules against NSFW stuff, but I don't know nor care much about it because I don't write smut anyway.

I don't feel that my stories violate the rules because the rules state that interactive stories are not allowed. It mentions "you based" stories or stories written in second person which can be a reference to reader inserts. However, most reader inserts, my stories included, are not interactive. The reader is inserted into the story as the main character but does not control what they do or what happens to them in the story. Therefore, by my reasoning, they are NOT interactive. When I tried to argue this point, I was called "disingenuous" for interpreting the rules how I want. Funny, coming from people who are merely interpreting the rules how THEY want (when they didn't even have a hand in creating said rules) but whatever.

I have made a post to Fanfiction.net's help desk forum asking if someone who is an actual moderator or admin can tell me if reader inserts are allowed on the site or not. Only one person said that reader inserts are technically violating the rules, but this person is not a mod or admin, so I take what they say with a grain of salt. I also suspect that this person is either part of this group or a sympathizer. (There are a lot of people who sympathize with them. It's really weird and cultish.)

I sent two emails to Fanfiction.net's support email to inform them of the confusion over their rules. I asked that they please clarify in their rules if they consider reader inserts to be interactive or not and if they actually violate the rules. Who knows how long it will take for them to get back to me or if they ever will.

Another thing to note is that there is a community created by these people that adds stories to a list of stories THEY say violate the rules. There, they "review" and actively report stories for rules violation. My story is on that list. I can do nothing that I know of to get it removed.

I do not plan to bend the knee to these people but I also do not plan to upload anything else to Fanfiction.net until I get word back from someone of actual authority. However I will also not be removing or changing my stories to cater to these people.

If it turns out that my stories are indeed in violation and reader inserts are not allowed then I will happily remove them from Fanfiction.net. I have been seriously thinking about just leaving the site long before this happened today anyway. I have no attachment to Fanfiction.net and I get a lot more readers for my JoJo stories on other sites anyway. Archive of Our Own is a much better site for a lot of reasons. Better tagging for one thing. Tagging on Fanfiction.net is practically non-existent.

I will update this if anything new happens.

[sunseteyes]

THE WINTER I SAW YOUR SMILE

ㅤㅤ ↪︎ STARRING: neito monoma; gn!reader

ㅤㅤ ↪︎ THEMES: fluff, enemies to lovers—more like idiots friends to lovers honestly

ㅤㅤ ↪︎ WORD COUNT: 2, 101 words

ㅤㅤ ↪︎ SYNOPSIS: like perry the platypus to doofenshmirtz, joker to batman, or even conan to kaitō kid, for you, neito was your archenemy. but why is it that no one ever asked neito what he thought of you?

ㅤㅤ ↪︎ INTERMISSION: this is an entry for our server collab secret santa! merry merry christmas @dimplesum i hope you’ll enjoy my gift for you~ also, thank you to @imahoeforanimeguys for beta reading this :D

[12:51 AM]

if there was one person who could understand neito well, itsuka kendou would say it would be you.

you have known neito monoma ever since you were children, maybe much more than anyone would, even if they were his new friends. no matter how much they knew him, it would always be you who knew him better, the best.

it was not because you were his childhood bestfriend, or sweetheart, or any of that sappy story seen in disney movies or romance novels. your and neito’s story is far too easy to understand than any of those for it can be summarized by the word “archenemy,” like perry the platypus to doofenshmirtz, or joker to batman, or maybe even conan to kaitou kid—yes, you were kind of addicted to that show for quite some time.

along with being neito’s archenemy comes with knowing full well what ticks him off and also what makes him feel pleased. basically, that knowledge became the reason why everyone knows you’re the one who has the better hand when it comes to neito in general.

so when did you two first treat each other like archenemies?

it started when you two were still in kindergarten, was it? you’ve known each other for so long that it still surprises you how you and neito still see and even talk to one another. you could barely remember how and when exactly the scene played about at that time, but there were bits of memories where it was him who started to get on your bad side. although on neito’s defense, it was actually you when you started commenting on his hairstyle back in the days. after all, he used to sport a straight cut of bangs back then and it was the very thing that got stuck in your mind and couldn’t help but let it out every single time you see neito’s face, no matter how much he had physically changed from the boy you used to know.

being neito’s archenemy consists of constant teases, banters, glares, smirks, and being scolded by someone—usually a teacher or a mutual friend of yours, which is kendou, since tetsutetsu joins into the arguments too, which leaves kendou to babysit the four of you.

it’s not as if you were always arguing or at each other’s throats though. people even say you two make a good team, but it will only lead to neito and you teasing each other on how the other is flustered by such a statement. you do admit that there is a wave of relief that washes over your chest whenever you hear those words, but you could never find yourself letting out that kind of confession especially since it would wound your pride, and boost someone’s ego—ehem, neito. you have no specific reason why it calms you down to have someone say those about you two, but it may be because it thrills you to have someone else tease neito, however it also gives way for him to tease you as well, so you have rather conflicting thoughts when it comes to that matter.

by the time neito and you had reached high school though, you knew something changed.

was it how the glares started softening a bit? was it when the bickers would shorten whenever one of you decides to give in to the other? people commented on how you two became more mature, but for some reason, you knew there was another reason why this came to be, something you dare not say nor even think about, not that it should matter anyway.

the knocking on the door startled you awake from your thoughts, suddenly urging you to stand from the sofa to answer whoever was on the right mind to knock on your apartment at half past 12, or wait is it 1 AM already? either way, it’s too late for anyone to try and visit you, unless it’s someone who has bad intentions, but would they really knock if they have? still, there’s nothing wrong to be cautious, especially during these days.

“neito?” the rush of words came out of your lips sooner than you had the time to shut yourself, it was also louder than intended that’s why the other person on the other side of the door was able to hear it loud and clear.

“(y/n)! you’re there, right? could you let me in? it’s freezing out here!”

“and why would i?” you retort back, already gripping on the knob to turn it and reveal neito’s figure right in front of you. “what the hell are you doing here? at this hour even?”

and yet, he ignored you, entering your complex, then pushing you aside as he enjoyed the warmth that your apartment provided, with you closing the door behind in order to give him a long, contemplating look.

he seemed like he came from somewhere else, considering that the way he dresses up for home and for outside activity were different and quite unique by themselves. you noticed it after a few times of seeing him stay by your apartment with your other friends, or when you all go out to shop, have a meal, or stop by some place itsuka had found. you two were always on the same friendship circle, you noticed, yet it had never occurred where you and him stayed in one place all alone, after all you two were considered as “archenemies” still, aren’t you?

“i’m asking you what you’re doing here, monoma.” you bluntly questioned, making sure to emphasize how you’ve said his name. whenever you call him by his surname, he and you both know that you were pissed—or coming to. and like any other time, he chose to make a comeback as well, just as you had expected.

“it’s freezing outside, (y/n), do you want me to die? come on, be a kind person for once.”

“i am a kind person, monoma, but as far as i know, you don’t usually barge into people’s homes at around 1 AM.”

he scoffs, still rubbing his gloved hands together, trying to warm them up from the temperature winter brought upon december. “it’s just 12:51, and you’re not just any people. aren’t we friends?”

it was your turn to scoff, bringing your grasps on your waist, leaning to the side as you raise your brows in utter disbelief. “friends? no we’re not, what are you talking about.”

it was the truth, anyway. even though you’ve treated him as an archenemy, throughout the years, you were friends with neito, it just so happens that you treat each other quite differently than most friends do, that’s why you chose to name it as a word that others don’t frequently use. who calls their friends an archenemy? probably only you, or some others too—maybe.

“hey (y/n), do you have any snacks, ramen perhaps?”

your eyes narrow at the sight of neito rummaging through your kitchen, already knowing his way around. how can you blame him when he had already visited the apartment a couple of times with itsuka, tetsutetsu, and a few other friends that you’ve had over the years.

sighing to yourself, you leaned to one of the counters as you watched him, now cooking not just a pack, but two packs of ramen—that was, mind you, yours. each and every equipment and whatever he was using was yours, and it should infuriate you, your mind tells you so. however, you just seemingly can’t.

“you should pay for those, including my gas, neito.” you muse to the boy, his back turned to you as he continued preparing the ramen that he was preparing for the both of you, the sight apparently engraving itself on your mind whenever you have the chance to look at your kitchen. what can you say? he looks good while doing stuff like these, and you wouldn’t mind having to see him do so next time, that’s if you would have the chance since you would bite your tongue before you could even confess about it.

“you know, i’m this close to thinking that you really hate me, (y/n).”

your brow raised, momentarily catching his eyes when he briefly glanced at you. “why’s that?”

“well for one, you’re treating me as some kind of enemy of some sort. we should be allies, you know.”

“yeah but you’re the one who always starts the argument first, neito.”

he chuckles then, leaning to the side as he sends a look to you, one that is glinted with slight mock and amusement, like per usual. “that’s because you’re so easy to rile up. you always have these puffy cheeks and narrowed eyes when you do,” he gestures to his own face and he suddenly laughs, pointing at you with a spoon. “-yeah! just like that!” he hollers, making your brows furrow even more, now glaring daggers at him.

“shut up.”

neito kept on laughing to himself and he only stopped when it was time to turn the gas off and take the saucepan out of the casserole, bringing it swiftly to the table where he lay it on top of a pot rest. it was also him who rushed to get bowls and utensils for each of you, which led you to simply sit down by the table, feeling a little bit awkward at how he basically served you and did the table for you. if you didn’t zipped your lips tight, you would’ve said how much you’d like to get used to this kind of treatment from him.

“what are you waiting for? dig in! it’s not like i put poison in it.” he chimes, getting his own part of the ramen and eating them in almost an instant that you were quite sure he must have been starving when he got here.

“what were you doing out, anyway? were you on a date?” the words slipped your mind as you ate, your eyes glanced down to the food, finding it difficult to look at him in the eye after such a question.

“hm? what if i tell you i was?”

you forced yourself to let out a shrug, still not meeting his gaze that was surely on yours. “it’s not like i care.”

he scoffs and chuckles—which was it, you have got no clue—one of the rare times when you seem unable to read neito’s actions.

“you’re acting like you do though.” he mutters as his smirk reached his ears, patting the chopsticks to his lips as he tried to intimidate you.

it was silent for a couple more seconds before you decided to break it, meeting his eyes with one of an uncertain gaze, almost wanting to look away immediately.

“why are you acting like we’re suddenly close, is this how you are after a date?” you questioned, hiding your hesitation by taking a bite of your ramen, letting its warmth travel down to your chest and your stomach, in hopes of comforting you in some way.

“you must be misunderstanding me, (y/n).” this time, his face was looking dead serious, no more smirk and glints of mischief by his irises, as if he had a change of mind in an instant. “i wasn’t on a date. i am on a date.”

your breath faltered and your movements came to a halt, the chopsticks and your hand raised on a level that left it hanging by the air, just like how the atmosphere stilled the moment you heard the words coming out of neito’s lips.

“what?”

“i said, i am on a date.” he points to you with his own utensil, gesturing for both of you. “we are on a date.”

“uh-when did i-”

“and before you react, i’m just here to clarify that i already know you like me, that’s why you’re acting like this.”

your mouth opened to react and retaliate, but you only looked at him in disbelief, watching his nose crinkle up in delight, the corners of his eyes curling as he grins, his hair slightly swaying softly at the smallest signs of his movements.

now he might be damn right that you like him, but it’s not as if you’ve realized it that long. still, your voice didn’t let you fight him back because he seemed to be enjoying his own bubble—one that he was gladly sharing to you right now. you’ll have to clarify his statement from earlier soon, but not now perhaps. because now, he looks so pretty with that smile, and you’d rather be teased than having to rid of a sight like that.

[ssfghfrrggf]

Heavy is the Head Chapter 8 Going Down

Ao3 link

“Excuse me, chief, do you have a minute?” Gallo asks, knocking on the door to Casey’s office. He can’t believe he’s actually taking Ritter’s advise and apologizing for what he said the last shift. He meant it, and he knows he lucky Casey didn’t fire him on the spot. Boden probably would’ve, but then again, Boden probably would’ve listened to him.

“Yes, I’m glad you came in here actually,” Casey says, inviting him into the room. Severide is standing in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest. They were probably talking wedding stuff.

“Before you say anything, Chief, I’d like to apologize for what I said and how I acted last shift,” Gallo says, forcing himself to sound sincere. He hopes Ritter is right about this. “There’s no excuse for how I acted.”

“I agree, there’s not,” Casey says stiffly but digresses as Severide clears his throat. “But I’m going to let you look into your hunch.”

“Sir I-” Gallo starts to argue, but then registers what Casey said. “wait, you’re letting me? Really?”

Casey nods. “But I’m letting Severide take point on it. I don’t want you running all over creation with this. And if he thinks you need to take it back a notch and you don’t listen to him, then I’m going to hear about it. Got it?”

“Yes sir,” Gallo says, nodding his head and glancing over at the squad lieutenant. “You won’t regret this.”

“I better not.”

Gallo’s grateful for this chance to pursue these fires, but he can’t help but feel like Casey still isn’t taking it seriously and that he’s just dumped all the responsibility off onto Severide.

“So what are you thinking the connection between these two cases is?” Severide asks, as Gallo follows him back to his office. “I looked through the files and nothing stood out to me. I also know the investigator who did all three cases, he’s a solid dude.”

“Honestly, I’m not really sure,” Gallo admits. “They just struck me as odd, you know?”

Severide nods thoughtfully. “I know the feeling. Sadly fire chiefs and juries need more than hunches. Especially when there’s reasonable explanations for everything.”

“I was kind of hoping we could go look at the scene or something,” Gallo suggests hopefully.

Severide sighs. “I can give Phil a call and see if he’ll hold the scene and let us have a look at the last fire, but the other two scenes were cleared a long time ago.”

“Thank you lieutenant,” Gallo says, he can’t put into words how happy he is that he’s being allowed to work on this.

“Yeah, and here are your copies of the files,” Severide says, handing him a stack of files.

“I get files?” Gallo asks, trying not to sound too shocked.

Severide looks amused and conceals a chuckle. “Yes, you get files. You gotta figure out this hunch of yours.”

“Oh- oh.” Gallo’s really not sure what he was expecting from this, but this isn’t really it. He figured Severide would take the case and he’d have to wait around for the lieutenant to figure it out and then bring him into the loop. But now he gets to be part of the loop. He gets to take a more active role than annoying his superior officers until they do what he wants and take him seriously. The situation is quite literally in his hands.

“I’m going to give the files my own look over, but this is your thing.”

“Thank you,” Gallo breathes, and he means it. From the bottom of his heart he means it. Someone is finally taking this seriously.

***

“I still can’t believe he proposed to you in a freezing pool after you pulled him out a window,” Mackey muses, as she, Brett, and Foster are sit around admiring the ring Severide got Stella, like they’ve never seen an engagement ring before.

“It doesn’t surprise me one bit,” Stella says, keeping her hand held out in front of her. It’s been quite a few years since she had a ring on that finger, and it’s a little strange, but it feels right. Right like nothing else has felt right before. “I think it was cute.”

“Only you would call that whole situation that,” Foster laughs. “Almost dying in a fire and then getting soaked in a freezing pool? No thanks.”

“I’m just glad that pool was there, because let me tell you, a hospital proposal would’ve been awful,” Stella jokes. It seems like her and Kelly have spent so much time in the hospital, she doesn’t need a proposal there. As little memories associated with that place as possible, the better.

“You didn’t know the pool was there?” Brett asks, looking at her in shock. “You neglected to mention that all the times you’ve told the story.”

“No, the only thing I was worried about was not getting burned alive,” Stella laughs.

“But she’s got good extinct,” Kelly says, coming up behind her and rubbing her shoulders and leaning his head over her to pant a kiss on the top of her head. “Saved my ass more times than I count.”

“I don’t know how you survived before I came along,” Stella teases and reaches up to pat his cheek.

“Oh it was rocky,” Casey joins in the converversation as he makes an appearance to get a refill on his coffee. “There’s nothing to explain how he managed it. Broken neck and blown up with a grenade, what a year apart?”

Severide ducks his head nervously and shrugs off the jab. The grenade incident has been briefly discussed before, but Kelly stands by the firm assertion that he doesn’t remember any of it. Which very well may be true, but Brett remembers it vividly and hates talking about it. The only reason he didn’t die on that hospital floor was because Mills had found him and stopped Dr. Halstead from black tagging him.

“Like I said,” Stella says with a playful smirk. “It’s a miracle you made it to adulthood.”

“Really, that goes for any man, I think,” Foster says, leaning back and propping her feet up on the table. “We’re the reason any of them make it past adolescents. The only ones who don’t need us are the ones who are smart like Ritter.”

“Please don’t bring me into this,” Ritter says, poking his head from his book.

“Well, Severide gets some credit, even if he did propose to you in a swimming pool in the middle of January, because he did it,” Sylvie points out. He blew their plan, but he asked and now him and Stella are going to get married.

***

“You look busy,” Ritter comments, dragging Gallo’s attention away from his files for the first time since Severide handed them to him.

“Yeah, I finally got a hold of the files from those fires,” Gallo says diverting his attention only for a couple seconds to look at his friend before digging back into the files. He has yet to find anything linking them together other than his gut feeling, but he’s going to dig until he finds answers.

“So apologizing worked?” Ritter says and sits down on the bed next to him.

“Shut up. He was going to let me do it even before I apologized,” Gallo says. He’s never going to admit out loud that it probably did help his chances.

“Mhmm,” Ritter says and flips open one of the files. “So what exactly are you looking for here?”

“I don’t know, that’s half the problem,” Gallo says with a sigh. He’s been looking at the files for what feels like ages but he can’t seem to find anything tying the cases together.

“Hey, kid. You up to take a ride?” Severide asks, approaching them. “My buddy in arson said we can go poke around the scene..”

“Yes!” Gallo says and hops off the bed, trying to keep his excitement at bay. “Oh I gotta check with Lieutenant-”

“I already did. She practically begged me to take you off her hands for a couple hours. Go grab your gear and get in the Squad,” Severide says jerking his head toward the door. He looks amused by Gallo’s excitement, but keeps any comments about it to himself.

“Thank you lieutenant,” Gallo says as he walks past the squad firefighter to get to the bay. For some reason he really wasn’t expecting things to go like this, he half expected Severide to give him the run around and not take his crazy theory seriously, the same way Casey had.

“Yeah,” Severide shrugs and turns to follow him.

***

“Hey, lieutenant,” Gallo calls from down the hallway in the dark gloomy house. The kid sounds concerned and like he’s just found.

“What’d you find?” Kelly asks, shining his flashlight in the direction of the kid. He conceals a shiver as a drop of water falls from the sealing and goes down the back of his shirt sending a tickle down his back.

“This door right here,” Gallo says and points to the door leading out onto the back porch of the house. “There’s scratches in the wood around the lock and bolt.”

Severide frowns at it, the wood is splintered away and chipped like the door was pried open with a crowbar or some other tool like it. 

“It wasn’t in the report,” Gallo adds, and he’s right. There hadn’t been anything in the arson report about the apparent forced entry marks that they’re looking at now.

“I know,” Severide says and pulls out his phone to take a picture of it. Phil has always been meticulous with his investigations, and has some of the cleanest neatest reports in the department. “I’ll call Phil when we get back to the house, but we’ll keep poking around here to see what else we can find.”

He hadn’t been convinced by Gallo’s theory, especially after reading the reports. They were all so different. The christmas tree fire that had happened on Roosevelt was because of a frayed wire on the christmas lights, the fire before that on Loomis had been caused by lint in the dryer, and the one from the previous shift, the one they’re at now, was caused by a gas stove malfunction. There’s essentially nothing connecting them, but just because there’s nothing connecting them doesn’t mean this one isn’t arson, and two parents died leaving their kids orphans so he owes it to them to pursue this, especially with the possible new evidence of foul play.

“Hey, lieutenant, we got a call,” Tony says, poking his head around a corner down the hallway from them. 

Severide sighs and looks at Gallo. “We’ll come back later.”

***

“Hey lieutenant, you wanna go have another look around that house? See if we can find anything else that points to fowl play?” Gallo asks, poking his head into the lieutenant's office. They’ve been back from the squad rescue for about an hour now, he wanted to give Severide time to fill out his paperwork for the run before pestering him to go back and have another look at the house.

He’s not surprised to see that Stella is in his office with him, sitting on his bed. She has some kind of magazine that looks like it’s for wedding stuff, and the paperwork sitting on Severide’s desk is only half filled out.

“I don’t think we’re going to find much,” Severide replies, clicking his pen and leaning back in his chair. “I called Phil. He said those marks were from crews making entry, and that the paper work for it got mixed into the wrong file.”

“But what if there’s something else in that house that points to fowl play?” Gallo argues.

“Look, I’ve got paperwork I need to finish up. We can maybe go back after shift.”

