#half glad I left a toxic work environment

[artemiseamoon]

Am I still making spicy Mac & cheese my comfort meal at 39?

Yes.

Yes I am.

[babyboibucky]

Deserve Better

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky disappeared and came back only to say goodbye.

Word Count: 2,887

Warnings: angsty angsty angsty angsty angsty

A/N: Post-endgame timeline with lotsa angst! Included Andy Barber here because why the fuck not but he’s really not a major character lol

Deserve Better || Undeserving || Deserve The Best

MAIN MASTERLIST

-

The day you got Bucky back was the same day he said goodbye. He left you— said it was for the best— just as when your fingertips touched him for the first time after five years of longing.

Your reunion with Bucky after the snap was nothing like the movies, far from it actually. A lot of things happened when he was snapped back, in between the battle with Thanos and Tony’s funeral. Besides, you weren’t an Avenger; you didn’t work for SHIELD nor the CIA. In fact, you remained oblivious of the battle that was going on until the moment of chaos caused by the sudden reappearances of half of the world’s population.

And then you received a message from Steve, about the tragedy and the sacrifice of Tony Stark. He was inviting you to the funeral and as much as you felt devastated from the loss of a hero, you couldn’t help but focus your attention on the last line of Steve’s message.

Bucky’s going to be there too. He’s back. He needs you to be there with him.

It wasn’t until the funeral was over that you finally got to have Bucky all to yourself. You had locked gazes when you arrived and staring back into his beautiful blue eyes again made your knees weak.

Bucky was really back.

“Hi.” He greeted you first, his voice remained the same— soft and gentle.

One word was enough to make you feel the warmth of his existence. Hearing him, seeing him again felt like finally coming home after a very long, tiring day.

“Hi, Buck.” You whispered.

Bucky’s smile was all it took for the dam to finally break. You’d burst into tears right then and there and you were more than ready to feel his arms around you after years of hugging yourself to sleep during his absence.

But the warmth never came. If any, Bucky stopped himself from doing so. You frowned when he took a step back from you, extending his metal arm to keep you at a certain length away from him.

“I’m sorry.” He uttered, refusing to meet your gaze.

“What do you mean?”

“I have to go.” He explained, gently squeezing your arm before rubbing circles on your skin using his thumb.

You didn’t understand why Bucky needed to go when he just got back. You just got him back. You had spent years crying over his disappearance only for him to come back and disappear again?

Bucky explained that he thought he got better but things have become so vastly different after the snap that it left him feeling broken and different again. He told you about Steve’s decision to go back in time, never to return again. How Tony’s death made him feel like it was too late to set things straight and how he would probably carry the guilt and regret from not being able to apologize for what he had done.

“I’ll help you, Buck. We’ll work through this together. I want to be by your side when things get better.” You insisted, tears blurring your vision as you tried to reach for Bucky, wanting to feel him again after such a long time.

But Bucky kept on moving away from you, he kept on pushing you away and you wanted to understand why he wouldn’t let you touch him.

“I’ll only hurt you, I don’t want that to happen. I want to get better because you deserve better. But I can’t do that with you because this...this is something that I gotta figure out by myself.” He further explained.

You shook your head, unable to accept his decision. “Buck...I don’t think I can lose you again. I just got you back...I can’t afford to lose you again, please?”

When you attempted to reach for Bucky’s hand, he finally let you. You quickly entwined your fingers through his metal ones and savored how they felt against your skin. They were cold as usual, but Bucky always oozed a certain warmth that made you feel safe.

But now they’re just that— cold and hard.

“I love you. I’ll wait, Bucky.” You murmured and tugged at his hand before he could even let you go.

Bucky smiled sadly at you, “You don’t have to, doll.”

You shook your head and brought Bucky’s hand to your lips as you cried, “I want to. And I will.”

Pressing one final kiss on his hard knuckles, you watched Bucky slip his hand away from yours before turning around to leave. You felt your chest tighten as if you lost all the oxygen in your lungs the same way you lost Bucky.

Losing him the second time around proved to be even more painful. Because this time, he didn’t just disappear.

He walked away.

-

You waited for Bucky to come home to you for days and weeks until they turned into months...and then years. Still, no Bucky walked through your doorstep but you never stopped hoping.

Sleep was such a rare occurrence to you since Bucky walked away. How do you honestly cope with the loss of someone when you haven’t even healed yet from his first disappearance? You wanted to get mad at him, curse him for suddenly deciding to leave you. But you felt selfish for even thinking about that, because Bucky left to better himself.

To be better for you. He said so himself.

So you kept waiting for him to come back. You made it your reason to keep going. You looked forward to the day you’d hear your door open followed by his heavy foot steps. You wondered, would he smell the same then? Would he still be using your favorite perfume on him? One that smelled like cedar wood and mint and well, Bucky. Would his hair still be of the same length? What about his beard? Would he shave them off before coming back home?

How about his gaze? Would his blue ones still look at you as if you were his moon?

As much as these thoughts made you miss him more, they were the ones that you held onto. They were like your glimmer of hope on nights you were the loneliest, on nights you cried and dreamt of his return only to wake up to an empty, cold space beside you.

You held onto these thoughts every single day in hopes of them becoming real soon enough.

People have told you to move on, to not waste your time waiting for someone who walked away just like that. But you trusted Bucky when he said he wanted to be better because you deserved better. You couldn’t move on, not from Bucky.

You love him with your entire being, so much that his absence caused you physical pain too. You couldn’t even find the right words to describe how much you love Bucky.

In the three years that you spent waiting, you’d met a lot of people too. People who showed interest but none of them really won you over.

You’d met a man named Andy through work. He was a lawyer and was dealing with his own divorce. The connection was there and you wouldn’t deny that.

Two people dealing with the grief from losing someone they love, it wasn’t that hard not to find a common ground. And you did find some solace in Andy and him in you. But it was just that, nothing more and nothing less.

“How has it been?” You asked Andy after he had settled into the booth across of you.

The restaurant was surprisingly scarce on a Sunday morning. Usually there were plenty of customers, their chatters overpowering the soft music playing in the background. Now, it was peaceful and the radio was turned off. There were only the clinks of plates of being set on tables and the footsteps of the staff walking around the place as they attended to the few customers around.

It was serene and peaceful, pretty much like Andy’s aura when he arrived.

“I wouldn’t say I’m fine but I guess I’m at a much better place now than before.” He said with a nod, as if he was finally agreeing with himself after questioning his emotions for the past few months.

You offered a kind smile and placed a hand on top of his, “It shows, Andy. I’m glad. I’m happy for you.” You said.

He had been going through a lot of emotions since he signed the divorce papers. He didn’t want to but knew it was for the best. Andy had a son, Jacob, and he didn’t want for his son to grow up in an environment where his parents no longer slept on the same bed. As much as he loved Laurie, the relationship was no longer working and was becoming toxic the more they stayed together.

“And you?” Andy asked back before calling the waiter.

You let out a deep breath, “Still waiting.” You chuckled as your stared at your hand that remained on top of Andy’s.

Andy spared you an apologetic glance but nodded, “I do hope he knows how lucky he is.” He said, turning his palm up so he could hold your hand.

To others, the gesture may seem romantic but it really wasn’t. You and Andy both knew that despite the similarities and the comfort you found in each other, the both of you were not meant to be together in that way.

Your heart still belonged to Bucky after all.

-

When you received an invitation from Sam Wilson, you felt confused and excited. There was going to be a huge gala at the compound to honor Steve Rogers’ legacy as Captain America.

You’d heard the news about Steve’s passing not long after he went back in time. He finally got to live the life he deserved and when he came back, it was as if everything had been corrected. He may no longer be the super soldier that many knew but he remained the same person— but he wasn’t the man out of time anymore. Despite his white hair and wrinkles, Steve looked the happiest he had ever been.

You wondered how Bucky coped up with such a huge loss, you always worried for him.

It sparked debate though, Steve’s decision to leave the Avengers. Some got angry, said that Steve was selfish for doing that. Others showed sympathy, that Steve didn’t owe the world anything. He’d spent a lifetime fighting for everyone. It was time that he fought for himself and what he deserved. And Sam fought just as hard for Steve’s legacy and finally, all his hard work finally paid off.

What confused you was whether Bucky was going to be there? Does he know about the gala? Was he finally back? If he was, why hasn’t he come home to you yet? You had so many questions that you wanted to ask.

The answers though, were literally in the palm of your hand— the invitation.

-

It was no surprise how big the gala was. Just on your way inside, you’d already come across a lot of big personalities. There were politicians and popular celebrities too. You felt intimidated given that you went by yourself and that you weren’t really part of their world.

You were just you, someone who had fallen in love with one Bucky Barnes who introduced you to the world of superheroes. The rest was history.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” You turned around and found Sam approaching you with a huge smile.

You embraced him and smiled as you pulled away, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” You told him.

It was Steve and Sam that you’d met first and they were nothing but kind to you. Despite being well, ordinary, they welcomed you like their own when Bucky had introduced you.

Sam’s expression changed at your response, “I honestly thought that you wouldn’t show up after Bucky said—“

“Bucky?” You immediately cut him off upon hearing his name.

“Bucky’s back?” You asked and Sam had never looked more confused as ever.

He carefully nodded, brows knitting together as he frantically looked around. “I thought you knew about it.”

“How long? How long has it been since he came back, Sam?” You probed, feeling your throat constricting at the unexpected revelation.

Sam merely looked at you with what seemed to be pity. Why? Why was he looking at you like he was sorry? And why didn’t Bucky tell you when he came back? Was he simply not ready? Or was he waiting for the right time?

“Sam, how long?” You asked again, voice firmer this time around.

“A year ago. He decided to join the Avengers but wanted to undergo formal training before taking on the responsibility of one.” He responded.

You opened your mouth to say something but it’s as if your whole body was paralyzed. He had been back for an entire year now...and yet he kept you waiting?

A hand on your arm pulled you back to the surface, looking up at Sam you shook your head in utter confusion.

“I don’t understand why he didn’t tell me.”

Sam sighed, “I thought you knew. He said he saw you and—“

Sam’s words died on his tongue when he saw that your attention was no longer on him. Following the line of your sight, Sam turned around and saw that Bucky had walked into the venue. He swallowed and couldn’t hide the guilt he felt from assuming that you knew about his return. Before he could apologize, you’d brushed past him as you kept your gaze on Bucky.

Why he didn’t inform you of his return was beyond you and to be honest, you couldn’t bring yourself to care about it for now. Because Bucky was right in front of you and it felt like forever since you last saw him.

A lot has changed. He chopped off his hair but he still sported some scruff. Bucky looked closer to his younger self back in the 40’s. You remembered the conversation you had with him about cutting his hair.

“Should I cut it?” Bucky stood in your bathroom, observing his long locks in the mirror as he ran his fingers through them.

You walked over to him, hugging him from behind and pressing your lips on his back before moving to stand beside him.

“Do you want to?” you asked.

Bucky scrunched his nose, “Maybe in the future. I do miss my hair back then.” he smiled.

You chuckled, “Back when Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes used to sweep the ladies off of their feet?” you teased.

Bucky turned to you and wrapped an arm around your wait pulling you closer to kiss your lips, “Hmm, I wanna see if that hair will have the same effect on you.” he said and kissed your cheek.

You hummed as you caressed his face with your delicate hands, “I’d like to see that too, but maybe you should keep the scruff.”

But it wasn’t just his hair that changed. It was his entire demeanor— his aura seemed a lot lighter now, he seemed happier and confident. You knew it for a fact because he wasn’t wearing a glove to hide his metal hand. It was out on display for everyone to see and shake, apparently.

You watched in awe as Bucky interacted with the people around him. He used to avoid eye contact with strangers but now he seemed relaxed doing so. Although he would still open and close his metal hand, something he did whenever he was anxious. The crowd still made him uncomfortable but he’s shown a lot of improvement since then.

The question as to why he never told you about his return continued to linger in the back of your head. But you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling from ear to ear, eyes brimming with tears as you quickened your steps.

Your Bucky was finally back.

And then the world seemed to have stopped when a certain blonde walked over to Bucky, her hand sliding over to his cheek as she leaned up to press a quick peck on his lips.

You knew her of course, Sharon Carter; and you knew about her and Steve. It was Bucky himself who told you about them and how proud he was that Steve finally decided to try his luck at romance. Which is why you felt even more appalled at the scene playing before you.

The way Bucky slid an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him and how he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. How he was smiling down at her, whispering to her ear as they laughed.

Bucky was in love with Sharon. You didn’t have to ask him that anymore because he was looking at her like she was his moon, his source of light in the darkness.

You knew that because he looked at you the same way, back when you still had his heart.

Suddenly, the questions plaguing your mind found their answers. You understood now why he never came home to you.

He did get better, you could tell that by the way he smiled and laughed.

Bucky was better now, but not for you. At least, not anymore.

-

Everything Bucky Tag List:

@ddowii @jessou893 @stealapizzamyheart @bagelofthelord @mxnt @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @jeeperky @ohladymacbeth @wildflowergubler @supraveng @twinerd14 @buckysmar  @bakugouswh0r3

[mc-critical]

Hello, I just found your blog and I like it very much, it’s very interesting to read!!!. My question is : what is your opinion on Ahmed and Kosem’s relationship? Do you think he truly loves her? What do you think about him seeing other women? And what do you think about his relationship with these women (Mahfiruz, Katerina, Gulbahar and Yasemin).

Thank you for liking my stuff!

I think that, just like Süleiman, Ahmet loves Kösem in his own way. It's not as toxic or problematic or often questionable writing-wise as Süleiman's love for Hürrem, but it still has both its ups and downs that make it interesting to explore.

Ahmet and Kösem is perhaps the love story where the writers made the most effort to mask the possible worse aspects of. It could even be considered actually romantic at points, with their amazing first scenes in the gardens and the amazing chemistry of Ekin Koç and Anastasia Tsilimpou, the beginning sense of wonder and "mystery" it started out with.... when she first met him, Anastasia didn't know he was the sultan and put all her trust in him - a certainly good first impression. Ahmet himself is also very far from Süleiman's direct endeavors and tests of loyalty, he tries his best to be respectful in his own way, despite that he fails to do that a bunch of times. That's why it's easy to miss the darker aspects of the relationship at first and it could be perceived as probably the only thing in the franchise that is remotely close to a "fairytale" of sorts.

However, when the curtains start to fall slowly, but surely, we come to realize that while, say, Hürrem learns to want what Süleiman wants, to be fully loyal to him and to cave to his demands just like he often caves to her own, Ahmet and Kösem as characters have entirely different values and needs throughout their whole relationship. The fact that Ahmet wanted Anastasia because of a picture, without him having ever met her, is incredibly telling: he has created an ideal of her in his own head from the start and he wants to consistently maintain it. When he's with her, it's as if he's living his own dream, his own perfect world that has place only for him and that young girl. (that's why the garden is so symbolic: Ahmet calls it a place of solitude, only for himself almost immediately after the audience is introduced to it; also that line from him: "The world is on one side, Kösem - on the other." - quoting by memory again, but the meaning is the same) Their world views gained from their past and present environments begin to clash from the moment she finds out he's a Sultan - she wants to desperately go back to her family, both because all of them are still alive and her free spirit that cannot bear to live in this golden cage. Ahmet doesn't let her go also because he lacks the understanding of this desire: he has grown in the strict Ottoman system and having people like Anastasia stay in the harem forever is something he finds perfectly natural; for him it's unthinkable to stand against it. But despite of that "minor offense", Ahmet's idea of Anastasia's "purity" and "perfection" was working for awhile, with her seeming to meet his expectations and slowly warm up to him. But the real truth is way stronger than your own made-up lies. Anastasia's pleas to let her go only get stronger until they reach their climax with her attempt to escape. And you know what? If it weren't for her contrived, yet convenient excuse to come back to him, he would've lost her. Helplessly, in a blink of an eye, he would've lost her, due to what she sees as sheer ignorance from his part. And when she gains her own bit of agency later in the season and becomes Kösem, when she develops and realizes the actual stakes of the game, beginning to play it herself due to survival by default and the will for revenge, Ahmet's "perfect picture" breaks apart and that apparently hurt him so much, he stayed mad at her for quite some time. This wasn't the person he knew and loved anymore, this was an entirely new, reborn woman. He didn't seem to love and respect her for the virtues she actually possessed, but for those that he had imagined her to always have in his head. That is another, more "subtle" level of toxicity than with Hürrem and Süleiman, but it's still toxicity, that's why this relationship is far from healthy and the "beautiful, but quirky" dynamic it sets the impression of.

Kösem's view of Ahmet is very interesting and complex, writing-wise. I actually don't think she grew to love him as much. The place she forcibly got in made her feel very limited by him mostly, since he was the reason she was here in the first place and he was calling the shots in terms of her future (whether she would visit her family or not?). What made her become a bit affectionate wasn't fully him himself, but rather the oh-so-prominent theme of adaption in the harem. She wanted to escape so desperately, but there were so many happenings and situations during the time she was in the harem that just demanded for her to get used to everything. So when Iskender gave her the chance to escape, she as become used to the harem's environment so much, she felt unsure of herself outside of it. Her return was out of necessity rather than love and even her standing up to the people when Ahmet was sick was done out of necessity, too (like I elaborated in another ask about Kösem). I'm not saying that she didn't feel any affection whatsoever, but the affection she felt for him was easy to let go of (E25: "Today I didn't marry only Sultan Ahmet, I married the country!"), because I don't think Ahmet did his best efforts to understand her and I don't think Kösem felt completely comfortable around him, all that contrasted with Kemankeş in S02, who according to her, understands her better than anyone ever could.

Ahmet loves Kösem, because even after his perfect picture with her was broken and his anger and denial and refusal to accept it passed, he did try to make things better. What I loved most about his dynamic with Kösem, is his open honesty with her that continued till the end. There have been scenes where they seemed like true companions, especially their beginning one in E21 with all the kids gathered around them. I loved that despite of his mistakes, he did try to set things right. There was this sudden protectiveness that activated in him when Kösem told him the truth about the death of his father and why she acted the way she did and that could mean she now became something of a "cinnamon roll he just protect" and that is certainly a flawed mindset to have in many aspects, but that showed he could actually care for her beyond his idealistic perspective of her.

Am I okay with Ahmet having other women? Honestly, I'm glad that MCK lowered the concubine arcs to a minimum and with the way they did it, it doesn't offend me as much. I would even love some of them to be more developed for a change, because they did turn out to be solely drama tools, thanks to their lesser episodes and MCK's different themes as a whole, that basically did their purpose and left, instead of stretch out and outstay their welcome and that is just the other extreme in a bad disguise.

I won't talk about the relationship he had with his other women as much, because they just aren't fleshed out. I would've liked to see more of Ahmet and Mahfiruze: I believe he was way more decent with her than say, Süleiman was with Mahidevran, and their scenes weren't half bad. Too bad that would've demanded Mahfiruze herself to be fleshed out more as a character and the writers to give her more of a place in the narrative. Katerina was present only for an episode (or was it two episodes?) and we don't have as much conclusions to drive here. We only have his mild infatuation with her and... that's it? We have no idea what Katerina actually felt or how their dynamic would play out in the long run. We can only speculate. Gülbahar, by contrast, also had the least screentime of all his women who have comparatively minimal screentime, but her exploration in S02 helps us gain a better idea of how it went between them. I have the impression that she was the least favourite concubine of Ahmet's, ever. She did succeed to get pregnant and have a child, but it probably was a one and done thing and she didn't seem to get any other grasp of manly affection since then. Which is why, along with them taking away Bayezid from her by exiling her, she was so focused on scheming for one particular goal and this became what defined her. But then again, that is still a speculation in my part. Now, with Yasemin we have much more on-screen chemistry and interaction: that relationship felt very similar with what Süleiman thought of Firuze - infatuation, massive infatuation, but still not love, because just like Firuze, Yasemin also gave him poison and we don't know how much the poison affected his psyche, along with the sickness it brought upon him. These relationships have the opposite problem MC's concubine arcs had: these women were all unfavored or favored very temporarily in the span of an episode or two, which made them very stale and lacking in material.

