#he is ten feet deep in depression and has lost all his family i’m pretty sure he is not in love with anyone atm !!! :))))))))))))

[yioh]

grrrr

[creativeashproductions]

Lost Time // Luke Patterson

Summary: Things changed since Sunset Curve fell apart literally as three out of four members died before a gig. Leaving a sad girl behind Luke by chance runs into the reader with someone else. Death tore the couple apart, and time can’t fix this.

Warning: Talk of death, depression, angst and fluff

Words: 2.2k

Might as well join the Julie and the Phantoms fan club!

*For the sake of the story the time frame has been altered, it takes place in the mid-2000s. Also! I tried to make the reader as generalized as I could to make sure that everyone can relate. The reader is Alex’s sister, for inclusion that can be biological, adopted, half or stepsiblings. I want to make sure all people can be the reader.

Masterlist

THIS IS FROM MY SECONDARY BLOG! REPOST!!

The 1990s was definitely some of the best years of your life watching your brother grow more comfortable in his identity. Alex had kept his sexuality secret, taking the frustration of the secret by learning how to play the drums. You would often be found curled on the chair listening to his growing talent; Alex was a great brother.

Alex found friends in three local boys Reggie, Bobby and Luke, even a little more than friends with Luke briefly. By 1991 the boys had formed a band Sunset Curve with each other and a loyal fan in you. By mid-1994 the band had a fanbase and some gigs, but playing The Orpheum was the goal.

Luke had admitted to Alex, he had feelings for you, and with a lot of encouragement from Alex, he approached you. Luke had been focused on music since his parents gave him his first guitar, so relationships weren’t even on the backburner.

“Hey.” Luke spoke, pressing a kiss to your cheek backstage, “Missed you.”

His hair tickled your skin, bringing a bright smile from the teenage boy and a deep blush from you, private time wasn’t as often as it once had been. After Luke’s fallout with his parents a few months back, he had couch surfed between Reggie and Alex’s rooms; he wasn’t allowed in yours.

“You saw me last night.”

“A monumental time.” Luke bent his bend to place a lingering kiss on your bare shoulder, his jacket having fallen down, “Three years together and a bright future ahead.”

Last night had been the third anniversary of your relationship and hopefully the previous night worrying on parents walking in, cheap dates Luke often felt guilty about. Luke knew in his bones playing The Orpheum tonight would open the door to a legendary future. A future where money wasn’t tight and he could you on dates he deemed acceptable for the love of his life.

Bobby voiced brought Sunset Curve’s lead singer back to that moment, you dropped from the stage to settle in the empty audience to watch the soundcheck. With a wink from Alex, he started making the beat to Now or Never, you beamed as they poured their souls into the song. The four were talented and made to be in a band together even if you didn’t really like Bobby.

Cringing at the awkward wink Bobby sent you turned on your converse to head to the bar for a glass of water. Thanking the bartender, you tuned out the conversation with the waitress and the band only jumping when arms wrapped around your waist.

“We’re getting street dogs.” Luke spoke, bringing your body to rest on his chest, “Do you want one?”

The thought of those street dogs honestly horrifying given they were cooked in some random guys car. The one time you tried, it had permanently tattooed the taste in your memories forever, and just remembering was vomit-inducing.

 “I’ll pass.” You wrinkled your nose, turning to wrap your arms around his neck, “I don’t know how you guys like those.”

“Tradition.” Luke shrugged caressing your cheekbone with the pad of this thumb. Gazing at features he wanted to wake up to for the rest of his life, “Still down with the plan?”

“The minute I’m eighteen, we go to the nearest chapel.” You grinned playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, “I’ll be waiting Rockstar.”

Luke pressed a long passionate kiss on your lips, pulling away to jog over to Alex and Reggie waiting at the door. Bobby having declined the street dog invitation to flirt with the waitress Rose. Alex waved before the door closed. Little did you know that would be the last time you saw them alive.

1995 was the worst year of your life. 1996 was the hardest, especially with the forever reminder of your love. You wouldn’t trade 1996 for the world however, only wishing for one change.

Los Angeles, 2004

Alex, Reggie and Luke had learnt a mere few days away from that life had drastically changed forever. Firstly, the three boys had died from eating the street dogs mere hours before performing on the stage of The Orpheum. Secondly, it was no longer 1995 but instead nearly ten years had past bringing the three ghosts into 2004.

The most jarring wasn’t being able to be heard playing music with a random girl named Julie but that the most constant part of the band no longer was there. You hadn’t died that night, and Alex was pretty sure you were still alive. Luke felt lost waking up without you beside him and the deep regret of not reconciling with his parents.

It would be a week before Luke would swallow his pride enough to orb himself into his unchanged childhood home. Emily, Luke’s mom, was in the well-worn chair knitting a scarf Luke recognized as his favourite colours. Mitch was in the kitchen, putting the groceries away. It was heartbreaking being invisible to his aged parents.

“Hey, Mom.” Luke sniffled sitting on the couch nearby staring at his silent mother, “Sorry for not visiting sooner.”

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes feeling hopeless, not being able to ease his parents’ pain, the regret and guilt bubbling to the surface.

“How is Y/N? I bet she’s living in New York of London now. We promised to travel the world together. Part of me is guilty of wishing she had eaten a street dog that night so we could be together.” Luke sobbed, wrapping his arms around his midsection reminiscing on the beautiful girl he had unwillingly left.

“Hey.” Mitch spoke, kissing his wife’s forehead. Her eyes closing in contentment.

“I wonder if you know where Reg and Alex’s parents are. Reggie’s neighbourhood was torn down who knows when. It makes me scared to see if Alex and Y/N’s parents still have their place. I don’t think so. They lost their son.”

“Hey Luke.”

Luke glanced over his shoulder to see Alex at the door, reluctant to impose of Luke’s privacy.

“Yeah.”

“We’re rehearsing.” Alex spoke, smiling as the other teenager took one more wistful look at his parents before orbing out of his house to the Molina family’s garage. Minutes later, the front door opening and feet thudding brought the noise to the Patterson home.

“Grandma!”

A four-foot blue of green and black blur covered the room in seconds nearly sprawling Mitch to the floor. Why was that 1996 year difficult? Well, ’95 was when Sunset Curve tragically died, and a stick changed your life. ’96 was spent going through the last five months of pregnancy without Luke.

October 1995

You kept your lips pressed tightly together, unable to look at the smooth, shiny mahogany rectangle surrounded by flowers. Looking up meant the reality kicking in. Funerals sucked. Especially the third funeral in the last handful of days. It was surreal thinking that one week ago you had kissed your boyfriend and hugged your brother and now they were dead. Gone. Not even a goodbye.

“Are you okay?” The broke voice asked, gaining your attention. Swollen red eyes matching yours held unimaginable pain. While the last few months had been icy with your parents, it didn’t mean losing one of their kids didn’t sting.

“I will be.” You whispered clasping your hands over the scratchy black velvet dress, one you had worn three times too many.

The sobs broke out seeing the best picture Alex had taken in his life, it encapsulated his best features; his beaming smile and kind, caring eyes. Alex was gone. Your brother was gone because he ate a bad hot dog with his friends. You would never see your boys again. Never feel Luke’s skin or share a laugh with Alex or complain about things with Reggie. You wouldn’t get to meet in the chapel with Luke wearing second hand ‘fancy’ clothing. In one night, your life changed.

It changed further seeing the two lines on the test later that night. The heartache growing. The baby you carried would never meet his uncles and his Dad. Would never hear them play or learn to play. ’95 and ’96 sucked ass.

You sighed, closing the door to follow the rambunctious ball of energy into the living room where he entertained Mitch and Emily. Some days it was difficult to stare into the green eyes he inherited from his father.

“Benjamin Lucas.” You spoke crossing your arms, meeting the gaze of the eight-year-old boy, “What did I say?”

“To not runoff.” Ben quietly replied, playing with his hands. His messy brown hair, in need of a trim, falling into his eyes, “Sorry Mom.”

“Please don’t do it again.” You gently told the little boy elated as he quickly found the toy box in the corner of the room.

Ben was loved deeply by Mitch and Emily, who had stepped up when your parents made the decision to sell your childhood home. Wanting Ben to know his paternal grandparents, you had struggled to find an apartment and job to say in the neighbourhood. Since the baby was the last part of their son, the Patterson parents’ had welcomed you into the home where you stayed until Ben was two.