Gallo swallows back an angry remark and settles for a curt “Okay” to dismiss himself from Severide’s office instead.

***

“Hey, lieutenant, do you want to take another look at that house?” Gallo asks, jogging to catch up with Severide and Stella as they leave shift. 

Severide sighs and turns away from Stella to face him. “I’ve got some stuff I need to do. I’ll give you a call if I have time later, but I really don’t think we’re going to find anything else at that house.

“You know, for a second there I thought you’d take this seriously,” Gallo spits angrily. He can feel Ritter next him, willing him to rein it in, but he’s too angry and too worked up. He’d thought- or hoped really, that the lieutenant would take him seriously and put actual work into this case, but he’s blowing it off.

“Gallo-” Severide starts to speak, indignation smeared all across his face.

“You’re going to regret blowing this off when someone else dies!” Gallo shouts, unable to stop himself. “There’s an arsonist out there targeting families and you’re letting them get away with it because you think your stupid wedding planning is more important!”

The shock on Severide’s face switches to anger, and there’s a second where Blake thinks the man might actually deck him, but he doesn’t care.

“Watch it.”

“No, you’re blowing me off just like Casey is. You don’t care. People are going to die- have died, and you don’t care,” Gallo snaps, and turns on his heals and leaves before the lieutenant can respond. He doesn’t care if he gets fired for all the yelling at superior officers he’s been doing lately. People are dying and he’s the only one who seems to be noticing it, and if he has to get fired to make people see it, than so be it.

“Gallo,” Ritter breathes, following him toward his car.

“I’m done being blown off,” Blake interrupts him. “If they don’t believe me or care, fine. I’ll solve the case myself, because I’m right.”

***

“Hey, Kelly, you ready to come to bed?” Stella says in her best seductive voice as she stands in the doorway of their bedroom trying to get Severide’s attention. 

“No,” he mumbles, barely even looking up at her. He hasn’t looked away from the fire files for more than a minute since they got home. Stella sighs and walks over to the couch, giving up on her attempt to get a couple minutes with him.

“You’re really torn up about this, aren’t you?” she says quietly plopping herself down on the couch next to him, and picking up one of the files to flip through it.

“He was right,” Kelly replies under his breath. “I didn’t mean to be blowing him off, but I was. I didn’t take it seriously or as seriously as I should’ve. If he’s right this could be huge.”

“Well, you are now,” she points out and runs her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “Hang on…” she trails off as her gaze settles on one of the pictures from the fire on Roosevelt where the christmas tree had burned the house down.

“What?” Severide asks, looking at her.

“It’s not the focus of the picture, but that back window is broken,” she says pointing to the picture.

“Yeah, report says it was from ventilation,” Severide says, losing interest and turning his attention to a different file.

Stella frowns and shakes her head. “We never vented the back windows.”

This stops Severide and gets his attention. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure we didn’t break that window. We didn’t touch the back side of the house, and engine hit it from the front.”

“There’s no chance you’re remembering wrong?”

“Kelly, I’ve been a lieutenant for what? A couple months? I haven’t been point on a lot fires, but I remember the ones I did like the back of my hand,” Stella promises, looking him in the eyes.

Kelly’s frown deepens and he hands her another file. “Did you make entry through the back on this one?”

It’s the fire that lead to Severide proposing to her, but it’s hard to have fond memories of it. Gallo and Ritter barely made it out alive, let alone her and Kelly. 

“We didn’t touch the back door,” Stella says looking at the pictures her fiance has just put in front of her. “And look there’s charing on these scratches.”

“Which means they were made before the smoke got bad, I know,” Kelly finishes for her. “And I assume you guys didn’t touch the basement door on that fire on Loomis.”

“No,” Stella says, shaking her head. She’s not sure exactly what the two of them just stumbled on, but she does know whatever it is, Gallo was right.

“Gallo was right,” Kelly says leaning back on the couch and letting out a deep sigh.

“Are you going to call Phil and have him reopen the cases?” Stella asks.

“Not yet,” he replies without looking at her. She can tell he’s planning something- has some idea running through his mind.

“What are you thinking?” she asks, studying him closely, hoping he’ll actually let her in on whatever crazy idea is running through his head.

“We need to go look at those scenes,” he says looking over at her, and she can tell there’s something else on his mind.

“Kelly, they’ve already started renovations on two of them. Now tell me what you’re really thinking,” Stella says and rubs the back of his neck. She can feel his tension. There’s definitely something going on with these cases but they can’t run into it willy nilly.

“All three of these were Phil’s cases,” Severide says slowly, flipping the file in his lap closed.

“And you think he’s covering something up?” Stella asks. That’s a big accusation, and if that’s the case, they definitely need to come at this carefully and thoroughly. You can’t come at an arson investigator with that accusation without evidence that is rock solid.

“I don’t know Stella. It doesn’t make sense. I know him. He wouldn’t cover something up, but he’s also not sloppy,” Kelly says, getting flustered. “But one case is a fluke, two is a coincidence…”

“And three is a pattern,” Stella finishes for him.

“Three is a pattern,” he repeats hesitantly and looks away from her. “I don’t get it Stella…”

“Kelly-”

He shakes his head and stands up. “I need to call Boden.”

“Kelly, please don’t shut me out on this,” Stella says, standing up too, and grabbing his hand. 

“There’s a couple other cases I want to look into,” Severide replies after a moment of hesitation. “I think it’s possible that they’re connected to these, but I need to talk to Boden first.”

“What cases?” Stella asks, looking him in the eyes.

***

“What if we asked Boden for help?” Ritter suggests. He’s been helping Gallo sort through the arson files since they got of shift the day before last, and it’s been grooling. Blake is relentless in getting to the bottom of this, but the best thing they’ve found is a couple inconsistencies between how Gallo remembers things going down on the fire scene and how things were listed in the arson reports. Ritter isn’t really sure which is more stressful, watching Gallo run himself ragged trying to solve this thing or the fact that there’s probably an arsonist out there burning families up and there’s very little they can to do to stop them until the hit a real break in the case.

“He’s retired,” Gallo says flatley and throws his bag of personal belongings over his shoulder before slamming his car door.

“But he has friends who aren’t,” Ritter points out. “He probably knows someone who could get us a meeting with those first two families.”

“You think they’d talk to us?” Gallo asks, looking up from the file that currently has his attention.

“Yeah, I mean if it were my house that burnt down, I’d want to help figure it out,” Ritter says. “Or you could ask Casey since he probably has some good connections and could move faster on it.”

This makes Gallo snort.

“What?”

“Casey thinks this whole thing is a load of crap. Hell maybe he’s right and I am crazy,” Gallo scoffs, shaking his head. “Regardless, he won’t help.”

“Gallo, what made you think the cases are connected?” Ritter finally asks. He thinks it’s quite possible his friend is onto something, but he wants to know what it was that made him see a connection, what clicked.

“The families,” Gallo replies after a moment of thoughtful silence. “They reminded me of my family, and I always kind of wondered. They said the fire was started by a gas stove…”

“But you feel like there was more,” Ritter says, finishing for him. “And when the report came back on that 3rd house being a stove fire-”

“Yeah,” Gallo interrupts him. “But there’s something else about them, the fire spread and how quickly they reached flashover there was just something so similar about them, and I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

***

“Gallo, we need to talk.” Severide is waiting for him on the app floor when he and Ritter get to work. Stella is waiting with him. Both of them have grim expressions on their faces like whatever they’re about to tell him is serious. They’ve probably decided to reprimand him for the way he lit into Severide coming off the last shift, which he’d probably deserve. He’s been testing a lot of people’s authority and pushing a lot of respect boundaries lately.

“You’re not in trouble,” Stella adds, glancing over at her fiance.

“We found something.”

“What?” Gallo breathes, he’d thought for sure that after their fight last shift, Severide wouldn’t want anything to do with the case.

“We’ll talk in my office,” Severide replies, nodding his head toward the door to inside, but before they can make it more than two steps the tones sound.

“Engine 51, Truck 81, Ambulance 61, Squad 3, Battalion 25, multi story residential structure fire.”

“We’ll talk when we get back,” Severide promises as he heads to the squad truck.

***

It’s a three story building, and dispatch radios in as they roll onto scene that it’s a duplex with multiple residents. A block away Stella knew it’d be a big one, but arriving on scene it’s worse than she thought. All three floors are burning, and there’s heavy smoke. 

“What’s our plan, chief?” Stella asks as they unload off the truck.

“Fire’s in the roof structure, so I don’t want crews up there, so truck and squad do a quick primary search. Then get out. This place is going up fast.”

“You got it chief,” Stella says, already masking up. “Mouch and Gallo, take the ladder up to the third floor. Nathan you’re with me, we’ll take the second floor.”

“Capp and Tony you two are together, Cruz your with me. We’ll clear the first floor and move up to help out,” Severide orders masking up with his firefighters.

“Be Careful in there,” Stella calls over her shoulder as she and Nathan head inside. Black smoke is already pouring out of the open door.

The first floor seems to mostly just filling up with smoke, it’s not even thick enough that they have to crawl in order to see. Stella can hear Squad making entry behind them as she and Nathan head up the stairs to the second floor. The second story is worse. The smoke gets thick and black before they reach the top of the stairs, to thick to see much of anything.

“Alright get down, Nathan,” Stella orders, dropping down onto her hands and knees. “Keep one hand on my ankle, if I stop feeling you touching me, I’m going to stop, got it?”

“Yeah!” Nathan replies, she can hear the excitement in his voice. Since joining 51 he’s gotten more than his fair share of hairy situations, and remains unphased by them. “Let’s do this!”

Stella shakes her head, amused with the kid’s energy, before pressing on deeper into the black smoke.

***

“Chief, we got two victims on the second floor and need assistance,” Stella’s voice comes over the radio.

“Cruz and I are clear on the first floor and can go assist,” Severide reports, glancing at Cruz who nods that he’s ready for more action.

“Copy that, go assist them, Severide,” Casey replies.

“Alright, lets go,” Severide says to Cruz and jerks his head toward the stairs.

“Kidd, what’s your location?” Severide asks as he and Cruz start their trek up the stairs into the thicker smoke.

“Second door on the left,” Stella replies.

The hallway at the top of the stairs is dark from the thick smoke, and they have to get down on their hands and knees just to see. Cruz keeps one hand on Severide’s ankle as they grope their way through the deepening darkness, letting him know he’s still right there with him. There’s next to zero visibility now, so Severide has to run his hand along the left side of the wall to feel for doorways. His hand slides off into nothing but empty space and he almost tips over. 

“That’s the first door,” He calls over his shoulder to Cruz who gives his ankle a little squeeze in acknowledgement. Kelly presses on, finding the wall again, and it’s not long before he finds the next door, but this time it’s closed. 

“Stella! We’re out here!” he shouts and bangs his fist against the door signaling to his fiance that he’s outside the door and that he and Joe are ready to come in.

The door opens just long enough for him and Cruz to pile inside and then it’s slammed closed behind them. The room is significantly less smokey than the hallway outside, it’s clear enough so that he can see both Nathan and Stella clearly along with the two unconscious victims lying on the floor. 

“Mouch and Gallo, clear on the top floor. Heading back out now.” Gallo’s voice crackles over the radio as Severide makes his way over to the first victim. He catches the look of relief that crosses Stella’s face upon hearing that the other two members of her crew are safe.

“Me and Stella will get him, Nathan and Cruz, you two get the woman,” Severide orders, and everyone in the room shifts to do as they’re told. “We’re going to have to move fast. It’s pretty rough out there.

***

“Please, my neighbor Jerry is still inside!” An old woman says pleadingly and tugs on Severide’s sleeve, stopping him as he and Stella exit through the front door of the duplex. Tony and Capp had met them at the door and taken their victim off to the waiting ambulances. “Please, he lives on the third floor!”

Severide hesitates and glances up at the top floor of the duplex, there’s black smoke pouring out of almost all the windows, and there’s tongues of fire beginning to mix in. Upstairs is getting close to flashing over.

“I’m up for one more grab, if you are,” Stella says, glancing up at it too, probably making the same calculations in her head as he is. The chances of getting back out aren’t great with how hot the fire’s burning on the top floor is, and the chances of making a successful grab are even more slim.

“Chief, we got a confirmed rescue on the top floor, Gallo and Mouch must have missed them. Me and Kidd have enough air left to make the grab,” Severide says into his radio, letting it answer Stella’s question.

“I don’t like the smoke I’m seeing Severide. That top floor could flash over, and the chances of the vic even being alive-”

“There’s a chance chief,” Severide interrupts him. Two of the windows on the top floor aren’t belching black smoke which means there’s a good chance whatever room that is, is clear enough for someone to still be alive in there. 

“You’re sure there’s a rescue?”

“Yes chief, we’re sure.” The old lady is still holding onto Severide’s hand and she’s crying now.

“You have two minutes. Not a second longer,” Casey replies after a second of hesitation.

“You got chief,” Severide replies and goes to get his mask back on. He glances at Stella who already has her mask back on. 

“You ready?” she asks, bumping his arm with her fist as he finishes tightening the straps on his mask. He gives her a quick thumbs up, and she opens the door and disappears into the smoke; He follows her into the blackness.

Kelly keeps one hand on Stella’s back as they work their way up the stairs that start near the front door. The smoke gets thicker and thicker the farther up they go, until he can no longer make out yellow reflective strips on Stella’s gear; his only assurance that she’s still in front of him is that he still has his hand on her and the heavy thunk of her halligan hitting each each step as she sounds to make sure it won’t give out.

*** 

“Keep me posted on conditions in there,” Casey radios to his two lieutenants as he keeps a close eye on the smoke pouring out every possible opening on the top floor. It's already turned dark and deadly, and the smoke coming from the floor below it isn’t much better. He already regrets his decision to let them go back in. “If anything starts feeling off, I want you guys to bale out right away.”

“You don’t have to micromanage, chief,” Severide radios back, sounding more annoyed than concerned or worried about the amount of smoke he and Stella are undoubtedly trying to make their way through.

“It’s my job to micromanage,” Casey replies. “You guys just hurry, okay?”

“You got it chief.”

“Truck and Squad, I want you guys to get as many ladders on as many of those windows as you can in case Kidd and Severide have to bail out,” Casey directs to the groups of firefighters standing behind him. Most of them look like they’re ready to hop up and get back inside at a moments notice.

“They went back in?” Gallo questions, standing up from where he was sitting on the back bumper of 81. It sounds like a challenge, full of judgement and indignation.

“Yes, there’s another confirmed rescue on the third floor,” Casey replies impatiently. Gallo has been trying his patience since the house fire a couple shifts ago where he ended up sending the kid home, and it’s getting old fast.

“No, me and Mouch cleared that floor,” Gallo argues, he looks scared. “There’s no one up there.”

“You may have missed them,” Casey replies.

“Chief-”

“Go help put ladders on the windows,” Casey interrupts. He’s not in the mood for arguing with Gallo anymore.

“But-”

“Mayday, mayday, mayday! Firefighter down!” the whole fire ground freezes as Stella’s panicked voice crackles over the radio, her words barely descernable through the static, and Casey's heart drops into his stomach. Dread washing over him like a wave as fire starts rolling out the windows swirling with smoke, the top two floors are about to flash over. “Third floor, delta side, Severide’s down….it’s-  Flashover!”

“Let’s go get them!” Cruz shouts and takes off toward the door.

“No one goes inside!” Casey shouts, before he even realizes the words are coming out of his mouth, but he finds he means them. He’s already sent two firefighters to their deaths, he’s not about to damn anyone else. Every instinct as a friend and a firefighter is screaming at him to send RIT to go get them, to go save his friends, but his years of experience tell him there will be no rescue, only a suicide mission.

“Chief!” Cruz protests as Casey pushes him back away from the building. He’s been a chief less than a year and he’s failed at the most fundamental part of his job, keeping his people safe. He’s not killing anyone else. It’s the worst decision he’s ever made, but he’s not caving.

“Kidd, can you get to a window and bail out?” Casey says, returning his attention to his radio. 

“Negative… found a hole in the floor… going down…”

“Chief! You have to let us go get them!” Cruz shouts, and pushes against him. “They’re going to die! You have to let us save them!”

“No one  else is going inside!” Casey yells and pushes the squad firefighter back. “I’m not letting anyone else die!”

He’s barely finished spitting the words out when balls of fire explode out of every window on not just the third floor, but the second too. He loses his grip on Cruz’s coat as a wave of shock hits him, but the other firefighter doesn’t move. Matt’s knees hit the hard concrete ground before he even realizes he’s falling; he can feel the waves of heat coming off the building as black smoke and evil red flames pour out the windows. He knows he should be giving orders, ordering 51 to hit the fire with everything they got, telling everyone else to do something- anything, but he can’t move. He can’t think. Stella and Kelly are dead. Even if she had managed to get her and Severide through the hole she found in the floor, the only thing it did was drop them right into another flashover. He can hear shouting, but none of the words register with him. He can feel tears stinging his eyes. They’re dead. They’re dead because he sent them back in. They’re dead and he’s the one who killed them.

[haziel-luz]

Will It Be the Same?

Chapter 3:  Whatever Happens, is Meant to Happen  

(Lucifer x Reader)

Getting through the day with the weak amount of energy you had today was stressful enough, but trying to get by with just a string of your sanity is overbearing. You're hunched over the microscope, focusing on any sort of difference between each sample, even if it’s a slight difference. This helps you distract yourself from accidentally looking through peoples mind or discover something else.

“(Y/n), how’s it going there bestie!” Ella popped up from beside you with a pat on your back. The surprising greeting made you flinch away in fear. Ella quickly frowned, confusion and worry, this was just so sudden.

“Oh sorry Els, it’s going good. I found the difference between these samples from the crime scene. They almost tried to sneak past me.” You smiled nervously and tried to add some humor to lighten the mood you ruined.

“That’s great..Hey, are you okay? You’ve been really fidgety since this morning, it’s like you’ve been avoiding stuff.” Ella gets closer and holds both of your arms gently, trying to soothe you.

“Just a nightmare I had last night. Nothing I can’t handle.” You composed yourself and smiled at her reassuringly. Ella didn’t seemed too convinced, but she let it go anyways

“Alright, try not to work so hard. I want you to come with me at the next crime scene. I’m gonna go get us some coffee before we go.” Ella rubs your arm and walks out of the lab room. You felt like you probably should’ve been more convincing. If she could see you all jumpy then everyone else can too, and you don’t need that kind of attention. You rubbed your temples and breathed in and out to see if you can calm your own nerves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey Decker, I’m gonna steal your partner. Be back in a giffy!” Ella pops at Chloe’s desk out of nowhere, startling her a bit. Ella wasted no time to drag Lucifer towards the coffee and snack area, leaving Chloe confused. Lucifer tried to protest but Ella didn’t even give him the chance to complain.

“Sorry about that but I need your help with something.” Ella’s serious tone caught Lucifer’s attention. Lucifer seemed interested and surprised by Ella’s change of expression.

“I believe you’ve forgotten the old Lopez charm back there.” Lucifer pointed out with a grin. Ella isn’t one to have serious expressions.

“I’m serious Lucifer...it’s about (Y/n). I was wondering if you can give Linda a call so that (Y/n) can go see her. I don’t have much right now but I’ll chip in as much as I can.” Ella poured coffee on both mugs, and looked at him pleadingly.

“Now why on earth would (Y/n) want to see the good doctor?” Lucifer raised an eyebrow at Ella, trying to dig for more information on (Y/n).

“I couldn’t say anything even if I wanted to. You see Lucifer, I’ve been trying to be patient for her to tell me all her problems but it isn’t working. She might just need professional help. So can you do me a favor and call Linda?” Ella sighs tiredly and picks up both mugs.

“Alright Ms.Lopez, I’ll pay for the appointment myself, although you do owe me a favor later on. Deal?” Lucifer grins at Ella.

“Deal. Thanks Lucifer, it means alot.” Ella smiles happily at Lucifer and turns to go back to the lab you both were in.

“Indeed..” Lucifer grins and takes out his flask and takes a sip. If he couldn’t bring out more information about you directly, then maybe he can ask Linda everything she knows about you. Lucifer takes out his phone and dials the number of his therapist.

“Lucifer? I hope this is something important.” Linda sighs tiredly through the phone.

“Why yes it is doctor.” Lucifer turns to see you laughing with Ella in the lab. Lucifer’s grin falters into a concern gaze when he realizes how tired you looked. With one simple look at you and somehow he just wants to help you anyway he can, and it really frustrates him. Why the hell would he be automatically more concerned about you than his situation with the detective?

‘What the bloody hell is this?!’ Lucifer thought to himself and sighs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sooo~ you have any plans after this?” Ella asked, taking pictures of the corpse. It made you shiver each time you saw a dead body but you made sure you didn’t show it. You wanted to help Ella in every way you could.

“Nah, not really. Why got something in mind?” You were taking notes of the crime scene and what Ella observes.