Lastly, while MCK in its entirety, isn't very big on love stories, Kösem and Ahmet's relationship still had an evolution throughout S01, even if that evolution was more "condensed" than the others similar to it. It still remains the most fleshed out love story in the show, along with Kösem and Kemankeş's, and it was a very important part of the story that helped shape much of the narrative that succeeds it.

[inawickedlittletown]

People are actually blaming Oliver saying that he’s a pussy for being upset over some dumb 18 year old brat and what she “jokingly” said. But people need to realize that if he weren’t Oliver Stark, actor on Fox’s 911, and he were just Oliver Jones, random British dude who’s hot, somebody calling for him to be “destroyed” would be read as a death threat by authorities. Yes it’s funny to be over dramatic on Twitter/tumblr. “I’m dying” “I cannot” “LITERALLY” slowly turns into “I’m gonna burn someone’s house down” “he better watch his back” “let’s all just utterly destroy him” and those idioms are NOT THE SAME!!! Playful jokes about your ability to exist because of a made up universe that you can’t separate from reality versus calling for the destruction of an actual human because you’re mad about their ACTING JOB is not the same. And yeah she’s some stupid kid saying something stupid. But eventually every stupid kid needs to turn into an educated adult and Oliver was doing that by calling her out and any other fan that is taking this TELEVISION SHOW too seriously. I also left the buddie fandom not too long ago because these girls (and some guys) are literally mentally ill. I feel bad for him. He tried to give them what they claim they wanted but the moment he opened the door they ripped him to shreds and he’s being called too sensitive. He has 450k Instagram followers- I don’t know how many he had on Twitter but if it was anywhere close to that, imagine even HALF (225k) coming at you with “jokes” that call for your demise from so called “number one fans”... I can’t even imagine how he feels right now.

I got caught up on everything yesterday and still reading everything you wrote up there just makes me so angry.

It's insane. Twitter is just a cesspool of people that think anything they say on the bird app is perfectly okay. They don't realize that there is someone on the other end reading everything and seeing everything. There's this lack of humanization for celebrities especially and it's just such a shame because it ruins something good for everyone, but it also straight up hurts people.

And the thing is Oliver has always been active within the fandom. More so than many other actors from other shows and from the 9-1-1 cast. And it was always nice to see how excited he's been about the show and about Buck and even about Buddie, but enough is enough. He used to be a lot more active and cut back for a reason and then every single time he's attempted to interact with fans he just gets attacked.

He needs that break from the vitriol thrown at him for saying anything at all. And anyone that is upset at him for deactivating needs to remember that he is a person with feelings and who has been pretty open about having anxiety and who cares so much about his work and the fans and shouldn't have to then deal with people coming at him over a ship that whether it happens or not is not up to him.

The buddie fandom was not this when I first started being active in it. The lack of respect that is shown to the writers/creators/actors has been insane as well as the way that some fans have been with each other. The thing with Ryan last year and just the way that a lot of these fans are not watching the show for the show but for the ship alone has made it an environment that is frustrating to be around.

But things are toxic and some fans are toxic and this talk about queerbaiting (which this show is not doing...people need to look up their definitions) and obsession over buddie needing to become canon is unhealthy. It is also unfair to the rest of the show and to the actors. It's made me step back quite a bit. There's meta I wanted to write that I just don't even feel inspired to touch. I rather just enjoy the show and keep to my blog and do liveblogs when I watch new episodes because anything else is just tiring.

And I'm so glad that Oliver is taking care of himself and leaving Twitter (for as long as he needs to) because the treatment he's faced is just horrible and not something he needs to see or be around. He's an actor, but a person first and foremost.

[entitynumber5]

hurt never meant

Chapter 1: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29723250/chapters/73101963

Summary: Jon and Martin enter a battle of wits regarding the hiding of injuries.

Content warnings: paranoia, blood, injury, canon-typical worm mentions, descriptions of wounds and scars, stitches, needles, internalised ableism, swearing, arguments, toxic work environment, nausea, food mention.

It was very fun to write Martin being petty and stubborn but my god, having Not!Sasha in this fic was PAINFUL!!!!!! Hopefully the second chapter will be finished soon. Full text below the line. I hope everyone’s having a great day <3

The Tube is choking with artificial heat, pumped unregulated through the vents so that inside in late November, cocooned in coats, the passengers shift and sweat and mumble in discomfort. Martin tries to remember the mundane cycle of complaints and platitudes he follows in circles every morning: the air is drying out my contact lenses. At least it’s not summer. I wish I wasn’t wearing a coat. You’ll be grateful when you get outside.

Each circle is broken, just before he completes it and begins again, by the sensation of heat crawling beneath his skin, a tingling upwards motion. It ripples across his face, inducing a drowsiness like fingers dragging his eyes closed, before the prickling across his scalp sends him spiralling into discomfort once again.

He tries to force himself back to his commuter’s hymn, but the heat feels internal, spreading outwards as if attempting to meet the warm air of the Tube. It’s different from the normal unpleasantness. It’s too distracting. He shifts his weight between bursts of dizziness—he gave up his seat three stops ago for a person with a tiny baby strapped to them, and now he is squeezed against the door by the passengers who have joined him since—and a fresh wave of stars burst across his vision at the sharp slice of pain through his left foot.

Martin clings tighter to the bar as the pain wraps around his ankle and flares up the outside of his calf. For a moment, he thinks his whole leg might collapse beneath him and he is almost grateful for the way they are all shoulder-to-shoulder in the compartment.

Perhaps he should have called Rosie and told her. But a deep-rooted part of him cannot bear to take time off, remembers the times he had dragged himself to work feeling much worse—smiling from behind the till even during a bout of flu that made his entire body ache, carrying plants to cars at the garden centre a few days after he dislocated his shoulder helping his mother up after a fall. At least, at the Institute, he has a desk and a chair and very few opportunities for heavy lifting. Given time to take some weight off the injury before lunch, he is sure no one will even notice. And by tomorrow, he will be fine.

The next stop is his. Outside, the cold air takes some of the unbearable flush from his cheeks and he walks the rest of the journey with his coat open to counteract the heat of the train. He resolutely ignores the throbbing in his left leg as he joins of the parade of commuters, bustling in tandem along narrow pavements. The Institute isn’t far.

Martin fights the instinct to immediately make Jon a cup of tea. He knows it takes Jon a while to warm up to him each day, withdrawn and nearly always absent in the mornings. By the afternoon, Jon is slightly more receptive after enough time co-existing without incident, slightly more willing to drink the tea offered to him even if he always smells it beforehand. Morning tea is fed to the plants; afternoon tea, Jon tolerates.

He should stop by the staff room, anyway. The first aid kit inside is well-stocked. He knows this because he did it himself, spreading the task out with extensive research on the empty, boring workdays before Jon and Tim had returned from their leave. There are painkillers inside and the sort of durable bandages Martin doesn’t have at home. But the urge to sit down drags him past the door and straight to his desk.

“Morning, Sasha,” Martin says, supressing a loud exhale of relief when he lowers himself into his desk chair.

Sasha glances up distractedly from her computer and pulls out one of her earbuds. “What was that, Martin?”

Martin tries to fight an unfamiliar nervousness, an old friend from his early days in the Archives where he wasn’t sure where he stood with Tim and Sasha. “I was just saying good morning.”

“Of course.” Sasha smiles, although her expression is blank, almost cold. “Good morning to you, too.”

Martin gives her a tight-lipped smile in return. Sasha pops the earbud back in and returns to whatever work she is doing on the computer. He wonders if she can hear the noise of the repeated error notification over her music, wonders what she is doing to make the computer so combative.

Before Prentiss, he has a vague memory of there being a radio on Sasha’s desk. She wouldn’t turn it on everyday—sometimes, she could only get work done if she was wearing noise-cancelled headphones—but whenever she did, she and Tim would sing along to cheesy ’80s hits. He thinks he remembers them dancing together, the middle of the open plan office becoming a makeshift dance floor, but he cannot hold the entire picture in his mind. It’s like a reverse polaroid, fading out of view rather than in. Perhaps he only dreamt it.

He shakes himself out of the fuzziness filling his mind and tries to focus on checking his emails. He left leg throbs dully beneath his desk, but the pain becomes peripheral as each email dredges up the irritation he tries to avoid indulging on weekends. Elias has sent a motivational Monday email about the importance of teamwork and rallying together, especially after a difficult few months for all of us. Rosie has forwarded a fundraising form from his old supervisor in the library, who is apparently raising money for Dementia UK. He tries not to think about how difficult it had been to explain to the aforementioned supervisor why he needed time off to help his mother settle into the care home in Devon. And there is no email at all from Tim, who has stopped bothering to even send his apologies for being late with each new blow to his and Jon’s relationship.

“Martin.” Jon’s voice, slightly raised to catch his attention.

Martin looks up. Jon’s door is open just a crack. Before he can reply, Jon adds stiffly: “My office. Five minutes.” And then he closes his office door firmly once again.

Martin resists the urge to groan and lower his head to his desk. While he’s glad that telling Jon about his faked CV seems to have been a small but significant turning point, he isn’t sure he can manage another complicated conversation dredging up old anxieties today. He doesn’t want to reveal each shameful, painful secret he has in a futile attempt to make Jon trust him.

He can’t concentrate for the next five minutes. He alternates between watching the second hand on the clock across the office and refreshing his emails. He resigns himself to giving a fiver to the library fundraiser and eating the leftover takeaway in the fridge for lunch rather than getting a meal deal. He tries not to think about where Tim might be or what sort of mood he will be in when he finally arrives.

As soon as five minutes have passed, Martin stands. But with his stomach twisting in anxiety and his thoughts spiralling, he has managed to relegate the pain in his leg to the bottom of his mental priority list. Now that he’s standing, it’s demanding first place again. He has to grab the edge of his desk, almost sending his nearly-dead office plant and pot of pens flying across the floor. His monitor, still displaying emails, wobbles dangerously with the desk. He stands completely still for a moment, trying to breathe around the wave of nausea induced by the pain.

The prickling hotness is back. He hopes his face isn’t red when he finally plucks up the courage—and energy—to knock on the door of Jon’s office. It wouldn’t be the first time, he supposes. No matter how hard he tries, he finds himself blushing quite often whenever it is just him and Jon in the latter’s office.

“Come in,” Jon mumbles from behind the door.

Martin creaks open the door carefully and steps inside, trying very hard to make himself smaller, non-threatening. Jon sits behind his desk, staring at his computer screen. He doesn’t look away, but he waves Martin into the spare chair opposite him.

Martin has a feeling that sitting down would be a dangerous decision. He clears his throat. “Actually, I’ll—I’ll stand, if you don’t mind.”

This finally draws Jon’s eyes away from his monitor. “Alright. Although I can assure you that, unlike some of its brethren in Artefact Storage, that chair doesn’t bite.”

Martin tries to smile. Jon has been doing this more since the confrontation and subsequent reveal over his CV—trying to make jokes, or some approximation. An attempt to diffuse the tension, even when Jon’s body language is nearly always screaming: I see you as a threat.

“I’m sure it doesn’t,” Martin replies, “But I, um—I was just reading this article about the impacts of sitting at a desk.”

“A productive start to your workday, then,” Jon mutters.

“And so I’m gonna try standing up a bit more,” Martin continues, deliberately ignoring Jon’s comment, “Around the office.”

“Around the entire office or my office specifically?”

Martin can feel the irritation—stirred by the emails, deflated initially by Jon’s joke—rising inside of him again. “Does it matter?”

Jon sighs. “I suppose not.”

“So, what did you, um, what did you need from me?” Martin asks, trying not to shift with nerves. He knows it will aggravate his leg.  

“Sasha still appears to be having difficulty with her computer, so I was hoping to delegate the task of digitising the disproved statements from 1995 to 2000 to you,” Jon says.

Martin tries not to visibly bristle. Jon has been doing this a lot lately, too—far more frequently, in fact, than the half-formed jokes. He hoards the statements that won’t record digitally, combs them again and again for details rather than delegating this task to any of his Assistants, and only asks for very vague follow-ups.

But Sasha had volunteered to digitise the disproved statements. She said she liked the clear structure it gave to her day, always able to take a full hour for lunch to visit her new boyfriend, and how it led her to different places within the Archives. Besides, she has a transcribing qualification, although she had asked Martin the other day how to insert line numbers into a document. Brain fog, she had explained with that same thin smile.

Martin is quite happy to do whatever minuscule tasks Jon would sporadically trust him with, as long as it meant he had some idea of what Jon was currently putting all of his energy into. He doesn’t want to digitise statements from the ’90s.

“Will that be a problem?” Jon asks after the silence drags on.

“Nope. Not at all,” Martin lies, “It’s just that…”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“I thought I could perhaps… do some follow-ups on the statements you’ve been reading.”

Jon sighs again. Distractedly, he lifts his left arm, his sleeve rolled up to his elbow, and scratches at the slightly-raw but almost-healed wound along his forearm. The stitches have dissolved, but Martin can see the pink scarring where they were placed across the wound, which is raised in comparison to the flat worm scars surrounding it.

“Don’t scratch it,” Martin tuts, “You’ll reopen the wound.”

“Martin,” Jon replies, exasperated, “It’s almost completely healed.”

“Completely healed? It’s not—it’s never going to be—you needed five stitches!”

“Yes, as you keep reminding me.”

“Because I—” Martin splutters, trying to find the words. “Because I worry about you.”

“Your worry is entirely unnecessary.”

“Is it? Because I think you’ve given me more than enough reasons to be worried about you lately.”

Jon’s jaw twitches angrily, but his expression is level when he forces his eyes to Martin’s. “I didn’t call you in here to have yet another pointless conversation about my mental or physical health.”

“Of course not. You called me in here to…” To do a completely meaningless task because you don’t trust me with anything else. He takes a deep breath and knows he cannot say that. “Digitise the 1995-2000 disproved statements.”

“Well remembered.”

Martin manages not to roll his eyes. “I’ll get started right away.”

Martin turns to leave. The first step is easy. The pain arrives on the second, taking him surprise, a direct strike to his ankle. He stumbles and has to steady himself again, this time against the chair Jon had offered him at the start.

“Martin,” Jon says, a hint of something like surprise—or worry—in his voice. He is half-standing from his own chair when Martin looks over his shoulder at him.

“I’m fine,” Martin insists.

“You’re clearly not fine. Are you injured?”

Martin leans into the chair so he can turn to face Jon again. At this angle, Martin catches only a glimpse of the healing wound where it snakes behind Jon’s wrist. But even with a limited view, the memory of the first time he had seen it grips him.

It had been near the end of the day. Martin went to use the toilet before he headed home, but the moment he was inside, all he could smell was blood. And for a moment, all he could think was the worms, they must have missed some of the worms, where did I last see Tim, oh, god, Jon hasn’t left for the day yet, is Sasha still in the office, the worms, worms again, always worms, it was only a matter of time. It was like walking through the Archives after the siege to give his statement: the musty smell of the worm carcases and the metallic hint of blood beneath. Jon and Tim’s blood.

He had lifted his sleeve to his nose to block out the smell and tried to gather some semblance of calm. The blood was in the sink. One of the bathroom stall doors was closed but not locked, a shadow just visible underneath. When Martin called out a cautious hello, the door creaked open at the behest of the occupant’s foot and Jon stood sheepishly inside, pressing a wad of red-stained tissues against his arm.

“Ah. Hello, Martin,” Jon had said. And then, “Heading home?”

Martin had shouted. He can’t remember what. His voice was always higher than it was loud when he was upset. After that, it had been a blur of the same lies. “I’m fine,” as Martin tried to apply pressure to the wound. “I don’t need stitches,” when Martin insisted on taking him to A&E. “It’s really not that bad,” while the doctor was injecting the anaesthetic and stitching the wound. “Why would I lie, Martin? For the last time, I cut myself on a bread knife,” repeated in the days after, again and again, no matter how much Martin pushed.

“Martin,” Jon says again, interrupting his train of thought, “Are you injured?”

Jon is lying to him. Jon is playing a game. Perhaps unintentional, perhaps well-meant, but nonetheless—two can play and Martin has thrown his hat into the ring. The irritation scratching against his ribcage is replaced with a petty sense of satisfaction.

“I sprained my ankle on the way to work. Tripped while I was getting off the Tube,” Martin tells him, “You know me. Clumsy as anything. It’s nothing serious.”

“Well, it doesn’t look like nothing,” Jon snaps.

“It’s fine.” Martin smiles. “I’m sure it will clear up on its own,” he adds, since Jon had something to that effect to him while bleeding profusely in the bathroom stall.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be digitising the statements, after all,” Jon murmurs, almost to himself, “Sasha hasn’t yet transferred them to the office and the boxes can be rather heavy.”

“Honestly, Jon, I can manage,” Martin interjects. The satisfaction has faded slightly, replaced with that desperate urge to prove himself, to show he doesn’t need time off work. He won’t go home. And he won’t be a liability while he’s here. “Besides, what else is there for me to do? Unless you want me to follow up on that statement?”

Jon looks down at his desk. A flash of panic crosses his face when he realises the statement folder is open and Martin, at any time, could have read it. He closes it, deliberately slow, as if trying to hide the reason why. “I’m sure I can find you something else to do at your desk.”

Martin knows this has become a different point of pride now. A dangerous point of pride. He doesn’t want Jon to fuss over him. He doesn’t want to be handled. He will do his job as usual and no one will know he is in pain, no one needs to assume he is anything other than fine.

“I’ll digitise the statements,” Martin says, “In fact, I’ll get started right away.”

“Martin, I—”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Then…” Jon hesitates. “Have a good day, Martin.”

Martin almost folds at the softness in Jon’s voice. For a moment, he considers taking it back—the stubbornness, the bitterness, the insistence that he’s fine. Would it hurt to give in, for a day, to the urge for rest? But it would. He knows it would.

“You too, Jon,” Martin murmurs, dismissing himself from Jon’s office and managing to make it out of the door without flinching every time he puts weight on his left leg.

*

Jon refreshes his emails. He deletes Elias’s aggressively positive bulletin before panicking that he will somehow know and transferring it back to his inbox. He flips through the statement on his desk. He makes sure the pages are in order, properly aligned. He takes the tape recorder from the drawer. He takes a sip from the sealed water bottle he keeps in the same locked drawer as the tape recorder. He lifts his thumb, letting it hover above the button to start recording.

Martin, he thinks. And he can’t begin the statement.

Martin is not fine. Jon is going to prove it. He had decided this before the emails, the statement, the water. But at the crossroads of burying himself in work or investigating Martin’s denial, he realises that it was never really a choice. He needs to know.

Perhaps Martin is hiding an injury related to Jon’s clandestine investigation. The tunnels are dark and, in places, littered with debris. A person visiting without the right equipment—or, at the very least, without a torch—could easily hurt themselves. Or likewise, if the tables had somehow turned, Martin could have lost his balance in the station while following Jon. The best lies always held some element of truth.