“Do you want us to come around for Luke’s birthday?” You questioned sitting on the love seat, the same love seat you had made out on with Luke many times during movies.

The room turned sad at the question and reminded that for the ninth year, you would celebrate Luke’s birthday without him. A day where Ben wouldn’t fully understand. Emily simply nodded her head.

 “Have you met anyone?” Mitch asked, leaning over to clasp his hands together. For the last few years, they had been pushing you to date. They wanted your happiness and for Ben to have a father even if Luke couldn’t be it.

“Mama can we stay here tonight?” Ben’s innocent voice cut the tension, saving you from answering the question again. Mitch and Emily each nodded their heads at the question, unable to tell the young boy no.

“Have you ate?” Emily asked, turning to look at you in concern. The chuckle left your mouth at the question she frequently requested, she missed cooking for more than two.

“We had pasta before we came.” You replied, turning to gaze out the window to the dark sky, “I should put Ben to bed.”

The soft whine from your son and denial was a nightly routine and very much a mirror image to Luke’s character as well. With a smile, Emily held out her hand to her grandchild, she was notoriously the only one able to get Ben to sleep fast.

 “Come on Bug.”

It seemed the universe was keeping Luke from seeing you and discovering Ben, but when that night came, he was shocked. Emily was curled up on the patio couch, watching Ben in the newly bought sandbox. The patio doors opened. Inside, Mitch had invited a stranger who knew his son into the house.

 “I think I heard the doorbell. I’ll be right back.” Emily called out to you. You had found shade under the tree reading a new book.

The soft cry had you up and running to Ben before you even realized, on his knee was a bleeding wound. You had already scooped the boy into your arms to quickly get into the kitchen. The moment your foot stepped into the home, the sound of a familiar voice and song filled the house.

Gently placing Ben on his feet, you followed the sound to the living room. Across the room behind a young girl stood a boy.

“Luke.” You breathed floored at the sight of the teenager who looked exactly like he did back in ’95. The ghost singing widened his eyes at yours, taking in the mature features and change of fashion.

He continued to sing the song Unsaid Emily he had written as an apology to his mom following the last big fight. The song he never got to show her. His voice faded as the ending of the song came around.

“Mama!” Your attention broke from Luke’s when a tiny hand reached for yours. The pain in his voice bringing you back to the most important part of your life, “It hurts Mama.”

Despite being sad, Mitch was the one to cross the room to lift the little boy into his arms. Placing the little boy on the counter, the man gently wet a paper towel to wash the area.

“I think he needs stitches.” Mitch sighed, furrowing his brows.

“Who is that?” Luke asked the Molina girl. The girl shrugged taking in the features she could recognize. Julie asked Emily.

“That’s Ben.” Emily beamed, looking over her shoulder at the little boy that filled the void of Luke’s death. It didn’t fix the wound or erase the pain, but Ben’s existence helped with the loss as he was a precious gift, “When Luke passed away his girlfriend Y/N found out she was pregnant with Luke’s baby.”

The choked sob fell from Luke’s mouth echoed by the thud of his knees, hitting the floor in the pure shock. The heartbreak painted so clear Julie was sure she could feel Luke’s agony.

God, why did Luke have to eat that fucking street dog. Fuck his band dreams. Nothing hurt as bad as finding out about Ben and Y/N having to be a single parent.

“I have a son?” Luke cried, orbing himself as far as he could from the Patterson home and his most tremendous loss.

Part Two

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[eartht137]

DEAREST HEART-LETTER TWO

Whooo, goodness!! I spooked myself after writing the first letter. There is a dog next door to my house and she likes to stare out towards the back "alley way" and one night while I was showering by candlelight (blinds still aren't fixed) she wouldn't stop staring out at the alley way. My azz was spooked lol. That being said, here is another "letter" from Mr. Kal El himself. Enjoy curvies MMMMMMwwwaahhhhhhh!!!!

Dark Clark Kent x Plus Size Reader

Warnings: Stalking (This chapter is pretty tame)

A few days later, the whole situation had hidden itself in your brain. You had so much going on in your waking life, you really didn't have time to dwell on a possible prank. Your birthday had arrived and you really weren't feeling too thrilled about it. Your depression just had to spike up and ruin the one day you thought you would enjoy, but you didn't even get to stress about it for long. You'd stepped into your office to boot up your computer for the day, and you saw it. On your desk was a letter, same vintage parchment, but his time it had an Aster instead of a Rose. You stared at it for so long, wondering if you should read it or not. You finally sat down and pulled the letter out of the envelope to see what he had to say.

Happy Birthday Little One,

I wish so badly that I could show you the best birthday you've ever had, but that will have to wait. I know you're not looking forward to today. I've noticed you haven't mentioned it much, and you almost forgot. How do you forget your birthday silly girl? I have purchased a gift every year since we met, I can't wait until I'm able to give them to you and you can unwrap each and everyone as if it were Christmas. Why haven't you planned anything? Not even a free day for yourself, what's going on? I wish you would talk to me. I want so badly to help you get better, but its a one day at a time deal. I was there you know, when you almost died? I was there the night you called your husband and told him the truth about how bad you felt. I swear it was the scariest night of my life when the surgeon walked in and told you they were putting you in an induced state for a week. All I could think was, what if you didn't wake up, or what if they did something wrong? What if they hurt you more or caused a bad reaction. I have seen a lot of things, but I have never been so sad and afraid to lose someone like you. I watched over you every night, making sure you'd come back to me and the baby. Well, you know what I mean. I know that's been rough on you, but you are making great progress. I remember you saying you'd like to change your hair, would you like for me to set up your appointment? I think you'd look delicious with cherry red hair, just don't cut it please. I love your hair. I love everything about you. I know you don't remember, but the moment our eyes met, I couldn't get you out of my head. I tried, I swear I tried so hard to stay away. I'd go for walks at night to clear my head and try not to think of you, and I'd find myself further and further away from home. It has to be fate that wants us together, because there you were, pulling in from work one night. I watched you sit there blaring your music, trying to finish the song before you went inside. I knew you right away, I had never been so....I can't describe how it felt, it was overwhelming. It had to be love that outweighed the hurt, even your "husband" walked out to greet you, it just couldn't overshadow what my heart felt. I told myself that I loved you enough to let you be happy, and I did for awhile. Not one day or night went by where you didn't cross my mind, so I decided to whisk by and take a picture of you, just for memory of the woman I couldn't have. One picture turned to two, two turned to ten. I had to get the perfect angle, but the only perfect angle is up close, in person; like I said I did try. I wish I could take you out for your birthday. I'd cook for us and we'd go down by the river, or I could take you somewhere 5 star. I know its really not your thing, but you deserve to be served like a queen. You are a queen to me. I dreamed about you, I dream about you all the time, but this one was different. It scared me so much, I woke in cold sweat. I can't bear to think about it now, but I know it was just a stupid dream. I will have to go out of the country for awhile, but I promise to still write as often as I can. I love you, so much.

With All My Heart and Soul,

Kal-El

"Babe!!! Babe, I need to tell you something." You said scared senseless. You rushed to your husband, showing him the letters and explained that you thought it was a sick prank. Your husband immediately called the police. He packed you all up and as much as he hated it, you all went to stay with your mom.

That night while you were up talking to your mom, she leaned back and asked you something insane.

"Is that really another man's baby?" she asked seriously.

"NO! I don't even know who this is, I swear I don't know a Kal-El. I've never met anyone like that in all my life." You whisper screamed at her as you struggled to hold back tears. She stared into your eyes for a moment before sighing heavily. Before you knew it she was crying and hugging your neck so tight you couldn't breathe.

"After all you've been through, this was the last thing you needed. I've always told you to be careful and watch your surroundings." She fussed.

"Ma I did, but I don't ever go anywhere. I stay in the house most of the time and I'm always with my family." You couldn't help but feel as if you were being attacked.

"You never know who is watching you." She argued back.