“I do, and uh..” Her voice falters when she takes a moment to look at you. You look exhausted and it broke her heart that you aren’t willing to take the time to process and resolve your traumatic experience. It was hell for Ella, waiting for months just to know you were okay, and more months to see you again for her own eyes.

“And what? Are you alright Els?” You gave her a confused look, Els was never one to stop mid-sentence. Ella stayed silent for a moment, battling her inner thoughts while looking at the dead body. You don’t interrupt her thinking or even invade her thoughts.

“Have..you ever thought about going to a therapist?” Ella’s sudden question caught you off guard. She took some more pictures to fill in some silence on your part. She could somehow alway see right through you. It surprises you most of the time, but right now you really wished she didn’t pay attention to your invisible suffering.

“Uh..sometimes.” You answered, crouching down next to her. You knew this was a conversation only between you two.

“How come you haven’t tried?” She sighed and lowered her camera.

“Think about it Els, you're the only one who knows I can read minds. The story behind that isn’t...believable. What kind of therapist would take me seriously?” You told her and rubbed your temple. Ella noticed that your headache was starting again, she quickly pulled out pain killers and gave them to you. Thanking her, you took the pills and hoped that they kicked in sooner before it got stronger.

“I know a therapist that can help, she’s a good friend of mine. It would really mean alot if you at least gave her a shot. Please?” Ella looked at you with serious and pleading eyes. Damn her charms! You really can’t say no to that. You groaned and watched her grin at her victory.

“Fine. I’ll only try it once, and if it doesn’t work well, then can we drop the therapy subject?” You huffed while taking notes.

“Yup!” Ella hugged you tightly and you couldn’t but smile while you were taking notes. You have such a soft spot for Ella, and she knows it.

“Hey Ella, (Y/n). What do we have?” Chloe smiled while approaching with Lucifer. Ella broke from her embrace and started looking at the corpse.

“This is Wesly Rogers, choked to death by a wire while watching sports.” Ella pointed to the t.v behind them and continued. “Apparently he was just a science teacher, such a normal dude for a brutal death. He didn’t even get to see who won. Shame.” Ella sighed and shook her head.

“What’s more shameful is his outfit, such a nice house and he can’t even dress like he does.” Lucifer looks around the living room and then back at Wesly with disgust. You chuckled at his change of topic and Ella shook her head with a small snort. Chloe looked at Lucifer and rolled her eyes.

“That’s it? Just a crime of passion?” Chloe raised an eyebrow at the corpse and back to Ella.

“The evidence points to that direction but whoever murdered him is pretty much a pro. Wesly here fought back and normally you would scratch people or something, but his fingernails are squeaky clean. There’s no sign of fingerprints and no force entry.” You spoke up and stood up with Ella.

“That’s weird..does he have any family? A background?” Chloe asked and you gave her your notes.

“From what we got, he was just an orphan and has never been adopted. No girlfriend, wife, kids, nada. Dude just hangs out with teachers and students.” Ella responded and shrugs, packing her camera.

“Well, I guess he doesn’t need a love life since he’s so used to being lonely.” Chloe commented bitterly while giving you your notes back. You mentally winced at the comment, you looked at Lucifer and he stared at her with a frown. ‘Not today guys...’ You packed your notes.

Before Lucifer could say a word, Chloe took the file from an officer and left. You and Ella looked at each other, you were visibly uncomfortable. You can tell that she was trying to communicate with you through her thoughts, so you took the invitation.

‘Got any idea on what that’s about?’ Ella asked acting naturally while looking through some other notes you didn’t put away.

‘Two words. Living. Nightmare.’ You quietly huffed.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ She frowned slightly at your response.

‘I may have accidentally...split my subconscious from my body in my sleep, and maybe my subconscious side was somehow placed in Lucifer’s penthouse.’ You kept your head down in embarrassment, staring at the notes.

‘Okay? What does that have to do with their relationship drama?’ Ella seemed confused.

‘I uh-I witnessed them doing..sexual activities and then argued right after. Literally a second after they were done..’ You elaborated and her eyes widened like saucers.

“Hello? Is there something in those notes that are more interesting than yours truly?” Lucifer waved his hands in front of you two, making you both snap out of your inner conversation.

“Sorry bro, uh we were just going through this one last time.” Ella explained and gave you the rest of the notes for you to pack.

“As I was saying, would either of you be interested in my assistance today?” Lucifer asked.

“That’s sweet Lucifer, but we got everything under control here.” You sympathetically smiled at the poor guy.

“Yes, of course..” Lucifer sighed and turned to walk out the crime scene. Unfortunately, having an optimistic friend that loves to help out those in need couldn’t just give you a break.

“But! We might need some help with files, papers, and all that sorts of stuff. I still got some research to do on this dead guy, so (Y/n) will be really lonely. Wouldn’t want to stress her out, you know?” Ella smiled at Lucifer while patting your shoulder, your eyes went to Ella’s.

‘Seriously? After what I told you, you're gonna have me stuck in a room with him?’ You groaned mentally.

‘Oh grow up, it’s just sex and drama. The typical love life if you ask me. Come on, look at him, he looks sad.’ Ella lightly scolded you and you turned to look at Lucifer. You noticed he had a gleam of hope in his eyes and you mentally sighed.

“Yea, I forgot you were busy too Els. I wouldn’t mind having extra help.” You gave him a smile, hopefully convincing him that you're alright with this.

“Perfect! I’ll be there when you're ready.” Lucifer smiled and left the crime scene.

‘You owe me for this Els.’

‘Don’t I always?’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How can you live with these boring duties?” Lucifer pulled out his flask and took a swig.

“You wanted to help with the boring stuff, welcome to hell buddy, not everything is as exciting as being in the field.” You scoffed lightly at his complaint.

“Trust me, this is much more exciting than hell itself.” Lucifer snorts and shakes his head. You put the files away, thankful that the endless piles of papers are over.

“I don’t know about that, I’m actually mentally preparing myself when the time comes." You jokingly said while texting Ella about your completed task. You were expecting a laugh but all you heard was silence. His silence was getting a little uncomfortable until he finally spoke.

"What would make you believe that you belong in hell?" His voice was surprisingly soft. You stopped typing and your eyes met his. From your point of view, you saw concern and curiosity. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, he's trying to understand you.

"Just a feeling, you know? I'm not very Christian, although I do believe in the 'big guy' as Ella would call him." You chuckled, thinking about your friend. "I'm far from perfect, like way far. For me, it all depends on what you die for instead of what you live for. You can be a saint all your life and still go to hell." You continued your explanation while finishing your text to Ella. It's strange that you're having this conversation with him of all people.

"What, so you have faith in dear ol' dad on your death? Despite everything he could've helped you go through in your life, you deliberately choose to trust him in your last seconds of life?" Lucifer scoffs and stands from his stool to walk towards you. You're surprised by his argument, this topic must be really sensitive. 'Dear ol' dad? Seriously?'

"He might've made me Lucifer, but he didn't create my future, because if he did then I should feel like I'm going somewhere. This isn't about who I believe in at the end of the day. Why are you so in depth with this conversation anyways?" You raised your eyebrow at him while he towered over you.

“You shouldn’t be speaking so freely about death, especially where you’ll end up. Unless… there’s something you regret dearly, your deepest darkest desire perhaps?” Lucifer loses his irritated pose and leans a bit, making you cautiously lean back.

“Uh-Lucifer, I don’t know what you're trying to pull out of this conversation but since we’re done here, how about I go catch up with Ella and you can see what Chloe is up to.” You stood up from your stool and walked around him to the door. You’re really trying to stay out of his thoughts, somehow it’s harder with him and you just don’t get it. ‘Come on chica, you were doing so well today.’ You scolded yourself mentally.

Just when you opened the door, an arm reached out from behind you and closed it. You yelped when you were sharply turned around and pinned against the door by your shoulders. Your startled eyes quickly made contact with Lucifer’s frustrated orbs. You don’t know what came over him. One moment you two were having a playful conversation and then it was somehow flipped upside down.

“Lucifer, what are you doing? Let go!” Your voice was loud enough to become a warning, but not enough to alert the noisy precinct. You tried to struggle but his grip only tightened on your shoulders.

“I’ve clearly had enough with the ‘innocent human’ facade, my dear. A six month  disappearance and you come back as someone ‘special’? Ray has certainly been cautious around you but I would love to get to the bloody point.” Lucifer scoffs at your acting, which was something you weren’t doing at all. You froze at the mention of your disappearance and Ray-Ray. That information made you scared and confused.

“H-how do you know about that and R-Ray-Ray?” Your eyes widen, turning pale. You thought that you and Ella were the only ones that could see the ghost. Just like you thought no one else knew about those six months you refused to think about.

“I have my connections. Now that we’ve cleared the air, how about you answer my questions. Did my father send you to meddle with my life?” Lucifer glared, making you feel tiny and weak. He wasn’t the Lucifer you first met, he’s darker...almost dangerous.

“Your father? Lucifer what the fuck has gotten into you, I didn’t know you even existed until you broke into Ella’s apartment. Now let me go!” You couldn’t take the forceful interrogation any longer, this behavior has just opened old wounds you never wanted to think of again. You tried kicking him off of you, but he stayed in place like a fucking wall, not even a centimeter away from you.

“Ugh, stubborn as a mule. Very well then, you brought this upon yourself.” Lucifer grumbled, making you stand up straight against the door. He straightened out his shoulders and leaned in, his dark orbs piercing into your delicate ones. “What, do tell, is your deepest desire?” His voice rumbled darkly, like he’s putting a spell on you.

The second he asked that question, your eyes couldn’t look away from his. It was as if his eyes were the strongest magnets in the universe. You couldn’t concentrate on your own thoughts, your surroundings, or the situation. Your mind was filled with many memories all at once. The memories that were spilling out weren’t sweet, they were horrible. It was a recap of the woman you used to be to the woman you are now.

Tears started to blur your eyes. The woman you were before was the woman you wanted to be now. Not this..freak of nature..

Lucifer was concentrating even harder, he was amused by the strong willpower she had to refuse to confess her desires. Noticing her tears, Lucifer froze in place and stared at her tear stained cheeks. Watching them fall, his face changed from menacing to guilt. Here he was, angry at the thought of his father tweaking his life as if he needed a path to follow, that he didn’t notice the pain he was inflicting on to you.

Lucifer stopped his mojo and loosened his grip on your shoulders, but it was too late. Your breathing was shallow, tears continuing to fall. You were starting to hear those voices again, the ones in your memories, from the precinct, and the one in front of you. You instinctively put your hands up to cover your ears, knowing that it wouldn’t help. You whimpered and you were finally able to close your eyes. Your fear, anger, and desperation got the best of you...and your abilities.

‘Let me GO! LET ME GO!’ A voice rang out in an empty dark room. Lucifer’s eyes widened and turned his head to the corner of the room. The corner of the forensic room was darker than it originally was. He saw a girl, with disheveled hair, bloody clothes, just a fragile and weak form.

‘Please..someone help me please...LET ME OUT!’ The girl hit the wall with a heart wrenching sob. Her face finally revealed to be...you. Lucifer’s breath hitched and he turned back to you, your eyes were closed tight and you kept covering your eyes, as if you were desperately trying to block the horrible scene. Lucifer was shocked, it was impossible for a mortal to do such things. His father would never allow it, not even if it was meant to set him on some kind of path. This was something that neither heaven or hell has ever created.

Lucifer reached out to your hands covering your ears and tried to talk calmly over the suffering voice in the corner of the lab. “(Y/n), listen to me, it’s over now. There’s nothing for you to suffer from anymore.” His calm voice made you open your blurry teary eyes. Your hands were trembling under his touch.

“There you go, now take a deep breath and concentrate on me, can you do that?” Lucifer took a hold of your hands gently. You took a deep breath and stared into his eyes, your vision clearing up from all the tears. “That’s right, come back to me darling.” He put his hands on your cheeks to wipe away your tears. All you saw in his eyes was nothing but care and guilt. Your mind came back to reality, voices and memories fading away, coming back to the light.

Lucifer turned to see if the other suffering you was still there but it was gone. It was just the original corner of the white forensic lab. Staring at his confusion, you realized he saw a snippet of your memories from your disappearance. He turned towards you again and removed his hands from your face slowly.

Processing and remembering what led to this point, you backed up a bit and glared at him. You were boiling mad, the way he somehow forced you to open those wounds again. How he was controlling and manipulating your mind for his own benefit. He noticed your body language and he tried to reach out to your cheeks again.

“I...I’m sor-” You slapped his hands away harshly and bolted out the door. Lucifer tried to follow you but you stopped short when you bumped into Ella and Chloe. Right on cue.

“(Y/n)? Hey, what happened?” Ella looked into your eyes with warmth and comfort. You choked a sob and hugged her close to you, burying your face in her shoulder. Ella held you close, surprised that you broke into tears. She wanted to desperately understand what you're going through, like she always wanted to when you came back.

Lucifer was close by, this made Chloe tense. Did he show you his true form? Ella’s attention went to Lucifer’s guilty form, making her in protective mode.

“What the hell did you do?" Ella glared at him and held you closer like a momma bear with her cub. Lucifer’s mouth opened slightly but closed again, he didn’t know how to explain this, especially since Ella doesn’t know his true form. Chloe observed him carefully, he seemed hesitant to get closer and he wanted to speak up, at least to you since his eyes never left your sad state.

“I’ll take him with me to finish the case, and talk some sense into him along the way. You can stay with (Y/n) for the rest of the day, thank you for your help Ella. I hope you feel better (Y/n).” Chloe genuinely comforts you and calms Ella’s protective posture. She walks towards Lucifer and gives him a stern look while nodding to the other direction, away from the two of you.

Lucifer nods back and gives you one last look before walking off with her. Chloe didn’t fail to notice that he was hesitant on leaving when he looked back. She didn’t know what’s going on in his head, but what she did know from just a glance was that he wanted to be there for you. To comfort you.

Chloe felt a slight pain in her chest, the comfort and kindness he wanted to give you was something he hasn’t shown the past two months. Their emotional and physical intimacy hasn’t been the same. She wonders if God had other plans for Lucifer. Maybe she wasn’t enough for the devil she was created for. Chloe shook her head and focused her way out of the insecurities.

‘Whatever happens, is meant to happen.’

/////////////////////////////////////

Stay tuned for the next chapter!~~ Feedback is always welcome my lovelies💖

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MASTERLIST

[theartofdreaming1]

Partners - Part 9: Meeting Mary

Rating: T

Pairing: DickBabs

Summary:  After investigating some more, Dick and Barbara have finally found out where Mary and her son are hiding. Now, all that's left to do is figuring out a way for Mary to trust them... My DickBabs police officers AU.

You can also read this chapter at AO3 or start from the beginning on my blog

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On their next free weekend, after some more sleuthing, Dick and Barbara made a trip to Snug Cay’s Most Beautiful Hiking Trails. Close by the adjoined parking lot, a couple of rental cabins were scattered along the edge of the woods, not too far from the summer camp at which Mary Wallmer used to work as a counselor in her highschool years.

“It’s actually quite pretty here,” Dick commented when he got out of the car, eyes roaming over the nearly empty parking lot with its big map sign detailing its various hiking trails. Well-marked entries into the woods lining the three sides of the parking lot invited visitors to go for a walk.

“Mhm,” Barbara murmured absent-mindedly, rummaging the backseat of the car for their jackets and backpacks, filled with snacks, bottles of water and a map of the area - props to give them the inconspicuous looks of a couple out for a hike.

She handed Dick his stuff, then put on her own gear.

“Maybe we should consider actually coming here for a hike at another time,” Dick suggested conversationally, while Barbara re-checked the most recent location of Redhorn’s son - product of her latest digital scavenger hunt - with the positions of the cabins on her map.

“You mean when we’re not tracking down a potential witness that could help us topple the entire system of corruption of a city?” Barbara replied drily, packing the map away.

She pointed east, towards the side of the woods that was closer to the bay, “Cabin 7 is over there.”

Hands in his pockets, Dick started to walk leisurely in the direction Barbara had pointed, a cheeky grin on his lips: “I guess that would be more convenient, sure."

Barbara rolled her eyes, then slipped her arm into his: “Let’s sort this thing out first, shall we?”

Dick’s expression lost it’s cheerful air and smoothed into a more serious one.

“Right, let’s go over our approach again:” he agreed, now focussing on the task at hand, while they were heading towards their destination, “We’re a couple that went out for a hike and when we wanted to head home, realized that our car wouldn’t start. Unfortunately, both of our phones don’t have any reception out here so we’re now stuck wandering around, trying to find someone who would let us use their phone.”

He looked at Barbara for confirmation.

The redhead nodded: “Exactly.”

“And you really think that all this deception is necessary? It’s not exactly inspiring trust once we tell her the actual reason why we’re here.”

Barbara let out a sigh.

“I know, I know,” she admitted, deflated, “but I think we won’t be able to get a foot in the door otherwise - everything she thought she knew turned out to be a lie; the person she had trusted the most turned out to be in the thick of the scheming and corruption that’s been ailing Blüdhaven for the longest time… Would you trust a pair of strange cops who claim to have come to help you and contend that they have a plan for bringing down said corrupted system that has permeated seemingly every nook and cranny of the ‘Haven’s society, including the sphere of your own home??”

She let the picture she’d painted hang in the air, then shook her head sadly.

“No,” she said grimly, answering her own question, “I don’t think she’d hear us out if we presented our case to her, straightforward. She’d only grow more terrified and slam the door in our faces…”

“Leaving her more afraid for her life and her son’s without listening to our offer to help them out, most likely causing Mary to try even harder to go into hiding,” Dick supplied, finishing Barbara’s thought.

“Mhm.”

Dick let out a sigh, unable to argue with his girlfriend’s logic: “Fine, initial deception it is… Oh, look,” he exclaimed, pointing to a wooden cabin which was hidden away off-trail, almost entirely concealed by the grouping of fir trees lining the path, “that’s got to be it!”

Barbara consulted the geolocation marker on her phone she had created based on the online activity of Redhorn Jr. (even though the teenager had refrained from posting anything on his social media accounts, he still had been watching YouTube videos via his phone, which Barbara had used to backtrack his and his mother’s whereabouts): “I think you’re right.”

They left the larger path along which the cabins were scattered and followed the narrow trail covered in crushed rocks and fir needles. They discovered the wooden sign marking the wooden cabin at the end of the trail to be number 7; it had been completely obscured by the low, thick branches of the fir trees.

“So this is it?”

“Gotta be - the GPS coordinates match the location at which Redhorn’s son liked a video about three hours ago.”

In the shade of the cabin, Dick noticed a red toyota with a familiar looking license plate: “Hey, that’s Mary’s car, isn’t it?”

Apparently, all their prep hadn’t been for naught: “Yes it is.”

“Alright, so this is it… You ready?”

Barbara took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the task at hand.

“I’m ready. You?”

She caught Dick’s eye and saw the determined look on his face.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Together, they climbed up the three stairs to the cabin’s porch and knocked softly at the door.

***

They heard the sound of shuffling of feet behind the door, but no one answered it.

“Hello, is anyone there?” Barbara asked in a tentative voice.

Then, the door opened slightly and revealed a frightened blue eye which nervously examined the two young adults lingering on the porch.

Having discussed during their car ride that it would probably best if she took the lead early on (assuming that Mary would probably perceive a woman as less threatening), it was Barbara who addressed their supposed stranger in a friendly, if slightly embarrassed manner:

“Oh, hi! We’re so sorry to disturb you, but my boyfriend and I just returned from our hike around these parts - only to discover that our car won’t start and neither of us have any reception on our cellphones; may we use your phone to call roadside assistance? That would be incredibly helpful.”

The wary expression on what had been visible of Mary’s face had dissipated by the time Barbara had reached the end of her prepared speech and the door was opened fully now, revealing an unassuming woman of 5’2’’ and stocky build. Her blonde (probably dyed) hair was wavy, about shoulder-length, and framed a round, open face. Faint lines around eyes and mouth indicated her age to be around forty.

“Oh you poor things!” the middle-aged woman exclaimed emphatically, any hint of her previous mistrust completely vanished, “Of course you can use the phone here! Come in!”

And with that, Mary stepped aside, motioning for the two strangers to enter the cabin.

It wasn’t difficult to see how Redhorn had managed to conceal his wrongdoings from his wife for so long - she was downright guileless.

To be honest, Barbara couldn’t help but be surprised that Redhorn’s thugs hadn’t found Mary yet - once they had, it would have been all too easy for them to take a hold of her; it was probably for the best that Mary had sold the house of her deceased parents before she had stumbled upon the evidence of her husband’s criminal activities - this way, she couldn’t seek refuge in her childhood home even if feeling tempted to do so… and Barbara wasn’t all that convinced that Mary was cunning enough to have recognized that as a bad move on her part.