The worry eating at him is for this scenario, Jon tells himself. Not for Martin. He is not worried for Martin.

Jon props his door open slightly with his shoe. Now that he has taken to working in his office, door closed, he no longer worries so much about working in only his socks. He never liked the feel of his firm work loafers, and it’s easier to sit comfortably in his chair when his feet aren’t covered. He checks to see if any of them have noticed him, but in the bullpen, Sasha doesn’t look away from her malfunctioning computer, earbuds in. Tim has yet to arrive. And Martin’s desk is empty.

He goes back to his own desk and sits down. From this angle, he can see through the small gap where his shoe is holding the door open. A direct view towards Martin’s desk. He will know when Martin comes and goes, will be able to examine his reaction to movement and pain. Jon begins a timer on his phone—he should keep a record of how long Martin takes, that might give him an idea of the extent of the injury—and then throws himself into scouring the evidence that Basira left the last time she visited.

Jon keeps stopping to check the timer. At fifteen minutes. At eighteen. At twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-nine. Thirty. Thirty-one. Thirty-four. Martin has been gone for far longer than Jon had expected.

At thirty-seven minutes, Jon steps out of his office.

Sasha gives him a brief wave as he passes, but the other two desks are still empty. Jon feels himself frowning. He checks the staff room, but it’s empty and the kettle is cold when he touches his fingers to it. Next, he forces himself to walk slowly to the stacks where the original statements, even disproved, are stored. It is light and temperature controlled here, adjacent to the room where Martin had once stayed for months while they waited for Jane Prentiss’s attack. Because he knows now that was what they were doing: waiting.

Jon keeps his pace slow and measured. He realises he’s still not wearing shoes, which makes it easier to walk quietly along the stacks looking for the right dates. 1980-1985. He’s getting closer. He stops just before 1995-2000, listening for any clue Martin is there.

The first thing he hears is heavy breathing, every other inhalation hitching in pain. Jon grips the shelf behind him, digging his fingers into the wood, focusing on the sensation of the grain. He grounds himself, refuses the first and overwhelming urge to check on Martin. And then, shifting his weight very carefully, he leans forward so he can see through a small gap in the shelving.

Martin is sitting on one of the wheeled, plastic stools used for reaching the higher shelves. His left leg, the one he couldn’t put weight on earlier, is extended in front of him. The hem of his left trouser leg has hitched up slightly, revealing Martin’s sock—covered in tiny dinosaurs and padded as if hiding bandages beneath. His body trembles, almost like a slight blurring around the edges. He is gripping his thighs tightly, digging his nails in as he squeezes is eyes shut.

Jon’s heart clenches. He knew, in his office, that Martin was injured. But this is something else entirely. Beneath the sickly lighting, Martin is pale, almost grey, his skin shinning with a thin layer of sweat. Jon recognises the tightness at the edges of his mouth, the way his throat works against a rising nausea.

“Martin,” Jon says, stepping into view before he can think about what he’s doing.

Martin leaps off the stool, but the motion sends him immediately careening into the opposite shelf when his left leg won’t hold his weight. He catches himself before he falls fully, but he lets out a breathless “shit” that Jon attributes to both the pain and the shock. He tries to pull himself back up to his full height, but Jon can see the toll the sudden movement has taken on him.

“Christ, Jon,” Martin gasps, struggling to regain his breath.

“You’re lying to me,” Jon says. He stops himself before he adds: again.

Martin’s eyes widen slightly in alarm, a look of panic washing out his features further. “Jon, I—I thought we—I’m not—”

“About your injury.”

“Oh.” Martin deflates. “Oh. That.”

Jon is so angry he doesn’t have energy to spare on being embarrassed by his lack of subtlety. “Martin, you look awful.”

“Thanks,” Martin mutters.

“You should take the day off, at the very least.”

“Jon, I’m grateful for your concern, I really am, but—”

“If you say you’re fine again, I swear I will—”

“It’s a sprain,” Martin interrupts, insistent, “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Jon sighs. His anger leaves him, replaced with a sort of sadness he can’t quite place. Nothing I can’t handle. That sentence implies a comparison, a time before that hurts Jon to think about. “Let me get the boxes, at least.”

“No,” Martin says quickly.

“Martin, you clearly—”

“I’ll get them,” Martin insists, “Your arm—”

“Is almost healed. The same cannot be said for your allegedly sprained ankle.”

Martin rolls his eyes. “Allegedly?”

Jon doesn’t dignify his echo with an answer. “My physical therapist says I’m ready to start—”

“No, see, that’s exactly why you shouldn’t be here!”

“I know my limits, Martin. You, apparently, do not.”

Martin laughs humourlessly. “Oh, for gods—”

“What?” Jon bristles. “I attended physical therapy, didn’t I?”

“Because I texted you every day to make sure you went. Because I sent you home when you tried to come back into work too soon.”

“I am more than capable of looking after myself.”

“You stabbed yourself with a bread knife!”

For a moment, a rebuttal sits on the edge of Jon’s tongue. He almost reveals the truth—the door, the blade of Michael’s finger tearing through his flesh when he tried to go after Helen. But no, that would be too much. That would be giving Martin exactly what he wants.

“So you finally believe me,” Jon says calmly.

“I’m finally starting to believe you’re never going to tell me the truth,” Martin replies.

“I’ve already told you the truth.”

“And so have I.” Martin looks him in the eye, unwavering. “I sprained my ankle. I’m fine. I can do this.”

Jon sighs. He rubs at his eyes, wishing he had gotten more sleep for the past—well, the past year. “In that case, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Jon echoes, although he has no idea why, and leaves before Martin can question him.

Back in his office, he paces. He checks the timer on his phone. It’s been an hour. He sits down, glancing between his computer and the door, the computer and the door, the computer and the door. Eventually, he hears Martin drop a large box of case files on his desk, far louder than he would ever usually allow himself to be. Jon sighs again. He is not sure what battle they are locked in, but he knows it is going to be long and hard-won.

Jon goes back to scrutinising Basira’s evidence. A collection of statements taken from people in the vicinity of the Institute during Jane Prentiss’s attack. A profile on some of the employees who had frequent contact with Gertrude, including Martin’s old supervisor in the library. He had sent a reference of thinly-veiled insults across with Martin’s employee record and, for some reason, Jon had never liked him since.

He is disturbed by conversation outside.

“Afternoon, Tim,” Martin says.

“Afternoon, is it?” Tim replies bitterly. “I didn’t realise.”

Only then does Jon realise it is after midday and Martin still hasn’t badgered him about getting lunch.

“Can I get you anything?” Martin asks, his tone much softer. “A cup of tea, maybe?”

“Thanks, but I prefer coffee these days.”

Martin laughs, a small, quickly fading sound. “Believe it or not, I do also know how to make coffee.”

“I guess I…” A loud, exhausted sigh from Tim. Then, in a smaller, kinder voice: “A coffee would be great. Thanks, Martin.”

Through the half-open door, Jon watches as Martin grips his desk and uses it to leverage himself up. The change of elevation clearly makes him dizzy and he stands for a moment, breathing deeply while he reaches an equilibrium. But when he walks, he is mostly managing to mask the pain, at least until he leaves Jon’s field of vision.

Jon listens. He hears the familiar squeak of the staff room door swinging closed. After a fortifying breath, he forces himself out into the main office. Sasha’s desk is empty; she’s probably on her lunch break with the boyfriend who works at the wax museum. Tim is sitting in his chair, hands in his lap, staring blankly at his computer. The screen isn’t on.

Tim blinks. Pulls his dull gaze away from the computer. The shadows beneath his eyes are deep and purple, and he doesn’t even attempt to smile. “Can I help you with something, boss? Must be big if you’re willing to leave that office of yours.”

“Have you noticed Martin behaving strangely at all?”

“Oh, bloody hell, Jon, not this again,” Tim hisses, “I’m not helping you spy on—”

“No, no, not that,” Jon interrupts, “I believe Martin injured himself on his way to work, but he won’t tell me how severe it is.”

“Wow. Sounds kind of like someone else I know.”

“Tim.”

“I suppose he learnt from the best.”

“Tim,” Jon snaps, “Did you notice anything?”

“No.” Tim sighs. “No, I was a bit distracted, to be honest. I was sort of hoping Sasha would be here. I, uh, I need to talk to her about something.”

“Will you keep an eye on him?”

“I already told you, I’m not—”

“It’s not spying.”

“It’s as good as!”

“It is not.”

“You would know.”

“Tim,” Jon says, lowering his voice for impact, “If you are not going to do any work, at least—”

The staff room door whines open. Martin walks out backwards, holding the door open with his shoulder as he shuffles into the office a mug in each hand. One is the novelty mug with a celebrity and slogan on it that Jon doesn’t recognise, no matter how many times Tim has tried to explain; the other is the plain, sunny yellow one Martin always gives to Jon.

“Oh,” Martin says, pausing when he sees them both, “Is… everything alright?”

“Fine,” Tim replies, “Jon was just interrogating me about why I was late. And I was just telling him how I was passing by London Zoo when I heard a scream and I immediately began running—”

“Alright,” Jon interrupts, “I’ve heard enough.”

Martin lifts the hand holding the yellow mug slightly. “I made you tea.”

Jon tries to push away the warm feeling that unfurls in his chest, every time Martin says this. “Thank you, Martin. Let me take those from you.” He adds, firmly, “Both of them,” for good measure.

With some manoeuvring, Jon manages to relinquish Martin of both the mugs. He places Tim’s down on his desk, receiving a mumbled thanks, before walking the distance back towards his office door. Martin lingers in the doorway to the staff room, looking casually at Jon, but there is a stubborn set to his shoulders.

“How are the files?” Jon asks.

“Terrible,” Martin replies with a slight pout, “I’ve already read five statements about three separate Oasis concerts.”

Jon shudders. “I never liked the ’90s.”

Martin chuckles. “Yeah, well, at least they weren’t getting up to anything actually spooky.”

Jon hesitates. He knows, if he moves first, he will have lost this particular battle. But the war is still all to play for. He assesses the determination on Martin’s face and decides that, on his occasion, he will concede. Just this once.

“Well,” Jon says, clearing his throat, “Good luck with the rest.”

“What, you’re not going to make him put a quid in the jar for saying ‘spooky’?” Tim interjects.

Jon startles. He had almost forgotten him and Martin were not alone. “It’s a first offense.”

“It is not,” Tim calls after him, but there’s something playful in his tone, at least, “That’s preferential treatment!”

Jon goes back into his office without replying. He keeps the door open.

For the rest of the afternoon, Tim doesn’t exactly keep his word, but he does do everything in his power to prevent Martin from getting any work done. Tim isn’t subtle about it, but Martin tries to resist. He only plays two rounds of online Battleships with Tim before insisting on returning to the disproven statements. Tim then attempts to throw pens from his pot into Martin’s, scattering most of them around the office. When Sasha comes back, he quietens slightly and they all fall into some semblance of productivity. Jon does catch Tim playing solitaire when he passes his desk on the way to the bathroom, though.

Sasha is the first to go home. She leaves without stopping by Jon’s office and the absence scratches at his consciousness, some long-buried sense of rejection that he soothes and smothers with the knowledge that this is what he wants. He wants space to work. He wants to snap the lines of connection that might lead him towards betrayal.

Less than twenty minutes later, Tim is next. And he tries to take Martin with him.

“Come on,” Tim whines, his voice carrying through the barely-open door to Jon’s office, “Just one round. On me.”

“Tim,” Martin replies, his voice gentle but holding his position, “I really can’t. Not tonight.”

“We could grab something to eat instead? I’ve been meaning to try this sushi place right near—”

“I can’t eat—”

“Oh, right.” Tim clicks his fingers in remembrance. “You’re allergic to fish.”

“Not all fish,” Martin adds, like an apology.

“Not all fish,” Tim echoes, “But no sushi, just to be on the safe side.”

“Yep.” Martin sighs. “Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologise.”

From his office, Jon can hear Tim shifting slightly. The floors are hardwood, carefully maintained over the years, and despite taking some damage during Prentiss’s attack, Elias insists on keeping them. They creak. He remembers Martin mentioning it once in passing, when he was staying in the Archives, how sometimes he thought Jon was there even on the nights when he left before it got dark.

“At least let me walk you home,” is Tim’s last attempt, “A sprain is definitely not nothing. I sprained my wrist years ago climbing and it still plays up sometimes. Especially when I’m caving, actually, but that’s a story for another time.”

“Well, um… I won’t go climbing any time soon, then?”

“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?” Tim says in his most flirtatious voice.

Martin laughs. “I appreciate it, Tim. But I’m—I just want to finish this off. Before I leave.”

Through the crack in the door, Jon sees Tim raise his hands in surrender. “Well, I tried.”

“I’ll be alright,” Martin adds, almost guiltily.

“You better be.” Tim hesitates again. Jon watches him pat the pockets of his coat, searching for his phone or perhaps his keys. “You got my link? The NHS website one about strains?”

“I did. Thank you.”

“And you know about calling 111?”

“Also yes.”

“And you can call me if you need me?”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll go,” Tim says, resigned, “Just—take care of yourself.”

“You too, Tim,” Martin replies softly.

Tim heads off, again without stopping by Jon’s office. And it’s habit, by now, it’s not unusual for Tim to do this, but Jon taps the desk lightly with his fingers to try and dispel the feeling of wrongness sitting on his chest. He watches Martin go back to the computer, a tension around his eyes that suggests at a headache and the same pallid, nauseous look visible even in profile.

Jon considers the work he has left. The work he knows, realistically, he will never quite finish because every statement, every piece of footage, every lead, only stirs up more questions. He could stay. He could push himself on into the night, as he has done so many times before. He could find another reason to go into the tunnels. But deep down, he is exhausted—by the need to know, by the itch at the edge of his knowledge where uncertainty lingers and festers. He wants to rest and he thinks if he leaves now, Martin might, too.

Jon gathers his things, stuffing a few statements inside his messenger bag before shrugging on his coat, his scarf, his gloves and his hat. The cold air hurts his scars and dries out his skin until they become tight, small movements made increasingly uncomfortable without intervention, so he’s resorted to wearing more layers. Finally, he puts his shoes back on, retrieving the left one from the door and then closing it behind him when he steps out into the main office.

Martin glances away from his computer. “Heading home?”

“Yes,” Jon replies, as casually he can, “I thought I would call it an early night. Would you—I thought—perhaps you would like to join me?”

Jon tries not to notice Martin’s cheeks flushing pink. “Oh, um, I—I was actually—I think I should stay. Just for another half an hour or so. It’s just, I’m nearly finished with October to December 1999 and I know it will bother me if I leave it.”

Jon quirks an eyebrow. “That interesting?”

“Hmm.” Martin shrugs. “Mostly just a lot of people worried about the turn of the millennium.”

“Ah. I remember that.” Jon doesn’t let on that he spent October to December 1999 researching that very phenomenon obsessively, walking the line between intense curiosity and deep dread at the possibility of catastrophe. There are some things—many things—Martin doesn’t need to know about him.

Martin smiles. “Well, I… I better get on.”

“Martin,” Jon says, trying to keep his voice measured. He feels like he is wavering between an offering and an argument. “I know I stressed the importance of digitising those files this morning, but there is no reason to spend overtime on—”

“There is, though,” Martin interrupts, “A reason.”

“Oh?”

Martin looks him in the eye and almost smiles. “I want to.”

“Right,” Jon sighs.

“Right,” Martin echoes.

“I suppose I’ll—I’ll be going, then,” Jon murmurs, tapping Martin’s desk just once in deference to the slight tremble in his body, the way he isn’t quite sure what to do with his hands. “See you tomorrow, Martin.”

Martin smiles, this time. A full smile. “Bye, Jon.”

Jon turns. He begins to walk away. In his mind, he sees an alternative: going back, asking Martin to walk with him to the station, an offer he knows will, at least, make Martin think again. The both of them squeezed among commuters, hands stuffed into the pockets of their coats because of the cold, elbows knocking against each other every so often as the crowd tightens and expands. The awkward, protracted moment of goodbye when they part to separate platforms, the glimpse of the other walking away and the pang of sadness that comes with it.

It’s manipulative to ask, a cruel trick, and yet—is it? Is it, if that is something Jon wants, too?

Jon doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking, even though he knows—somewhere deep and hidden and insistent—that he will regret it.

[take0fftheblues]

I stopped by a former workplace of mine. This was a place where I spent seven years employed, and I hated it for at least half of those years. On this brief visit, I could feel the negativity in the atmosphere. The current employees sounded miserable. It made me glad that I left that place. Whenever you find yourself in a toxic, work environment, make sure you protect yourself & your mental wellness at all costs. Don't avoid the signs, and don't stay there any longer than you have to.. Be diligent on your job search, and figure out an escape plan.

[lovequinn]

remember when everyone used to do those “year in review” blog posts and shit on new years eve? i’m gonna do one of those again!

sometimes i forget this is a tumblr BLOG and i can write whatever long shit i want and not just post pretty gifs so let’s GOOOO end of the year blog entry:

2020 was definitely SOMETHING. it was a nightmare. it was like an acid trip fever dream that never ended (and it still hasn’t! who knows what’s left to happen!)

but you know what? while everything was going to shit and i was forced to sit alone with myself for more cumulative time than i’ve EVER wanted to, i learned a lot. and i feel like i’ve come out the other side in such a good mental space that i’m genuinely proud and want to share a bit.

some things stayed the same obviously. i still have a firm belief that taco bell is gourmet cuisine and found a way to continue eating it even in lockdown. i still have more funko pops than i know what to do with (seriously, i moved into a new apartment MONTHS ago and still haven’t managed to unpack them all).  i still get calls from my grandparents asking about @erikahenningsen​ because she’s still their favorite grandchild.

a lot is different, though. i lost my job that i love so dearly. not only that, but so did many of my loved ones. our entire industry is gone. the art form i'm passionate about is on an indefinite pause. instead of going out and seeing friends a few nights a week, i’ve gotten to see them just a handful of times in twelve months. the two big events that i look forward to every year were cancelled. i ate thanksgiving dinner from boston market alone on my couch.

when bad things happen, i have always had a tendency to shut down and cower until they get better. i’ve never been good at seeing the glass half full. but for the first time this year, i tried.

i wanted to feel more comfortable in my own skin, so i cut ten inches of my hair off...and instantly felt better.

i tried out some new fashion that a lot of people thought was stupid, but you know what? it made me feel good.

i struggled going into this year with some unhealthy weight loss that came from depression, and it caused a lot of physical and mental health problems. but i rediscovered my love of hiking and mountain climbing over the spring and summer and started cooking new things that interested me, and i’m now in the most healthy physical shape i’ve been in since high school and achieved that in a positive way.

i realized that if i can’t use one skill for the time being, i might as well use another. so i pivoted from theater to honing my communications experience and now have an awesome recruitment/pr position at an ivy league university, and i’m learning so much from the people i work with.

finally, FINALLY, i got a proper diagnosis re: my mental health and while it isn’t easy to handle all the time (or most of the time), it is INCREDIBLY comforting to know what is going on and to be seeking the right kind of treatment that will make it a bit easier.

the hardest thing i had to recognize this year was that i am not obligated to keep myself in a toxic environment to placate other people. if certain relationships are genuinely harming your mental health, you do not have to stay in them, no matter who they are. not everyone has your best interests at heart even if they say they do, and not every friendship is meant to last, and that’s okay. i snapped and stopped putting energy into people that refused to put that same energy back, and while that means the people i’m leaving this year with aren’t all the same that i started it with, in the long run that has made all the difference for my happiness.

on the contrary! i was faced with the fact that sometimes the people you thought were the most selfish, evil people can grow just like you have. i was able to reconnect with someone who hurt me immensely last year and get a genuine apology, and worked through a lot of the aftermath with them. you can’t forget and take away bad things that happened, but you can choose to heal and move forward if given the option and i’m glad to be working on rebuilding a friendship that i thought i would never get back.

i also learned that when you think you’ve hit rock bottom: you haven’t. it can always get worse. but the worse it gets, the more likely it is that things will get better soon.

there are obviously a lot of things that happened in 2020 where the glass absolutely cannot be seen as half full. none of this personal growth shit is worth the tragedies that happened, please don’t think that’s my point here; i would trade it all if i could.

but it at least helps to feel like, if nothing else, i can say i ended 2020 as a better version of myself than how i started it.

wishing all of you a happy new year, and here’s hoping 2021 isn’t terrible.