"Ma, look at me." You said standing back opening your arms to show your full body. "All these years I've worked hard to feel comfortable in my own skin. It took me a long time to feel fully comfortable around my own husband. All of these years you guys have trashed me for my weight, the times you all have told me that I get different treatment for my size, there was no way in this world I could've ever imagined that I would get stalked by-by this Kal-El fucker!" You yelled as tears flowed down your face, you could even feel your face strain in anger. "Now this is happening, and I should've been watching my surroundings. You drilled in my head for years that people looked past me for you and everyone else. You drilled in my head that people would only want me to use me, YOU DRILLED IN MY HEAD THAT I NEVER HAD THE LOOK TO MAKE IT OUT HERE, SO NOW HERE WE ARE WITH A MANIAC THAT SOMEHOW MANAGED TO FIND ME THAT I DON'T EVEN KNOW OR HAVE ANY CLUE AS TO WHAT THIS GUY LOOKS LIKE AND I SHOULD'VE BEEN WATCHING MY SURROUNDINGS!?" Your head felt like it was on fire, then all at once stars appeared and you lost vision.

When you woke up you were laying on the floor with a jacket under your neck as your mom and family (that she had called) stood around trying to get you to come back to. You tried sitting up, but only felt dizzier. Your hands and feet felt numb and you were shaking as sweat poured off of your body. Your husband sat by you, fanning you and giving you water. When you began to feel better, he helped you up and over to the couch. He asked everyone to leave you alone and not upset you anymore.

"Baby what do you want to do? How can I make you feel safe?" Your husband asked.

You stared deep in his eyes and remembered why you loved him so much. He always went out of his way to make sure you were happy. You thought back to not so pleasant days when you both argued and said mean things and your realized then and there how much you took him for granted sometimes. Before you knew it the flood gates released and you sobbed.

"Can you just hold me please?" You asked in a small pitiful voice.

"I will always hold you and be there for you baby. I love you. We will get through this together, like we always do."

[agentsofsupernaturalmarvel]

Lost Time // Luke Patterson

Summary: Things changed since Sunset Curve fell apart literally as three out of four members died before a gig. Leaving a sad girl behind Luke by chance runs into the reader with someone else. Death tore the couple apart, and time can’t fix this.

Warning: Talk of death, depression, angst and fluff

Words: 2.2k

Might as well join the Julie and the Phantoms fan club!

*For the sake of the story the time frame has been altered, it takes place in the mid-2000s. Also! I tried to make the reader as generalized as I could to make sure that everyone can relate. The reader is Alex’s sister, for inclusion that can be biological, adopted, half or stepsiblings. I want to make sure all people can be the reader.

Masterlist

The 1990s was definitely some of the best years of your life watching your brother grow more comfortable in his identity. Alex had kept his sexuality secret, taking the frustration of the secret by learning how to play the drums. You would often be found curled on the chair listening to his growing talent; Alex was a great brother.

Alex found friends in three local boys Reggie, Bobby and Luke, even a little more than friends with Luke briefly. By 1991 the boys had formed a band Sunset Curve with each other and a loyal fan in you. By mid-1994 the band had a fanbase and some gigs, but playing The Orpheum was the goal.

Luke had admitted to Alex, he had feelings for you, and with a lot of encouragement from Alex, he approached you. Luke had been focused on music since his parents gave him his first guitar, so relationships weren’t even on the backburner.

“Hey.” Luke spoke, pressing a kiss to your cheek backstage, “Missed you.”

His hair tickled your skin, bringing a bright smile from the teenage boy and a deep blush from you, private time wasn’t as often as it once had been. After Luke’s fallout with his parents a few months back, he had couch surfed between Reggie and Alex’s rooms; he wasn’t allowed in yours.

“You saw me last night.”

“A monumental time.” Luke bent his bend to place a lingering kiss on your bare shoulder, his jacket having fallen down, “Three years together and a bright future ahead.”

Last night had been the third anniversary of your relationship and hopefully the previous night worrying on parents walking in, cheap dates Luke often felt guilty about. Luke knew in his bones playing The Orpheum tonight would open the door to a legendary future. A future where money wasn’t tight and he could you on dates he deemed acceptable for the love of his life.

Bobby voiced brought Sunset Curve’s lead singer back to that moment, you dropped from the stage to settle in the empty audience to watch the soundcheck. With a wink from Alex, he started making the beat to Now or Never, you beamed as they poured their souls into the song. The four were talented and made to be in a band together even if you didn’t really like Bobby.

Cringing at the awkward wink Bobby sent you turned on your converse to head to the bar for a glass of water. Thanking the bartender, you tuned out the conversation with the waitress and the band only jumping when arms wrapped around your waist.

“We’re getting street dogs.” Luke spoke, bringing your body to rest on his chest, “Do you want one?”

The thought of those street dogs honestly horrifying given they were cooked in some random guys car. The one time you tried, it had permanently tattooed the taste in your memories forever, and just remembering was vomit-inducing.

 “I’ll pass.” You wrinkled your nose, turning to wrap your arms around his neck, “I don’t know how you guys like those.”

“Tradition.” Luke shrugged caressing your cheekbone with the pad of this thumb. Gazing at features he wanted to wake up to for the rest of his life, “Still down with the plan?”

“The minute I’m eighteen, we go to the nearest chapel.” You grinned playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, “I’ll be waiting Rockstar.”

Luke pressed a long passionate kiss on your lips, pulling away to jog over to Alex and Reggie waiting at the door. Bobby having declined the street dog invitation to flirt with the waitress Rose. Alex waved before the door closed. Little did you know that would be the last time you saw them alive.

1995 was the worst year of your life. 1996 was the hardest, especially with the forever reminder of your love. You wouldn’t trade 1996 for the world however, only wishing for one change.

Los Angeles, 2004

Alex, Reggie and Luke had learnt a mere few days away from that life had drastically changed forever. Firstly, the three boys had died from eating the street dogs mere hours before performing on the stage of The Orpheum. Secondly, it was no longer 1995 but instead nearly ten years had past bringing the three ghosts into 2004.

The most jarring wasn’t being able to be heard playing music with a random girl named Julie but that the most constant part of the band no longer was there. You hadn’t died that night, and Alex was pretty sure you were still alive. Luke felt lost waking up without you beside him and the deep regret of not reconciling with his parents.

It would be a week before Luke would swallow his pride enough to orb himself into his unchanged childhood home. Emily, Luke’s mom, was in the well-worn chair knitting a scarf Luke recognized as his favourite colours. Mitch was in the kitchen, putting the groceries away. It was heartbreaking being invisible to his aged parents.

“Hey, Mom.” Luke sniffled sitting on the couch nearby staring at his silent mother, “Sorry for not visiting sooner.”

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes feeling hopeless, not being able to ease his parents’ pain, the regret and guilt bubbling to the surface.

“How is Y/N? I bet she’s living in New York of London now. We promised to travel the world together. Part of me is guilty of wishing she had eaten a street dog that night so we could be together.” Luke sobbed, wrapping his arms around his midsection reminiscing on the beautiful girl he had unwillingly left.

“Hey.” Mitch spoke, kissing his wife’s forehead. Her eyes closing in contentment.

“I wonder if you know where Reg and Alex’s parents are. Reggie’s neighbourhood was torn down who knows when. It makes me scared to see if Alex and Y/N’s parents still have their place. I don’t think so. They lost their son.”

“Hey Luke.”

Luke glanced over his shoulder to see Alex at the door, reluctant to impose of Luke’s privacy.

“Yeah.”

“We’re rehearsing.” Alex spoke, smiling as the other teenager took one more wistful look at his parents before orbing out of his house to the Molina family’s garage. Minutes later, the front door opening and feet thudding brought the noise to the Patterson home.

“Grandma!”

A four-foot blue of green and black blur covered the room in seconds nearly sprawling Mitch to the floor. Why was that 1996 year difficult? Well, ’95 was when Sunset Curve tragically died, and a stick changed your life. ’96 was spent going through the last five months of pregnancy without Luke.

October 1995

You kept your lips pressed tightly together, unable to look at the smooth, shiny mahogany rectangle surrounded by flowers. Looking up meant the reality kicking in. Funerals sucked. Especially the third funeral in the last handful of days. It was surreal thinking that one week ago you had kissed your boyfriend and hugged your brother and now they were dead. Gone. Not even a goodbye.

“Are you okay?” The broke voice asked, gaining your attention. Swollen red eyes matching yours held unimaginable pain. While the last few months had been icy with your parents, it didn’t mean losing one of their kids didn’t sting.