While Barbara was reflecting on the naivety of their potential informant, Dick engaged with Mary in idle small talk, making introductions, thanking her for her kindness and answering the many questions of the talkative and curious woman, such as where they were from and what had led them here?

“We are from Gotham City,” Dick explained, elaborating on the narrative he and Barbara had prepared beforehand (which wasn’t based completely on lies), “We’ve been meaning to take a break from the city for some time and decided to check out the hiking trails of Snug Cay - which definitely deserve their positive reviews online! Too bad our trip had to end with car trouble,” he concluded with a grimace so believable and sympathetic, Barbara would have been convinced of his story if she didn’t know any better. A born performer, indeed.

“Such bad luck!” Mary exclaimed empathetically. “But don’t you worry, we will get this fixed in no time! Let me show you to the phone; I think there should also be some brochures of nearby businesses and a phone book…”

She led Dick and Barbara to a small end table in a semi-secluded corner in the hallway next to the entrance door. Three doors lined the hallway wall; muffled yells of excitement sounded from behind the one closest to them.

“Don’t mind that,” Mary said nervously, giving a strained smile, “my son is not a nature lover such as you two - he prefers to play on his phone or gameboy or whatever it is called.”

“Ah, I’m familiar with the kind,” Dick nodded knowingly, ”I’ve got a teen brother who is very much into gaming.”

He gave Mary one of his disarming smiles:“How old is your son?”

“Thirteen.”

Dick grinned: “Yeah, the wonders of nature don’t particularly score with that demographic.”

Mary let out a laugh, then opened the drawer of the end table that contained the phone book and brochures.

“You should be able to find some number of a road assistance service in here.”

Thinking that it might be for the best to give Dick a little more time to build a rapport with Mary, which hopefully were to improve their chances of being heard out later, Barbara took the stack of papers out of Mary’s hands.

“Thank you so much,” she said warmly to the older woman. Then, after exchanging a meaningful glance with Dick, she motioned at the phone: “I’ll take care of it.”

“Sure thing,” he replied, his expression letting Barbara know he understood her silent message.

“We’ll leave you to make your call,” Mary responded kindly before addressing Dick: “Would you like something to drink, Richard?”

He smiled: “That would be great, thank you.”

***

While she was looking up the name of a local car mechanic (just in case) and pretended to make a call, Barbara could hear the other two engage in a friendly chat with one another.

By the time Barbara made her way back into the main room, she found Dick and Mary sitting in the living room, with Mary comfortably seated on the couch and Dick occupying one of the arm chairs. The blonde woman was grilling Dick about his private life.

“You two make such a gorgeous couple! How did you two meet?”

“Um, we first met each other at work, actually. We got assigned partners.”

“How fortuitous! If you don’t mind me asking, Richard, what do you do for a living?”

“Um,..-”

Barbara could tell that Dick was starting to sweat a little, so she made her move to intervene.

“Ah, there you are!” Mary exclaimed happily when she noticed Barbara return from her ‘phone call’, “Did you get everything sorted out?”

“Oh yes, someone will come over soon.”

“Wonderful!” Mary responded smilingly, “Is there anything else I can do to help, my dear?”

Barbara directed a meaningful at Dick and carefully sat down in the other empty armchair: “Actually, yes, there is one more thing…”

The helpful older woman nodded attentively, ready to help. Barbara felt a little bad for what she was about to do; still, this was in Mary’s best interest as well as theirs.

“You see,” Barbara began, her voice dropping into a hushed tone,”we know about your husband and the social calendars you’ve kept all these years - We think that they could help us with our cause.”

At that, Mary blanched and a panicked look appeared on her face, her eyes nervously flickering over to the door of the room her son was currently occupying.

“We’re not here to hurt you!” Dick was quick to add, ”We can help you, offer you protection - get you and your son far away from the ‘Haven and your husband’s influence, so you guys are safe.”

The poor blindsided woman twitched anxiously, as if she wanted to get up and run, but froze when Barbara moved to get something from the inside of her jacket.

It took Barbara a few seconds to realize what Mary must have suspected.

“Don’t be afraid, I’m not-” she began hastily, before breaking off. She then slowly, carefully, produced her badge and ID from the inside pocket of her jacket, putting them down on the couch table, right in front of Mary. Dick followed her example with equally cautious and measured movements.

“Here,” Barbara gestured at the evidence laid out in front of Mary,”the two of us are officers at the BPD; but we are from Gotham, originally. We have nothing to do with Blüdhaven’s corrupt elite,” she explained calmly, while the older woman’s gaze fluttered nervously between the ID cards on the table and the two officers seated next to her.

“Barbara’s father helped clean up the corrupt police force in Gotham,” Dick further supplied, ”and we want to do the same in the ‘Haven.”

Mary didn’t say anything; the poor woman only looked frightened.

“We have found a few officers who have the same goal,” Dick continued to explain in a composed voice, “and we are now building up a case against all the corrupt politicians and police officials - including your husband.”

Mary winced, her eyes now fixed firmly on her knees.

“It would be very helpful for our case if you could give us those notebooks you’ve kept all these years,” Barbara went on, “regardless of whether you’d be willing to testify against your husband or not.”

“You don’t have to do either of those things, of course,” Dick hastened to reassure Mary, who at last dared to cast a tentative look in his direction, “for now, it is much more important to keep you and your son safe.”

“Exactly,” Barbara nodded fervently. She noticed that Mary seemed marginally calmer than before, appearing to be listening intently.

“We know that your husband has involved some of his people to look for you two,” Dick said gently, ”and frankly, a lot of his cronies have some very worrisome reputations.”

“And this is where we come in,” Barbara jumped in, “I know some people at the FBI who can help you get out of the reach of the criminals that have been running Blüdhaven as of yet.”

She handed Mary two business cards. Clammy hands gripped the cards tightly.

“Here are the contacts of the two agents that can help you. I have worked with them before on a case of corruption in Blüdhaven; they passed the background checks I conducted on them to ensure that they are not connected to any Blüdhaven elite with flying colors - they are trustworthy.”

Mary looked at Barbara with big eyes; the business cards still in a vice grip.

“I… I don’t know-”

Dick gave Mary a reassuring smile: “You don’t have to decide right now.”

“No, but you shouldn’t wait too long,” Barbara warned emphatically, “If we can find you here, it’s only a matter of time until your husband or his cronies will figure out a way to find you, too.”

“I… I don’t know what to do,” the poor woman stammered, distressed. She looked pleadingly from Dick to Barbara, as if waiting for them to tell her what to do.

Of course, that was not what they had come for.

“Ultimately, you will have to decide on your own what is best for you and your son - I know that all of this must be overwhelming and that we’re just two random strangers that appeared out of nowhere,” Dick said sympathetically, “You didn’t ask to get dragged into this, you just want for you and your son to be safe-”

Mary nodded energetically, “Yes!”

“We can’t tell you what to do - You have to be the judge on which course of action you want to take,” Barbara stressed.

Averting her eyes again, Mary only nodded meekly.

“Personally,” Dick mused aloud, causing Mary to look up again “I’d say your safest bet is to call these numbers,” he tapped the business cards Mary was still clutching tightly, “These FBI agents will get the two of you out of here, someplace safe.”

Mary’s lips parted as if wanting to say something - but in the end, she only pressed them together and fiddled nervously with the cards in her hands.

Dick exchanged a telling look with Barbara, who pulled out a burner phone and put it on the table.

“Here, take this,” Barbara said, “there is one number saved in there - it’s to a safe line which only Dick and I can access; it can’t be traced. This way, you will always be able to reach us - if there’s anything you think we can help you with - call that number.”

This gesture seemed to finally have broken the dam. With a trembling hand, Mary reached for the phone, staring at Dick and Barbara with teary eyes.

“Is this real?” Mary asked in a quiet, shaky voice.

“This is real.”

“And… And it’s not a trick?”

Dick gave an encouraging smile: “It’s not a trick. I promise.”

A brief pause followed, then: “Okay.”

***

They went over the particulars again, making sure that Mary would know what to expect when reaching out to Barbara’s contacts at the FBI. Once they had settled everything, Mary brought up the one thing that still remained unresolved:

“And… And the notebooks?”

Barbara cocked her head to the side, a friendly smile on her face: “What do you want to do with them?”

Mary fiddled nervously with the phone in her hands.

“I don’t know, I just- I just want to be rid of them, I suppose,” she said, sounding tired. She sighed deeply.

“You want them, I assume?”

“It would be useful for the case we’re building,” Barbara admitted honestly, “but if you don’t want us to use them in our case, you don’t have to hand them over.”

There was a long pause while Mary was mulling over it.

“No, you should have them,” she mused,”I think that’s why I took them with me in the first place - I knew that they were valuable evidence, I just didn’t know what to do with it… Or maybe I wasn’t ready to admit to myself that - that my husband is a criminal.”

Gently, Dick put a reassuring hand on Mary’s shoulder.

“We’re sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m fine,” Mary said shakily, making a dismissive gesture before getting up from the couch, “I’ll go get them.”

The blonde woman hurried away into the hallway and disappeared behind the door furthest away. Dick and Barbara could hear the clunking of a floor board being moved and scraping noises. Soon after, Mary returned, three small black pocket calendars in hand: “Take them.”

Barbara took the unassuming, but invaluable notebooks and stowed them safely away in her backpack.

She smiled warmly at Mary: “Thank you.”

Suddenly, the other door in the hallway opened and a skinny boy of thirteen shuffled out. “Hey Mom, when’s dinner- who are you guys?”

The teenager stopped short, eyeing the two strangers suspiciously.

“Alex!” Mary exclaimed, jumping up from her seat on the couch. She quickly regained her composure, though: “These are Richard and Barbara, they went hiking in the woods but then had car trouble and no reception - they asked to use the phone to call for some help.”

The teen regarded Dick and Barbara with narrowed eyes. Barbara had the slightest inkling that Alex was by far not as unaware of their precarious situation as his mother might assume.

“I thought I heard some knocking about, like, an hour ago.”

The boy cast a challenging look at the two ‘visitors’, but Dick just countered smoothly: “We had to wait until they could send a mechanic, chatted for a bit and lost track of time.”

As she gathered up their backpacks and jackets, Barbara added: “I’m sure someone from Larry’s should arrive at any minute.”

“Oh yes! You should get going, it would be awful if you missed the mechanic!”

“Yeah… Plus, we wouldn’t want to delay your family dinner any more,” Dick remarked brightly, winking at Alex as the three adults made their way to the front door. The boy seemed to loosen up a little, although his eyes remained alert.

At the door, Barbara seized the opportunity to express her gratitude: “Thank you so much , Mary, you saved our day.”

The older woman blushed.

“Don’t mention it,” she responded humbly, “I’m just glad I could be of service. And… And I'm really glad I got to talk with you two.”

Dick gave an affectionate nod.

“Take care.”

Mary smiled brightly.

“You, too! I hope everything works out well… with your car.”

“Thanks!”

Dick and Barbara said their good-byes and followed the path back to the car, leaving cabin 7 behind. They didn’t exchange a single word on the way back.

Once they had entered the car, Barbara finally looked at Dick, a big smile on her face. She felt dazed and utterly exhilarated at the same time.

“I think… I think we’ve done it?”

She was met with a wide smile that matched her own:

“We’ve done it!”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

To be continued... here.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes:

Nightwing #71-74: This is entire chapter is very loosely based on this story arc. Basically, Dick learns that some of Blockbuster's goons are trying to get to Mary because of the meticulously kept social calendars she has in her possession and wants to protect her - which leads to a chase to some of Europe's most famous cities (Rome, Paris, and London). For this story I decided that Mary's hiding spot would be less extravagant and instead some place familiar to her, somewhere she had felt safe before. In the comics Dick also tries talking to her in full Nightwing gear, but Mary is too frightened to hear him out; Babs is the one to point out that Dick Grayson might stand a better chance to get to chat with Mary than a masked vigilante - here, Babs gets to intervene a lot sooner (she is more practical and efficient than Dick in that way, I think). While Babs deals with their task at hand in a more pragmatic way, I decided to have Dick be the one who is better at quickly building rapport with Mary - this way, they make the perfect team to get the job done (technical skills/logistics + people skills)

Oh, and I decided to name Mary's son Alex because comicvine states Chief Redhorn' name to be "Francis Alexander", although I can't recall for the life of me where that name ever appeared (the only times I remember Redhorn's first name being mentioned, it was always "Delmore" ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[zach-the-fox]

Frostfur Episode 6: Grim Forecast

We’ve put a lot distance between us and the ghost city of Winterhome. Thanks to Emmy, these new sleds make it easier for us to schlep supplies. Of course, I’m not too excited to be pulling it, given the weight of the cargo is heavy, along with the warthog, for most of the journey. Carly has to suffer, too, but she’s carrying less than I’ve got. Just shows how gender really plays a role in an apocalyptic ice age. I just keep pressing onwards with my friends, and not a moment do I ever stop to look back at the city of the dead. We’re bound for New London, now, and we shall not stop. The terrain becomes harder to climb, as the sled of supplies make it difficult to ascend this new slope.

Carly struggles to tug the sleigh, letting out a grunt. “Ugh! This thing is so heavy!”

“Don’t be such a child,” I comment. “Look at me, and all of the stuff I’m hauling. I’ve got more things than you. You’re only carrying half the amount of supplies. You want to carry the rest of this up the mountain?”

“You’re quite the cheeky one. I think I shall suffer with my “half-load” instead.”

“Come on, guys,” Emmy spurts. “Let’s not argue until we’ve made it to our destination.” I pivot my head toward her and ask her how long it would be to reach the city. “We’ve got a while’s journey till we head to New London. We need to be prepared to stop and camp.” A while’s journey? Seems it’ll take longer than I had previously suspected. Then again, where else do we have to go? Our homes are probably buried under mounds of snow, so there’s no going back there, and Winterhome is a lost cause. Does this mean New London will be next?

I turn my head back to the front, only to see a strange silhouette piercing through the fog created by the roaring winds and snow. All my thoughts have shifted from the journey to this new shadow, causing me to stop in the snow.

The cat halts beside me, noticing my mood. “What is it, Zach?” My mind is too fixated on this particular object to give an answer, yet she and Emmy look beyond the misty atmosphere and know what has me at surprise. As the winds slow for a bit, we start to make out the features of this strange shadow; a tall building with some peculiar devices on the roof. It’s most likely a weather station set up by the scientists from Winterhome. “What is that?”

“It looks to be a weather station,” Emmy answers. “A team of scientists have set up here to keep tabs on the weather. Maybe we should check it out.”

“What?!” spurts Carly. “What in God’s name could possibly be in there that we’d stop and delay our arrival in New London?”

“Perhaps some of the contraptions survived, and could help us on our journey,” the warthog explains.

Those devices could actually prove to be useful. Another thought crosses my mind. “There may be some food there, too. It could take us longer to reach New London.”

“I don’t know,” Carly responds. “It doesn’t seem too safe up there.”

“You have nothing to worry about, Lass,” I assure her. “You have a trained soldier at your disposal by your side. I won’t let anything bad happen to you or Emmy, I promise.” The cat lets out a sigh, feeling defeated as her vote has been outnumbered by her two friends. She accepts our encouragement, and the two of us proceed to the weather station.

It’s quite a struggle with the prevailing winds and bombardment of snow pellets, as well as the mountain’s slope with the heavy supplies weighing us back. Yet, all these factors, despite slowing us in every way, do not prevent us from reaching the flat plateau. It takes us probably about a minute and a half to battle the elements and an additional couple of seconds to reach the door, then a few more seconds to knock it with the butt of my rifle and walk inside, after tying our sleds to some support beams outside. Holding my torch up, we begin to comb the entire shelter, seeing anything that could be of use. Up on the roof of the station, we can see the silent city of Winterhome, still standing in the distance as we’re far away from it. As the three of us continue wander around, we check everything and everywhere, searching the area for any signs of life as well, yet we see none. There’s nobody here, but everything seems to be operational. What were these scientists working on?

On the desk nearest to my right, I notice several notebooks, opened and filled with scrawled writings. These must be the notes the scientists were working on. Looking through the already-opened pages, they predict that the great cold is going to get much worse. What’s more troubling is that the observations ended abruptly months ago. They were tracking the weather and knew that it was coming… I wonder what else they recorded. Flipping through the entire book, I scan every written entry and record of knowledge, piecing together what was gathered and how it all happened. Emmy and Carly join my side as we all learn how the eternal cold had started:

The great mountains of Krakatoa and Mount Tambora have been very active, spewing ash up into the skies, creating thick smog. The blackened clouds hovered into the atmosphere, covering about seventy percent of our world’s atmosphere. The large “blanket” was responsible for dimming the sun, causing the temperatures to drop and bring in an early winter. As the writings go on, the scientists have reported hearing news of massive crop failures and the deaths of millions. Many had flocked to churches and places of worship to ask God for forgiveness of their sins in an effort to reverse the catastrophic events, but it was too late. Anarchy and unrest spread among the world, eventually bringing an end to many of the nations. The British Empire and the United States, however, created a pact to develop several installations, known as the “generators”, to act as heating city centers in the north. Their locations were thought out because of the rich coal deposits discovered in the icy artic. This was both nations’ last attempts of saving their populations and rebuilding society.

“This is not a happy story,” comments Carly. “Not one I’d want to read before bed.”

“That’s because it’s not meant to be,” explains a feminine voice from behind. We quickly turn around to see a purple rabbit standing before us, dressed warmly in an attire much similar to Emmy’s, suggesting she’s one of the scientists who was working here. Her wide, emerald eyes and long, smiley mouth with two teeth showing give us an eerie feeling. My arm wraps around to grasp my rifle, which rests firmly on my back. “How interesting for a couple of souls, such as you three, to enter a now-abandoned place.” Emmy and Carly inch closer to me, nearly hiding behind my back, making it more difficult for when I pull my gun out. “Did I frighten you? I did not mean to, for I get that quite frequently. I won’t hurt you, do not fret. My name’s Brook, and I am pretty friendly.”

“Where are the scientists who ran this place?” asks Emmy.

“They’re all gone,” the rabbit says. “Left this place behind as soon as the frost came in, taking everything but the equipment. There’s not a can of spam or even a crumb of bread left. So, if you are looking for food, you will find none. I was part of the research team, but I came back here to salvage anything that could be of benefit to my survival. Who are you three, might I ask?” We formally introduce ourselves to her. “Zach, Emmy, and Carly. Pleasure to meet you three. Any reason you have come here? Perhaps for shelter?”

“Somewhat,” I answer. “We’ve stopped here to see if we could find anything useful to help us with our journey to New London.”

“New London?” Brook repeats. “I don’t believe I’ve heard that name before. Is this a new settlement being developed?”

“Yes,” Emmy answers, taking a step away from my leg. “It is the location for London’s citizens to evacuate to. You see, we’ve just come from Winterhome, and we’re-”

“Winterhome?!” she interrupts. “You three manage to escape like the others?” Others?! What does she mean by that? There are other survivors? “I’ve heard what had happened there. Everything fell faster than the snow.”

“Actually,” Carly begins. “We weren’t in Winterhome when the chaos happened… We were supposed to be there, but we found everyone was dead.”

“Not everyone,” Brook tells us. “Many have fled the city after the explosion. Some did not survive in the frostland, though. It’s hard to adapt to the change in what nature had switched to.”

My paw relaxes from my rifle and returns to my side. I feel bad for this poor woman, being alone and out to fend for herself. The next thing I say will cause my friends to balk at me. “Hey, why don’t you come with us to New London?” Both the warthog and cat quickly dart their eyes at me. They must think I’m mental, which I was right.

“Accompany you lot?” she asks. “What is there in New London? A chance to survive?”

“A chance to live,” I respond.

“Zach,” Emmy whispers. I lean my head closer to her. “Are you sure you can trust this rabbit? I don’t feel too secure with her.”

“As with I,” adds Carly. “I know she’s out here by herself and I feel bad as well, but I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Where is your compassion?” I question them both. “The world has plunged into a never-ending winter and many are still struggling to survive. There doesn’t seem to be any hope left in people. When I joined the army, I pledged to my country and the people that I’d help those in need and strengthen their will to fight on. For the Lord’s sake, come with us, Brook, please.”

“You have much heart,” Brook replies. “I shall come with you, then. Lead the way.”

I then turn to Emmy and Carly. “Shall we continue to New London, then?” They nod. We leave the comfort of shelter and ready our sleds. With our new companion, her help is much appreciated, aiding us in pulling the supplies with us as we venture to our destination. I just hope New London is set up and in well-working order, because that city is our last chance any of us have to surviving our new reality.

[roslinadama-sinequanon]

Saying Good-Bye to Yesterday-Chapter 11

So, yes it’s been forever and day. I haven’t dropped off the planet or quit writing for Shandy. It just got difficult for a while.  