[unikornu]

Graceful Sin,

(shortie - words 2,223)

“After another argument between Lucy and Gage, the Overboss storms off to Parlor where she catches on a private moment with her pre-war boss, Harrison that recently made a come back to Nuka World. “

______________________

It was late and silent evening at Nuka Town with the exception of shouts coming from the Fizztop mountain which belonged to well known crocked couple, Gage and Lucy, arguing once again about Institute deals she forgot to mention and all confusion about newly arrived guest, Harrison, her pre-war shady employer. Lucy wasn’t the one to handle long arguments, especially against someone as stubborn and loud in complains like her fellow raider, no longer being able to stand the tension she turned around and just left, pushing the door behind her and going towards the elevator with a rapid steps, her blond braids swaying after her and hands clenched, moving to the sides.  

- Boss, shit, where the hell ya going again? Let’s just finish the talk, c’mon. Gage followed, almost ran after, grabbing her under the arm before she entered the elevator.

- We finished. The Institute deals are staying if you like it or not and so will our guest. She forced her arm out of his grip and looked at him, squinting her eyes in a threatening manner.

- A bit longer and they will settle up their own fucking lab right here with even bigger bunch of fucking synths. Even if Gage hoped for her to stay he just couldn’t let the complains go and it certainly didn’t help to calm down the atmosphere.

- He is not a regular synth but still a person Gage! And neither at Institute side, when will you fucking understand it and just let it go, jezz. Lucy snapped back at him and entered the elevator, pushing the button and refusing to listen anything Gage was still shouting through the closing in front of him door.

She leaned against the wall and sighted deeply, letting the nerves float away till elevator hit the bottom. Harrison arrival brought some good and bad news. Good for her that she managed to claim something back from her pre-war life, more than just a thing or souvenir but an actual same person she spend her last years with, before the world went to shit. Bad because even if Harrison was avoiding the Institute like a worst omen he failed to prevent from becoming bigger, Gage had a really hard time to see a remaining soul of an actual human he was and still is under the synth skeleton wearing his skin like a costume, not mentioning all the experiment that made him a supernatural entity, his soul possessing the body he still managed to recover from the pre-war lab. For Lucy it didn’t matter, since in the end they had each other and did care despite all the toxic work crime relations they went through.

Every time she was down Parlor always found a way to calm her mind, be it a theatrical rich environment of it, calm music and bottle of booze along with it, just chilling at the decorated by red silky cloth table with her legs rested on top of it, candle burning slowly in the background, letting her to light a cigarette. This time was no different with the only exception that it was empty, only a familiar tall figure leaning against a wall, Harrison himself, wearing his usual long gray shiny coat, smooth and clean, always looking like a gentleman that lost a feeling of time.

- Tough break, Feit? He nodded at her from under his round classic hat, sending her a shiny green glance.

- It’s that visible, is it? She asked in response, dropping heavily onto the chair and lighting up a cigarette.

- I know you too well so i see it instantly and sense too...in a way. Porter eh? Bitching again? He smirked with a corner of his lips already knowing the answer.

- Bitching? You seem to catch a local language quite fast, sir. She smirked back at him in a distance and puffed a smoke in the air, leaning back onto the chair.

- No choice but to try to fit in, helps to take away more of these curious eyes off me. If synth gossip cause such a stir around i would rather not let anyone find out what i am. He pushed himself off the wall and approached her, grabbing a chair on a way and taking a sit at the other side of the table.

- Institute still has no fucking clue about you and i will keep it that way. She crushed a smoke in the ashtray and placed her elbows onto the table, palms of her hands supporting her tired pale face, wearing a signs of stress from at least few days. Harrison noticed it.

- When did you....how to say it, chill out last time, Feit? You look like shit, no offense of course. He raised his thick black eyebrow at her.

- I don’t remember, it has been quite a busy time, cleaning after the bloody disciples and trying to set you up here, spread some believable information...i completely lost track of time. She brushed the inner corners of her eyes with fingers and looked back at him as he stood up and started turning his head around.

- What are you looking for? She asked, curiously.

- Something to help you relax, of course. His eyes stopped at the old pre-war   gramophone, still with a famous golden tube attached to it and a vinyl inside. He waved his hand, a bright green stroke of energy with smoke flew out of his palm as he wiggled his fingers towards it, putting a vinyl into a gentle spin as the needle slowly lowered to let the parlor room fill with the slow blues tunes.

- Nice trick. I think i remember this song. Lucy mind flew back to the times when there were still bars and dance pubs, filled with couples, talking, drinking and dancing after the work, including her but the only partner she remained with that time was the half empty bottle of booze.

- Me too. Harrison’s mind flew to the same pub she was sitting in that time but lacking a courage and clear reason to enter and just join her, especially hours ago his hands were all stained in her partner’s blood. He didn’t dare to even let the thought slip in his head but now that all reasoning and past got buried with nukes he took down his hat, placing it on table in front of her and leaned down, offering her a hand.

- You up for a short dance, to forget all that crap you seem to occupy yourself with now? The usual grumpiness of his face got replaced with an honest and soft smile, almost impossible to resist and say no.  

- Dance? I never thought you can dance, sir. Lucy couldn’t deny she loved to dance but in a raider world it was a very rare activity and with usual folks around it barely resembled a classic pre-war swinging. She hesitated for a moment but eventually placed a palm in his hand and let herself be pulled gently up.

- You still don’t know many things about me, Feit but yes, i can dance. My wife used to praise me before she kicked me out of our life. He looked down at her, realizing she might have a slightly harder time with their size difference.

- I feel like you gained a few centimeters since last time we met. She pointed out.

- Most probably...hmmm, maybe these will help. He looked towards a pair of high heel black sandals lying under one of the tables and used his powers once again to lift them up in the air and slowly bring into her hands.

- I think i left them there after last meeting with operators. She crouched down and swiftly changed her shoes, straightening up and arriving almost at Harrison’s chin.

- You already seem happier. So...shall we? He lifted his left hand up to the side, awaiting for her to grab it before he placed his other hand at her back.

- We shall. It’s been a while, indeed. She couldn’t hide her smile, swinging was always brightening her mood in no time, especially with a good company that knew how to properly lead.

- Sorry for shooting you...back then. Lucy apologized with a low, almost whispering voice, trying to fill a moments of silence between them.

- Well, i guess i deserved it in the end. He chuckled, his eyes brightening up in even lighter shade of green the longer they danced together. - Too bad the Institute made it alive in the end.

- At least they provide us some good weaponry we wouldn’t have otherwise. She shrugged, what has been done its done, she could only try to benefit from it.

- You got yourself quite a position here, being a what they call... Overboss, ordering people around and getting the job done, like you always did. He raised his arm and spun her around, pulling afterwards back and close to him, pausing for a moment, staring down at her.

- I never liked to be in charged so i’m glad you got back eventually. Even after two hundred freaking years you are still my boss, sir. She smiled at him, ignoring the sudden blush appearing lightly on her cheeks.

- Hah, you didn’t change one bit, i’m glad. He said with a lower voice, smiling back.

- Neither did you. 

He pushed off a strand of hair from her face, slowly leaning closer and closer to meet her amber gaze. She froze in place, not backing off but highly uncertain with the next move, her mind storming the thoughts as she couldn’t deny she enjoyed his company but image of Gage and their relations still made her turn away as their lips almost met.

- Shit, i..can’t. I mean... it feels awkward. Lucy admitted, dropping her troubled face to the floor.

- Uhm..no, its my fault, i enjoyed that little moment of ours a bit too much i guess, i apologize. He backed off, softening the grip on her hand, letting her to slip it away, turning his eyes to the side.

- Don’t worry, i still liked it, got my mind a bit off the usual shit. She brushed her shoulder and looked back at him, reassuring that this little accident didn’t ruin their view of each other.

- I think it’s better i get back to setting up myself at that disciple place. He walked towards a table, taking his hat and putting if back on his head, hiding the worry that his face was wearing till Lucy patted his shoulder as she approached him.

- Still thank you...for sticking around, i’m really glad to see you again...despite everything that happened. She said, with an honest soft voice that took away his sudden worry away.

He nodded back at her and left towards the exit, meeting Gage on his way out. They only looked at each other, almost saluting but not letting a single word out.

- Hey Boss...can we...? Gage paused, hearing the weird blues coming out of the gramophone, his face turning into a slight confusion.

- What’s up with that weird ass music? He asked, taking a slow steps towards her.

- What, you don’t like it? She asked, tapping the heel of her boost to the wooden floor in the rhythm of the sound.

- Can’t say, i’m just not used to it. He glanced down at her shoes and then slowly back up at her, crossing her arms, awaiting the continuation of his thoughts that brought him to Parlor.

- So...what else you have to say that you didn’t say yet. She tapped a finger against her crossed arms, looking at him at the same level this time, thanks to her heels.

- Right...fuck, maybe i went a bit too far with all that...talk we had before. Maybe it ain’t that bad. He brushed a back of his head with a palm.

- So, you are sorry. She couldn’t resist an evil smirk, sensing the apology in his voice.

- Yeeeeah, shit. Gage never liked to admit he was wrong or exaggerated in any way but ruining what they had would have been even worse in the end and he knew that.

- I can forget about it faster if you swing me properly around since i still have these on. She pointed down, sending him a seductive smile that he could hardly resist even if she was asking him for something he didn’t like as much as she was but in the end he was still agreeing for her good.

- Don’t worry, no one is looking right now. She grabbed his wrist and pulled him close, forcing his hands onto her back, right up her bottoms.

- You are asking for a lot here, Boss. He still grinned despite the soapy atmosphere surrounding them.

- You can always say no and turn away, Gage. She smiled and raised her eyebrow at him.

- I wouldn’t fucking dare. He took up on a challenge and pushed her even closer, bumping their foreheads and letting themselves be lost in their gaze as they swinged into the remaining track till the vinyl ran out of power, letting it end with a most tender kiss they both hungered for after every argument, let it be forgotten in a matter of seconds but her mind still drifted away for a split moment about Harrison’s move...  

[thebiasrekkers]

Star of Fate [Vampire!VIXX]

Plot: The longer you stare into darkness, the more you realize that something could be staring back. Even more so when that darkness doesn’t want to be brought into the light and will do anything to stay that way.

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: Series | Vampire!AU | Angst | Romance/Fluff | Smut

Pairings: OT6 VIXX x OC(s)

Warnings: Graphic Violence (bloody violence), Heavy Language, Angst, Slow Burn, Smut

Additional Warnings: Office Microaggressions | Bullying | Toxic Work Environment

Previous Chapters: Prologue

Links: FAQ || VIXX Masterlist || Admin L’s AO3 || Admin L’s WP || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,682

AO3 | WP

Tag List: If you would like to be added to this list, just drop us an ask!

AN: So…I know we said this was coming soon and I’m very sorry that this got started so late! I hope to have this out every two weeks, maybe more depending on the future. So please give this a lot of love and we hope you enjoy the ride!

Chapter 2- The Ghost Woman and the Hunter

Calling on your sins you're here in my dreams a desert place I'm not alone Do you really want to be me?

Her eyes popped open, the realistic feeling of falling completely disorienting her as she shot up from her bed. It had felt so real to her that her body jerked itself awake. Light danced its way in through the blinds, chasing away all signs of shadow. Never had she been so glad that she hadn’t purchased black out curtains than in that moment. She needed to see the sun and all of its glory to help the dream fade away into existence. Well, at least certain parts of it. There was a wistful part of her that still wished that she could be on that dance floor again with the handsome and darker skinned man. 

“Oh my….FUCK!”

Lucky yelled as she looked over to her alarm clock, realizing that it was the source of the chimes that she heard in her dream. Throwing off her covers, she scrambled to get half-way put together so that way she wouldn’t be late to her job. She even called a cab to get her there faster which was unlike her normal routine. Unless there was inclement weather, of course. 

During the ride, she kept an eye on her phone--it lighting up every few seconds as she checked the time. She made it to her desk just in time to receive the stack of papers from some of the other people there. Normally she wasn’t such a space case, even showing up early to get whatever else she missed the previous day. Lucky was a hard worker, nobody could deny that but it was that fact others exploited hence the reason why the stack seemed to get larger and larger by the week. The world of office politics seemed to be much like high school but it paid well enough for her to put up with the majority of it. 

She straightened out her hair as best as she could with it being so long and settled down to start on her work. Most of it had been reports that she had to pencil push and correct, which was easy enough for her because all the information had been just sitting there inside of her head. However, the more difficult stuff came along when the Vice-President stuck his fingers into everything. She couldn’t help but groan when she looked at some of them, saving the majority of them for last so that way she could take extra time on them. 

“Job finally getting to you, Leonora?”

Lucky didn’t realize how long she had been working on them until the voice pulled her out of the zone she had settled into. Turning around, she saw another coworker standing right behind her with a slight smile on her face. No matter how many times she tried to be friendly to some of them, they insisted on resisting any attempts at professionalism and decorum. Well, unless someone higher up was around. Not to mention the fact that they also insisted on calling her by her government name instead of the nickname that she preferred. She gave the sweetest smile she could muster and stood up, green eyes twinkling. 

“Oh, there you are Nancy! I got so caught up in fixing your mistakes that I forgot to give you this folder back! Everything in there should be up to date now and I even took the liberty of sending off the final draft for you. It was the least I could do since I was the last one that had hands on it. You’re welcome.”

She gaped at Lucky for a moment and flipped open the folder to read what she had fixed. Nancy’s ears started to go red and her thin lips flattened as she pressed them together in anger. Lucky raised an eyebrow at her reaction, knowing that she saw what had been edited by her. It had only been a few mistakes but they were some that would have made their department look bad. Plus Lucky also added her name to the document as one of the contributing factors, more so because she went through the trouble of fixing everything. 

“I hope this teaches you to quit pushing your work off on me, Nancy. Have a good day.”

Lucky turned away from her and sat back down at her cubicle, leaving the sputtering woman there to be embarrassed. Even though she had her own computer there, they all had shared files that they could all access and she lived up to her nickname that she had the time to quickly edit everything before emailing it out. It had been one of the rare times that she was able to stick it to them and it honestly made her feel a sliver of satisfaction at the situation. 

Because she was just a little bit petty. 

The sudden ringing of her phone took her away from the moment, the voice of her boss calling for her. Lucky was a bit confused as she looked at the time as she wondered why he had reached out so early. It normally was after lunch that she would meet up with him to go over various things pertaining to her new position. Lucky had been promoted to be the Personal Assistant for the Vice President. Naturally, he had more than one that would work together with him being at such a high level but most of them had quit because of various rumors of his misogyny and unrealistic ideals. Hell, she was even friends with one of them when she found out that she no longer worked there. Rumors circulated with her leaving and even more when she was appointed in her stead. 

Now, Lucky was one of the very few left so that meant that she had been picking up a lot more work than normal. Not that she went out much anyways with the amount of work she had. 

She walked the halls to his office, only to be greeted by the desk clerk. The tiny lady handed her a folder and suggested she find something appropriate to wear. Confused, Lucky looked through the folder and saw that there were some instructions as well as some papers with details on the new VIP’s that they had recently joined with. 

“What the actual hell? Does he expect me to drop everything that I’m doing to go to this event with him? After hours, no less?”

The lady just shrugged and went back to her work. Lucky could feel her indignation rising but left before causing a scene. It was one thing if it was an actual work trip that she had to attend but that had been some sort of event to flaunt and rub elbows. There wasn’t a real reason why she needed to be there so why all the preparation? She returned to her desk and went through the folder in detail. The only promise that she would receive was an extra amount in pay if she went, something that actually interested her. She grumbled as she leafed through it but decided that it was just for one night and that if it happened again, she would put a stop to it. The bright side to it had been that she could take off early to prepare for the event. That was always something she could look forward to especially that day since she moved like hell to get there on time. 

The one person that she could freely talk to in the office came up to her with a grin on her face. She had originally been offered the position but declined it because of family reasons but she was nice to talk to regardless. 

“So Lucky.. I heard from a little bird that you’re going to the VIP event tonight with Mr. Randall.” She wiggled her eyebrows and elbow at her while Lucky just scoffed. 

“Yeah, I guess. I wonder how in the hell does crap go around here so fast? It’s like the freaking flu!” 

“You don’t sound so enthusiastic about it.”

“Ashleigh, I really don’t want to go but they’re promising extra pay this time if I do. I haven’t been sleeping well lately and now I gotta go to this… grandstandin’ event. I wish someone else could go.”

Her coworker leaned thoughtfully on the cubicle wall before leaning down to whisper. It was only times like that when they would get a bit of privacy. 

“You could always quit and get some more sleep? I heard that the other assistant quit as well. I thought, at first, that you had too when you didn’t arrive when you usually do. They’re saying that the abuse from the VP is to blame.”

“Yeah well, tell the handsome man in my dreams to quit bothering me so I can go by to my normal schedule and ignore some of these chickens.” Lucky’s hand motioned like a beak as they both had a laugh over that before returning back to work. However, Ashleigh’s words stuck with her. The VP hadn’t been shy about voicing his displeasure to her about various things, even requesting that she cut her hair but she respectfully declined his request. All she stated was that it was within the guidelines of the company and left it at that. Something that didn’t win her any favors. 

And if the other girl quit too, then the sinking feeling in her gut proved to be more of an ominous feeling. Either way, she would have to go and see how it played out. 

When time came for her to leave early, Lucky instead went shopping for appropriate attire for that night’s event. Even neatly braided her hair to keep it out of her face. Simple, neat and just a tad bit sexy in the red dress. Once satisfied with her result, she waited outside for the driver to come around and pick her up. Upon seeing the expensive car, Lucky suppressed a shudder when the door was opened to reveal Mr. Randall. It wasn’t necessarily seeing her boss after hours but more of a combination of the car and him. Small vehicles caused her a bit of stress since she was involved in an accident many years ago. Since then, normally she would either take the bus or bike when the weather was nice. 

Thankfully, her boss wasn’t too interested in making small talk with her once they got on the road. The city was left behind soon and various gas stations and trees zoomed by them. She didn’t put too much thought into it until the driver turned onto a long, paved road after a set of gates. The mansion that appeared made Lucky’s eyebrows shoot up, something picking at her brain. She couldn’t quite figure it out but it was as if she had seen that place before. She had to shake those thoughts from her head as she concentrated on remembering the information that was given to her earlier that day. 