“I will be.” You whispered clasping your hands over the scratchy black velvet dress, one you had worn three times too many.

The sobs broke out seeing the best picture Alex had taken in his life, it encapsulated his best features; his beaming smile and kind, caring eyes. Alex was gone. Your brother was gone because he ate a bad hot dog with his friends. You would never see your boys again. Never feel Luke’s skin or share a laugh with Alex or complain about things with Reggie. You wouldn’t get to meet in the chapel with Luke wearing second hand ‘fancy’ clothing. In one night, your life changed.

It changed further seeing the two lines on the test later that night. The heartache growing. The baby you carried would never meet his uncles and his Dad. Would never hear them play or learn to play. ’95 and ’96 sucked ass.

You sighed, closing the door to follow the rambunctious ball of energy into the living room where he entertained Mitch and Emily. Some days it was difficult to stare into the green eyes he inherited from his father.

“Benjamin Lucas.” You spoke crossing your arms, meeting the gaze of the eight-year-old boy, “What did I say?”

“To not runoff.” Ben quietly replied, playing with his hands. His messy brown hair, in need of a trim, falling into his eyes, “Sorry Mom.”

“Please don’t do it again.” You gently told the little boy elated as he quickly found the toy box in the corner of the room.

Ben was loved deeply by Mitch and Emily, who had stepped up when your parents made the decision to sell your childhood home. Wanting Ben to know his paternal grandparents, you had struggled to find an apartment and job to say in the neighbourhood. Since the baby was the last part of their son, the Patterson parents’ had welcomed you into the home where you stayed until Ben was two.

“Do you want us to come around for Luke’s birthday?” You questioned sitting on the love seat, the same love seat you had made out on with Luke many times during movies.

The room turned sad at the question and reminded that for the ninth year, you would celebrate Luke’s birthday without him. A day where Ben wouldn’t fully understand. Emily simply nodded her head.

 “Have you met anyone?” Mitch asked, leaning over to clasp his hands together. For the last few years, they had been pushing you to date. They wanted your happiness and for Ben to have a father even if Luke couldn’t be it.

“Mama can we stay here tonight?” Ben’s innocent voice cut the tension, saving you from answering the question again. Mitch and Emily each nodded their heads at the question, unable to tell the young boy no.

“Have you ate?” Emily asked, turning to look at you in concern. The chuckle left your mouth at the question she frequently requested, she missed cooking for more than two.

“We had pasta before we came.” You replied, turning to gaze out the window to the dark sky, “I should put Ben to bed.”

The soft whine from your son and denial was a nightly routine and very much a mirror image to Luke’s character as well. With a smile, Emily held out her hand to her grandchild, she was notoriously the only one able to get Ben to sleep fast.

 “Come on Bug.”

It seemed the universe was keeping Luke from seeing you and discovering Ben, but when that night came, he was shocked. Emily was curled up on the patio couch, watching Ben in the newly bought sandbox. The patio doors opened. Inside, Mitch had invited a stranger who knew his son into the house.

 “I think I heard the doorbell. I’ll be right back.” Emily called out to you. You had found shade under the tree reading a new book.

The soft cry had you up and running to Ben before you even realized, on his knee was a bleeding wound. You had already scooped the boy into your arms to quickly get into the kitchen. The moment your foot stepped into the home, the sound of a familiar voice and song filled the house.

Gently placing Ben on his feet, you followed the sound to the living room. Across the room behind a young girl stood a boy.

“Luke.” You breathed floored at the sight of the teenager who looked exactly like he did back in ’95. The ghost singing widened his eyes at yours, taking in the mature features and change of fashion.

He continued to sing the song Unsaid Emily he had written as an apology to his mom following the last big fight. The song he never got to show her. His voice faded as the ending of the song came around.

“Mama!” Your attention broke from Luke’s when a tiny hand reached for yours. The pain in his voice bringing you back to the most important part of your life, “It hurts Mama.”

Despite being sad, Mitch was the one to cross the room to lift the little boy into his arms. Placing the little boy on the counter, the man gently wet a paper towel to wash the area.

“I think he needs stitches.” Mitch sighed, furrowing his brows.

“Who is that?” Luke asked the Molina girl. The girl shrugged taking in the features she could recognize. Julie asked Emily.

“That’s Ben.” Emily beamed, looking over her shoulder at the little boy that filled the void of Luke’s death. It didn’t fix the wound or erase the pain, but Ben’s existence helped with the loss as he was a precious gift, “When Luke passed away his girlfriend Y/N found out she was pregnant with Luke’s baby.”

The choked sob fell from Luke’s mouth echoed by the thud of his knees, hitting the floor in the pure shock. The heartbreak painted so clear Julie was sure she could feel Luke’s agony.

God, why did Luke have to eat that fucking street dog. Fuck his band dreams. Nothing hurt as bad as finding out about Ben and Y/N having to be a single parent.

“I have a son?” Luke cried, orbing himself as far as he could from the Patterson home and his most tremendous loss.

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[annoyed-galaxy]

Fable 2 Aftermath

Aka I couldn’t find a title for this so this is just what I’m gonna call it.

This takes place one year after Sparrow has defeated Lucien. It’s a small scene and is what will start my Sparrow and Reaver’s little romance that will go on to Fable 3. I will add as a warning: there is an attempted suicide in this. Just in case that would trigger someone, I’m adding that here.

I hope you will enjoy this little story and let me know what you think. I’m pretty sure there’s going to be a second part to this or just more in general as I figure out what the hell my characters are going to be.

Enjoy!

   She had done it. She accomplished her mission. She exacted her revenge against Lucien.

   And yet...she still felt empty inside.

  It had been a year since she killed Lucien and made her wish in the Spire. Not much happened in that year. She got a statue erected in her honor and she bought a lot of houses and stores and made the rent and prices affordable for the less fortunate people. People saw her as a selfless saint. She had the chance to bring back her sister and even her beloved dog, but instead chose to bring back thousands upon thousands of random strangers. The people of Albion praised her. When she walked the streets, people would cheer and weep at her mere presence.

   But she still felt empty. She was alone. All three of the Heroes had left and Theresa had basically kicked her out of the seer’s life completely. She had begun regretting her choice. But anytime those thoughts came up, she would get herself so drunk she could barely stand or find some random person to warm her bed and take her mind off things. She was almost reverting back to her young adult self, the selfish woman who came from Bower Lake with only one goal in mind.

   Now she was just a hollow shell of her former self. She had no regard for her life anymore. After all, she had sacrificed her youth and beauty for one bastard.

  For some reason that thought had kept coming to her over and over. Why did she do that? Why did she sacrifice her own youth and beauty instead of forcing it onto that random girl in the Shadow Court? Why did she choose to bring back strangers rather than her beloved sister and puppy?

   Thinking about these things didn’t help.

   Sparrow looked at the bottle in her hand. It was already empty. She sighed and threw it to her left, then proceeded to take another bottle from the crate on her right. There were four bottles left, with three missing. She had bought the crate from one of the vendors in Bloodstone and had taken the thing down to the beach where she sat in the sand and stared out into the ocean, drinking her life away. She could see the Spire from where she sat. It didn’t help with the memories floating in her head. Anytime a memory tried to come up, she would take a swig from the bottle and wash it away.

   Was this healthy?

   Of course not.

   Did Sparrow care?

   Hell no.

   It had been a year and Sparrow was trying to find some purpose in her life. She did what she could to help out around communities such as Old Town and Oakfield, but they never satisfied her. Nowadays, nothing really did. She missed her dog. She missed playing fetch with him and cuddling with him. She almost missed him more than she missed her sister. It was a pain to admit that, but Sparrow was young when she lost her sister. The only reason her vengeance grew so much was because of Theresa’s careful taming.

   And when the end came, Theresa tossed Sparrow to the side, not a care in the world. Not a single goodbye or anything. At least the Heroes had said goodbye, which was a surprise because Sparrow had not expected Reaver to say goodbye at all. But if that smarmy bastard had some decency to say a farewell, how come Theresa, Sparrow’s mentor, didn’t?

   The thought made Sparrow clench her teeth and want to throw something at the Spire. The closest thing to her was a seashell. Poor thing soared through the sky as Sparrow threw it as hard as she could. It traveled pretty far before Sparrow saw its splash. Sparrow clicked her tongue and took another drink.