You can find the chapter here https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13004092/11/Saying-Good-Bye-to-Yesterday and here https://archiveofourown.org/works/15321687/chapters/53083987 and here

****

"Hey, hon." Andy paused in buttoning his shirt at the greeting, his lips curving into a smile when he took in Sharon's disheveled appearance as she entered their bedroom, fresh from a workout, spandex shorts clinging to her long toned thighs, loose tendrils of hair slipping out of her high ponytail.

"How was the Barre class?" He asked.

"It wasn't Barre. It was Spin." Over the past few months, Amy had convinced her to start taking spin classes with her, adding to her usual regimen of Body Barre, Pilates, and Yoga.

"Well, how was Spin?"

"Ugh." She pulled the sweaty racerback tank over her head. "Jelly legs."

"Gorgeous legs," he corrected.

"Yes, well, that takes work, darling." Though she ate healthily, for the most part, was supple, naturally active, and thanks to genetics and a great metabolism, didn't have to fight hard to maintain her slender figure, she exercised to keep toned and fit. In addition to the classes she attended when her schedule allowed, she swam laps almost every day, did some light weights at the PD gym, and also got out to Malibu to a riding stable as often as she could. When she first mentioned her horseback riding to Andy as a full-body workout, he gave her a typical Andy quip, "for the horse, right? " She'd ignored the comment until she could prove her point. One afternoon she'd taken him on what he referred to as a "ball crushing" ride, and he'd sheepishly eaten his words. Later still, when they'd become intimate and he'd felt those "thighs of steel" around his waist, he'd come to an even greater appreciation of that "full-body" exercise.

"Well, I'm pretty gross right now, so I'm going to hop in the shower." She pulled off her sports bra and wiped at the sweat under her breasts before dropping it in the hamper and disappearing into the bathroom. When she emerged 15 minutes later, she had one towel wrapped around her torso, the other turban-style around her head.

"Don't forget, I have book club tonight," she said.

"Yeah, I'm gonna hit a meeting."

She glanced up sharply from her dresser, a pair of rose-colored panties dangling from her fingertips. "Everything okay?"

Though her tone remained neutral, Andy picked up the tiny inflection of worry. It wasn't his usual meeting night. "Yeah, everything's fine," he assured her. "I had to skip last week because of our case, and I haven't gotten the chance to talk to Isaac."

"About us?"

"Yes."

Once in her fresh panties, Sharon shimmied on a pair of black leggings that she paired with a long, slouchy v-neck cashmere sweater in a soft shade of blush. To finish off the casual outfit, she slipped on a pair of two-tone quilted Chanel ballet flats, big silver hoop earrings, and a silver cuff bracelet. Andy continued to watch her dress. Watching her shed her professional persona for her personal one was kind of a ritual for him. At work, she was all fitted, classic, sleek lines. Understated and sophisticated. At home, her wardrobe was softer and a little more eclectic. Even her jewelry was different. At work, simple diamond studs in her ears and her watch, no bracelets, no necklaces, no dangling earrings. At home, she often wore pretty bracelets, hoops or dangling earrings, and a variety of necklaces, including the crucifix she never wore to work. Separation of church and state and all. He asked her once why she stopped wearing necklaces when she took over Major Crimes. After expressing surprise that he had actually noticed that, she told him that Brenda had warned her that wearing a necklace when interviewing suspects was dangerous because they could use it to try to strangle her. Given the violent animosity their former Chief seemed to bring out in suspects, he figured she was speaking from experience. Probably a good idea that he wore his sobriety necklace tucked in under his shirt. He was pretty sure there were hundreds of suspects over the years who would have loved nothing more than to strangle him.

A half-hour later, with her hair blown dry and her make up re-applied, Sharon came out of the bedroom to see Andy slipping on his jean jacket as he prepared to head out. Rusty was sitting on the couch on his laptop.

"You boys are on your own for supper tonight," she reminded the two.

"Okay. " Rusty glanced up. "What do you want to do, Andy?"

"I have a meeting, so I thought I could pick something up for us on my way home. Want a pizza from Palermo's?"

"Just make sure my half isn't loaded down with veggies."

Andy rolled his eyes. "No veggies. Got it."

Sharon smiled and started to reach for the Trader Joes bag she'd left on the table.

"I've got that, babe." Andy took the heavy bag and followed her out the door. Not so long ago, she might have bristled at the move and argued that she could carry the bag herself, but Andy knew that. It was simply a gentlemanly act of kindness, and she no longer looked for any sort of underlying misogynistic meaning to his kind gestures.

******

The strong smell of flowers hit Sharon just outside the storefront, and she glanced up at the pretty awning hanging over the doorway. "Lotions and Potions," her friend Summer's bath and body shop in Mar Vista. She opened the door, and the floral and spicy scents grew more pronounced. Taking a few steps in, she scanned the room, looking past the displays of soaps, bath salts, body creams, and lotions to see Summer with a customer over in the incense and essential oil section. The little bell that jangled at her entry drew Summer's attention, and when she glanced over and saw who it was, she gave Sharon a smile and a hand gesture indicating that she would be with her in a minute. Sharon nodded and began browsing, lifting and examining the vintage apothecary jars Summer used to carry her product. The old-fashioned jars and antique-looking sepia labels with their intricate designs and calligraphy lettering harkened back to another era as if she was stepping back in time.

Several years ago, this had been a New Age jewelry and clothing store where Summer worked as a clerk. Summer fit right in with today's millenials, often flitting from job to job, but for as long as Sharon had known her, she grew herbs and made homemade soaps and lotions in her house, selling her creations on the weekends at craft fairs and farmer's markets. Then Anabel, the storeowner, allowed her to put a few samples out for sale at the store, and they were a big hit. Soon she had a whole product line for sale. When Anabel decided to sell the store, the first person she approached was Summer, which had taken Summer completely by surprise. She was an artist, after all, not a businesswoman. I mean sure, she practically managed the store, but what did she know about running a business? At least that's what she said to Sharon when they were talking out the pros and cons. It was a moot point, anyway. Summer didn't have the kind of money needed to start a business.

But Sharon did. When her grandparents died, she was bequeathed quite a large inheritance. Some of the money was in a trust, but she had more than enough to lend Summer for the start-up costs. Summer hadn't seen it that way. It had been a battle royal for Sharon to get her best friend to agree to the loan. The very idea of it terrified Summer. What if she didn't succeed? What if she couldn't pay Sharon back? Sharon had gone through hell digging out of the mess Jack created for her financially, and she didn't want to see her have to deal with anything like that again. And most of all, she didn't want the money coming between them. Their friendship was too important. But Sharon prevailed. They worked it all out, with Sharon as an investor, and then they worked together to make Summer's vision become a reality.

The quirky little store was a reflection of its quirky little owner, and it was a hit. Situated only a few miles from both Venice Beach and Santa Monica, it drew in both the unconventional crowd and the well-to-do. Summer paid Sharon back several years ago, but Sharon still took pride in all that she had helped her friend accomplish here.

Grabbing a bottle of her favorite vanilla/jasmine body cream, Sharon glanced back around to see that Summer was still engrossed in conversation with her customer, her light brown curls bouncing on her shoulders with every enthusiastic nod of her head. Rather than stand around waiting, she decided to make her way to Summer's office in the back of the store. She pushed aside the beads that hung in the doorway, in lieu of an actual door, giving a loud sigh at the chaos. As usual, Summer's desk was filled with clutter: folders, papers, coffee mugs, and a bunch of opened boxes. No way could she ever work surrounded by such a mess. In fact, she could already feel the prickles of anxiety at the very idea. She started to move things around to make a spot to set her bag down when an item in one of the boxes caught her eye. Reaching in, she pulled it out, eyes widening with both surprise and curiosity.

"Find anything you like?"

Sharon jumped, nearly dropping the glass object. "Dammit, Summer! "

Summer's wide grin grew even wider. "Gotcha. Either you're losing your cop instincts, or that object holds more than a little interest for you."

"What is it?"

"If I have to tell you, Andy has a real problem."

Sharon flushed. "I know what it is; I just mean why do you have boxes of this stuff?"

"That stuff, as you call it, is luxury personal care products. "

One elegant brow rose skeptically. "Luxury? They're…"

"Glass dildos."

"And again, you have boxes of these, why?"

"I had a distributor come in for a meeting today. She wants me to try selling her line here."

"You're going to sell sex toys? Here? At Lotions and Potions?" Sharon looked so appalled that Summer had to giggle.

"No, I am possibly going to sell luxury personal care items. I told her I would think about it. It's a big and pretty lucrative business right now. Look at them, Sharon, they're works of art."

Sharon looked again at the item in her hand, eyeing it critically. Blown glass with swirls of color, graceful lines. She had to admit, it really did look like a piece of art.

"Much more attractive than the real thing. Am I right?"

Sharon gave a little snort-laugh. "Oh my God, you're right. It is. Though we better not let the guys hear us say that."

"God, no. Men do love their penises, don't they?"

"Mmm…" Sharon hummed affirmatively.

"Almost as much as they love our boobs."

Sharon shook her head with amused affection and another little snort-laugh. She never quite knew what was going to come out of Summer's mouth. In that respect, and in so many more, they were as different as night and day. Oil and water. Chalk and cheese.

Summer was as outgoing and irreverent as Sharon was private and respectful. As unconventional and flighty as Sharon was traditional and responsible. As loud and boisterous, as Sharon was soft-spoken and reserved.

Summer was thrift store boho gauzy tops, flowing skirts, Birkenstocks, and arms covered in bangle bracelets. Sharon was Neiman Marcus pencil skirts, Armani suits, killer heels, and diamond earrings. Summer lifted her arms in worship to the winter solstice while Sharon knelt in reverent prayer at midnight mass. Summer was homeschooling and a childhood spent on a commune. Sharon was private Catholic schools and summers on Nantucket. Summer was Stevie Nicks to Sharon's Grace Kelly.

And yet, they clicked. For 26 years, they had been best friends. From the day that Sharon and Jack moved into their new home in Mar Vista and a bossy little child knocked on their door stating, "I'm five. Do you have any little girls my age I can play with?" With baby Ricky on her hip, Sharon smiled at the little ragamuffin with Popsicle lips and a mop of brown curls and then introduced her to a bashful four-year-old Emily. Within seconds, a harried woman in a tank top and an Indian wrap skirt straight out of the 1970s followed. Since she shared the same wild head of curls with the little moppet now dragging Emily along by the hand, Sharon assumed she was her mother. Indeed, the woman said she was looking for her daughter and, like Sharon, she too had a diapered little boy resting against her shoulder. Sharon introduced herself then invited the gypsy looking woman in for a cup of coffee. It was the beginning of three very important friendships: Sharon and Summer, Emily and Jade, and Ricky and Cody.

Despite their differences in background, personality, and temperament, the two young women easily found common ground. Their kids were the same age, they both loved the arts, and they were both in difficult marriages. Their bond was quick and strong. They spent their days off from work building sandcastles with their kids at the beach, pushing swings at the park, or attending children's reading circles at the library. They babysat for each other, swapped books, and on those rare occasions when they had time for themselves, browsed through art galleries, bookstores, and museums together. Most importantly, since neither had extended family in Los Angeles, they created a much-needed support system for each other. And that was something that became increasingly important, because, within a few years, they were both on their own. Single parents.

Summer came across as flaky, but she was everything Sharon needed in a friend: supportive, warm, honest, and a strong shoulder to cry on-one of a very select group of people whom Sharon allowed to see her vulnerability. They had journeyed together through all the difficulties and heartaches life threw at them, helping each other raise their children, bucking each other up when things seemed bleak, and sharing in each other's joy as they each found success in their professions and new love. From breast-feeding to hot flashes, they had seen each other through it all.

"So, " Summer continued. "Go ahead and take whatever you like. I know you're not a prude. Try one out and let me know what you think."

"I'm good." Sharon placed the item back in the box with a little quirk of her lips. "I've got the real thing now."

"Yeah, well what about these? Could be fun." Summer dangled a pair of handcuffs.

"Again, I've got the real thing."

"Pfff… Those things would hurt. These are love cuffs. Nice and soft. See." Sharon admired the plush cuffs Summer thrust in her face, faux fur with little tiny bows, definitely not standard LAPD gear, but shook her head negatively. "I'm all set." She glanced down at her watch. "Come on, Sum. We really have to get going or we're going to be late."

"Oh, no, we wouldn't want to be late."

Sharon rolled her eyes, ignoring the sarcasm. Fate had surrounded her with smart asses. "No, we wouldn't. So, let's go."

"Okay, okay, don't get your panties in a wad. Just promise me you'll think about it."

Sharon blew out a long-suffering sigh. "Fine, I'll think about it, now let's go."

*****

Sitting in the back corner of the bookstore, Sharon found herself center stage, surrounded by a group of women gushing with excitement over the diamond on her finger, grabbing her hand to look at it and pumping her for all the details of the proposal.

"It's so beautiful, Sharon. " Aggie's eyes went dreamy, her hands in a prayer triangle under her chin, lost in the fairytale of Sharon's proposal. "And how romantic. I can just picture it…A winter wonderland. A romantic sleigh ride through the woods and Andy down on one knee professing his undying love for you-" She broke off, swiftly coming back to reality when everyone burst into laughter. "What?" She defended herself. "I love romance."

"As if we didn't know," Marina scoffed. Whenever it was Aggie's turn to pick their monthly book, it was invariably a romance of some sort.

"Hey, I thought Russians were supposed to have romantic souls." Aggie's protest was made in the soft New Orleans drawl she hadn't lost despite having lived in LA for the past 20 years.

"I had one of those…Four husbands ago." Marina, a ballerina, had defected to the United States in the late seventies and had later opened a ballet studio in LA after retiring from the stage. Sharon met her when she signed Emily up for lessons at her studio after her young daughter had become more serious about studying dance and outgrown her instructor. It was Marina who had seen the talent and drive in Emily and helped her become the principal ballerina she was today. Marina was also cynical and pragmatic and went through men, mostly younger men, the way Andy used to go through younger women.

"Don't listen to her," Sharon said. "You're right, Aggie, Andy couldn't have picked a more romantic way to propose. Hard to believe I found a man whose sense of occasion can actually rival mine. It's certainly a night I will never forget."

"I still can't believe Andy took Gavin to help pick out your ring and not me," Summer sulked. The room went silent, all the women turning to her with wide eyes before erupting in giggles. "What?" She held her hand's open palms up and shrugged in a "what the hell" gesture.

Rachel, a pretty blonde, responded. "Come on, Sum, when it comes to style, there is nobody, other than maybe Roz here, who is more opposite from Sharon than you."

"I'd take exception to that if it weren't 100% true," was Roz's good-natured response. A writer for a comedy sitcom, Roz was notoriously sloppy in her dress, preferring the sweatpants, t-shirts and Converse sneakers she was wearing right now to any other attire. When she was forced to wear something nice, she chose boxy male suits and would never be caught dead in a "girlie" skirt or dress.

"I don't think we're that opposite." Summer's protest drew more peals of laughter.

"Summer…" Rachel lifted her friend's skirt, smirking when she exposed plastic clogs. "You are wearing Crocs. Need I say more?"

"There's nothing wrong with Crocs. They're comfortable." Summer pushed her skirt back over her shoes.

"No offense, I love you to pieces, but they're fugly and Sharon wouldn't be caught dead out in public in them." With her sleek dark blonde bob and stylish clothes, Rachel Garner had far more in common when shopping with Sharon than Summer. Like Andrea, Rachel was a lawyer, now an advisor to Mayor Garcetti. She and Sharon had become friends back when Sharon was promoted to the LAPD's Women's Coordinator position and they had worked together on numerous cases.

"What I don't understand is why you want to get married in the first place. I mean you just got out of a bad marriage, why jump right back in?" The room went silent, this time with tension, not humor. Roz sat back, arms crossed over her chest, seemingly unconcerned by the group's collective disapproval.

"What the hell are you talking about?" It was Summer who quickly jumped to Sharon's defense. "Just out of a bad marriage? She's been done with that ungrateful, immature, disloyal prick for 23 freaking years! Just because she only formally divorced him a couple of years ago doesn't mean-"

"Summer," Sharon tugged on her friend's arm. "It's okay, calm down."

"It's not okay; she has no right to say that. You," she pointed a finger at Roz, "have no idea what she went through. You've known her for what? Four years? You have no right to question her choices. And just because you hate men doesn't mean she has to feel the same."

"Okay, okay, whoa. I didn't mean to start World War III." Roz held her hands up in defeat. "And for the record, I don't hate men. Well, all men anyway. I'm just saying, she doesn't need a man…a husband."

"Roz is right." Sharon agreed, taking a sip of her wine.

"What?" Summer turned to her with confusion.

"She's right. I don't need a man. But I can want one without needing him. And you know what? That makes this the purest relationship I have ever been in, ever. I don't need Andy's money, I don't need his security, I don't need his protection, I don't need him to provide shelter for me, I'm not looking for a father for my children. I am with Andy for one reason only. I love him. It's as easy and as simple as that. I love him and I want to spend the rest of my life with him. And yes, I want the formal commitment of marriage. I know I don't need it, but I want it. And that's my choice." She tapped her fingers on her chest, stressing the point. "I am at a place in my life right now where I can do what I want to do, not what I need to do, and you have no idea how much freedom there is in that for me."

"And we're thrilled for you." Summer's narrowed eyes shot daggers at Roz, causing Sharon to suppress a smile. Summer was about as laid back a person as she knew, however, one thing they did have in common was that you didn't mess with the people they love.

"Yes, we are." Patrice set a gentle hand on Sharon's knee. "Andy is a great guy, and he loves you to the moon and back." As Andy's caregiver while he was recovering from his surgery, Patrice had gotten to know the man and the way he felt about Sharon better than any of them.

Andrea nodded in agreement. "You all know how I feel about marriage, but hell, if I had a guy who looked at me the way Flynn looks at Sharon, who knows?"

Aggie, who had gone off to pilfer through the shelves, returned and flopped down in an oversized chair. She opened the small book she'd been looking for and began reading. "To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable."

"That's C.S Lewis, isn't it? " Sharon recognized the passage from having read a lot of Lewis's work.

Aggie nodded. "From The Four Loves."

"Well, he sums it up rather nicely, doesn't he? " Sharon poured a little more wine in her glass, then sat back. "Loving someone is a risk, no doubt about it, but I will always believe that it is a risk worth taking." She was well aware of how easy it would have been to encase her heart in one of those caskets after Jack, to allow herself to become unreachable. But that just wasn't in her DNA. Barriers, yes, she had certainly erected some of those, but closed off completely? No. She simply had too much love inside her to shut down like that. She knew people often thought she was cold, aloof, unemotional. They never knew it was all a façade, a shield meant to hide the fact that she actually felt things very deeply. She'd had to learn how to contain those emotions, to hide her feelings, but they were there, they were always there. And, had she entombed her heart, she never would have been able to let Rusty in, nor been able to embrace the man who had become the love of her life. Vulnerable? Yes, love made you vulnerable, but the rewards far outweighed any risk.

"I agree, we all need to remain open to love. Now, who's hungry?" Helen, the owner of the bookstore, set to restore order to their opinionated little group. "We'll eat, then dive into the book."

Sharon shot the older woman a grateful look. They might all be friends, but she had never really been comfortable with people dissecting her life.

The food was potluck. Each member of the club took a turn hosting the meeting, but it was always potluck so no one was stuck having to feed the whole group. At the end of each meeting, they drew out of a hat to see if they would be bringing the beverages, an appetizer, or an entrée to the next meeting. Though it wasn't a rule, they often tried to base whatever food they brought on the setting of their book. The only part of the meal they did not draw for was dessert. Mary Agnes Boudreaux McCormack, Aggie, always brought dessert. Twenty years ago, Aggie had moved to Los Angeles after Craig McCormack walked into her bakery in New Orleans and swept the 37-year-old widow off her feet, taking her home with him to California. Aggie opened a pretty little bed and breakfast near Venice Beach and brought with her the French and Creole delicacies of her former home, including the to-die-for beignets she brought to each meeting, regardless of the setting. No one was willing to forgo those beignets.

This month's book was set in Mexico, so there were cheesy nachos with garlic guacamole, sweet potato and black bean taquitos, a creamy taco soup, Mexican chicken and rice, and fish tacos. Sharon had drawn beverages at their last meeting, so, along with a case of seltzer water, she'd brought a few bottles of a Baja Cabernet Sauvignon/Merlot blend along with the makings for Mojitos.

"And these," she drew out two large bottles of champagne. "Because we can't celebrate 10 years without a little bubbly. I still can't believe we've been doing this for 10 years." She poured the champagne and passed the glasses around to the ten incredible women sprawled over the sitting area. Ranging in age from their late forties to early sixties, with most in their fifties like Sharon, black, white, and mixed heritage, native Californians and transplants, gay and straight, single and married, they were a diverse group who had come together to bond over a shared love of books. And somewhere along the way, they had become friends. Friends that had seen each other through infidelity, divorce, infertility, empty nests, cancer, adoptions, menopause, job losses, promotions, and new loves gained and lost.