Knowledge was power and she needed it to navigate that world if she didn’t want to embarrass or otherwise offend anyone. 

Upon exiting the car and entering the elaborate place, Lucky felt all the eyes in the world stare at them. Putting on a gracious face, she walked slightly behind her boss as they were greeted by some of the others there. A few moments chatting with some of them, she soon found herself alone in the area while the others mingled. She wasn’t anyone of importance and therefore not worthy of anyone’s time, for the moment. She would let her boss do all the talking. 

Lucky gravitated towards the hors d'oeuvres while everyone talked among themselves. Plucking a few to put on a plate, she watched the room for any sign that she would be needed. Several of the clients that were in the folder she received were there and they were laughing alongside everyone else. A couple even approached her, asking questions about the company and trying to get a little information from her about how to deal with her boss. She couldn’t honestly say anything to help in that situation because she usually just listened to him bark his orders before correcting anything she needed to. 

She was left alone for another time, only appearing at her boss’ side when needed as the night went on. Soon she felt herself grow tired of all the people and the politics of said beings. Lucky had several drinks before that point and was in the process of acquiring another when a voice nearly made her jump out of her skin. 

“They’re almost like vultures, are they not?”

She looked around and up at him as he was much taller than her, even in heels. The man knew he was handsome, smiling prettily at her as he held up his own glass of red wine in a toast. Lips full and round eyes, Lucky had to appreciate his looks before replying. 

“Well, I wouldn’t say that in particular.”

He gave a wide smile, eyes almost disappearing as they snickered at the rest of them. Lucky found herself talking more and more to the man who seemed just as bored as she was with the party. The more that she looked at him, the more that he seemed familiar to her and it dawned on her that he was one of the men from the folder. He had a nice voice, a bit higher than most of the men there but he didn’t hide it one bit. 

Lucky also noticed that the attention had been drawn to them just from them standing and talking to one another. He introduced himself as Jaehwan and they talked for another 15 minutes, slipping into easy conversation to keep themselves entertained. His jokes nearly had her spilling her drink, the folder not at all correct with the man before her. He was one of three men with his business, including one brother that rotated about in their company. 

Still, even with the jokes and the amicable banter between the both of them--her boss found that he had only missed the presence of Mr. Lee before her. 

“Ah. Leonora, I didn’t realize you had monopolized Mr. Lee’s time here tonight.” Her shorter framed boss then looked to Jaehwan with an apologetic look on his face, “Otherwise I would have saved you sooner!” Mr. Randall gave a laugh, expecting Jaehwan to laugh with him but didn’t. It surprised Lucky that her new friend didn’t go along with him on that but only sighed, looking to her in apology before speaking. 

“Leonora? And you said you were Lucky…” He grinned at her, ignoring her boss. She could see Randall’s face that he was growing annoyed, a face that showed up when things didn’t go his way. 

“Oh that’s just my assistant’s nickname that she tells everyone to call her even though we should be more professional. I’m her boss, Nicolas Randall. Vice-President of Nexus Assurance.” He held out his hand to shake but Jaehwan kept grinning at Lucky. His eyes suddenly were hyper focused on her, the doe eyed look that he did have--dissolved away. Almost like he had found something he really wanted.

“Uh well, I’ve been known to be lucky--hence the nickname.” She nervously laughed, highly aware that the tension was rising. Her eyes darted between Jaehwan as he continued to ignore her boss and the latter as he was getting more upset that the scene was even happening. That strange and ominous feeling was back, churning about the contents of her stomach. Jaehwan slowly turned from the friendly and open persona that he had while it was just the two of them, to something a bit more aggravated the longer her boss was there. There was a glint in his eyes that suggested something unfriendly was fighting its way out. 

Suddenly Jaehwan blinked rapidly before excusing himself but not before taking her hand and kissing it. Bewildered, Lucky watched him weave expertly through the crowd before taking a peek at her boss. 

And he was not pleased. 

[katsukari]

Falling Chapter 1/Prologue- No Time To Die

~akari aizawa, niece of japanese pro Eraserhead, is a sixteen year old pro in the US via an accelerated program. things have not gone to plan, and she finds herself in a toxic work environment. when her contract comes up, so does a better offer. now all she has to do is make it through her last week of work at the office, right?

pairing: bakugou x akari aizawa (oc)

word count: 3.1k

genre: for this chapter, angst

warnings: swearing (i’m pretty sure??), fighting, so violence, and i think that’s it for ch.1.

Alright, so this is the first chapter of my fic Falling. I posted about any interest earlier, but if you guys don’t know my writing style or anything about the story, how can you be interested? So, I figured I’d post this to give people a feel for the situation. I will say, there are no BNHA characters in this chapter, so I will probably post ch.2 tonight as well so you guys get a feel for them too! This chapter was just to give some background into Akari’s character and situation!

Akari Aizawa

Hero Name: Nocturne 

Age: 16

Quirk: Heightened Senses- In the dark, her senses of smell, hearing, and touch are amplified, allowing her greater speed and strength.

Affiliation: US Pro through an accelerated program.

Birthday: 11/18

Height: 165.1 cm

Likes: Sweets

The mission had not gone to plan, and as it always seemed to be, Akari was the one paying for it. Her face remained respectfully blank as her supervisor yelled at her, while her partner stood by, failing to mention that it was his mistake that had caused the corner of the building to collapse, harming more civilians. It had been this way for months. Any and all mistakes were hers, and the person who once meant so much to her was cold and distant. At first she would fight back, if you could consider telling the truth fighting, but her words fell on deaf ears. It became clear, her higher-ups had an agenda, and she was not a part of it. Thats why, last month, when her contract came up for negotiations, she decided to go elsewhere.

She had to get out, and that is where her mind dwelled as she half listened to her lecture. Her parents told her she wasn’t the same, she was quiet, far off, she struggled to get up and go to work every day. It was difficult to motivate oneself to go where they were certain they weren’t wanted, by anyone, even people once considered friends. When she wasn’t distant, she was irritable, or one wrong interaction away from a breakdown, it wasn’t healthy. 

A hand suddenly grabbed her by the hair, “I asked are you listening Nocturne? When I ask a question I expect an answer!” the hero barked, jostling her. This sudden action startled her companion, Shadow. He opened his mouth to say something, but Akari saw him close it and look away. 

Knowing she only had a week left at the agency gave her courage, that or she was just pissed off. Grabbing the wrist of her captor she dug a nail between its veins and tendons, and dug hard, forcing the hand gripping her hair to come free. “I was not listening.” Her voice was chilly in contrast to the fire that blazed in her stomach. “Nor will I listen to anything else you have to say to me, so if you wish to keep talking to two people who aren’t listening to you, be my guest.”

The hero glared at her, “Fine, you are dismi-” But Akari hadn’t waited for his dismissal. She was halfway to the locker-room when someone caught her by the elbow. “What was that back there?!” Shadow demanded. “You could have gotten written up, striking a superior, insubordination, that’s not like you.”

Suddenly the fire within her spiked, “I’m glad you care all of the sudden! Where have you been the past hour and a half? Or the past six months, as a matter of fact!”  

“I- I don’t have any excuses. But your contract came up last month, they could choose not to keep you here,” he said softly.

“It’s not a matter of whether or not they want to keep me. I had a better offer come up. I’m not staying here one second longer than I have to.”

“But your lawyers will be caught up in releasing you for months- Wait you’re leaving?”

“That’s what I said.” Akari gently pulled her elbow from Shadow’s grasp and resumed her walk towards the locker-room. He hopped sidelong to catch up with her and grabbed her by the shoulder. “You know, I’m getting really tired of people touching me right now. Can’t you tell I just want to go home?”

“I’m sure- but where are you going? Where offered to take you that made them decide to let you go, because we both know they have iron grips on us accelerated kids. Who is it? It can’t be good.” For the first time in months, genuine concern was etched into his dark features. It was enough to make her heart wrench. Couldn’t she stay? Just for him? She could survive here, if only he looked at her with that much care all the time. 

No. No she couldn’t, she couldn’t trust him, he hadn’t been there for her in months. Shadow, her partner, once her closest friend in the world, hadn’t spoken this much to her in ages. “Oh, it's nowhere where I’ll gather fame and notoriety, they made sure of that, I won’t draw much attention, but it's somewhere good. But I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anyone yet.”

“I know you have no reason to, but, you can trust me,” Shadow said, his voice low and comforting.

She was about to say something, but she never got to finish. There was a loud crash, and the building shook, driving heros, sidekicks and secretaries from their offices into the hallway. Over the PA system a voice called out “Shadow and Nocturne, you’re up…” 

At least she could count on Shadow in the field.

Crouched behind a police car, Akari pulled her goggles over her eyes and gave Shadow the sign for good to go. They slipped into the second burning building they had been in that day, and began to gather people and shepherd them to safety. They worked quickly and quietly, helping civilians out of their apartments and to the safety of the street, they were fortunate that the building only had four floors, but they had found no trace of who or what caused the explosion inside. That was until Akari heard a struggle inside one of the apartments on the fourth floor.

  She listened hard to make sure there was no one else left in the building, and she knew she and Shadow should make their exit soon, the building wasn’t safe, but she had to check this first. Waiting quietly by the door she signed to Shadow, “There’s a person in this apartment, sounds like they’re struggling to do something. I need you to back me up once everyone else is out.”  He nodded, helping the last person down onto the fireman's ladder. Slipping through the shadows, he stood behind her, ready to go. 

As quietly as she could, she eased the door open onto a man in a fireman’s mask, knelt over a safe stuffing a duffle bag full of cash. The explosion had been a diversion to cover up the robbery. 

Glancing over her shoulder she jerked her head forward, and began to slip into the room, Shadow following close behind. Once she was past the door it slammed shut, alerting the crouched man to their presence. Akari almost turned her back on the man in the mask to see what shut the door, but thought better of it, Shadow had her back, he could handle whatever was there. 

“This can end here. Leave the duffle bag and come with us and there won’t be any need to fight,” she bargained.

“Us? I’m afraid you’re mistaken, your friend left as soon as mine showed up.” the man in the mask rasped.

Before she could turn to check, something hard and sharp slammed into the tight muscles between her neck and shoulders, driving her to her knees. Bracing both hands on the floor in front of her, her head began to spin, her stomach cramped, and she broke out in a cold sweat.

 Forcing herself to her feet she shoved her goggles around her neck to see what, or rather who, had forced her to the ground. A tower of a man stood next to the mask, he had to be over six and a half feet tall, well muscled, and dressed for a fight with thick soled combat boots, leather gloves and a belt laden with a number of things that Akari couldn’t recognize. In one large hand he carried a small pouch that he tossed in the air, before fastening it to his belt. Pulling her goggles back up, Akari braced herself, ready for anything.

When the police asked her how the fight started, she couldn’t remember, just that she found herself staggering around the burning apartment, blocking and trading blows with the tower man. The man in the mask tried to slip through the door, and stumbling, slipping between full and normal strength, she landed a kick to the jaw, sending him crumbling to the ground. The tower man then sent her head first into the wall. Using it as a support Akari sent herself barreling at the man, raining punches at different strengths. When one of his blows knocked her off balance she twisted her leg to ground herself, then brought a leg up and out, hitting his stomach, pulling it out of the way before he emptied his dinner onto the ground. 

This made him angry, Akari told the police, only later realizing how dense she sounded. The tower man lunged at her, lowering his center of gravity, allowing Akari to bring an elbow down hard on the back of his neck, sending him down into his mess. Sprawled in vomit, the man growled and stood, wiping his hands on the clean parts of his shirt. 

The lull in activity had not been good for Akari. Her head was spinning faster now, making it difficult to focus and keep her senses from being overwhelmed. The sounds and smells from outside began to creep into her mind, mingling with the crackle of fire and crumbling walls and the acidic smell of bile that affronted her nose. The tower man slammed into her, she hadn’t heard him move, and she went through the door. Standing over her he waited for her to get back up, but she didn’t. He left her, unconscious, among the burning rubble. 

She woke up, she didn’t know how long after, and it felt like her skin was crawling. Lifting her goggles so she could see was the only way she could get out, but her eyes never focused. She clutched one burned arm with a bruised hand and stumbled over to the windows, there was an open one, she knew it, but the windows wouldn’t stay put. The last thing she remembered was the sound of shattering glass and the sound of someone screaming “There she is! Quick, someone catch her!”

XXXX

Akari knew where she was based on smell alone, cleaners, disinfectants, and rubber. But there is also the smell of lavender and vanilla, her mother's perfume and citrus and sandalwood, her father's cologne. She was in the hospital. 

Opening her eyes was harder than she thought it would be, they were dry and heavy, and sleep seemed to seal them shut, but after squeezing them once or twice she was able to force the lids apart. Looking first at her arms she found they were covered in bandages, down to her wrists, and there was an IV in her hand. Shakily she reached for her glasses sitting on the nightstand so she could see the rest of the room.

“Oh! Takashi, look, she’s awake,” her mother said, elbowing her sleeping father. “How are you feeling dear?” 

“Terrible. My head aches, and everything hurts.” Akari sat up, feeling her muscles protest every move she made. 

“I’ll go get the nurse.” Amara placed a warm hand over her daughters and stood, making her way out into the hallway. She returned a few moments later with a young man named Nathan who changed out her IV fluids, which unfortunately did not have something for her pain, and talked with her for a short while, then told her the doctor would be by soon. In the meantime he encouraged her to try and eat something, and take fluids on her own. 

That was no problem, drinking at least, her mouth was stone dry. She was in the middle of the broth her parents ordered for her when the doctor entered and spoke to her about her injuries. A few cracked ribs, a sprained wrist, second degree burns on both arms and one leg, and she had stitches where the tower man first struck her. He had cut her with some sort of blade and left behind an implant that drugged her; the doctors had discovered it on her x-rays. They could have someone with a healing quirk do more for her once they were sure the drugs were out of her system the next day, “The cocktail he gave you was pretty nasty,” the doctor said. “We just want to make sure everything is all clear before we move forward with treatment.”

Akari just nodded, so long as she didn’t stay like this all week, she would be alright. The police were in next to get her story, apparently they caught the two men three blocks from the fire after she fell from the window. Shadow had identified them. She had to admit, that stung. He abandoned her, but stuck around to help make the arrest? Couldn’t he have run all the way away like a true coward would have? Or, at least like a coward without an agenda she thought bitterly. Though, bitter was hardly the word to describe the way Akari really felt about it. Betrayed, was more like it. In the office she knew he wouldn’t be there for her, but he had never, never left her like that before. What was worse was that they had faced worse foes than the tower man together before, but it had always been together. The last piece of Akari’s heart that held onto Shadow was broken.  

She refused to see him, or anyone else from the agency while she was in the hospital. It hurt, every time he called asking to come up, but it would hurt more to see him. That was another two days. Then she had a day off, which she spent ignoring calls and texts from him, and sleeping. Akari from six months earlier would have rejoiced at seeing his name come up on the caller ID, but the Akari of now just watched as the screen faded to black. She couldn’t ignore him the next day though, she had to go back to work, at least for the next three days. After that she would be gone. 

He was waiting for her outside the doors to the agency, scanning the crowds of people, searching for her face. Akari walked past him straight through the sliding doors. She didn’t have the energy to deal with him this early, it took her an hour of convincing just to get out of bed, using up most of the energy she did have. Flashing her badge to the desk she went through the second set of doors and into the office.

Turning left, towards the locker room, Shadow appeared in front of her. Looking at the floor she saw the shadows of the water jug and fake plants and sighed, dropping her shoulders. Shadow’s quirk allows him to travel through shadows, and become part of it, so he becomes invisible. It's very useful, but also very annoying.

“What do you want, Shadow?” 

“I want to know how you’re doing, you didn’t let anyone see you while you were in the hospital.” There it was again. Concern. It made Akari uncomfortable, or, maybe upset, or both? Why was he concerned about her? He was the one who left her all by herself, if he hadn’t left maybe things wouldn’t have been so bad. Maybe she wouldn’t have had to go to the hospital. Akari shook her head, maybe’s would get her nowhere. 

“I’m fine, now, can I go change? We have to go patrol in fifteen minutes.” She brushed past him into the locker room.

It was a quiet day on the streets, so there was nothing exciting to keep them busy, just small talk with passers-by and silence. Not that Shadow didn’t try to fill it, but Akari had no desire to speak to him, and refused to fill the uncomfortable void between them. 

When their patrol was over Akari was, for once, thankful for the paper-shuffling part of her job. It gave her an excuse to shut herself away in her small office and write up her uneventful morning report in peace. Once finished she began to catch up on the small mountain of paperwork that stared her down from the corner of her desk, all things she needed to finish before she left on Saturday. She had barely made a dent when a knock at her door drew her gaze upwards. It was Shadow. Of course it was, she thought tiredly, who else in this God-forsaken place would it be?

“What? I’m busy Shadow,” she sighed, looking back at the paper she had been reading.

“Too busy to take lunch with a friend?”

Akari desperately wanted to say “Maybe I will take lunch with a friend, when one shows up.” but she knew better, and hurting him wasn’t what she wanted to do. It just went to show how tired she was. She decided on a simple “Yes.” and left it at that.

Shadow took the hint.

Her last two days of work went similarly. Painfully boring and awkward patrol, paperwork, and then, to her surprise, on Friday, a going away party. Something the higher ups made sure to impress upon her that she would not be getting. It made her feel sick to her stomach. What was the point of this if none of them liked her anyway? Nina, a secretary, told her they only found out on Wednesday that she was leaving, and they didn’t even know where she was going. Something she still wasn’t able to tell them. She got cards, and to her surprise, her superiors gave her an upgraded costume. All too kind of a gesture from the people who drove her away, but she accepted it with a smile. Shadow gave her a music box with pictures of them around the sides; it played her favorite piano music. That was a sucker punch. 

It filled her with guilt knowing that she fully intended on going to her new location with every fiber of her being geared towards forgetting everything about this place. But why should she feel guilty about wanting to forget people who have made her life such a misery? At least that’s what she told herself, but it never quite set right. The truth of it was that, despite the terrible time she was having now, the first year and a half at the agency was mostly good. She held many fond memories of her time there, and it made her feel even worse about leaving on such a sour note. But come the next morning that's exactly what she did.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

S.T. REWRITE - S2:E5; Chapter Five, Dig Dug - [Pt. 2]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

After a run-in with Will, a troubled Y/n teams up with an unlikely ally in her search for answers. “Bob the Brain” tackles a difficult problem.

||3rd Person POV||

El opens her eyes, finding herself in the familiar dark and damp setting. In the distance, she sees a bed. The covers are hanging off the mattress and grazing the water only she can see. She walks forward towards the bed cautiously, unsure if the figure lying in it is awake. As she approaches the bed she can make out more details.

The comforter is dotted with leaves and vines, intricate flowers in various hues sprinkle the vines and there a few embroidered pillows that look older and handed down. The figure on the mattress is lost in sleep, her limbs splayed out in many different directions. The figure is still dressed, clothes El has seen at least once before. The girl wearing them is hugging her pillow, a small frown etched on her face as she is troubled and tired.

El is in front of her now, just at her bedside and she can't help but take note of the drying circles on her pillow where the girl had been crying.

What could have happened? And would she be making it worse if she were to wake her and share with her what she had to share? El couldn't help but wonder.

But she also knew she would want to know. And she did miss her friend terribly. After all, they were from the same place and Y/n had every right to know about her own past as much as El did.