   The sun was already going down, but Sparrow had no care. The moon could have made its lap across the sky and the sun come back and she wouldn’t have noticed. She barely noticed time anymore. It was irrelevant to her. She was going to die young, she knew it. What purpose in life did she have now?

   A dangerous glance dragged her attention to the new pistol she carried on her side. She had put her crossbow up in a place of honor and picked up a pistol. The age of crossbows was coming to an end and it was becoming more troublesome to carry around. The pistol was light and did more damage than her beloved crossbow. But it was also easier to use for darker needs.

   Sparrow took the pistol out of its holster and examined it. It was a beautiful thing. Black and gold like her crossbow; she would have had it no other way. It was one of those fancy clockwork pistols that only the Spire guards had used. Five bullets in one little clip. However, her pistol only had one bullet right now.

   Sparrow didn’t know when it struck her, but she no longer felt a reason to live. She did meaningless tasks everyday. Saving a bunch of slaves, killing hobbes and balverines, chopping wood, making swords; none of it meant anything to her anymore. She tried contributing to communities by teaching young boys and girls how to fight and protect themselves for when there were no more Heroes in Albion. Some people giggled at the notion, thinking it was unnecessary. But it entertained the children so they let the great Hero do it.

   Yet even that never helped close the gaping hole in Sparrow’s chest. In fact, it made her even more depressed; seeing all the children laughing and happy. She even saw siblings playing like she and Rose used to. Only these children never had to suffer through the things Sparrow and Rose did. Their families didn’t know poverty or struggle, and that was thanks to Sparrow. They never knew heartbreak or hardship. They all thought of Sparrow as the greatest Hero of all time, but she never saw that herself. After the ten years she spent in that awful Spire, wasting away and hurting other people, she would have given everything just to make others not suffer.

   She didn’t realize how much she would make herself suffer through.

   Another swig from the bottle brought Sparrow to the present, to the pistol resting in her hand. Maybe Albion would mourn her death, but then again, they were okay. People were happy. People did not suffer. And they wouldn’t for a long time. No matter Theresa’s intentions, surely they couldn’t be evil right? Would she really kill everyone in Albion with the Spire?

   Sparrow honestly didn’t care now. She wouldn’t live to see what would happen.

   The Hero took a deep breath and brought the pistol to the side of her head. There was no point in living now. She could join her sister and dog in the afterlife. She would see her lost parents again. Maybe she could be happy. It had been so long since she smiled. So long since she felt something good.

   Tears started to roll down her cheeks. She just wanted to be happy. She could make other people happy, but why couldn’t she make herself happy? She wanted to give herself to other people just so they could be happy but why did she torment herself? Why did she do these things to herself? She had no value left in her. She had already given her flesh away multiple times. Gave her blade even more times. She would jump in front of incoming fire just to save some merchants without a single regard to her life. She had no longer valued her life.

   She honestly couldn’t remember when that started. If that was before or after the Spire. Maybe it was right after she left Bower Lake. Sure she wouldn’t have gone out of her way to save someone, but she didn’t love her body enough to cherish it. Gave it away freely to distract herself from bad memories. She thought after her time in the Spire, she would have changed. But...she didn’t. Not really. The only thing that changed was that she cared more about people. She had never loved herself. She had never placed any value into her life. She always thought that Rose should have been the one to survive. To become a great Hero. Not Sparrow.

   She had no meaning anymore. She was always Theresa’s pawn. She was a means to an end. Killing Lucien did nothing to quell that vengeance. Hell, after a while, she wondered if that was ever what she truly wanted. At first, maybe, but in the end, she just needed to kill a madman. Everything she had ever done led up to this moment.

   Sitting on a beach, drunk on cheap alcohol, with a gun to her head. Sparrow looked out into the horizon, watching as the sun cast a fiery blaze across the ocean and behind the Spire. It was a beautiful image. And it would be the last one she ever saw.

   “Are you really going to do that?”

   A voice pulled Sparrow out of her thoughts, her eyes away from the horizon.

   A lone figure was swaggering into her view. She couldn’t quite tell who it was, the setting sun was already casting shadows on the beach. “Who are you?” she called out, her voice raspy and hoarse from lack of use and excessive amount of alcohol consumption.

   Her hand lowered the gun from her head and rested in her lap. Whoever it was, they stopped her from ending it all.

   Sparrow finally could make out the swaggering walk, the lush hair that stuck out well too-groomed for one’s own sake, that sassy hand on hip, the cape flowing behind. Now she wished she had pulled the trigger as Reaver fully came into view. He stood a couple feet away and had that little shit-eating smirk on his face that made Sparrow want to grab his hair and slam him into the ground.

   She snorted and took a swig from her bottle, no longer interested in the Hero of Skill’s sudden arrival.

   “Well that’s just rude!” Reaver feigned offense, putting a hand to his forehead. “Is this how you greet an old friend?”

   “We’re not friends,” Sparrow let out, glaring at the horizon. She refused to meet the pirate’s eyes. “You would sooner stab me in the back than call me a friend.”

   Reaver clicked his tongue. “Well that’s a rude assumption.”

   Sparrow glared at him, really considering summoning a blade and piercing it through his pretty little immortal throat. Reaver chuckled at the look Sparrow gave him, before moving closer and sitting by her side. “Mind if I take one?” Reaver asked already reaching for one of the bottles in her crate.

   “Do you like that hand?” she asked without looking at him. A spectral blade formed above his hand and hovered dangerously close.

   Reaver couldn’t help but laugh as he pulled his hand away. “My, aren’t you a grump. I mean I imagined something was wrong when you were about to put a bullet through your head. Tell me, were you really going to go through with that?”

   Sparrow didn’t know why this little bastard cared if she did shoot herself or not. If he hadn’t said anything, she’d probably be a corpse right now. “Why the hell do you care?” she growled. She never looked in his direction, but rather kept her attention focused on the horizon.

   “Well I’m just curious. Aren’t you a celebrated Hero? Albion absolutely adores you! You saved thousands of lives. I imagine you’d be showered with all sorts of gifts. Maybe be swooned to some alluring man or woman and have several children by now.” Reaver cocked his head to the side. “So how come such a loved person would dare put a gun to her head?”

   Sparrow scoffed. “Like you would fucking care. What does it matter to you? Would you weep if you had found a cold body here rather than a drunken husk?”

   “Someone’s frisky.”

   Sparrow flung her fist out, ready to make contact with the smarmy bastard only for the little shit to casually dodge. Sparrow pulled back and bore daggers into whatever pathetic soul Reaver harbored. His smirk grew wider as he looked this woman up and down. Her hair was a mess, her eyes red from tears and bloodshot with an overwhelming amount of alcohol. Her Will lines even seemed dimmer than they were when he first saw her.

   “You really have let yourself go. It’s only been a year,” Reaver commented.

   Sparrow wanted to pummel that pretty face into a pulp, but knew he would just dodge her drunken attacks. She turned back forward and chugged the rest of her bottle. She threw it to the side, but didn’t reach for another. “It’s only been a year and you’re already back from Samarkand,” Sparrow replied after some silence. “What happened there? Crawled into the wrong bed and get in trouble?”

   Reaver smiled at her teasing tone. He really did like a person with a quippy tongue. “Oh no, I didn’t crawl into any wrong beds. Actually they were all the right ones. The people over there are a little more exotic than our humble Albion citizens.”

   Sparrow snorted. “Wow. Did you spend your entire time there sleazing about?”

   “Actually no. My visit was cut short by a certain Will user.” Reaver waved his hand around. “He was a little upset that I tried to kill him and nearly turned me into a crisp.”

   Sparrow glanced at Reaver. “You tried to kill Garth, failed and barely escaped?”

   Reaver nodded.

   “Shame. Would’ve been nice to see a burnt ass pirate.”

   “Oh come now, where would the fun be in that!” Reaver threw his arms in the air. “I’m too handsome to die.”

   “Haven’t you lived for a couple hundred centuries? I’m pretty sure your time is coming to an end.”

   “Well, maybe, but I somehow always manage to find a way unscathed.”

   Sparrow rolled her eyes. “How unfortunate for society.” She finally reached for one of the bottles and popped the cork. There was no hesitation as she ingested the foul liquid. She had already drank three of these bottles. Her taste buds had gone numb to the horrid taste.