The book club had come about rather organically not long after Helen and her business partner, Jenny, opened "The Book Nook", a combination bookstore/café a little over 10 years ago. Helen's husband, Christopher, had accepted the position of visiting professor at USC, and the British couple fell in love with the climate and laid back lifestyle of Southern California. So, when a permanent position became available, they decided to leave the gray skies and rain of England behind and settle in the land of sunshine and surfers. At the time, Jenny was a stay at home mom whose marriage had fallen apart after her battle with breast cancer. Divorced, her children in college, and cancer-free, she was ready to embrace a new life when Helen became a patron of the coffeehouse where she was working as a barista. Soon they were discussing a joint venture. A few years later, their bookstore/cafe became reality, and Sharon, Summer, and Rachel became some of their first customers. Recommendations of authors and long chats over coffee regarding the books they read or were interested in reading had Jenny suggesting the idea of starting a book club.

For Sharon, it was perfect timing. Ricky had just gone off to Stanford, and with Emily across the country at NYU, she was reeling from the effects of her empty nest. For 21 years, her life had revolved around her children and their needs, car-pooling, cooking, laundry, helping with homework, getting them to practices, cheering them on at games and recitals, and most recently visiting college campuses in preparation for their futures. And then suddenly they were just…gone. The house was too quiet, too empty, too filled with memories. And, with her children gone, the fact that she did not have a love life only became more pronounced, her bed suddenly emptier, colder to the touch. And it didn't help that she was starting to feel like she was in a rut at the PSB. Melancholy enveloped her in its insidious web, eating away at her, telling her that her best days were now in the past.

Later, she would find that she actually enjoyed the peace and solitude of being on her own, the freedom of not having to organize anyone but herself. But in the beginning, the loneliness was crushing. Both Rachel and Summer commiserated with her because they were going through the same thing. It was Marina who encouraged her to use that time to focus on herself and do some of the things she'd wanted to do but hadn't had time for in the past.

For many years, Sharon had helped out a few nights a month at St. Joseph's soup kitchen, bringing Emily and Ricky along with her, which was how she'd gotten to know Aggie. Now, she began volunteering at the church's domestic violence shelter, counseling the women on their rights, teaching them how to defend themselves, and helping them to find jobs. She coached them through the interview process and helped them select outfits from donated clothes-including her own-that would help them look professional. Eventually, she ended up on the board of directors. She also became the LAPD's liaison with "The Sunshine Kids Foundation" helping kids with cancer, worked with Rachel to raise money for "Emily's List", sold her house and bought the condo, and then she joined the book club.

It was the perfect hobby and helped her to expand her group of friends. Other than Gavin, Summer, and Rachel, she didn't really have any close friends, confidantes. It wasn't that she was anti-social, she had many friendly acquaintances: Marina, Aggie, a few women and men at work. But, the truth was, she had never had the time to cultivate deep friendships. As a single mom, she was usually either working or taking care of her kids. And where most people made friends on the job, her work within the PSB made that impossible. Barriers were essential in her position, and that had not been easy, especially in the beginning. Even though she'd always been a bit reserved, she was not a naturally unfriendly person, so having to close off that side of her had taken time and effort. But she'd become good at it. Maybe too good. Once her walls were built, it was hard to let people back in.

The book club started out small, and though it had not been intentional, they were all women: Helen, Sharon, Summer, Rachel, Jenny, Marina, and Aggie. Roz, Patrice, and Andrea were later additions. Once the only women thing was established, they decided to keep it that way, which pleased Sharon. She was surrounded by men all day long, worked in a profession dominated by men, and she didn't have a problem with that. For the most part, she liked working with men, liked their direct ways, and had always felt that the best teams had a combination of women and men. On the other hand, it was nice to spend time with her women friends and immerse herself in the female perspective. It was also easier to be herself and let her hair down without the male/female dynamic, without feeling like she had to prove that she was tough enough, strong enough, smart enough, the way she did at work, every… single… day. Around these women, she could express her emotions, and frankly, her sexuality, without being embarrassed or viewed as weak.

"To ten years!" Helen raised her glass of champagne.

"To ten years!" The group chorused.

TBC

[pynkhues]

do you have advice on how to be more of a critical thinker/ tips on how to analyse shows?? bc i love yours but god i couldnt do it even if you paid me, i've got no skills

Oh gosh, thank you, anon! And I highly doubt you have no skills! All of this stuff is both learnt (I watch a truly shocking amount of movies, haha) and something that I genuinely think comes naturally to us as a species. I think humans like stories. I think we see that in historic - particularly Indigenous - traditions of oral storytelling, I think we see that in fairytales and fables, in modern films and TV - - hell, I even think it with tabloids (like, fuck, I kind of love that glossy magazines can build a story out of a celebrity getting a coffee from Starbucks [Not with her BOYFRIEND?? They’re clearly on the rocks, etc etc etc])

With that in mind, I think really learning how to unpack a story comes down to a pretty simple question.

Why? 

When it comes to storytelling (and life tbh), everything is a choice that somebody has made - whether that be a writing choice, an acting choice, a costume choice, an art department choice. Somebody has sat down and decided that something looks, sounds, feels the way that it does, and they’ll have a reason for it. Stories aren’t made by accident - they’re the result of a lot of work done by a lot of people - so feel empowered to ask that story questions - interrogate it - really ask it why, because somebody’s work and reasoning is generally behind it (and in my experience - those people love that you notice and want to engage with it, even when you have an opinion that might deviate from their intention).

Like - - okay, lets look at an example. 

Beth wears a lot of floral, and her house is decorated with a lot of floral, which means that at least one person has made that choice. Probably a writer, who likely wrote it into a script at some point. Great! Likely though - that writer wrote it into that script, and a costume team and art department / set dressers ran with it and then doubled down on it, so now we have multiple creatives making an active creative choice to decorate Beth and Beth’s life in floral. 

Why would they do that? What do floral prints mean? 

Well, floral is culturally and socially something that is very feminine, and often heavily associated with beauty and motherhood (gosh, just think of any sort of mother’s day card or promotion). Flowers are also something that can represent a blossoming (which I think you could genuinely argue with Beth), and certain flowers represent very specific things - like lilies (innocence), daisies (youth), roses (love) or poppies (death) - none of the latter are relevant in this situation, but you get the gist. 

Beth dresses in a range of floral, which implies they’re going for a broader association with it - unlike, say, American Beauty, which used recurring rose imagery to directly contradict the idea of ‘love’ - which takes us back to the original point - femininity, beauty and motherhood, and they use it to draw a very stark parallel to the life it is that Beth’s actually living. She’s wearing floral when she’s arguing with FBI agents, or as a costume with other mothers. It’s being used to amplify the contrast between what it is she’s doing and the image that she wants to project to the world / arguably the woman that she is. 

What I’m getting at, is that if you notice an image, or an item that’s recurring, just let yourself think about it. 

So let’s try again.

Let’s think about Beth’s bourbon, or Rio’s gun. 

These are two items that the writers keep putting in front of us, which means that they mean something to them, and therefore the characters and the story. 

Why? 

Well, season one establishes that Beth drinks bourbon usually after a long day, when she’s criming with the girls, when she’s just really fucking done. This is reiterated in season two, and then it’s something that Rio learns about her, orders her, and deliberately leaves her when he takes back her money. 

Season one told us that bourbon is what Beth drinks when she’s at her rawest and her most vulnerable. Rio knowing that narratively, is telling us that Rio knows Beth. 

Like I said in an earlier post, Rio’s gun has a lot of weight to it, and is typically accompanied with a shift in narrative tension. So why would that be? Well, the gun is dangerous. It represents Rio at his most dangerous. If it represents Rio at his most dangerous, it means that it generally also represents Rio at his most powerful, so you can infer from that that the gun is symbolic of power, which particularly comes into play when he gives it to Beth in 1.10 and again in 2.13. Rio’s giving Beth power which she gives back to him in 2.01, and seizes and then actually gives to Turner in 2.13 (which is very interesting to me generally, haha). 

So yeah! I guess asking a story why, and paying attention to recurring imagery - both physical and more symbolic, is probably my biggest recommendation of where to start. If you notice an image repeating too, and don’t know what it means, feel empowered to google it too! There’s no shame in that. I’ve done that plenty of times, haha, because we can’t all be across everything after all. ;-)

Otherwise, I’d really suggest listening to podcasts or interviews, and watching things that help to break down stories and creative and story-business process. 

In particular, I really love TheNerdWriter and Lindsay Ellis on YouTube, I also watch/listen to a lot of interviews with writers and directors through things like The Hollywood Reporter roundtables, and podcasts like Australian Screenwriters, Scriptnotes, How Did This Get Made (which is v funny). I’m also going to do a shameless plug here, haha, and say that I have a very-amateur podcast (full disclaimer - our audio quality can be not-great) with a friend too called Lady Parts which is about genre films, but particularly about roles and representations of women in those genre films.

There are also some pretty amazing books out there too. An entry-level one is Film Art (which is unfortunately a bit expensive!) but is an incredible resource full of screencaps and script pages which helps to break down choices and storytelling and imagery, and Wonderbook by Jeff VanderMeer (who wrote Annihilation!) which is more about writing, but is an incredible resource for understanding story generally. 

I hope that’s a helpful start, anon! And if anyone has any other tips, you should leave ‘em in the comments :-)

[poeedamerons]

all I know, all I know (loving you is a losing game)

Read it on A03

Ps: I know it’s December and I am posting a Halloween fic but that's just how my muse works and I can't do much about it, but I hope you guys enjoy this.

Michael would never admit it out loud, but he is absolutely afraid of anything even remotely scary. Halloween truly is the stuff of nightmares to him. With that being said, it is no wonder that his heart is pounding so fast he is afraid he might faint. All because he got roped into going to Roswell’s Horrorland.

As if the city’s reputation of alien activity wasn’t enough, it was decided that Roswell should also be the place for all fans of horror and aliens to go to on Halloween (Michael could actually punch whoever had that idea in the first place). Hence the new alien haunted themed park right on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by the eerie New Mexico desert.

It was just his luck that his boyfriend was not only an alien enthusiast (he is dating Michael, after all) but also a huge fan of Halloween. Almost obsessively.

Michael really didn’t get it and was absolutely positively-one-hundred-per-cent-a-fucking-fraid. The cherry on the top is that no one knows this. If people think that being an actual alien is his biggest secret, they have another thing coming their way.

He is secure in his masculinity, but admitting this secret out loud feels very… well, emasculating. Plus, no one would ever let him down gently for this. He would be bulldozed by their teasing, and Alex? Alex would be merciless; he is sure of it.

So, thanks but no thanks. He will keep a death grip on his jacket pocket and pray to any and all gods that might have been listening to keep his other hand from sweating too much into Alex’s.

“Come on, Guerin!” Alex’s gleeful laughter distracted him from his death infused trance as they strolled inside the gates of the themed park alongside their friends. The younger man was pulling him through their joined hands with the excitement of a child on Christmas day and Michael had to keep the butterflies in his stomach in check. Sadly, for him, the butterflies had more to do with the fact that he might, in reality, throw up than adoration over Alex’s joy.

Michael really thought he could survive this night with careful dodging and fake enjoyment, but he could feel in his gut that this was going to be a disaster.

The stuff he did for love, really.

Before he could quite grasp what was going on – the flashing lights, bright neon paint everywhere and fake smoke impairing his senses – they were next in line to board a ride called “Moon Base”. Initially, the name sounded non-threatening to Michael, but the closer they got to the ride’s entry gate, the louder the screams were and sweat started to exude from him in buckets. He had no idea how Alex hadn't noticed how wet he was through his clothes.

His friends were chatting excitedly in front of him, but Michael felt like the room was spinning around in slow motion and noises seemed far away from him. He could already feel a peculiar wave of nausea in the pit of his stomach.

“Michael, come on!” Alex urged, pulling him by his wrist and he hummed in agreement, as that was all form of communication he could muster.

His feet seemed to have a life of their own as they led him to his seat, next to Alex’s. He buckled his belt in a trance, the muscles in his jaw clenching in anticipation. As it turned out the ride consisted of an elevator drop, it raised you all the way to the top, dropping down one floor at a time. On every floor the room would shake and cast members dressed in costumes from a 1980s style gory alien movie would come out to scare the people on the ride.

His hand clutched the railings on his seat, knuckles turning white as the metal creases and creaks beneath his palm. Fuck, fuck, fuck Michael thought. This was literally the worst thing that has ever happened to him and they are still going up.

Only when the ride finally started its doomed way down and Michael started screaming bloody murder did Alex and the others close to him finally noticed that, in fact, he was not okay.

“Michael, are you okay?” He could hear Alex yelling at him, trying to get him to hear over the noise of the ride and other peoples screams, but all he was able to do was to keep his eyes tightly shut and scream at the top of his lungs as blood thumped in his ears.

“Michael???” Alex's voice was frantic, and he felt his boyfriend’s hand reach into his, but the warmth of the other man’s fingers was not enough to calm his hammering heart down.

“Fuck, we need to stop this ride,” was the last thing Michael remembered hearing before it all suddenly stopped. He felt people around him, his belt being unbuckled, and his death grip being moved out of the way. Light filtered through the back of his eyelids.

“Babe?” He could hear Alex's voice calling to him and when he, unwillingly, he might add, opened his eyes he could see worried looks stamped on everyone’s faces. He was still shaking and his heart rate was wildly out of control, rapidly hammering against his ribcage. His legs felt numb and he just wanted to lie down and never wake up.

“Hey there, big guy. Let’s get you outta here, okay?” His boyfriend's gentle voice filled the room, and he was one hundred percent down with this, but he had no idea how he would achieve it; but once again all he knew is that indeed he was led out of that death trap and onto a bench. A water bottle was shoved in front of him, and he gulped its contents greedily.

He had no idea how long they sat down together – Alex the only one remaining with him in what apparently was a group decision to give him space – but eventually, he started feeling better as the gut-wrenching fear passed.

Alex reached for his free hand, pulling it up all the way to his lips, placing a gentle warm kiss on the inside of his wrist. “Are you feeling better now?” Alex still sounded worried.

Michael deeply exhaled through his nose, groaning quietly before giving his boyfriend a one-word answer. “Yes.”

“I don’t want to push, but babe, please tell me. What happened?” His boyfriend, for someone so observant and smart, sometimes could be so blind. If he hadn’t almost had a heart attack minutes ago he would be astonished at the extent of Alex’s absent-mindedness.

“I really, really don’t want to talk about it.” He tried to keep the distress out of his voice, getting up in an attempt to run from this conversation, but Alex’s light squeeze of his hands told him he wasn’t successful.

“Michael, please talk to me,” Alex urged helplessly. “You really scared me in there.”

He finally, finally, looked at him then, his eyes revealing his reluctance and embarrassment. But he sighed and bit his lip. “Scary things? Not a fan.”

“That’s an understatement, Guerin.” Alex's voice faltered while trying to stop his choked-up laughter when he noticed Michael’s glare. “Sorry, sorry. I’m not laughing at you…” The asshole really was, and this was one of the reasons why Michael didn’t want to tell Alex, ever. “Well, yeah, I kind of am, but just because I think it’s cute, and honestly, I'm kinda relieved. I thought you were sick or having a stroke or something.”

He chose to willingly ignore the last comment. “Bleh, bleh, bleh I think it’s cute,” Michael mocked, trying to pull away from his boyfriends’ grip, making Alex laugh even harder at his antics; but before he could fully grasp himself out of it Alex gently pulled Michael to him, tucking his head into his neck.

“Scared of scary things,” Alex told him, his warm breath tickling Michael's nape. “How cliché for an alien cowboy like you.” He teased, kissing the side of Michael's neck in a clear (and wildly successful) attempt to appease him.

Michael grunted in response, still pressing his face into Alex’s silky black hair, breathing in his soothing fragrance. The smell of warm cinnamon apples Alex seemed to carry around always had a calming effect on him.

“Hey,” Alex nuzzled his nose against Michael’s jaw. “I know I teased you,” Alex said, his tone distressed. “But it’s okay that you’re scared, babe. You shoulda just told me,” Michael’s eyes were now staring intensely at Alex’s dark ones. “I hate knowing that I dragged you into something that made you so frightened you had a panic attack.” Alex bit his lip contritely, something Michael should have not found as adorable and sexy.

“No, Alex,” Michael argued helplessly, hugging Alex while he gently rubbed his face into the other man’s hair. “Don’t be upset. I was being stupid,” He grimaced, this whole ordeal is a bigger emotional roller-coaster than he expected. “I just- I really wanted to do this for you, because you love it so much, and –” Please, God help him not to die from embarrassment. “I really didn’t want to look like a pussy in front of you.” There he said it, hoping the ground would open a hole and swallow him.

He could feel the smile Alex was fighting against his jawline. “That is both very sweet and ridiculous.” Michael must admit that ‘sweet’ wasn’t that bad. He could even live with ridiculous if Alex persuaded him enough.

“Yeah?” He asked the dark-haired man in front of him, giving him his best winning smile, hoping to make Alex’s heart flutter.

“Yeah,” Alex answered, sliding his hands down the length of Michael’s arms before intertwining their fingers together and resting his head against the taller man’s shoulder.

“Oh, and don’t worry, Guerin.” A roguish grin crossed Alex’s face. “I’ll protect you.” Alex, the cheeky - unbearably sexy - idiot had the gall to wink.

He should really have swatted Alex’s round, perfectly shaped ass right then, but they were in a family park and Michael would rather not be kicked out for public indecency.

“I should really punish you for that later,” He whispered in Alex’s ear, sending chills to the other man’s toes.

Alex swallowed audibly, a light blush catching on his tanned cheeks. Michael found the whole thing highly endearing.

“How about we play some games?” Alex suggested lightly, sobering up and pulling Michael by the hand. A gentle loving smile was playing on his lips. Michael, being such an idiot in love, couldn't help but lean in for a kiss.

He pressed his lips against Alex’s, aware that his are slightly dry. But Alex’s lips are soft and wet. His boyfriend’s breath hitches for a moment in surprise, but then he pushes forward, his nose brushing against Michael’s as he tilts his head slightly for a better angle.

Alex’s tongue traced against his lips a moment before he pushed it forward slightly, but pulling back quickly as to not deepen it too much. Michael groaned deeply in dismay, making Alex chuckle mid-kiss. His other hand started to trail upwards, his fingers grazed against Alex's warm side as the shirt rucked up with his touch. He delved his tongue into Alex's open mouth, groaning again when their tongues brushed against each other. But before their kiss could progress from sweet to filthy, Alex pulled away and Michael could help but pout.

"We're in public, you silly goose!" Alex protested with a bright grin, eyes alight, "I'm not- we can't do that here. C'mon," he cleared his throat, trying to bring himself back into a state that was appropriate for being in public, "C'mon, let's find a stall for you to throw something at all alpha-male and win me a stuffed animal."

They strolled lazily and quietly towards the game booths, enjoying each other’s company, taking in the cold, crisp air of the night. Michael could feel a lightness come back to his limbs, all the stress from the Horrorland around them almost forgotten.

It did help that where they were, apart from some awfully intricate alien invasion decoration, – with a sickening amount of neon green and purple glowing slime – in this section of the park that was free of rides and cast members dressed in blood-curdling costumes.

Yikes.

Lost in thought, Michael almost bumped into Alex’s back. The other man stopped dead in his tracks and Michael furrowed his brows, his eyes frantically searching around them for anything suspicious. Or as suspicious, it could get in a theme park.

Finally, his eyes zero in what has caught Alex’s attention: a giant, bright green alien plush with a holographic hooded cape. In one of his paw-like feet, he could read the words “Roswell NM” in bold black letters.

Michael knew deep in his heart that this gruesome and honestly offensive depiction of an alien was exactly the kind of ‘cute’ thing Alex was searching for and Michael was going to be the alien idiot that would win it for him.

The things he did for love.

He doesn’t regret a single one of them.

He snorts for  good measure and turns to Alex. “Like something you see?” His voice was laced with indulgence. The other man locked eyes with him, a mischievous smile lighting up to his eyes.

“Come on Guerin.” And once more he is being dragged by his over-eager boyfriend to the booth, but this time as they reach their destiny Michael steps in front of Alex, handing over the tickets in exchange for a turn at the task. His demeanor showing Alex he meant business.

“Are you sure you're up for this, cowboy??” Alex's voice is filled with mirth, clearly baiting him.

“Oh, you are so on, Manes.” He can hardly contain the boyish delight that took over his body at the challenge.

------

He should have known that these carnival games were rigged.

There he was trying to win Alex that stupid alien plush (without his powers, he would like to point out) and he has no idea how much money he has spent so far – and he feels like it has been more than the actual monstrosity is worth – and now is a matter of dignity he wins Alex this blasted thing, the amount of money he spends be damned.