Not waiting any longer, she reached out and laid a gentle hand on her friend's shoulder. Nothing happened and so she gently shook her. Much to her delight Y/n moved slightly, which meant it was working. She shook again and only then did she allow herself to speak.

"Y/n? Y/n!"

Her eyes fluttered open and she caught sight of El. She peered up at her through her lashes, a groggy and confused look on her face.

"El?"

She nodded, a weak smile on her face.

"What are you doing here? Am I dreaming?"

She shook her head no.

"No. But I am real."

"I-I don't understand."

"I found my Mama."

"Wait, what? You found your mom? That's great," Y/n mumbled, fighting consciousness.

She was trying desperately to maintain conversation but the truth was she was very tired and she couldn't be sure what she was seeing or hearing was real.

"There's something else."

Y/n applied all the strength she could muster to keep her eyes open, they felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds. She hummed a 'what' in response, indicating for El to continue.

"Proof."

"I don't understand. What proof, El?"

"Where you come from."

×××

Will bolts up straight in a cold sweat, gasping for air. His bangs cling to his forehead and he is gasping for breath.

"Will?"

Mike sits up startled from his nest on the floor, looking up worriedly at his best friend. He is still dressed in his clothes from the previous day, his hood perched on his head.

"What's wrong?"

Will looks to Mike, fear in his eyes.

Joyce sits in the middle of her living room, lost in a trance as she gazes at the maze of paper tunnels. The small calls for her from Will are lost to her, and it is not until she feels a light touch on her shoulders that she is pulled from this trance.

"Mom?"

Joyce gasped in surprise but readjusts quickly for her son.

"Yeah?"

Will was crouching down, concern etched in his features and Mike stands just a few feet away.

"I saw him," Will says gravely.

"You saw who, baby?"

"Hopper," Joyce frowns slightly, and she can feel her blood run cold at her son's words. "I think he's in trouble. I think he's going to die."

×××

Hopper gasps for air as he is ripped from unconsciousness. He looks around, the memories of what had happened come flooding back. Collecting himself to the best of his ability, he scrambles to his feet. The man knows he can't last long without fresh air and the particles floating amongst the smog would do him no good. His senses overwhelm him and already his body is rejecting the environment and toxic air. He doubles over as his body ejects the contents of his stomach.

Hopper grunts in disgust, the bile burning his throat and tongue. Though he doesn't allow himself any more time to waste, knowing he had to find the exit. He grabs his hat, returning it to his head and finds the flashlight beside him as he climbs to his feet. Hopper runs his free hand along the ceiling of the slimy dank tunnels as he speeds down the familiar path. Just as he had feared, he found no breaks, the hole he had dug had in fact closed up and he now stands at a dead end.

"Shit!"

Hopper reminds himself to steady his breathing. He knows now he has no immediate way out. No source of fresh oxygen and he knew he must save his breath. He is able to subdue the sporadic thoughts of panic racing in his mind, and he all he allows himself to think about is his oxygen intake. Even if he slowed his breathing he was still at risk for the toxic spores hanging in the air.

A little light bulb goes off in his head and he takes out his pocket knife, opening it up and raising it to his shoulder. He has to place the flashlight between his teeth in order to make a clean cut, but he is able to create a rip in the fabric. With one swift movement, Hopper tears the left sleeve off his uniform. Removing the flashlight from his mouth, he ties the sleeve over his face crafting a crude air filtration, somewhat safe from the deadly spores around him.

Calming his racing heart he treads on in the direction he had come. But he comes to a reluctant stop, the beam from his flashlight shifting uncertainly between a fork in the tunnel. He could not remember where he had come from. Hopper does not know why but his mind takes him to El. The familiar feeling of warmth and joy she brought to his dull life sparks in his chest and a terrible thought strikes him.

What if I never see her again?

Their last interaction would be the terrible words exchanged and the mess left behind. And worst of all, she would be alone and in danger. He couldn't let that happen, and he promised himself he would get himself out. And apologize, work things out like he should have the prior morning. They would play games together again, do puzzles and even fix up the TV and continue their western marathons. He would read to her again every night, hell maybe he could find some more of Sarah's old books and-

Hansel and Gretel. He chuckles lightly under his breath. Half in relief and a half in disbelief for not thinking of it before. Hopper reaches into his left breast pocket and retrieves the stash of cigarettes. He's thankful he had grabbed a fresh pack. He took a single stick in his fingers and broke it in half, discarding the piece on the path, beginning his trail.

×××

Mrs. Henderson shivers as she steps into her front room. She had spent all morning looking for Mews, she even shook brought the felines favorite toy, shaking the bell attached knowing she usually came running. Her spirits perked when she saw Dustin on the phone.

"Dusty, baby, you're sure she's not in your room."

Dustin gulped, thankful his back was to his mother and she could not see his widened eyes. He holds a finger out for a pause, mindlessly mumbling an 'uh-huh'.

He does his best to ignore the operator on the line as he pretends to be taking a phone call. He hoped it was enough to fool his mother.

"Thank you so much, Mr. McCorkle. Thank you so much. You are a true life-saver. Thank you... All right. Have a good one. Bye-bye, now... All right... you too."

Mrs. Henderson felt a wave of relief wash over her hearing her son's words.

"Alright, great news," Dustin said, turning to her and hanging up the phone.

"They found her?" Her voice shook as she spoke.

"No," he said gently, stepping towards her mother. "But they saw her, wandering Loch Nora,"

Even her breath was trembling as she fought back sobs of relief.

"How did the poor baby get all the way over there?"

"I don't know, lost I guess," Dustin cooed. "But they're gonna look for her and I'll stay here, just in case they call again. And you're gonna go help look? Yeah?"

He tried to ignore the clenching feeling of guilt around his heart, giving his mother false hope like this. She smiled through her sobs and nodded eagerly.

"Give me a hug, give me a hug," She gratefully hugged her son, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. "You're gonna find her, alright?"

Mrs. Henderson backed away eagerly, nodding her head trying to convince herself that would find her beloved cat.

"We can find her." He said reassuringly.

"We can find her." She repeated eagerly.

Mrs. Henderson grabbed her keys off the counter and headed towards the door.

She looked to her only son and sniffled, her voice was still slightly shaky.

"Dusty," another sniffle. "Honey, check on your sister, sweetie. She came home awfully upset again, and-and let you let her know where I'm going okay?"

"Of course, yeah, uh-huh."

"C-cause, I'm sure she'll be glad to hear they saw Mews. You let her know, okay baby?"

"Of course. I will go check on her right now. Okay. Hey,"

She paused in the front door, looking back at her son.

"I love you." Dustin blew a kiss at his mother, a fake smile plastered on her face.

She reciprocated, unknowingly the only genuine.

"I love you,"

"I love you"

"I love you,"

"Alright go, alright," He eased her out the door with encouragement and a thumbs up.

His smile did not falter until she had closed the front door.

Now to get Y/n out of the house.

||Reader's POV||

I nearly lost my balance as I slip the left shoe over my foot. I grabbed my bag and rifled through it once more making sure I had everything I needed.

I still can't believe I'm doing this. I just hope it really was real, and I'm not just doing this for nothing. But it had to be real, it had to be.

"Meet me at nine four five. Outside Mirk-wood."

"El?"

"Don't tell. Anyone."

She vanished before I could say anything else. I vaguely remember seeing her in my room, but at the same time, she wasn't completely real. She almost looks transparent. The only thing convincing about all this was what she had said to me at the school. She had a way of contacting me. This must be it.

Everything was in my bag, by now I have triple checked my bag but I still don't feel quite ready. Then again, I don't know if I'll ever be prepared to find out what happened to me, but I don't want to let that stop me.

I took a deep breath, willing away the nerves bubbling in my stomach to the best of my ability. My bag over my shoulder, I turned the doorknob and the door swung open. I flinched when I saw Dustin on the other side. His first hung in the air, ready to knock and he seemed surprised.

My eyes dropped to my bag nervously before fleeting back to his. I gulped.

"I'm going to Will's. Mike and I are gonna stay the night with him, and make sure he's alright."

Dustin seemed to process this but he blinked soon enough, shaking himself from shock. I could have sworn he seemed relieved, and I could feel relief myself.

"That's great, you should do that. He really needs you."

As if this morning wasn't already perfectly strange, Dustin was talking in a weird soothing voice and he walked me to the door. I didn't linger on it too much before I started worrying about what I was about to do. I was so excited at the possibility of seeing El again, but where are we going and how long would I be gone?

I realized we were nearing the door and I hadn't even registered that he had been talking to me.

"...at Loch Nora, looking. And don't worry, I'll man the phones. You just worry about Will, alright?"

I mindlessly mumbled an "uh-huh" and I turned to home when I reach the door.

"Dustin?"

He blinked lightly and continued in that weird soothing voice. His mannerisms reminded me of something you'd see from a spa worker. I shrugged it off, too wracked with guilt that I was basically leaving my family, who loved and cared for me to find someone I didn't even know.

I looked him in the eye, and I felt something rare. Rare for the two of us at least. Genuine admiration. I thought of all the fun and harmless little pranks we'd pull on Mom together. Or the times he looked out for me, and how much he genuinely cared about me.

"I love you,"

Before I could acknowledge any odd looks from him I wrapped him in a hug and he reciprocated.

"I love you too. Don't worry, we'll find her."

My eyes opened, still locked in an embrace with my brother and I frowned.

What?

"What? Find who?"

We both pulled away and it was his turn to look confused.

"Mews."

"Mews is missing? When?"

"I just- I just told you." He blinked several times but shook his head, slowly gesturing me out the door once more. "It's no big deal. Mews got out the other night and long story short, someone saw her wandering around in Loch Nora and Mom is headed there now. Don't even worry about it, okay?"

I nodded, my mind still racing. My eyes and hand fell to the doorknob and I gave my brother one last glance before I disappear out the front door.

||3rd Person POV||

Unbeknownst to the two of them, the Henderson children stood on either side of the door, simultaneously breathing a sigh of relief.

Y/n tightens the grip on her bag and began walking towards the garage out of habit until she saw her bike laying in the grass where she had left it last night. She sighed and grabbed her bike only to realize the rubber around handlebars were melted down in the center. A rough and messy shape of where her hands had been was clear, underneath it all was the metal core of the bike's structure. She gasped, examining the odd sight until her mind wandered to the previous night.

Was that why they seemed wet? Holy crap, I melted my bike.

Y/n shook her head in disbelief before she checked the time. Nine twenty, she had to get moving. Mounting her bike, she cast one last longing glance at her home, reassuring herself that what she was doing was right. Not a moment longer she disappeared around the corner and into a path amongst the trees.

Dustin lay on his hands and knees below the front window. He winced at the slight prickling feeling of rug burn that had managed to get to him through his jeans. As Y/n had retrieved her bike from the grass, he sped to the window, waiting for confirmation that she had finally left.

Unfortunately for him, she turned and looked back at the house, and he cursed himself for allowing himself the vulnerability. He had to drop down onto the floor to avoid being seen by his sister, but luckily she had just missed him. Moments passed and when he heard her soft but identifiable footsteps nearing the porch he knew it was safe to peek. Sure enough, he saw her disappear around the corner down the road, a small cluster of autumn leaves flying off the ground at her climbing speed.

He jumped to his feet and ran outside through the back door. He ripped open the cellar doors and retreated back into the house. He didn't stop running until he reached the hall closet and ripped them open. He turned on the light, the metal chain swinging back and forth, even hitting him as he bent down to retrieve his gear.

He was grateful he kept his and Y/n's old baseball stuff. He remembered the day him and Y/n saw a program on TV and the kids were playing baseball. That same day, the pair begged and pleaded their mother for the gear and when she finally caved, Y/n and Dustin spent all of summer break out in their backyard. Granted they were new to it and barely managed to hit the ball more than five times between the two of them but they had a blast. Of course, they usually played with the rest of the party, and Dustin was almost always the umpire, given he had gear for it. As for Y/n, she had a pretty decent arm, she made the best pitcher out of the group. Naturally though, school rolled around again and the following summer was when they officially formed the party for their very first campaign.

Dustin was thankful him and his sister had been so damn stubborn and he was certainly very thankful his mother had gotten them what they had so desperately wanted. Now he had protection from Dart.

He tossed everything in the living room and went to the kitchen. Ripping open the fridge door he grabbed every variety of meat he could find. His confident urgency waved only slightly when he approached his closed door. He began the trail of meat outside his room and all the way out to the cellar. He closed every other door in the house as a precaution and suites up. His usual hat lay discarded on the living room chair in exchange for his umpire helmet. To top it all off he adorned his mother's pair of oven mitts. Not ideal for the situation but was the best he could find.

Now completely geared up, he grabbed his hockey stick just for short measure. He stood outside his room, careful not to step on the trail of bologna and got ready to run.

"Alright, Dart," He called. "Breakfast time,"

Not allowing himself to think about it any longer he ripped open the door and starting running. A mantra slipped from his mouth as he wobbled through the house, his gear restricting his speed.

"Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit."

He was outside now, and he had already heard light thumps of wet feet behind him. He did his best to speed up and before he knew it he was safe in the shed.

Panting heavily and still trying to calm his racing heart, Dustin stepped towards the shed door. He peered through a slit in the boards and waited for the slimy figure to emerge from the open door.

"Come on, I know you're hungry" he mumbled.

Dustin gasped when he saw Dart trudge down the steps. Just as he had predicted, Dart was happily gobbling up every slice of bologna and ham in the trail Dustin laid out.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," he mumbled.

He had to move around the shed in order to see Dart approach the open cellar doors. Everything had been going so smoothly. Up until Dart whipped around and faced Dustin.

His eyes widened and he gasped in fear, hoping Dart hadn't seen him. Like with Y/n, he waited a moment. There was no sign of movement and he stepped forward. Only to find Dart just outside the shed. He jumped back, his own back to the wall of the shed and he gripped the hockey stick closer to his chest.

Dustin could now hear the pitter-patter of Dart's small webbed feet and he knew it was now or never. It was his fault for bringing Dart into the house, and it was his fault for ignoring the other's logic and lying about Dart's whereabouts. And it was time to fix it. Taking several deep breaths, Dustin ripped open the shed door, startling Dart in the process and charged after his once pet.

Dart retreated frightfully, an image that instilled more guilt in Dustin's heart. Nevertheless, with a scream tearing from his throat, Dustin swung at the creature. He felt the hockey stick strike Dart and he went flying, miraculously Dart hit the open cellar door and tumbled inside.

He himself ran to the cellar, and just as he began closing the doors, an angry and betrayed Dart charged up the stairs after him. Feeling guilty, frightened and exhausted, Dustin collapsed on the closed cellar doors. He could feel his body jerk and move as Dart attempted to break the doors down but it was no use. Dustin was grateful he wearing leg padding, he could feel his shins digging into the steel edge of the cellar entrance.

"I'm sorry," he said, ignoring the chitters from the cellar. "But you ate my cat."

||Reader's POV||

My eyes scan the trees as I breeze down Mirkwood. I feel a chill run down my spine but I can't tell if it's from the cold autumn air or what's to come. I almost miss it, but I break on my bike quickly when I see a small figure standing amongst the trees. Its El. She's dressed in brown and grays and her dark hair blends in with the bark of the trees.

My bike makes an awful screech as the tires skid across the pavement and I cringe. So does El, I notice. She steps forward out of the trees and I dismount the bike, propping it up on its kickstand.

We meet in an embrace and I smile at the contact. She hugs me tightly and we separate.

"I'm so glad you're really here. I was worried I dreamt it all. How are you? Is everything okay?"

She nodded, and the smallest of excited smiles tugged at her lips.

"I found Mama."

"So you really did find your mom, huh?" I ask hopefully.

El's smile grew only slightly and she nodded once more.

"I also found something else."

I nodded, encouraging her to continue.

"The 'Missing Experiment'."

A silence hung in the air and I gulped.

"Is that... ?" I felt the words die on my tongue and  I try again. "So, I really am...?"

El looked at me, sympathy in her eyes and she nodded again.

"Yes," she croaked.

I ran a hand down my face, not realizing I had teared up until I felt my hand grow wet. The small droplets on my palm magnified the harsh sting of the cold air and I wiped my hands on my pants, sniffling.

"I think," she continued. "Mama might be able to tell us more. Maybe."

"Well," I said, taking a breath to collect myself. "We better go then, huh?"

||3rd Person POV||

El nodded, and Y/n returned to her bike, El following noiselessly behind. Y/n perked up at the memory and she looked back to El, patting her bike.

"After I lost my bike in the chase last year, my mom got me a new one for Christmas! I have an extra seat, just like Mike's!"

El smiled and stepped forward, and Y/n turned her bike around so it was facing the road. She looked at El once more.

"So, where are we headed?"

"Five-On-Five, Larrabe"

"Um," Timid confusion crossed Y/n's features. "Do you by any chance know what part of town that is?"

El thought about it for a moment but shook her head. Y/n pressed her lips into a firm line as she thought about it aloud.

"Well, we could always ask for directions, I mean I would, so you could stay hidden. I think there's a-"

"Hitch-hike!" El said suddenly as the idea came to her.

"What?"

"Hitch-hike! Like TV,"

Y/n blinked several times, searching her brain for one of millions to begin as to why that was such a bad idea. All she could do was shake her head, sputtering.

"El, we can't-"

But El was too focused on her mission, and much to her delight - and Y/n's chagrin - she heard the deep rumbles of an engine growing louder. She walked past Y/n and stood on the edge of the concrete and stuck her thumb out.

"El, what are you doing? They'll see you, never mind that, do you know how dangerous that is for us?"

Her thumb still out, El turned to look at her friend, a confused look on her face.

"Why us?"

Once again, Y/n was at a loss for words. Without a response, she returned her attention back to the road, where a large truck came to slow. Y/n's heart began to pound faster and in a desperate attempt to save her friend and herself, she dropped her bike and stepped forward to stop El. But El was one step ahead and Y/n's eyes widened when she stopped abruptly, her feet rooted to the ground.

She looked to her feet in fear, and back to El, gaping.

"El! What the hell?" Y/n tried to remain calm, but it was a challenging feat seeing the truck grow closer, words tumbled out of her in a hurry. "El, I promise you we can find another way but this is not a good idea, trust me. He could hurt us,"

El turned back to look at Y/n and gave her an incredulous smile.

"Y/n," she eased. "We can defend ourselves, remember?"

Y/n felt the invisible hold on her legs release and she tied her best not to stumble forward in an awkward fashion. Before she could get another word in, the truck pulled to a stop in front of El and the passenger window rolled down. It was a man with a beard and trucker hat. He looked at the pair with genuine worry for them, which put Y/n's mind at ease in just the slightest.

"You ladies alright?"

El was quick to answer before Y/n could protest.

"We need a ride home. Five-one-five Larrabee"

The man seemed taken aback, and he gave a look around for any sign of the girls' parents.

"Well, uh, sure I guess. You guys a long way from home?"

El nodded and stepped forward. She felt a hand on her wrist and she looked to Y/n gave her one last pleading look.

El lowered her voice and spoke to her friend gently.

"It will be okay, we can protect ourselves. But I'm going Y/n, you can come if you want."

With that, she stepped forward and stood on the tips of her toes to open the passenger door. Y/n felt the surge of anxiety in her stomach, everything warning her against this. But El was getting into a big truck with a strange man, she knew she couldn't stop her, but she had to make sure she was okay. Y/n kicked herself for what she was about to do, never more angered by any decision she has ever made.

And against her better judgment, Y/n climbed into the truck after El.