   Reaver and Sparrow sat in silence for a while. Long enough for the moon to rise behind them casting their shadows on the sand. Sparrow’s mind drifted away, back into deep thoughts. The pistol was still in her lap and she wondered if she would actually go through with her original impulse. Or did Reaver ironically save her? Was there a reason for this? No, she shook her head. Just random chance. Then again, Reaver could have watched as she pulled the trigger. Unless maybe he wanted a go at her himself.

   “Tell me something, shithead, why’d you stop me?” Sparrow finally asked, breaking the silence.

   “Hm?” Reaver responded, tilting his head.

   “You could have watched me blow my brains out, but you didn’t. You said something and stopped me.” She turned to him. “Why?”

   Reaver shrugged. “I didn’t think you were actually going to do it, whether I had said something or not. I was simply surprised someone like you would even think about that.”

   “What do you mean someone like me?”

   “Tch, you have everything you could have ever wanted in the world! People shower you with love and praise and would throw themselves before you begging to take your hand in marriage. And you have the gall to go and off yourself?!” Reaver let out a condescending laugh. “Truly pathetic.”

   Sparrow snarled and threw her bottle to the side, the alcohol spilling and staining the sand. Reaver didn’t have enough time to react before Sparrow was on top of him, her hands around his throat. “Of course a bastard like you would say that!” She squeezed harder and Reaver grabbed her arms, trying to push her off of him. “Of course you would think my life is so grand! You’ve probably never even given a shit about anyone but yourself! Actually I know that’s true because you tricked me into giving away my life, just so you can stay young!” Sparrow snarled harder and could feel Reaver’s throat slowly collapsing in her hands. “Well I’m going to take your fucking immorality you little shit!”

   Sparrow squeezed harder and harder, but did not expect the breath to be knocked out of her by a knee in her back. The blow caused her to loosen her grip and gave Reaver enough time to roll around and pin her to sandy ground. He pinned her arms above her head and dug his knees into her sides. It took him a few moments to catch his breath and all the while, Sparrow struggled. But in her drunken state and current position, she was too weak to force Reaver off of her.

   “I must say, that is the closest...anyone has gotten to killing me,” Reaver chuckled, still trying to collect stolen breath. “And that is the closest anyone has personally gotten to me to kill me. Most attempts on my life are far away.” He smiled down at Sparrow who was still snarling. She looked like a savage dog, ready to rip his heart out if he were to let go of her. “I love that fire in your eyes. It does things,” Reaver purred leaning in closer.

   “This fire will manifest if you’re not careful, shitstain,” Sparrow growled.

   “Oh ho ho, you have such a foul mouth. I like that.”

   Sparrow tried to push herself off the ground, but Reaver had her arms in such a weird position that she couldn’t move. It didn’t help that he had squeezed his legs against hers, preventing her from kicking at him like he did with her. Maybe if she could flick her hand properly, she could get a spectral blade to pierce through his skull. She figured it was worth a shot and began moving her hands.

   Reaver clicked his tongue and shook his head. His hands moved to her own and he locked their fingers together. “I’ve always considered Will users cheaters. There’s no fairness in magic.” Sparrow growled and tried to throw Reaver off balance somehow. Nothing worked. The pirate had her pinned completely. She was too weak and drunk to actually do anything.

   She relaxed and let her head rest in the sand. “Just fucking end me already. I’m tired of these bloody games Reaver.”

   Reaver raised an eyebrow. “End you? What, do you think I would kill you?”

   “Really?” Sparrow asked sarcastically. “You literally tried to kill Garth, had originally tried to betray me to Lucien, and even said you would try to kill me. So yes. I think you would kill me. And honestly at this point, if you did, I’d probably kiss you.”

   Reaver smiled at that last part. “Is that what would it take to get a kiss from you? Simply end your life?”

   Sparrow rolled her eyes. “Yeah have fun kissing a corpse you bastard.”

   Reaver leaned in closer, dangerously close. “What if I got that kiss before I ended your life.”

   Sparrow frowned. “I wasn’t being serious.”

   “Oh but I was.” Reaver smiled again.

   Red spread across Sparrow’s cheeks. She had many men and women flirt with her, but they usually fell on deaf ears and had never affected her. Even when she did take them to bed. Most of the time, those lovestruck idiots were simply a distraction to her. A way to ease her mind of things.

   But the way Reaver flirted with her was different. She didn’t know what it was, but the redness on her cheeks clearly showed something was amiss.

   And she hated it.

   She hated that this scumbag piece of shit was making her blush.

   He was close enough that Sparrow could headbutt him. Reaver cried out, but didn’t let go of Sparrow’s hands. He simply fell back, pulling Sparrow up with him. She saw this as her chance to break free, but before she could react, Reaver had quickly recovered and had her arms twisting behind her back. They were even closer now and it made Sparrow’s skin crawl.

   “You’ll have to do better than that darling,” Reaver smirked. “With the amount of times I’ve been headbutted, I’m surprised there isn’t a permanent dent on my beautiful face.”

   “I’m going to rip your pretty face to shreds if you don’t let me go,” Sparrow hissed.

   “Now how would you do that with your hands behind you back and legs in no position to overthrow me. You’re completely drunk, I’m still astonished you can speak full words. You have no advantage here. How exactly are you going to beat me?” Reaver asked, his words filled with challenge.

   He was right. With her hands awkwardly bent behind her back and Reaver sitting on her lap, his legs keeping hers from moving, there really wasn’t anything she could do. She couldn’t even try another headbutt without risking pulling an arm out of socket. And there was the fact that she was drunk. She could feel the buzz coming over her body fully now, because of the movements she had made. Her head was dizzy.

   It was weird, the thoughts now coming to her mind. How was she here, trapped in the arms of the man who basically stopped her from taking her life? Now all she wanted was to sleep. No dark thoughts tried to pry themselves into her mind. No feeling of loss or self-hatred. She was just tired.

   Sparrow sighed and let her head rest on Reaver’s shoulder. “I submit. I’m too tired to fight back. Just do whatever. I don’t care at this point.” She closed her eyes and relaxed. She wasn’t going to fight him. Even if he let her go and left her on the beach, she’d just curl up in a ball and sleep, the sound of the ocean being her only comfort.

   She could feel sleep starting to take her as Reaver let her arms go. Her shoulders stung as her arms fell to her sides, but she didn’t care. She was too tired to care. She barely reacted to Reaver picking her up bridal style and taking her somewhere. The last thing she saw was the Spire in the distance over Reaver’s shoulder before the dark embrace of sleep finally took over.

[sachigram]

Infinity, With Coffee Rings Chapter 5

((click here to read on ao3!!))

Craig frowns down at his phone, thinking to himself it's very unlike Tweek to not respond for so long, especially when Tweek was mentioning before how slow things are at the shop. Craig is certain Tweek is just depressed about his parents, thinking he did something wrong by having fun for once, and Craig hates it, hates that Tweek feels guilty for trying to be...normal.

Craig really fucking dislikes Tweek's parents.

“Still nothing?” Token asks. They're hanging out at Clyde's place until it's time to go pick up Tweek from the coffee shop.

“No,” Craig says, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“Maybe he got busy,” Clyde says. He's lounging on the couch, his head in Bebe's lap, and his feet in Token's. Craig is sitting in the armchair by the window.

“I don't think so. I think he's probably spiraling or something,” Craig says. He continues when the others just look at him. “His parents treat him like a child. It's just annoying, and he actually believes the shit they say.”

“Well,” Bebe says softly, “Tweek has always had...a lot of issues. It's possible his parents just think they're doing the right thing.”

“Yeah, but like— At what point does it stop being sheltering and more along the lines of abuse?” Craig asks. “They're telling him stuff like he'll never have another job and can't just hang out with his friends like other people do. They didn't even want him to have a guinea pig because they've told him repeatedly he'd kill it.”

“That does seem extreme,” Token says.

“Right? I mean, I'm not saying I understand all the shit Tweek's been through, especially since he won't tell me, but that's just messed up. Parents aren't supposed to tell you all the stuff you can't do.”

Clyde hums and reaches up, poking Bebe in the cheek. She looks down at him, amused.

“Yes, dear?” she asks.