“Michael, let it go, c'mon, it's really not that big of a deal.” His boyfriend assured him. “I think I saw a hoodie over there with a huge alien head on the front and I really want one.” Alex pleaded with him.

While he had no doubt that Alex did see that hoodie and wanted one so he could wear it around the house with only boxers on and giggle in his general direction like the bewitching, evil flirt that he is, he is also sure he is only saying that in an attempt to help Michael save face and get him off the booth after thirty tries.

Not a chance in hell he is leaving without the toy now.

“Yes, it really is, Alex.” Michael answered, exasperation strung through his tone as he takes a breath and scowls at the offending stall. “I am going to get you that stupid, unnecessarily huge, plush alien you want and I will march out of this godforsaken park victorious.” He smashed his fist on the booth table, shoving the new dollar bills down.

The guy in the black and white shirt running the stall wasn't technically supposed to take literal money, only tickets, but Michael was pretty sure that he'd worked out by now that stopping him on a technicality wouldn't end well for anyone. He did keep raising his judgy eyebrows though, smothering a self-satisfied smile every time Michael cursed himself out for failing at a rigged game, though. Jackass.

Alex better appreciate how sweet he is being by trying this hard to get that stupid thing that he will be forced to share a bed with at least tonight while Alex joyfully snuggles with his ironic prize and leaves him to fend for himself on his side of the bed.

Michael took a deep breath and placed all his focus once again in the game. He tries to block the sounds around them and Alex’s general aura of exasperation and amusement. He wound up his arm, squinting his eyes to aim before throwing the ring once more and the seconds it takes to reach its destination pass in slow motion movie to Michael. The smacking noise of the rim on the bottle mocked him once again. He throws his hands up in the air in absolute frustration.

“Anytime now, Michael.” Alex teased, probably trying a whole new approach to get him to give up on this. But he would not be answering Alex’s siren call this time.

Fuck it, he thought to himself. He was absolutely going to use his powers to beat this game and no one, not even Alex, would know. This game clearly wasn’t meant to be won and Michael would not be welcoming people’s opinion on the matter, thank you very much.

Alex chuckled.

“It’s not funny.” He mumbled back.

“Oh, it is.” Alex taunted.

“Fine, this is gonna be my last shot. If I don’t win, I walk, ‘kay?” He knew he was going to make it this time, but he wasn't going to waste the opportunity to be dramatic about winning at the very last minute like a conquering underdog.

“Deal,” Alex replied, getting down from the booth’s counter, smoothing down his pants, ready to leave.

Michael made a show of intensely looking at his target, taking a deep breath and adjusting his footing. He picked the ring and gently tossed in the direction of the bottle, this time controlling the ring’s path with his mind, wrapping around the biggest, furthest bottle.

He whooped with excitement, rendering both Alex and the booth keeper shocked with the turn of events. He lost no time and picked Alex up and spun him around once, much to the disinterest of the man behind the booth.

“You did it,” Alex whispered, amazed, but a peal of delicious laughter soon rang past his lips. “My hero,” He gazed lovingly into Michael's eyes, leaning in for a quick kiss on the lips in reward for his efforts.

“Do you want your prize?” The man asked, and Michael turned to him dumbfounded. The gall this guy had to ask that like he wasn't a private spectator to Michael’s efforts to win the prize.

“Yes,” Alex quickly filled in pointing up at the green alien as if the man had forgotten. A light blush spread through the dark-haired man cheeks, his eyes shining with childish delight.

He really would do anything to see Alex looking this precious.

“Happy?” Michael asked as they made their way out of the booth, wrapping his arms around Alex, as the man clutched the ridiculous sized stuffed animal on his other side like a lifeline.

“Uhum,” Alex sing-songed in reply, a big smile taking over his facial expression. “You totally used your powers, didn’t you?” Alex’s smile was so big now, Michael was sure it was going to rip on the edges.

“No!” He gasped in fake hurt. “Do you think it would have taken me that many tries if I did?” He stopped walking in the middle of the busy corridor, his hand still deep in Alex's back pocket. “Do you think so little of your awesome boyfriend that absolutely made an idiot out of himself to get you an ugly-ass alien plushie like a normal human?”

Alex squinted his eyes, looking deeply into his. “I guess…” He didn’t sound convinced, but the night was young and there was no way he would spend more time than necessary in this horrible place, so he really could change Alex’s mind with a little bit of cajoling.

“Exactly!” He exclaimed. “Now, where is all my gratitude?” He closed his eyes and leaned in Alex space, earning him a chuckle from the man.

“Thank you,” Alex answered him back. “I love it,” He felt Alex give a quick peck at his both cheeks and he had to fight a smile. “I will cherish it forever,” Alex's voice was adoring before he peppered all around Michael’s face with little kisses, ultimately making him smile and shiver.

He opened his eyes, making sure all his love could be conveyed through them. “I love you,” He muttered as he rested his forehead into Alex’s.

“And I love you, you silly alien.”

------

Rosa’s delighted giggled ringed loudly over the park crowd, followed by Liz’s and Isobel’s buoyant screams at the sight of the two of them making their way towards the group.

“Please,” Rosa’s excited voice began, “tell me that you made Michael win this for you.” Her eyes sparkled with mirth. The concept of an alien playing some silly game to win his boyfriend an alien plush was the exact kind of humor Rosa lived for.

“Yeap,” Alex answered with a pop on the ‘p’, completely proud of his achievement. Michael could not help but roll his eyes adoringly. Her head bent back with full-body laughter.

“How am I supposed to compete with that?” Max exclaimed loudly; his humor clearly affected by this turn of events. Michael shot his brother a wolfish grin.

“Don’t be a baby, Max,” Rosa nipped. “I am sure my sister can lick your wounds.” Now it was Rosa’s turn to smirk. Like that interaction never happened, her attention was back on him and Alex, determined to milk all the jokes this situation could give.

“This is the best thing ever. I need a picture of this.” She exclaimed loudly, frantically searching in her bag for her phone.

“You better watch out, little brother,” Isobel said. “Alex might have finally found the alien for him.” Her lips curled into a vicious smirk.

“You are just jealous Alex is the only one with a giant plush and not you.” He grinned back and Isobel stuck her tongue out, distinctively making his point for him. Looking to his side, Alex was talking cheerfully to Liz, clutching his alien close to him, making Michael smile at the scene.

Despite what it felt like a train wreck of an evening, Alex had a happy smile playing on his lips, a light contentment about his mood, indicating that after everything that went down they still had a great time together, and if love is a losing game, Michael would lose it every time to make Alex happy.

------

One could already guess that Alex does very much love his new alien plush and not only slept with him on the bed that very night, but the nights that followed for a month until it’s mysterious disappearance and no, it was not me, Alex, for god’s sake stop asking even though we all know that in fact, it was very much one Michael Guerin that did burn the godforsaken, ugly thing one day, out in the back, while Alex was not home, because if there is one alien that gets to sleep curled around Alex, it’s him.

[theamberfang]

Journal 261: Aid

(Adding this in to the top after finishing the post. There’s more important stuff down under “Support.” It just wouldn’t be easy to swap things around though, so I’m putting this comment up here.)

Brevity

At least, I plan to be brief*. Yeah, my wrists are acting up again today. To be more accurate though, it feels more like the pain is in forearm muscles close to my wrists rather than the wrists themselves. I’ve also experienced this distinction before, and my theory then was that my muscles had been unconsciously extra tense in an attempt to keep my wrists steady—so that, like, whatever is going on in the carpal tunnel or whatever can better rest and recover.

*(I’m coming back from the end of this post. It wasn’t brief.)

When it comes to anything I ate that might have been a problem, I did have a fast food chicken sandwich that my mom gave me; I’m guessing my father came home with some take-out and she passed it on to me. I did try to have fiber with it by eating some pineapple, but maybe that wasn’t enough. Remembering how my body reacted to pizza, I think I’m especially sensitive to gluten, which may have been in the buns. I’ll pay special attention to any bread I eat from now on before deciding if I need to cut the stuff from my diet altogether.

A few days ago, I did get a comment about them having been relieved the problem was my diet, instead of something like arthritis. Well, I actually think it would be likely if I had something along those lines. I mean, plenty of people manage to eat carbs without too much concern about physical pain. I’m pretty sure I have some sort of underlying condition, and it’s simply being aggravated by high-blood sugar, gluten, and whatever else. I’m simply not in a position to actually go to a doctor to receive a real diagnosis, because healthcare in the United States is dumb—there are a ton of people that do have insurance but still wouldn’t see a doctor about this sort of problem because it would still be too costly. I’m simply doing the best I can with what I know and what I can analyze: the best I have so far is to be strict about my own diet.

Support

Something I’ve been doing a bit the past few days is paying a bit more attention to my followers: not as a number of internet points, but as people. It mostly caught my attention because I’ve seen the number go up without any uptick in activity. My guess is that these people are new to Tumblr, so they’re in a sort of “authentication period” before their activity is tracked more rigorously—to prevent people from using bots to inflate their follow count or something like that, maybe. Still, I’ve followed a couple of my more recent followers back after browsing their blogs a bit. I may work my way back to older followers as well.

I bring this up mostly because I decided to comment on someone’s first journal entry to their blog—I’m guessing they found me through searching up “journal” maybe? There was a lot of stuff in their post that I can’t genuinely relate to, but what really caught my attention was how they repeatedly asked: “Does that make me a terrible person?” Indeed, they did explain at some point that they have severe depression, and that’s definitely something I can speak to, and I want to put my comments back here (not exactly, because I don’t really feel like copy-pasting stuff.)

The core of it is: no, I did not believe they are a terrible person. I don’t believe that anyone is, inherently and fundamentally, a terrible person. Yes, they may have done some regrettable things, but that just makes them a person who has done some bad things—though, some of them I’d argue aren’t even bad, and instead are actions that are systemically oppressed.

I believe this is an important distinction to make, especially when you are depressed. If you believe that you are bad, that it is a fundamental aspect of your being, then it follows that there is nothing you can do to change it. Any act of good you do simply becomes a falsehood to hide your true identity of badness. If you can manage to believe, instead, that you’ve simply done bad things and engaged in harmful behaviors, then it follows that you can work on changing those behaviors and learning new ones.

Changing this is easier said than done. I want to make that clear. Do absolutely everything in your power to not turn a failure to change these believes into a weapon to abuse yourself with. I also know that absolutely everything you have might not be enough. It’s very hard to change these kinds of beliefs. They worm their way into the very core of your self-identity. Depression will do what it can to prevent you from uprooting it: it will try to convince you that your failure to better yourself is proof that you should give up. Sometimes—maybe even most of the time—it will be hard to fight against it. But I urge you to try even a little bit. Any amount of practice towards thinking and behaving more healthily is progress, and I hope that a small amount of practice will gain traction and momentum.

I didn’t quite write all of that to them—I’m just getting a bit worked up about it now that I’m on my own soap box—but it carried the sentiment. There are still a couple other things in my responses that I want to highlight though.

I said that I can’t fault them for their behaviors. As far as I could tell, they were their coping mechanisms. Yes, they weren’t exactly the healthiest ways to cope, but they were what they knew. I can’t fault them for turning to the behaviors they knew: the behaviors they’ve learned. The Determinist that I am, I trusted that what they’ve done has been the best they could manage in their situation. To find blame in them is to ignore reality for what it is.

I ended off by saying that I am proud of them. I’m proud of them for expressing themselves, for reaching out. I’m proud of them for trying to be better. It’s hard, but they’re trying. I can’t help but be proud of that, and I think they needed to hear/see that. My empathy for them overwhelmed any social anxiety I might have otherwise had: it felt supremely wrong to ignore someone who was actively crying out for help. I’m hoping my reply helped them, however little. They might even see these words as well, and I hope these help as well.

Rest

As for tomorrow, I’m going to focus on taking a break—for my wrists and forearms especially. Fortunately, I managed to keep up with my Night in the Woods gameplay today, so that won’t be something hanging over my head. I’ll still go ahead with the “visit Facebook” plan, but I’m not feeling like I’ll be going to go shopping for shoes with my mom. I just don’t feel ready for it, and I really would rather focus on taking a break, instead of putting myself through the stress of trying to buy women’s shoes—both convincing my mom of it and actually following through with it.

Tomorrow’s Tasks

Dance for exercise, maybe walk outside?; 1000

KA: US History; 1100

Visit Facebook, no further obligations; 1300

Journal; 2000

[knightofbalance-13]

https://caddeter.tumblr.com/post/174539392695/for-fuck-sake

Dude, I just left the fandom. Why the fuck are you doing this?

KKKoBias, what the fuck is wrong with you?

Depression

Anger issues

A lack of impulse control

Asperger’s

Take your pick

No, seriously, what the fuck?  You harassed someone for an entire week.  You did nothing but attack they’re opinions and the user just because they dared say something mean about RWBY.  You enabled a portion of the FNDM to attack that user and made a bad situation worse.  And then, when people bring that shit back because A. That’s kinda hard to just forget.  B. You still practice the same behavior that almost caused someone to kill themselves. and C. You bring shit back all the time, no matter how legitimate what your saying is(Which knowing you, it isn’t), you try to make it sound like we’re the bad guys?

Funny hyow you don’t bring up the link in question whereas I did.

And do.

https://comments.deviantart.com/1/619991269/4290345087

Probably because if you looked at the comments, you’ll notice something:

A. While the comment chain began on Dec. 22 and ended on Dec. 27...The person in question only responded on Dec.26. Meaning that not only are you two days short but you’re also three days off. Two days of internet arguing is not that bad.

B. I didn’t enable anyone. I posted the link on reddit but I never encouraged anyone to attack them. And looking through the comments, it did NOTHING to the reaction which is mostly positive. I was wrong to post it on reddit yes, but that ISN’T your argument here so it is not correct.

C. I only bring stuff up when someone tries arguing a moral point. Dudeblade calling the CRWBY homophobic looks a lot less convincing when you see he is guilty of the same thing and still acts like he’s better.

D. I’m gonna be blunt: They weren’t gonna kill themselves. Having looked back at the situation in hindsight and discussed the situation: This was just someone trying to use suicide as a way to end an argument. I never told them they were shit or hell, even insulted them in the slightest or implied anything that would trigger such an event. And immediately afterward, they edited their journal entry with lies about the situation. None of this is like what an actual sucidial person would do.

You harassed a DeviantArt user and block evaded for an entire week, always ignoring when they told you to leave them alone.  You brought this into the RWBY reddit, and knowing you, I’ll be my entire house that you did it to tell them “Hey, look at this idiot.” You didn’t even bother to try and apologize until you were told to, like the spoiled, self-righteous child you are.  You called them a member of a fictional terrorist organization just because they said something you didn’t like and stood their ground.   You claimed you wanted to ‘educate’ anyone who disagreed, as in didn’t like, didn’t enjoy, didn’t find interesting or compelling, several emotional responses, completely subjective things, to see things your way.

A. I couldn’t have block evaded for a week if our conversation was only two days long.

B. Already apologized for it and stopped doing it.

C. https://www.reddit.com/r/RWBY/comments/5khw9y/my_thoughts_on_pyrrhas_death_rwby_and_rt_by_jswf/

I never expressed that sentiment here. So do I get the house or do you just give it up?

D.

Being a terrorist isn't the point of the White Fang: It's the fact that they were once peaceful and in the right. Until their own hatred and anger devolved them into being no better than the force they fought. Kind of like what happened to you and your group. To the point that I see you as below me. And considering I think about killing myself, that's pretty fucking low/

Context disagrees with you: I did it to illustrate that he wasn’t any better than what he fought against.

E. Press Ctrl+F and type in the word ‘educate’.

I only said the word once and

And I never said "educate', just show them both sides of the argument. Just like in Civil War, there is no right or wrong here. Just a difference of opinions. I only aimed to give a balanced view.

It was a response to him saying that I was saying that. I never said that: you’re lying.

And you have the god damn nerve to try and say we’re making shit up?

Context, the link you gave never said that and what you’re referring to could just be me pointing out how you people make stuff up about the show, which is seperate from this argument.

jswb wasn’t and isn’t trying to shame people into not speaking against them, neither is the RWDE tag.  You are trying to scare people into not talking.  This has happened multiple times before.  Someone posts something you don’t like, and you stalk and harass them until they delete the post.  You threatened Kidgecat with physical violence over a shit post. The idea that you nearly caused someone to commit suicide isn’t an impossibility.  The only impossibility is the idea that you didn’t. You’re not some grand anti-hero trying to help the FNDM, you never were and never will be.  The first reason for that is that anti-heroes don’t see themselves as heroes.  The second reason is that every time you get involved, a situation goes from bad to worse as you pull out every underhanded trick, every lie you could tell, every alt blog you need to pull out and make, just because someone said, ‘Hey, I kinda don’t like this thing about RWBY.’  Be it an in-depth analysis or a fucking joke, you don’t stop until they concede, till they say your right and give up their opinion for yours.

1.

The guy I've been chatting with Knight of Balance, has basically says he wants to 'educate' everyone who disagrees with the direction the show has been going, insulting me and others who dislike Pyrrha's death and he wants to silence us. I hid his comments so he wouldn't get a chance to 'educate my audience', his words not mine. He says he 'won't let Miles and Kerry bring Pyrrha back'. Oh really? Let's show him that he doesn't control us. Do not be quiet about how awful, insulting, needlessly cruel, and forced Pyrrha's death was. Don't let them get away with it, let them know how disappointed you are and let your voices be heard. People like him think they can control us, let's show them how wrong they are. 

He says this right AFTER blocking me.

I broke down crying, shaking, nearly throwing up, I read all of those hateful, hurtful, cruel, and insulting comments and I replied to the guy's comment with a off-putting all caps reply telling him know that I was breaking down and was about to end myself and when I did that he backed off, probably feeling like he had won, because he said himself that he was 'metaphorically' willing to drag me down to hell. I was a nervous wreck, I was being overwhelmed and felt like I wanted to die. I grabbed some scissors and nearly killed myself but thankfully I was able to remember all of the reasons I have for living like my family, my friends, the stories I write and the fans I've gotten, the stories I want to continue reading or watching, I realized I had so many reasons to live so I was able to stop myself.

To stuff like this:

*Sigh* Look, I never meant for you to get this stressed out. Hell, I understand where your coming from. Thinking about killing myself is such a common occurrence now I'm not even fazed by it anymore. So putting aside my feeling towards you and your conduct, I want you to listen to what i have to say: Your life matters. No matter what you think I've said, no matter what other people have said, no matter what you say, your life matters. You have friends and family who love and care about you and if you kill yourself, all it will do is wound those around you. It's painful I know but it's true. The best thing you can do is seek help above all else. Trust me, psychiatrists maybe be expensive by by divinty' sake they are miracle workers. And I know you're sick of hearing about this anime but really, look up Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann. That anime is a large part of why I get out of bed in the morning even thought I know there's a very good chance I'll choke to death on my breakfast, lunch or dinner or that my life probably doesn't mean anything in the grand scheme of things. It taught me to keep moving forward no matter what I lose or what I suffer because there is a light at the end of the tunnel. The journey is hard and long but it's worth it. I never intended on hurting you. Had I known you were this psychologically fragile or you were this invested in Pyrrha I would have said nothing. I understand where you are coming from and I'm sorry I did so much damage to you. I was wrong and you were right. Good day.

So I don’t think any of THAT is valid.

2. Link ouright contradicts you...And that was froma YEAR and a HALF ago.

3. And you guys have caused mental damage to several people in teh fandom. However not all of it is your fault because some people are just that way. Your reactions of ‘not my issue/fuck that person’ however...

4. Two points. A. Batman sees himself as a hero and he’s the basis for most anti-heroes. B. I stopped thinking myself as someone right a LONG time ago. I just act in what I think is best and trust that if I’m wrong, I’ll fail. I live by a ‘The right are the strongest’ AKA people who are right will defeat people who are wrong philosophy. People have beaten me before in debates and I have immense respect for them.

5A. Like not linking your proof?

5B. Like making up a quote?

5C. Stopped doing that after people told me it was wrong.

5D. Explain why I personally make an effort to care for certain critics of RWBY. Like @faboover who despite disagreeing with about Volume 4, I personally make an effort to help him and encourage him. Explain the CRTQ blog which I was the most active member of and made quite a few complaints about RWBY. Explain the event of this very situation you quote I NEVER call his opinion wrong, just his actions.

6. Then I wonder why a lot of my friends have differing opinions of RWBY.

You know what, screw it.  Not only is this going in the main tag, it’s only going in the main tag, and I’m doing everything I can to make sure the fandom sees you for the self-important, unrelenting, egotistical, uncaring, and cruel person you are.

So you try arguing a moral position while expressly trying to slander me? ... So you contradict everything you’ve done here?

And you got half of these wrong. I’m self important, I’m not egotistical nor am I uncaring. I am unrelenting though it switches from good to bad at times and I do have a sadistic side.