+++

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[angelmichelangelo]

idk if this is discourse or something you dont want to get into but are garrett and shane still friends??

short answer: 99% sure they’re not. and i’m saying 99% because i obviously can’t be entirely sure because. i don’t know these people irl lol but in my head im like 100% sure they’re definitely not on speaking terms right now, and haven’t been in a loooong while.

long answer? and boy, it’s a long answer: i think garrett removed himself from shane’s circle (with the exception of andrew ofc) long before the drama kicked off. i don’t really recall because i didn’t watch them at the time but i do remember seeing garrett kinda.. disappear from videos around the whole j* era .

i think garrett made a choice when he thought about who he was hanging around with and whether he needed those people in his life. considering andrew was working for shane at the time still, i imagine it would have been hard? i guess? to just be like “yeah i don’t wanna hang out anymore except you andrew but you’re here like most days anyway”

which obviously in the end when needed, andrew took off too and both garrett and andrew created their own empire without shane lmao.

looking back, i don’t think shane even liked garrett that much. as much of an “empath” that he says he is (it gives me such bad second hand embarrassment to even write that lol) he really didn’t give a fuck about garrett. and people would and probably still do, argue that that’s just their level of friendship! lightly bullying your friend but knowing the bondries as to not ever really hurt their feelings.

but shane always pushed that boundary. he was downright cruel to garrett in some instances. and it’s not just the “harry potter is lame” jokes that garrett actually mentioned kinda suck, which they do! but garrett was treated like the comic relief in the group, because in shane’s little bubble he wanted everyone to be what he wanted to be.

you had shane: the hero of the story.

ryland: the sassy back talking witty one (though ryland has the personality and the wit of a broom so that didn’t really work did it)

andrew: the sweet, middle ground, quiet one.

morgan: the clutz thats hastag relatable

and then you have: garrett. the idiot fool who bumbles around, making a scene wherever he goes and is practically babysat by everyone else.

one thing that fucking IRKS me about this is that if you watch garrett’s videos, you know he’s goofy, funny, an insanely fun person. but he’s far from being an idiot. shane couldn’t have someone else besides himself (in his own mind) being funny AND clever (again, in his own mind) so he belittled him and acted like he was a burden to have to lumber around all the time, rather than just a silly, goofy friend that would joke around a lot.

one part of a video was when they were at an airport (i think they were going to Texas) and andrew and garrett are goofing off as they put benjamin in the bag and ryland literally goes “we’re all waiting, garrett,” with this.. snarky, shameful tone. AS IF THEY HAVENT ALL EMBARRESED EACH OTHER IN PUBLIC BEFORE like UGH the whole fucking bunny video makes my blood boil i can’t even get into it it makes me too mad lmao.

so i think garrett definitely decided at some point that he didn’t want to take that kind of abuse anymore, and i definitely think andrew saw it as well - because andrew and garrett were friends way before shane came along, so to me, i feel like andrews priorities always were always with garrett, and if garrett were to leave, i think andrew knew he’d leave to, job or no job, he cared more about his friends than money and fame (looking at you shane ryland and morgan)

shane doesn’t care about his friends or his “loved ones” or any of the people around him. he cares about money and fame and numbers and attention, even if it’s the negative kind. he’d joke that he KNEW he was treating garrett like shit and he’d use that as fuel to keep going, because he knew it drew more people in. plus, i feel like shane knew how popular garrett was getting. his channel exploded and he started making videos and people LOVED him. rightly so lol. nearly half the comments were about garrett; something he said and did, and rather than be excited for his “friend” shane took his anger out on him, almost, and again this is just my opinion, but in a way.. to control garrett.

i think it’s only human to think certain things, and i wonder if garrett had any worries that all his growing success and attention was because of shane and not because of himself. i wonder if maybe, deep down, he had some kind of fear that if he left, his subs would leave too. but obviously, he took the plunge, and everyone stayed and shane’s channel went up in flames lmao

garrett is one of those youtubers i think is very genuine. whilst everyone wears a certain mask online, which is fine, i feel like garrett’s is very thinly veiled. what you see is what you get with him, and the fact that his personality was used as an emotional punching bag by people he trusted and cared about, is really awful.

and i don’t fault him for sticking around shane. we’ve all witnessed toxic friendship/relationships, and im sure a lot of people understand how HARD it is to just get up and walk away. i think garrett tried his best to help shane and make him a better person, but i think it reached his limit, and he had a talk with andrew and they made the mutual desicion to move on without the rest of them.

AND THEYRE KILLING IT TOGETHER!!! i mean, fuck morgan for trying to shift blame on them for leaving, and fuck shane for obvious reasons and fuck ryland for no other reason that i hate him with an inch of my soul GOD he’s so fucking boring to look at. where’s the flavour???

i personally do not think that the nature of their friendship is something garrett is ever going to casually mention or make a sit down video about. i think the only information we’ll get is from shane’s pov either rather snarkily through rylands podcast or if shane ever attempts to come back to youtube, he might just mention them in passing OR they’ll all eventually all break the mutual on social media and that’ll be that. i feel like shane is the kind of person that won’t outright say anything on his own channel to hurt andrew or garrett because he’ll still want to keep up his uwu soft boy personality, but my god i can practically hear the fucking snide comments they’ll make on the podcast that don’t outright namedrop them, but they’ll probably make comments about “fake friends” or some shit like that, and all the brainless shane stans will use that as an excuse to be leave nasty comments on garrett and andrew’s stuff like they already do. so i guess we’ll just have to wait and see and know that hopefully andrew and garrett are prepared for any hate they’ll no doubt be receiving once shane tries to force his way back into the circle again.

so yeah, that’s my long answer lol. i don’t know if there was a discussion between them all but i have a feeling garrett just went away and kinda faded them out, and obviously im guessing there were conversations with andrew and shane since technically he worked for him, but yeah, there’s no way they’re all good friends behind the scenes. and im so fucking fine with that because andrew and garrett were 100% the reason i used to watch shane’s videos, and i’m glad they removed themselves from such a toxic environment where they went off and found success together without needing money or fame or any drama attached.

[artificialqueens]

Girls Interrupted, Chapter 1: The Institution: 1, Katya: 0 (Vatya) 1/2 - Maeve

AN: Hi, everyone! I suppose this is my debut as a fan fiction author, and I’m super nervous. I never thought that I would be a writer, myself, but when I suggested a Vatya fic outline, some of you lovely people encouraged me to give it a try. ConCrit is always welcome! I tried my hardest, and I hope you enjoy! EEK!

August air is like a woman in heat: wet, warm, and not in the mood to do favors.

The short walk from her baby blue Beetle to the cafeteria doors left Katya sweating like a hooker in church. “Part-time-clown working a corner in the Red Light District” was a solid look, but Katya was beginning to doubt that it was the right choice for the first day of the new school year. The fabric of her long-sleeved dress clung to her skin uncomfortably.

If the funfetti doesn’t cover my sweat stains, I’m suing, Katya thought.

She tried to smooth down the sheer fabric out of habit. Katya took a deep breath before throwing open the glass door and bracing herself for a head-on collision with nostalgia. White floors, harsh light, kitchen clatter—too much for a Wednesday.

It’s an A/B day. First period: English, room 316. She repeats the mantra again and again in her head. If she loses the thought, she’ll never be able to find her way back.

Pussy, she chastised.

Katya’s bright red combat boots plunk across the linoleum and up three flights of rubber stairs. She might apologize for shattering the silence if anyone else were around, but the English corridor remains silent.

She, In her loud dress and noisy shoes, looked very out of place.

Mother, I’ve breached a sterile environment.

The white walls and white floors seemed to stretch for miles in either direction. Katya had forgotten how sad the white looked without students against it.

Mrs. McPhee’s door, like all the other doors, was an unremarkable brown. Katya stared into it and tried to reconcile the empty canvas with the image of the imp of an english teacher described by the upperclassmen . No dice. Perhaps her friends were exaggerating their hatred for the woman behind the unassuming door. It would be nice to think the best of  people, but she knew she lived in a time when that didn’t happen often. People suck; get with the program.

An eternity later the bell rang and Katya got to her feet before the horde could pull a mufasa on her. The unremarkable door swung open, revealing a short woman with a tight face and copper hair.

This could be trouble, an alarm flashed in her mind.

However, her body did not have time to trigger a fight or flight response. The older woman flashed Katya a bright smile, taking in her first student of the year. Mrs. McPhee enthusiastically extended her hand for Katya to shake.

“Hi there! I’m Mrs. McPhee! It’s so nice to meet you!” She all but chirped.

Katya snapped out of her thoughts and accepted the gesture. “I’m Katya. It’s nice to meet you too,” the teen delivered the customary response before Mrs. McPhee ushered her inside.

“Feel free to sit anywhere! I need to run to the copy room and grab a few things for class today. There’s an ice breaker activity on the tables that you can get started on,” she said before ducking out into the hall.

Someone’s had their morning coffee, Katya quipped, the corners of her mouth turning up in a small smile.

Familiar faces began to fill the chairs at the tables, but Katya had yet to find one she’d spoken more than a sentence to. The presence of her long time crush, Trixie Mattel, in the seat across from her did nothing to quell her growing anxiety, either.

A frantic Mrs. McHale returned with arms full of papers shortly after the end of the passing period. Katya could hear the eyes rolling at the sight of her. Cue the secondhand embarrassment.

Copies of the syllabus made their way around the room. Katya tried desperately not to wince as her English teacher introduced the “phone spa” where phones would live during class.

It wasn’t hard for Katya to become lost in her own thoughts once again.

Is there going to be a project on the summer reading? Is my copy of All the Light We Cannot See—which I’ve annotated the crap out of—going to be of any use to me at all?

The blonde was fucked if they were going to have to do an in-depth analysis of the text. The only thing she could remember about it was that the girl, Marie-Or-Something, was blind. And that only stuck with her because of the cackling fit she had on the floor when her mom asked her why she chose the book. And, of course, it was stupid. It was too hilarious that a book with a title about not being able to see the light had a protagonist who was blind, and thus, literally could not see the light.

The thought brought a smile to Katya’s face even now. It was unlikely that Anthony Doerr intended to make an ironic joke about a blind girl, but Katya liked to believe that humor wasn’t dead. Was it terrible? Yes. But come on, she literally couldn’t see the light. Because she was blind. Katya snorted at the mental picture that formed and immediately covered her mouth. Scanning the room, Katya determined that she hadn’t drawn any attention to herself. That was, until she caught Trixie Mattel’s unimpressed gaze.

Go figure, Katya scowled, I bet she thinks I’m keeping squirrels in the space between my ears. The teen could feel her cheeks flush beet red in embarrassment. She darted her eyes down to the syllabus, suddenly finding classroom procedures intriguing.

Fuck! Shit. She thinks I’m a freak, and she’s going to tell all her friends. Everyone will stare. You’re an embarrassment, a fool a—

Lady luck chose the opportune time to smile down on Katya, for it was an A/B day, and that meant classes were much shorter. The shrill bell sounded over the loudspeaker and silenced her pleas to be wished out of existence.

Katya’s second period was library aide. It was the perfect opportunity for her to get ahead on homework when she wasn’t needed. However, she knew full well that she’d spend the hour and a half people watching and reading obscure works.

The library was empty this morning and she cou;d take a moment to compose herself. Mrs. Slay, the librarian, gave her a brief runthrough of her duties and explained library procedures. Afterwards, she released Katya to her own devices.

Katya had never actually spent much time in the school’s library. The harsh, fluorescent lighting did nothing to make the room look cozier. Dozens of tall wooden shelves framed large areas along with some extra shorter shelves of books.

Katya trailed her fingers along dusty spines, hoping that a title would catch her eye.

Her third period class, theater, was on the first floor. A lot of people found it weird that a self-identifying technician was still involved in normal theater classes. Katya began her career on the stage, though. Her stage fright and lack of singing and dancing abilities were not about to stop her from growing as a performer. She promised herself that she’d audition for the play this year.

Ginger was waiting for Katya in their usual seats when she entered the black box. The blonde smiled at her best friend, taking a moment to look over the other faces in the space before joining her long-time companion.

Unfortunately, another year had not flushed out the riff-raff. Katya scowled, new year, same bullshit. The blonde shared a knowing glance with Ginger.

Rolaskatox—the inseparable trio of  Roxy, Alaska, and Detox—remained front and center. Sharon and Jinkx camped out in the back, and Tammy sat awkwardly on her own with Raja and Manila nearby. Pearl and Trixie gossiped to their left.

After Ms. P, the theater teacher for juniors and seniors, passed out the syllabus, they gathered in a circle. Playing stale warm-up games never failed to put the majority of the class in a pissy mood. It was no secret that half of the room hated the other half of the room; times when they were all forced to work together were toxic.

The second activity Ms. P had put on the agenda for that morning was not any better: duet scenes. The oblivious woman thought it would be a fantastic idea to assign partners at random for the scenes. Katya’s heart jumped in her throat when their teacher called Alaska Honard’s name along with hers.

Alaska had long, silky golden hair, soft pink lips, and big doe eyes. She was easily the tallest girl in their grade (and quite possibly in their school). She had legs for days, and they looked stunning under that short green cheer skirt in Katya’s opinion. And most of the student body’s opinion. Alaska might have been the nicest girl on the cheer squad, but Katya was sure that this encounter could still be fatal.

Katya hesitantly approached Alaska, who had yet to stop chatting with Roxy and Detox, and cleared her throat.

“Um, Alaska, I have our scene…If you want to go work on it…” Katya trailed off, digging the toe of her boot into the black floor.

Three pairs of eyes turned to look at her. She could feel the eye roll and once over from tweedle dee and tweedle dum. Instead, she focused on the tight smile the blonde in the middle gave her. Alaska nodded and followed her out of the black box.

The two girls made their way to the anti-lobby in without a word. Neither of them knew how to break the silence between them.

It was Katya who bit the bullet “Look, Alaska, I know you’re not thrilled about being my partner. But I care about the work I do in this class, and I know you do too. So can we just—”

“I’m sorry about them,” Alaska cuts her off. The confusion and shock is visible on Katya’s face, and Alaska feels the need to further elaborate. “Rotox…they’re rotted cunts sometimes. I think you’re a great actress, and I’m actually pretty glad to be working with you,” Alaska confessed . She ducked her head, and a long, golden lock fell into her eyes. Katya had to clutch the fabric at her thighs in order to resist the urge to brush it behind the taller girl’s ear.

“Okay then,” Katya breathed a sigh of relief, “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Katya could not believe the success she’d had on her scene with Alaska in theater. Maybe cheerleaders—well, certain cheerleaders—weren’t so bad after all. Katya was feeling optimistic as she made her way back up to the third floor for biology.

Are all biology classrooms supposed to reek of formaldehyde? Katya wrinkled her nose in disgust. There were tables made up of four desks clustered in front of the whiteboard at the front of the room. The back half of the room contained lab tables and equipment. Katya figured they would not be spending the majority of their time in there. Again, not wanting to draw attention to herself, she slipped into an empty desk near the back of the room. Their teacher, Mrs. Yates, shuffled around marking students present—to save time, Katya supposed. She finished moments before the tardy bell rang, and the students quieted as she took her place at the front of the room.

Mrs. Yates opened her mouth when the door slammed open. The culprit was captain of the cheer team, Violet Chachki, or what Katya swears, must be the devil in high heels. Satan made eye contact with a startled Mrs. Yates and lazily flashed her a small slip of paper. Hot pink: Coach Calhoun’s signature color.

“You must be Violet Chachki!” The friendly woman greeted. “Why don’t you take a seat next to Katya in the back?”

The gentle instruction wasn’t an option for Violet. The only empty seats left were at Katya’s table. Katya felt as though Mrs. Yates had just declared it open season on quirky blondes with questionable fashion sense. Dread pooled in her stomach; she was too young to die.

Similarly, Violet visibly recoiled at the idea of sitting next to some theater clown. Violet’s withering gaze focused on Katya, but she was certain it wasn’t her that the fuming brunette was plotting to crucify. Katya pitied whichever of her bimbo cheerleader friends forgot to save her a seat.

Violet chose the desk across from Katya. The blonde didn’t resist the opportunity to take a magnifying glass to the untouchable girl, herself.

Violet chachki was stunning. If looks could kill, the school would be a cemetery by now. She was a dark horse, a vixen, a black widow, the kind of beautiful that hurts you if you get too close. A girl like that did not belong here. Katya watched in awe as Violet’s manicured hand brushed long onyx strands back into place.

Unfortunately, Katya was no Double O Seven, and it didn’t take Violet long to pick up on the attention she was getting. The same painted fingers removed themselves from dark, silky waves and ventured closer to Katya’s face. They snapped suddenly, and Katya almost fell out of her blue plastic chair.

She only had a second to recover when Violet spat venom at her. “Hey, Bozo the Cunt, has the lack of oxygen in your tiny car affected your ability  to function, or are you just simple?”

“Bozo the Cunt”? That’s new. Mother, I’ve made a name for myself. Katya brought her eyes up to look at Violet. Her failure to provide a timely response did her no favors and the she-demon’s ruby red lips curled into a snarl. If Katya could feel her legs, she would be running to the nearest place of worship.

“Quit staring at me, freak,” Violet hissed. Katya met violet’s piercing eyes with her own sheepish blue ones.

“I-I uhm…Sorry. You look nice today?” Katya offered with shrugged shoulders. She wouldn’t buy her excuse either.

The brunette rolled her brown eyes, fishing her sparkly red phone from her bag and leaving Katya to pick at her hands.

Mrs. Yates saved Katya’s cuticles when she passed out materials for the students to make makeshift nameplates for their desks. Katya was a sucker for crafts. She wasted no time in writing her name in thick, red letters. A large, yellow sickle and hammer ran through the center of the page and black Russian characters accented her work of art. Katya was proud of herself. Capping the black marker, she took a risk and peeked at Violet’s handiwork.

Violet chose a clean and classical look for her own sign. V I O L E T was spelled out in deep purple, looping script.

Katya sighed. It was going to be a long year if the ice queen froze her out completely. At least Katya enjoyed biology.

After everyone was finished with their nametags, Mrs. Yonkin passed out an ice breaker activity designed to help the students get to know everyone at their table. Unfortunately, it was an activity where you had to interview a partner, and Katya’s partner was clearly unwilling.

“I don’t see why we have to talk,” Violet complained. “Trade papers with me so we can fill out our own answers. I’m tired of working with people that are not myself.”

Katya couldn’t help but feel a bit insulted. It wasn’t like she had herpes or something. They didn’t even have to share their entire life stories with each other; a favorite color is as generic as it gets. If the bitch wanted to be difficult, Katya sure as hell wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

“Look, Princess, I don’t know anything about science other than it’s really good for you,“ Katya bit back, “But I haven’t done enough crack to melt my brain. Do you honestly think people would believe that you could produce chicken scratch like this?” The blonde gestured pointedly to the top of her own page where she had scrawled out her name. Violet pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Oh and I’m also not bad at science. It was a joke, A bad one,” Katya tried to assure the frustrated girl in front of her. Her words of comfort did little to change her new partner’s mood, though. She tried again, “What’s your favorite color?”

[veiledwriter]

Among the three schools I have worked with so far, the second one was the worst— admin stuff, professionalism, curriculum-wise, salary, learning environment, materials, etc. During my first year, I was just a part-time worker, so I didn't spend much time there and with my colleagues. I really wanted to leave after the first year but also thought na baka naninibago lang ako and maybe the following year will be better, so I renewed my contract. But it only got worse.