“Craig has a crush,” Clyde says gleefully. “I'm thriving.”

“Shut up,” Craig says.

“I think it's cute,” Bebe says, smiling over at Craig. “You've always had a soft spot for Tweek, and it sounds like Tweek needs someone to have a soft spot for him. Maybe no one else looks out for him.”

“Tweek always was by himself a lot. And the times we went to his house as kids, his parents would try to reinforce that Tweek wasn't normal. Remember? They'd always pull us off to the side and tell us he had ADHD and anxiety and all kinds of stuff. We were eight years old. There was no reason to tell us that,” Token says, and Craig nods.

“Exactly. It's just got me feeling pissed off.”

“We'll spend the night cheering up your boy, Craig, you can rest your pretty head,” Clyde says, and Craig snorts before he can help it. “Imagine what Tweek will be like high. I can't fucking wait.”

“Are you sure it's a good idea to let him smoke?” Bebe asks, and she looks apologetic when Craig gives her a look. “I'm not saying it to treat him like a baby! It's just, what if it makes his anxiety worse? It makes mine worse.”

“I don't think Tweek could get much worse,” Clyde assures her. “We'll give him tiny puffs and let him build up to it. He doesn't have to go in doing bong rips right off the bat.”

“We don't have a bong,” Bebe says.

“You know what I mean!”

“I think it'll be fine,” Token says. “If he freaks out, we'll just calm him down the way we calmed Clyde down that one time.”

“I had edibles,” Clyde says. “Edibles are way different.”

“Oh, god,” Bebe says, laughing. “He hid in the bathtub and started crying about how his parents were coming to kill him for doing drugs.”

“It was plausible!” Clyde defends.

“And we sang to him. Somehow it worked.” Craig laughs at the memory. They were all stoned as shit, trying to think of calming tunes. They ended up singing Lady Gaga, and by the end of it, Clyde was blubbering along to the lyrics of “Summer Boy”.

Craig's phone vibrates, and he hurriedly checks it, ignoring the looks from his friends.

“Is it your boyfriend?” Clyde asks, and Craig reaches behind himself, grabs the pillow, throws it at Clyde. It hits him in the face.

Tweek sent a picture of latte art. It looks like a cute animal's face in the foam, and the caption says, I drew Espresso in the espresso.

Nice. Craig sends. He waits a moment, decides, fuck it, and sends, You okay?

Yeah, closing up soon if you wanna go ahead and drop by.

Craig stands. “I'm gonna go get Tweek.”

“Give him a kiss from all of us,” Clyde says.

“I'll use the technique your mom taught me,” Craig retorts, and Token and Bebe laugh while Clyde scowls.

***

Tweek is busy sweeping the floor when Craig arrives. He grins up at Craig, looking as excited as he does every time he sees Craig, and Craig finds it endearing as hell, if not a little confusing that someone could be so happy to see him of all people. At the same time, he always feels a sense of calm when he sees Tweek. Part of him still expects Tweek to vanish when they aren't together, like all of this is some fever dream on his part. He thinks he'd be even more devastated than the last time. Tweek is part of his routine now, and if he was gone, Craig would miss him like a lost limb.

“Hey, Tweeks-McGeeks,” Craig says, stepping over to him.

“Gross. Never call me that again,” Tweek says, shoving him. “And back up before you step in my dirt pile!”

“Ugh, I just got here, and you're bossing me around. What am I, your errand boy?” Craig asks woefully, flopping in a chair. Tweek smirks.

“Maybe.”

“I'm so mistreated. One day, I'll leave South Park forever, and then you'll all be sorry,” Craig says, feeling accomplished when Tweek snorts. “Do you need help with anything?”

“Nah, just gotta finish this up and then mop. It won't take long.”

“It'd take less time if you let me mop,” Craig says.

“No way! Just hang out there and I'll be done in like, five minutes, tops!”

“Eaughhhh...” Craig sinks into the chair, stretching his legs out in front of him and making it a point to look as uncomfortable as possible. He's halfway into the floor when Tweek sets a muffin down in front of him.

“Here, eat that, and shut up,” Tweek says. Craig sits up and breaks off a piece of the muffin.

“Don't all the baked goods here kind of...suck?” he asks. Tweek watches him pop the piece in his mouth, and then Tweek's expression is extremely pleased when Craig ogles the muffin in surprise and takes a proper bite.

“The food only sucks when my dad makes it,” Tweek says smugly. “I got bored and made a few extra muffins a while ago. I figured I'd take them to Clyde, smuggle them somehow so Bebe won't know.”

“Fuck,” Craig says. “Clyde's gonna love you more than me.” He eats the muffin and watches Tweek, carefully avoiding dropping any crumbs onto the floor or the table. “So your parents left already?”

“Yeah. They don't close very often. Mom never works at all, actually, but she was here today for some reason.” Tweek dumps out the dustpan into the trash and goes behind the counter, into a small closet. He emerges with a mop and mop bucket. “Dad's on more pills than me, if you can believe it, so he's not one to stay up late.”

“It's like, ten,” Craig says, and Tweek shrugs before pushing the bucket towards a sink.

“Late for him. And I don't sleep much anyway.” Tweek begins the process of filling up a sanitizer bucket with water and then dumping it into the mop bucket. He sees Craig watching and grins sheepishly. “The mop sink is so slow. I promise this is the faster way.”

“I wasn't judging,” Craig says. “So, your mom was here, and they both just jumped you when you came back?”

“Not like— Not jumped,” Tweek mutters. He twitches a bit, and his free hand starts tapping at his thigh while he drops some soap into the bucket. “They just say stuff, and then I feel bad, and then I wonder why the fuck I feel bad. It's so grade-school, and I hate that it bothers me.”

“What'd they say? Just that it was busy?” Craig asks, and Tweek glances at him dubiously. “Look, man, I'm practically a licensed family counselor. In case you forgot, my family cusses each other out daily. I can help you see all the underlying aggression in the passiveness for sure.”

Tweek sighs and wheels the bucket around as he starts mopping. “Just, you know, that it was super busy, and I wasn't here, so...” He grumbles. “But I checked the sales and it wasn't busy at all. I've sold like three drinks since I got here. And my mom never works anymore, so I feel like it was a huge thing they planned just to make me feel bad about going out.”

“Do they do that a lot?” Craig asks. “Guilt trip you, I mean.”

“I never go out!” Tweek practically yelps, and Craig lifts his feet when Tweek passes by with the mop. “The only times I do anything except work and therapy are when you're here! But even that's this huge thing with them. God forbid I have any fucking—ngh—“ Tweek stops, puts his fingers to the bridge of his nose and squeezes as he takes a deep breath. “I'm just reading too much into it.”

“You're allowed to be upset. It sounds like they expect a lot from you.” Craig doesn't like seeing Tweek get so worked up, especially when he's clearly embarrassed that his twitching is showing more. The twitching has never bothered Craig, but Tweek acts like it's a landmine, something to be avoided at all costs.

“They don't, really,” Tweek mutters, continuing to mop. “Not the things normal parents expect, at least, cause I'm not a normal person. They just want me around all the time, and I don't mind it so much, but. I haven't seen any of you in so long. I don't see how it could hurt anything, me having friends sometimes.”

“Normal jobs give you off days,” Craig says. “It's kind of a requirement.”

“Yeah, I know, but this is a family business, and there's only three of us.”

“You work every day, every shift, from what I've seen.” Craig wads up the muffin wrapper.

“It was just the two of them for a long time,” Tweek says, and then he pushes the mop bucket back into the room behind the counter. Craig sighs, wondering how long the Tweaks are going to use that as a reason to justify Tweek working all the time. Sure, they've earned a vacation, but it's been more than long enough.

Tweek emerges with his coat on, and he puts a scarf around his neck. “Do you mind stopping by my place?” he asks. “I just don't know how long we're gonna be out, and I usually feed Espresso after work, so—“

“Tweek, relax,” Craig says, standing. He grins and ruffles Tweek's hair, pleased that Tweek has worked out such a strict schedule for his pet. “South Park is tiny as fuck. Everything is on the way to everywhere. I don't mind stopping.”

Tweek visibly deflates and nods, though he still looks a little high-strung. Well. More high-strung than usual. Tweek turns the lights off and locks the door behind them, and then they're on their way.