But here’s teh deal:

jswv is self important in thinking that disagreeing with them is hateful.

Sokumotanaka is egotistical because he thinks all criticisms against him are invalid and his opinion is objective fact,

And Dudeblade,someone I KNOW you personally interact with, is uncaring as he suicide baited an LGBT person after talking about LGBT suicide rates and proceeded to make a backhanded apology.

And the last two are EXCEEDINGLY cruel people, as well as sociopathic and bigoted.

So why don’t you call them out?

Easy: They agree with you. You don’t care about other people if they don’t agree with you. I’d bet if jswv was praising RT and I was arguing about how much of an ass kisser they were: You’d fucking love me.

Not that any of this matters: You people crossed the fucking line with that doxxing incident so i ain’t dealing with your shit anymore.

Go find someone else to call your boogeyman.

[shystoryrebel]

Tarred Road

Syed and Gayatri didn't mean to fall in love. But love happens when you least expect it. It creeps up suddenly. When someone needs attention, care, conversation, laughter and maybe even intimacy. Love doesn't look at logic, or at backgrounds and least of all, religion. Gayatri was from a very conservative South Indian family that went to a temple every Saturday. Syed bought goats for his family every Eid. That said it all. Their paths would never have crossed if it hadn't been for that fateful day. That day when he walked into the coffee shop. Gayatri wondered if destiny chose our loved ones for us. Did we have any role to play at all? She looked at her watch. Syed was late. They met every Thursday at five pm to catch up. Their conversation lasted for hours. Sometimes at the cafe, sometimes in his car, sometimes in places that she could never tell her friends about. They would never understand. And yet Syed made her happy. Suddenly her phone beeped. He had sent a message. "On my way. Have something important to tell you." Gayatri stared at it and realized she had knots in her stomach. Thoughts flooded her mind. What did he want to tell her?

After waiting for hours Gayatri left for home.

Her hands went numb and cold after getting his message. ‘ Chivas Regal Scotch Whisky’. During all these moments, she knew only scotch could give some relief to her. She picked up the bottle of Scotch, from which she took two big pegs last night.

She read the label again and again on the Scotch bottle almost singingly, ‘Chivas Regal Scotch Whisky’. It was a good happenstance! Syed and Gayatri-they share a common interest, ‘Chivas Regal Scotch Whisky’.

She quickly swigged alcohol, from the bottle in her hand. She could feel the Scotch journey through her veins to the brain.

The ‘Chivas Regal Scotch Whisky’ opened her closed mental space and poked her that she was in a two bedroom flat, owned by her parents and the bottle, from which she had gulped the Scotch was the first ‘Date’ gift by Syed, whom she loved stealthily. Her mind was running fast.

“But who am I?” Gayatri asked this question. Her brain was flooded with questions about her relationships with Syed. Was she only an ordinary lover or sex toy….Who was she? She realized her love for Syed now.

She tried to be the excellent friend, Syed wanted her to be and she suppressed everything.

She was in love with him now.

She was desperate to see Syed who would be able to answer her query.

Her’s was a conservative society. If she were a boy, things would have been different for her. But entry of Syed changed everything fundamentally in her. She wanted to wear many hats with ease and believed in out-of-box free thinking. But Syed was very rigid and mysterious and he was not ready to mend his radical ways about Islam. Although Gayatri was very happy with Syed but in her heart she was always weepy and oppressed as Syed never paid much attention to her. He was always on some mysteries mission.

“Do you know Syed?” She asked to herself. When Syed was with her, he was the most remarkable person she had ever met. But heart of this man was Islam. He always pretended to be very busy. He was always very well dressed but always busy in attending the phone calls. Whenever there was a call, he used to leave her alone and attended the calls away from her.

Whenever there was no call, he would sit cross-legged on the chair, engrossed in thoughts. As he was lost in thoughts, he frequently ran his fingers through his thick-black hair. Every now and then, he pushes his chair.

Her beginning with this amazing but mysterious man came about in an exciting manner in the coffee shop.

Syed was born into an affluent family. His father ran a thriving business of carpet in Kashmir. They owned two palatial hoses and a big showroom in the main market of Srinagar. Besides a buggy, they possessed a ford and Baby Austin. Abdullahs and Muftis were their close family friends. Eminent, political and Muslim leaders, poets and other intellectuals of the state often visited their bungalow. Syed was a student at Srinagar University. Life was extremely pleasant-late night parties, drinks, romance, poetry, luxury!

And then came the terrorism in Kashmir. Months and years of deaths and bloodbath. Family business of Syed was ruined. After months and years of feeling alone and useless in Srinagar, he suddenly found a purpose of life after meeting her. She became his confident. He talked to her. She also loved her new role. And the more Syed shared his feeling and his past, the more she wanted to help, to the point that she started feeling that he might not be able to achieve his goals without her help and company.

Syed was attractive, slim, and quite tall for a south Indian Hindu girl. He generally dressed in salwar-kameej. He was nearly in his late twenties. His English was good and he didn’t have good accent. They blabbered on – the typical stuff of first meeting; what, they did, where they lived, which place they liked, what they had seen so far, where else they had been , where he was going, and so on and so for, for many hours. In the very first meeting, they didn’t seem in a hurry to leave.

She found that Syed would cure her loneliness. The first step was to start frequent conversation. Syed was expert in this art. Just make a kind and soft comment about anything and other party is in trap, “really cold today, isn’t it?” Or, “the service is very bad.” Or whatever comes to mind that can binds two persons together.

This was the scene now that she always thought about Syed. One day she was alone at her parent’s house and the bright sunshine of the winter noon had just brightened the sky. Suddenly Syed came without any information. She was amazed but very happy. He gave her a very tight hug, arm-in arm, breast to breast. Both stopped. He drew her more closer and lightly kissed her cheeks, lips and eyelids, she inhaled the sweet smell of his body, kissed her chin, loitered at her throat, then moved to her tight breasts, kissing through her skirt, the nipples of her breasts. With his lips he traced her heat, red lips, then her blushing cheeks, then felt the lids of her closed eyes, then kissed her forehead, until, finally his hands rested on her hips. In the room, Syed moved his hand from her hips to her thighs, then to her waist, slipping his hands, underneath her panty and slowly moving his hand up to the center of her thighs.

She breathed in and held him more tightly. She absorbed the feel of his body. He touched the untouched.

But all of a sudden all hell broke.

Far, in a loudspeaker a mullah was offering his prayer. Syed immediately released Gayatri.

He uttered, “ Mashalah.” as Allah had willed all this!. She could not disagree. She also muttered two “Mashalah.” under her breath.

Syed changed his clothes. Short pajama, long kurta and skull cap. He was looking very funny. After this, he sat on dry and clean floor. He offered his prayers.

She slept poorly that night. Lots of thoughts as to how things would go out once I marry a Muslim. She woke, soaked in sweat.

She shared this relationship with her friends too.

‘A Muslim as your lover?’ Pooja slapped her head. ‘What a stupid girl you are.’

My college friends Pooja, Aarti and Sita had come to my flat. Fat Pooja sat on my bed.

‘How did you surrender so easily like a whore?’ She shouted at Gayatri.

‘I can still smell the dirty stink,’ Aarti said and closed her nose tightly like a little child.

We all four of us came from religious middle class Hindu families and none of us were the ‘classy secular’ types one finds in universities and colleges.

‘Nonsense. I have taken a bath. No smell,’ Gayatri retorted back.

‘It’s all useless. His stink will remain for a long time,’ Aarti said.

‘You’re trying to kill me for my secular love?’ Gayatri argued.

‘Stop talking like that about a Muslim, Syed,’ Pooja shouted.

‘O my, protective, secular and modern lover,’ Sita said.

‘So, are you in a permanent relationship? Things seem to be swelling.’ Pooja snapped.

‘What?’ Gayatri asked.

All laughed.

‘He is just playing with you and your body.’ Aarti said.

‘Did you love him and anything happen?’ Sita asked.

Gayatri blushed and her face became red.

‘What?’ Shocked Aarti ‘Idiot, did he just do it all with you and you allowed him?’

‘Nothing much happened,’ Gayatri said in a low voice, ‘Due to his prayers, he stopped.’

‘Is he your boyfriend?’ Pooja asked. ‘Entire colony talks about you.’

‘I can’t stop at this stage,’ Gayatri said.

‘You fool don’t know? Aarti said twisting her face.

‘And he?’

‘He’s not sure.’

All kept quiet.

‘You love a Muslim now,’ Aarti said.

Gayatri remained silent. She has spoken the unspeakable.

‘You have shamed your family and shamed us all, we don’t want to talk to you,’ Shouted Sita.

‘Gone, you are so gone. You are lost forever. I can see sense of shame and guilt on your face,’ Aarti said.

‘Be careful from Muslims. They need toys for time pass or they need girls for love jihad,’ Sita said.

There was a loud and big bang on the door. The noise broke her chain of thought.

All of a sudden, a police van stopped in front of her house. Syed came out of the van, two policemen holding him handcuffed and a woman with two children followed him. Woman was his wife, Parvati alis Ayesha and two children were his sons. He was unshaven, worn out looking, very scared and had an air of desperation; it appeared that escorting policemen had gave him nothing to eat.

Six huge police officers rammed into her almost darkened flat and flashlight ablazed the flat, started going through the rooms, making her open the cupboards and boxes. They were very carefully checking every item. They apprised Gayatri with a glance about the dangerous activities of Syed. A chill went up in the spine of Gayatri.

Syed requested the escorting party to remove the handcuffs so that he can offer prayers. But the officer in-charge punched him badly fearing, Syed might flee.

Gayatri looked within and found herself as the most stupid woman of the world. Syed had other women also in his love-trap as he was a ‘love jihadi’ – there were so many other woman victims too!

Gayatri could not understand Syed. He seemed, to have been fun with women and in return he was paid handsomely by his organizations. But she became very quickly and easily too serious.

She turned and glared at Syed with intensity, never seen before. Her face was reddened. Her eyes expressed anger, possibly hate. She spat words at him. She told him very tersely not to enter in her life! “You’ve just made everything worse. I never want to see you again.” She turned away, took a few long steps towards the main door. She concluded by shouting you was as horrible as your practices.

Two long hours had elapsed. Within these two hours, she had seen more than she should have. She slammed the door shut.

Gayatri cursed herself. She meant nothing to him! Why had she fallen in love with this jihadi? Why all other women fallen in love with him? Now she knew the answer: those glowing blue eyes, his slim and tall young body that seemed seductive, drama to help, that she saw behind his false facade, his oft stated desire and faith to believe in humanity.

‘What the hell did she weave around her?’ It was a disaster. Gayatri was devastated. She was a reserved woman. She had issues opening up to people.

Knowingly or unknowingly, without thinking about the future, she was guided or rather misguided by her inner impulse; to enjoy or take a view of a wonder that became a ‘snake.’

She was walking out of his life.

‘What the hell did she do?’

The neighbours appeared, too hurry and comfortable in a fragile relationship of neighbourhood. All had their windows and doors closed like hers. All fearful of the common enemy but afraid to speak, under the grab of privacy and the dark world of fashionable and modern shades.

She heard the sound of the footsteps of Syed and escorting policemen getting fainter as she walked away inside.

The black tarred and emotionless road, loyal to its arrogance and indifferent to the brutal marching rogue pouring hate and destruction on all those come to his way; bringing destruction and then charring the souls and bodies those dare to make a direct or indirect contact in any way.

Horrified, Gayatri tried to hide behind the heavy curtains, not only from the light but from her own self. She felt as if the light and eyes could be of a wounded cobra striking with a vengeance. She was praying for the safety of herself and her family from this cobra. But not all measures can be fool proof.

‘To err is human.’

“Syed was an eclipse on her life. Solar or lunar, in Indian (Hindu,) mythology, they bear religious connotations and their occurrence are linked to inauspicious and unfavorable phase of the Universe and each living being and life on the earth.”

[bffhreprise]

Best Friend For Hire Reprise, Entry 365

 “You two really don’t want to talk about what we witnessed in that gym?” questioned Heloise after we ignored her comments.

 “Admitting to seeing anything is a fast way to die.” pointed out Babette.

 “Not here.” argued Heloise with a frown.

 “I…” I started, stopping when both of my sisters glared at me.  Keeping the peace was always troublesome, and I felt as if I earned new bruises before the old ones ever fully healed.  Taking a deep breath, I started again, saying, “I… will get the door.”  There had been a knock just after I started speaking this time.

 “Glad to see nothing more is broken.” stated James, appearing at our door for the second time today.  This time, he was holding something over one arm.  Clothes, perhaps?  Holding the arm toward me, he said, “These are for you.

 “Oh.  Thank you.” I told him, resisting the urge to smack Babette as she grabbed the bundle from me.

 “What are these?” she asked, poking one.

 “Our baseball uniforms.  As part of my company, I was hoping you three would join us in our upcoming games.” he told us with a broad smile.

 “Baseball?  Must we?” inquired Heloise with obvious disappointment.

 “I won’t force any of you, but I didn’t want you to feel left out either.  Even if you decide not to play, I would like you to join our practices to help the others and adjust to one of our company’s wonderful toys.  As I’m sure you noticed during our exercises this morning, we all move above human capacity.  While wearing those uniforms, you will as well.  The idea today is to practice acting human while also attempting to compete.  Oh, and I should mention I’ll be giving a bonus to those who participate.”

 “I’ll give this a shot.” I agreed, taking the larger suit and examining it.  Extra money was always useful.  “Bit thick isn’t it?”

 “For now.  Jarod’s hoping to eventually thin the suit out a bit more.  I promise you won’t feel the heat.  I’ve improved upon my enchantments a great deal since I designed the original spells.” he told us.

 My mouth dropped open.  Having something personally enchanted by James was like having a Slayer show up with Christmas presents.

 “Can he be on the other team?” questioned Babette with a wicked grin.

 “What!?  I’m your brother!” I told her without trying to suppress my indignation.

 Sighing loudly, Heloise unhelpfully reminded me “She knows.”

 “We’ll decide teams outside.  Please remember that as members of my company you are expected to behave admirably.  Quarreling in public reflects poorly on all of us.” he told us firmly.

 Giving James her best smile, Babette assured him “You’ll never get a bad report about me on the job, but this is your backyard.”

 “True.  Unfortunately, you all need the practice.” stated James flatly.

 “Sorry, James.” apologized Heloise.  “We’ll hurry.”

 “Thank you.  I’m heading out back now.” he replied just before disappearing from sight.

 I barely had shut the door when Babette let out a loud sigh of her own.

 “Baseball… ugh.” she muttered.

 “Beats kidnapping people.” argued Heloise as she headed toward our room.

 I refrained from commenting, not wanting to get into another argument just now.  No matter what I did, one of my sisters would argue with me.  Stepping into my room brought a smile to my face.  This was the first time in my life where I could spend time somewhere truly private.  Well, the room was private when my sisters didn’t feel like barging in to complain about something, not that I had really tried to get much peace in here yet.  Still, this place was mine.  I could decorate the room however I wanted, and…  I sighed as I realized my sisters would probably still find a way to complain.  I wasn’t going to barge into their rooms.  Of course, they’d probably skin me if I ever was that foolish.

 Putting my thoughts aside, I stripped and put on the strange suit.  As soon as the uniform was on, I felt like my breathing was too slow, but breathing faster didn’t seem right either.  I stepped to the mirror, tripped as I moved too far, and barely righted myself before actually falling.  How was this even possible?  Hearing Babette cackling madly, I very carefully stepped to my door and back into our common room only to find my sister swinging our sofa over our head.

 “Careful!  They might not give us another!” I exclaimed in shock.

 Babette’s grin only grew, but she gently put down the sofa.  “Remember how heavy this thing is!?” she exclaimed before laughing again.

 I had to think on that one a moment.  We all were fairly strong for our size, but the furniture we were given was probably very expensive by our standards.  The woods used were probably some type of hardwood by the weight.  How did she swing that thing around so easily?  I stepped over and tentatively lifted the sofa.  Okay, so the sofa really did seem fairly light now.  Yes, there was still some weight to it, but…  Catching Heloise come out with a frown, I gently put the sofa back down.

 “Don’t break our stuff.” she ordered, still frowning.

 “Sorry.” I told her, following when she huffed and headed toward the door.

 Babette shoved me as she said, “Race you out back!”

 She sprinted to our door, whipping it open as I still wondered how she got there in one easy-looking jump.  I tried it and started laughing as I chased after her.  As I started to pass my short-legged sister, she suddenly spun and tripped me as she shoved me at the wall.  Swearing, I got back to my feet, not liking the look on Heloise’s face.

 Babettelaughed wildly, despite the wood breaking from my impact, at least until someone came sprinting toward us.

 Mila stopped just short of running into Heloise, her face tight with anger.  “How many times do you three need to be told that you must be careful before the idea gets into your heads?” she demanded as she glared at all of us.  As I tried to apologize, she talked right over me, saying, “No.  Don’t apologize if you’re not going to start being careful.  You are being given a great opportunity, so start making an effort not to cause trouble!”  Her mouth snapped shut as the door to the backyard opened.

 James was there, his face looking stern as he took in the scene.  We slowly marched toward him when he moved to let us through, knowing that’s what he wanted.  His displeasure was practically palpable even as we apologized to him.

 “The suits take a bit of adjustment, but please be careful.  Mila will charge you for any damages you cause.” he stated.

 “Yes, sir.” we told him in synch.

 “Was that a Monet in the hall?” inquired Heloise without a pause.

 My mouth dropped again as I wondered why she thought this was the time to ask, but James’ posture relaxed.

 “Yes.  Good eye.  My mother likes to point out any piece she doesn’t recognize from art guides.  Getting down a hallway with her was a bit tedious for a while.” he told us with a soft smile as he seemed to be remembering something.

 As he spoke, I realized what had already caught Babette’s eye.  People were flying about on these little platforms, and a barrage of baseballs were being batted away by countless plants as well as someone moving too fast to see clearly.  Others were standing off to the side with those speed-checking guns pointed out toward the pitches.

 “Don’t worry.  She won’t kill anyone by accident.  The ball would probably burn up if she were to pitch with speed by her standards.  She’s just practicing to keep the balls around a hundred miles per hour for appearances sake.” explained James as if there was nothing odd going on here.  Then he pointed to the people on the platforms and said, “Those are another of Jarod’s projects.  We’ll be having the outfielders ride them to help make things interesting.  If you can manage to keep control while riding those and reducing your speed, keeping appearances while playing an actual game should be relatively easy.”

 He seemed perfectly happy with the idea of flying outfielders and the insane form of practice as he strode forward, easily getting everyone’s attention with one raid hand.  Then teams were decided, and my sisters really did choose to be on the opposite team as me.  They were horrible!  I had gone to Lady Pendreigh’s team, because I thought that would be appropriate for us, and I wasn’t the only one who felt a bit uncomfortable with the idea of James and Raine being on the same team.  The arguments died when no one else was willing to catch for Raine.  Knowing that pitching a hundred miles an hour was her being gentle, I couldn’t blame them.

 As we played, I marveled at the strength and speed of everyone.  Even I could hit Raine’s much-restrained fastballs relatively often thanks to the suits.  Holding back was the tricky part.  I hit too hard several times, which counted as an out.  Lady Pendreigh, of course, could put the ball wherever she felt like, but she seemed to aim for places within reach of the opponent’s flying outfielders on purpose.  More surprisingly, my sisters and I all were disappointed when the practice came to an end.

 “My poor, poor dad.” muttered Iris, seeming oblivious to how the dirt of the field erupted with grass.

 “He asked for it, didn’t he?” teased Maple as she smiled.

 Iris shrugged, looking less glum than she sounded.

 “The guy couldn’t have known what he was getting into.” insisted Jemal with a worried look.

 Maple shrugged, still smiling contentedly with the idea of our upcoming victory.

 “Are you sure you don’t want us using a little magic?” suggested Babette, probably scheming something nasty.

 “Quite certain.” stated Alma.

 I jumped, having missed her approach, and Babette flinched.

 “I think we have enough of an advantage already.  Should we really be wearing the suits?” questioned Jemal as he looked around at everyone with concern.

 “Yes.  This is great practice for everyone to get more accustomed to them in active situations.” insisted James.

 “I agree.” mumbled Dejon.  “We need to fit in.”  He was a quiet person, but he seemed too comfortable here to be anything but dangerous.

 As we all shuffled inside, I was quite confident that my sisters and I wouldn’t have the faintest hope of beating anyone here in a fight, even while wearing our baseball uniforms.  My family had spent our lives knowing we were step ahead of humans but as low as someone of Slayer descent could go without being cast out of the family.  Finding ourselves here was no less intimidating than a human waking up in an enchanted forest, but as Heloise smiled as she talked with Brenna ahead of me, I couldn’t help feeling as if we might actually come out of this okay.