My first job was not perfect, but I learned so much from it. It also served as my standard when it comes to preschools. And personally, I cannot take poor teaching and any other bullsht from people. Unfortunately, I got so much of it in my second job. But since I was their employee, I needed to lay low and stretch my patience more. However, there were really moments when I couldn't stomach their shit, that I voiced out my thoughts. I still tried to sound professional, but I know that annoyance could also be heard in my voice. I don't regret it though.

Halfway through the school year then, I already told the admin that I will not be returning anymore. Aside from all the reasons to leave, I also had personal matters to take care of that time, and that was the reason I told them. I planned on telling them about my feedback during the exit interview, but amazingly, they didn't even ask me about it. We didn't even have an exit interview. They just handed me a paper to fill and that was it. No other questions or any form of conversation. Haha. That year, half of the staff left.

Leaving that school is one of the decisions I will never regret. Good job, self. Haha. I am so glad I am away from all the negative stuff. I am still in touch with my previous workmates, especially the ones who left the same year as I did.

But the thing is that, while I am already enjoying my current work and forgetting about the unpleasant memories in the previous school, they, on the other hand, still couldn't let go. Whenever we meet, 90% of the conversation revolves around how the system became even worse, or how a certain employee is this and that. It is all backstabbing and sharing of negativity. It is so toxic. I lowkey tell them to stop minding about those, but even when I divert the topic, we still end up going back. Haaaay.

I like catching up with them, but I don't like what catching up with them is like. I want peace, people.

[the-pav-archive]

Magicae Aqua- Magic User!Male Reader X Merman!Tomura Shigaraki

I know I’m a few weeks late for Mermay, but I wanted to get something done- Anyways, enjoy this little bit! It doesn’t make a ton of sense, but oh well Word Count: 3,043

Tomura Shigaraki hated the humans.

He hated that they took his family away from him. He hated that they so carelessly dumped things into his waters. He hated that they took all of his things.

And he hated that they were so easy to fall for.

Every few decades, a human would pique his interest. They’d have that spark that drew him in like crustaceans to an angler fishes lure. He’d invest his whole heart in them, and then they’d vanish just like that- Off with some other human, or too involved in themselves to even pay him any mind.

So he decided that he’d refuse to love them any more.

If he found a human that he had taken a liking to, he’d kill them.

And with tentacles as dangerous as he had, it was easy. He’d just have to pull them into the water, wrap one around their neck, and let his toxins do the rest. They’d be gone within a minute- Left to the scavengers and other creatures of the sea. He could take his time to admire the body if he really wanted to. Building the reputation of a killer amongst those in your environment helped sometimes.

It was a particularly bright night when he spotted his next target through the murky waters. They left a stream of bubbles behind them as they sunk into the water, swimming downwards too fast for him to take note of what they looked like for the moment. His tentacles undulated as he silently approached the figure, just barely floating above a rock as he observed them.

His clothing floated around him a bit, occasionally exposing smooth (S/C) skin as he rooted around in the water a bit. (E/C) eyes held a look of focus in them as he worked, and an excited gleam filled them when he seemed to have found what he was looking for. His legs kicked as he went a little bit deeper in the water, and he reached one hand up briefly to sweep his (H/C) hair back. Trails of bubbles left his lips, and he briefly looked around for a moment, eyes widening to an almost dramatic point when he noticed the jellyfish that was watching him. Almost immediately he ‘dropped’ what was in his other hand- several smooth, round rocks- taking just a brief moment to just observe before he did some kind of intricate hand movement, glowing lines crossing and swirling around his body as his lips moved. And just seconds later, he shot straight up through the water.

And thus began the game of pursuit. Tomura’s eyes lit up with an almost cruel light as he shot upwards as well, laughs leaving his lips and creating a tiny stream of bubbles.

The chase was always the fun part. Watching the fear in his target’s eyes as they try to get away, the horror in their expression when those tentacles wrap around their neck…..

It was glorious.

The surface was fast approaching, waves crashing up above and creating a spectacle of dark and light above. Tomura was within an arm’s reach of the man he was pursuing, and his grin grew even wider as he surged forwards, wrapping his hand around the man’s ankle and pulling tightly. The glowing lines surrounding the man abruptly disappeared, and he looked down, eyes widening. A stream of bubbles escaped his lips in a scream, and he spoke, voice able to be heard as clear as day. “Get the hell off of me!” His foot kicked, and he pushed upwards with his arms, fighting to get lose. The merman was taken aback by this a bit, and his grip loosened just enough for the man to be able to escape. And within seconds he was gone and out of the water. A low growl of sorts seemed to rumble in the back of Tomura’s throat, and he approached the surface, looking upwards.

The man that had escaped his grasp looked down at him from a rock ledge that hung over the water, panting heavily as he watched the merman in the water. He even backed up a bit, back resting against the rock face as he steadied himself a bit.

“Who are you to think that you can come into my waters and take whatever you want?” Tomura asked, eyes narrowing as that raspy voice left his lips. It had been a while since he had spoken above the surface of the water, and he realized another reason why he hated the humans so much- They had to breath this toxic air to even talk.

“And who are you to think that you own the entire ocean?” The man replied, frown gracing his lips as he gripped the rock ledge. “The waters are a place for everyone, sir.” There was a bit of a sarcastic bite in his voice as he continued to speak, reaching one hand up to run through his hair.

Tomura seemed taken aback by this response as well, and that growl rumbled in his throat once again. “I’ll tear your throat out if you step into these waters again.”

“Well, then you’d be killing one of the only things keeping you and your environment in the state it is right now.” The man sneered in reply. “So if you want the other humans to kill you and your domain off, then go right ahead, Jelly boy.”

Deep red eyes narrowing again, Tomura’s expression was still rather suspicious. He brought one hand up to scratch slightly at the skin on his neck, feeling that it had already begun to dry out a bit. “Don’t call me Jelly boy. I have a proper name.”

“And what is that? Jelly man? Water bitch?” The man replied snarkily, slight smirk gracing his lips. A look of smug amusement graced his features, one brow quirking upwards slightly.

“Tomura Shigaraki.” He stated bluntly, diving under the water for a brief moment before resurfacing. “I expect you to share your name as well. It’s only fair, since you’ve wasted part of my night.” “Your night? Most of my night’s now ruined because you had to fuckin’ chase me!” The man practically shouted, his own anger showing easily. He took in a deep breath, though, speaking again a moment later. “I’m (Y/N) (L/N).”

“Well then, (Y/N). Prove that you weren’t just taking my things.” Tomura said bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Prove that you’re actually protecting my waters instead of just intruding.”

“They’re not just your waters……” (Y/N) muttered under his breath, brows furrowing in thought for a moment. When he finally decided on what he’d do he held up his hands, fingers curling as he began to mutter something. “Expugnando aquas maris creaturam tuam da mihi aequare!”

At first, nothing happened. But then those glowing marks ran up (Y/N)’s arms, and the water around Tomura shook a bit more violently. He was then lifted into the air, water surrounding his lower half as he was seemingly lifted to the same level as (Y/N). With an unamused expression on his face, Tomura’s head tilted to the side slightly. “And what does this prove?” “God, do I have to do something bigger to prove it to you?” (Y/N) grumbled, annoyed tone in his voice. He lowered Tomura back into the water, pressing his hands together in front of him as he squatted slightly. Those glowing marks crept up his arms again, and the (E/C) spoke again, voice holding a powerful tone in it this time. “Persona ostende te, abscondere. Pulchra tibi custodiam alterius diei!”

This time, the water began to shake more violently, turning darker. It also clouded up a bit, and what appeared to be old trash floated on the surface of part of the water. “This is how I make the water look to the people that come here. It looks undesirable. But if you go under, it looks just as it did before.” (Y/N) paused briefly, giving an almost expectant look to Tomura. “Go on. Look.”

Almost glad for the opportunity to dive back under the water, Tomura did as he was directed to do, diving under the surface of the water. The moonlight pierced through it, and he could see everything just as clearly as he had before. When he resurfaced, he looked up to (Y/N), brows furrowing slightly. “Alright. So, you can do magic to mask things. Why did you need those rocks that you were going to get before?”

“I require items from the ocean to do my work for it.” (Y/N) started, scooting to the edge of the rock ledge he was on and dangling his legs over the side. “Every so often, I go out and gather the supplies that I need. I do it at night, mostly, because people would know I did magic if they saw. And nowadays, most folks don’t take kindly to it.” He paused briefly, letting out a sigh. “I heard that there was a burning a few weeks ago just a few towns over. It’s like the Witch Trials all over again…..”

“Witch Trials?” Tomura asked, head cocking to the side in a confused manner.

“The Salem Witch Trials. Long ago, people would put people through terrible trials because someone accused them of doing magic. They’d be burnt at the stake, a lot of the time.” (Y/N) said, tracing his fingers through a little puddle of water on the rock ledge. He went silent for a short while, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks filling the void for a moment before he spoke again. “Anyways, I should return back to my home. The sun will be rising in a couple of hours, and I walked a long distance.” Standing up on the ledge, he turned to the cliff wall, grabbing onto a couple of small pieces of rock and preparing to hoist himself up as he looked back at Tomura. “I will return tomorrow night to get my supplies.” He paused briefly, beginning his climb upwards. “Goodbye, Tomura.” Tomura simply sat there as he watched the man climb up, sinking underneath the water moments later. He’d be there the next night, too- to watch the man and ask some questions.

Almost too soon, the next night came.

Tomura awaited the stream of bubbles that would signal (Y/N)’s arrival, eyes watching the calmly rolling waves above him.

Within a little while more of waiting, that stream of bubbles showed up, (Y/N)’s form entering the water. He seemed to look around for a moment, gaze catching Tomura’s. He visibly tensed for a moment before relaxing a bit, swimming to the same spot he had been searching the night before. Those glowing marks on his arms seemed to pulse, glow coming from them changing from bright to dark as he began to work on picking up the smooth, round stones.

The merman approached (Y/N) again, head tilting to the side curiously as he spoke. “What do you use those particular stones for?” “I enchant them and place them in the water near the shoreline of all of the beaches in town. When someone walks past them, it makes it harder for them to go further out in the water.” (Y/N) stated, putting several of the smooth stones into a container he had brought with him.

“Ah, so they’re a water barrier.” Tomura said, lips remaining in a slightly parted ‘o’ shape.

“Mhm.” (Y/N) muttered, nodding slightly. “They’re very useful. I have another variation of the same spell around my home.”

“Well, wouldn’t it make it harder for you to get into your home?” The merman asks, brows furrowing.

“No, it doesn’t.” (Y/N) answered simply, turning his head to look at Tomura. “As the spellcaster, it makes it easier for me to get into my home, actually.”

“I see.” Tomura states bluntly, backing up a bit so that his tentacles didn’t drift and hit (Y/N) while he was getting his stones. “How many more do you need?” “For the beach on the far side of town, I’ve got to get at least 12 more.”

“And right now you have….?” “7.” (Y/N) states bluntly, looking over to the merman briefly. He looks back down, moving a larger rock out of the way and grinning a bit when he found more of the small, round stones. “And there’s the rest of them!” Almost eagerly he picked them up, putting them in his container and sealing it shut. Turning to Tomura, he gave him a slight little smile. “That’s all I need for now. I’ll probably come back in a couple of days to get some more stuff.” He then gave an awkward little laugh, looking upwards. “Thanks for not trying to kill me this time.”

Tomura nodded slightly, brows furrowing a little as he spoke. “You’re welcome?”

(Y/N) simply let out a little giggle, looking back upwards. His fingers curled, and he began to perform the same spell of sorts that he had the night before, rocketing up and out of the water in a flash.

And so this process repeated for quite a while.

Every few nights or so, (Y/N) would return to gather materials and talk to Tomura.

And despite the fact that Tomura said that he wouldn’t fall for a human ever again…..

He did.

He had fallen hard.

Tomura waited patiently in the water at the base of that little rocky cliff, watching the moon as it rose overhead. And almost like clockwork, he saw (Y/N) appear at the top of the cliff. But instead of diving into the water like he usually did, he began to make his way down the cliff face, moving to sit cross-legged on one of the wider outcroppings of rock.

“Hey, Tomura.” (Y/N) called, a look of deep thought gracing his features.

The merman swam a little bit closer so that neither of them were totally shouting at each other, and his brows furrowed. “What’s wrong, (Y/N)?”

“I think they’ve caught on to me.” (Y/N) said, a frown gracing his lips. “Everyone in town has been giving me weird looks recently. And I think someone caught me placing some of the barrier rocks in the water the other day.” His fingers ran backwards through his hair, and he let out a sigh. “I’m going to have to do something. If I hide it all…..” “You could just curse them.” Tomura stated bluntly, moving to rest his elbow on a rock. He then rested his chin on his palm, head tilting to the side slightly. “I know you’re powerful enough to do it.” “But then that would give them even more reason to burn me.”

“Or you could come and live in the water.”

“The spell would wear off after a while.” (Y/N) stated, sighing again. Just as he was about to speak again he paused, tapping his finger on his chin. “I could try…. No, that would be way too risky…..” “Try what?” Tomura asked, eyes widening slightly as he looked up at (Y/N). “I could try a transformation spell. Turn myself into someone like you.” He said, gesturing to Tomura’s lower half. “But it’s too high risk of a spell. So many people have died trying to cast it before…..” Flopping onto his back, (Y/N) looked up at the night sky with a frown. “Well, casting it and trying would be better than just letting yourself die, right?” Tomura asked, seemingly straightening his posture a bit. “True….” (Y/N) stated, going silent a few moments later. After a short while of just listening to the waves crashing against the rocks, he sat up, looking down to Tomura. “It’ll be scary as all hell to try, but I’ll give it a shot. Being burnt alive doesn’t sound all too pleasant to me.” Upon hearing those words leaving his companion’s lips, Tomura’s eyes lit up. He’d finally have someone to talk to if it worked! His heart could’ve beat out of his chest in that moment- Had it not been for the fear that set in a moment later. What if the transformation didn’t work? What if the people got to (Y/N) before he could complete the transformation? Before he could let those thoughts run rampant, he took in a deep breath, looking back up to (Y/N). “Well, if you need anything in particular, let me know. I can find it for you.”

“I most certainly will.” (Y/N) stated, leaning over the edge of the rock ledge and looking down at Tomura. He took in a deep breath of his own, lips pursing in a straight line. “I better get going, then. I’ve got to prepare everything.”

“I wish you luck.” Tomura stated, giving a curt nod to (Y/N).

The thing that woke Tomura up wasn’t the light of the moon rising overhead. Nor was it some unsuspecting creature that had swam into his tentacles and woke him up with its thrashing. It was the sound of police sirens and shouting.

The merman shot up from where he had been laying on the ocean’s floor, and within seconds, his head breached the surface of the water.

Up on the top of the cliff, he could see the ever familiar form of (Y/N), and he watched as he flipped backwards into the water. Once in, a bright light flashed- And when (Y/N) resurfaced, he looked very different. On his back was a dorsal fin, and his teeth were like daggers in his mouth. And when he leapt above the surface of the water for a moment, a powerful tail was revealed.

He couldn’t help but grin brightly as he dove under the water, and he held his arms open wide as (Y/N) came swimming at him. He captured the other man in his embrace, bright grin on his lips. “Let’s get going, (Y/N).” He was so glad that he finally had him in his embrace.

And if anyone- or anything- got in the way of that?

He’d be killing again.

[4steelcity]

Can I say some shit real quick?

Ok so I broke up with the guy I was going to marry for the 2nd and last time, and I'm pissed. He wants to be friends, yeah I wanted to be friends too... ya know b4 we started dating again, but every time we got together he'd say shit like "today was nice, but I just want to kiss you, this is so hard, I miss you." And I'd be like "I'm right here?"

For context I broke up with him after he emotionally abused me during my 2nd to last year in college. I did fucking everything to keep him alive because he was spiraling into depression and didn't give a shit abt anything. But he was staying in this toxic environment he put himself in to "be with me" and that why I broke up with him and then hand delivered him to his family who I knew would be a better support system than a disabled, equally depressed, college student (I'm not ragging on myself I just had a lot of shit going on and his actions didn't help).

He didn't give me space last time, he interrogated me constantly trying to figure out if I was dating anyone after him. I eventually caved and told him yes I'm trying and he lost his absolute shit... and then didn't talk to me for almost a year. I really tried to be his friend for those first few months apart he'd call me to cry and I'd comfort him, try to push him towards getting back into school (he dropped out despite having a free ride thanks to the military), and left no room for myself to process things and be ok on my own. That came later when I started going to therapy and finally realized what he had done to me was in fact abuse!

So a year of radio silence, I'm dating someone else and ding! I get a text from him apologizing, alerting me he's going into surgery to fix his spine and he has a 45% chance of dying from it. I told him I wanted an apology in person, I needed him to understand how bad he fucked me and my life up.

He didn't die, we met and he apologized. I thought that was the end of it, but I'm an idot and thought he had really changed. Then we were friends, then I broke up with my bf, and he swooped in there, chocolate and flowers ready the day after I let it slip I was single. I feel stupid, I gave him a second chance. Our relationship went down hill p fast.

I wasn't allowed to take a job in the next city over because he needed me to be with him all the time. I would take him to visit my friends and family, but that didn't last, now we always had to be around his friends and his family (who iced me out or just insulted me behind my back despite trying my fucking hardest to fit in and play nice with them). He bought a house and told me he wanted it to be "our home" but would ignore and belittle every suggestion I'd make, relegating all of my shit to the basement. And I played into it, I let him control me again, fuck I still am! I gave him his valentine's day gift the day after we broke up (he did that over the phone btw), a jar full of paper stars with little reasons why I loved him that I started writing to myself when things got bad. I did that to remind him he was lovable, that I wanted to do some real work on our relationship to make things better. But I'm an idot.

So my life for the past week and a half has been as follows. Got a hair cut and dyed it, posted on my snap story and he had to comment on it, he said I looked amazing (mixed signals but he said he really wanted to stay friends so ok). I started a new job that I didn't want but took cuz it's not a terrible pay and 5 mins away from his stupid fucking house. But my rents who I have to crash with now cuz im broke, live over half an hour away. So I now I have the pleasure of waking up super fucking early (I'm not a morning person cuz my chronic disease makes it really hard to be alive when I first wake up), drive across the city in god awful traffic and weather, AND PAST HIS HOUSE EVERY GOD DAMN DAY! And I know I get to work b4 he even wakes up, not relevant but I'm salty.

He just messaged me tonight abt the roads, telling me to stay safe, how worried he is abt me and I lost it... I just told him I was mad at him, how shitty this situation is for me, and that I'm glad I'm safe at home while he has to deal with the shittiest weather we've had all winter.

Breaking up with me was the best thing he's ever done for me, he realized he was toxic and making me miserable by forcing me to sacrifice so much of my life and passions and well being for him. It needed to happen, but I'm still hurt, still feel like I was thrown away, still feel like I'm not enough for anyone... and he's acting like everything's fine and dandy. We're friends again right? He can invade my space as much as possible, give me no fucking time to heal, and its fine!

I hope I ruined his night, I hope he cries, I hope he stays lonely and realizes how bad he fucked up again. I know him well enough that at least the first 2 things are probably true.

I'm so fucking mad, and sad, and just betrayed... I hate that he has this power over me, I hate that I still care, I hate that I can't hate him!! That would make it so much easier...

But my stupid, fucked up life has never been easy...