***

The lights are off at Tweek's house. It's quiet inside, and Tweek clearly wasn't joking about his parents going to bed early. They walk up the stairs, Tweek using his phone as a flashlight, and when they're inside Tweek's room, he turns the light on.

“This'll just take a second!” Tweek says, moving to the cage in the corner. He frees Espresso before nuzzling the little ball of fuzz and handing him to Craig. “Can you play with him while I get his food ready?”

“Sure thing,” Craig says, using his finger to pet Espresso. It's no secret to anyone that knows him that guinea pigs are his weakness. Tweek is becoming an equal weakness, but Craig hasn't quite worked out why just yet.

“Oh, wow,” Tweek says after a few moments, and Craig looks up at him. “He really likes you. He likes you more than me! Okay, not allowed, give him back.”

“No way. It's not my fault your son wants to elope with me,” Craig says, flopping onto Tweek's bed. “You'll learn to love again.”

Tweek sits beside Craig on the bed, reaching to pet Espresso, his fingers bumping into Craig's. It's quiet for a little bit, and then Tweek speaks again.

“Sorry for unloading all that garbage on you. I know it's dumb, but. Thanks for listening.”

“You listened to me,” Craig reminds him, and Tweek sighs.

“Yeah, but you have real, grown-up problems. We're close to thirty, dude. I shouldn't care so much about what my parents think.”

“I think parental shit is kind of ageless. Also, you're worried about work, and that's totally a grown-up concern.”

Tweek snorts softly. “You're so nice to me. You've always been nice, even if everyone else said you were a dick. Well, I guess you're a dick too, but not in a bad way.”

“Never forget our fist fight, Tweek. I can beat you up again if it makes you feel like more a man,” Craig says, and Tweek laughs.

“Whatever! There was no winner! Besides, we were eight. I think all the kids fought each other back then. There wasn't much else to do.” Tweek gently takes Espresso and stands, moving to the cage and putting Espresso by his food bowl. He closes the cage and turns back to Craig. “Ready?” he asks.

***

Everyone is still lounging exactly where Craig left them when they return back to Clyde's. They look up from the TV and greet Tweek, who fidgets and waves, his side pressed to Craig's.

“Jesus. Could you guys get any lazier?” Craig asks.

“I moved a bit,” Clyde says. “I had to pee at one point.”

“I ordered pizza,” Token says. “I got you a veggie pizza, Tweek. And cheese bread, too.”

“I got wings, because real men eat meat,” Clyde adds.

“It's sweet that you ordered wings just for Craig and Token,” Tweek says, shrugging his jacket off, and Craig laughs so hard he almost falls over.

“Hey, fuck off, no weed for Tweek!” Clyde says, sitting up. He holds up a poorly wrapped joint and waves it in the air. “We gotta smoke first, cause then the food will be better.”

“Don't you love how Clyde still treats it like this big illegal thing when we literally went to a store today and bought it with a debit card?” Token asks fondly, and Clyde huffs at him.

“No weed for Token either! More for me and my real friends.”

“I'm not smoking,” Bebe says. “It just makes me super hungry, and I eat enough as it is.”

“Wow, okay, you and me, Craig. Oh, wait. You'll just shotgun it to your little friend, won't you?” Clyde asks deviously, and Craig glares at him.

“New plan, why don't we beat Clyde up and smoke without him?” Craig asks at the same time Tweek says, “What's shotgun mean?”

“Hurry up and pass it, man, I'm starving,” Token says, and Bebe gets up to bring all the boxes of food into the living room.

“Okay, so, Tweek,” Clyde says after he exhales and passes the joint to Token, “what you do is inhale and hold it in your lungs for as long as you can. That's how you get high.”

“I've never smoked anything in my life,” Tweek says nervously. “If any of you laugh at me, I'm just— I'm gonna throw punches.”

“That's acceptable,” Craig says, taking the joint from Token. “Jesus, Clyde, did you roll this? It looks obese. There's too much in the middle.”

“Fuck off, it's been a long time!” Clyde snaps. He takes a piece of pizza from Bebe, and Craig suddenly remembers the little case of muffins in his car. He'll have to smuggle them in for Clyde later. He holds the lighter to the end of the joint and inhales, aware Tweek is watching with rapt attention. Craig coughs when he exhales, tears in his eyes.

“I got— I got the fucking fat part, because Clyde sucks—“ Craig gripes between coughs. Everyone else laughs at him.

“If you're coughing, I'm gonna die,” Tweek says, very seriously.

“No one's ever died from weed, Tweek. You'll be fine,” Bebe says sweetly. Tweek looks at her anxiously, and then at Craig when Craig passes him the joint.

“Here, I'll light it for you. Just focus on inhaling.” Craig lets Tweek's trembling fingers wrap around the joint, and then Craig carefully holds the lighter up while Tweek inhales timidly. “Okay,” Craig says when Tweek pulls back, “now just hold it as long as you can.”

Clyde fishes in one of the other boxes and passes out a slice of veggie pizza to Craig, who holds it for Tweek. Tweek looks very focused on holding in his smoke, and he passes the joint back to Clyde before he exhales with a sharp cough.

“Hey, you did better than I thought you would,” Clyde says, taking the joint back.

Craig puts his hand on Tweek's back and rubs until Tweek sits up straight, his coughs ceasing gradually.

“That burns,” Tweek hisses. He takes the pizza from Craig.

“Yeah, but it's worth it. Just wait a while,” Craig says, stealing a meat-lover's slice from Clyde, who swats him.

They take turns passing the joint, and Craig takes over when Clyde begins rolling another one.

“You've lost privileges,” Craig says. He looks over at Tweek, who is nibbling pizza crust. “You might wanna wait before you get another slice. Eating makes the high go away. You wanna wait until you're toasted, and then the food will be great.”

“Okay,” Tweek says easily, still nibbling. “I want soda.”

“Oh, hang on!” Bebe says, getting up. “I bought Sprite.”

“I wanted Dr. Pepper,” Clyde mumbles, and she kisses his head.

“Too much sugar. You're lucky you didn't get La Croix.”

“I like La Croix!” Tweek says, and Clyde points at him.

“That's it. That's the last straw,” Clyde says, and Tweek pouts.

“Look, I get it, it's not sweet, and it kind of tastes like death, but it's bubbly!” Tweek argues, and then he flops into Craig's side. “What do you think?”

“Sorry, I can't defend La Croix,” Craig says, and Tweek grumbles before climbing over him, to Token's side.

“What about you?” Tweek asks, and Token laughs.

“I don't hate it,” Token says, and Tweek wiggles under Token's arm before sticking his tongue out at Craig.

“Someone here has taste!” Tweek says, and Clyde cackles while Craig grins and finishes up with his meticulous joint-rolling.

Bebe returns with cans of Sprite, and they pass around the new joint, which even Tweek says is much easier to smoke. Clyde pouts for all of a minute before he paws at Bebe.

“I want something sweet,” he whines, and she rolls her eyes.

“You have pizza! I asked if you wanted dessert, and you said no!” Bebe says, and Clyde whines more.

“I thought it was a trap! You never let me have sweet stuff!”

“Well. You're getting too thin,” Bebe says, and her eyes are sad. Craig is about to try and make a joke when Tweek jumps to his feet.

“Oh, my god. Oh, my god, okay, Craig, give me your keys,” Tweek says, holding out his hand, and Craig grins before reaching in his pocket and giving Tweek his car keys. Tweek runs out quickly, no coat, and all of them look at the open door.

“Uh?” Clyde points at the door. “The fuck?”

“Tweek got you a present,” Craig says, leaning back and hogging the joint since everyone else is distracted. “I was gonna smuggle it to you later, but apparently Bebe is being generous on the junk food.”

Tweek returns, jumping around for warmth while he closes the door. He holds the container out for Clyde, shivering in place while doing so.

“I m-m-made you...m-muffins!” Tweek says, and Clyde legitimately looks like he might cry.

“You made these for me?” Clyde asks, taking the little container like it's a sacred artifact.

“You like them! You get them—sometimes. Sometimes, you used to get them,” Tweek says, remembering Bebe is in the room. “You'll wanna heat them up first. I made a variety since I didn't know what you liked for sure.”

“That's so sweet, Tweek,” Bebe says, touched. “Do you mind if I try one?”

“Of course not! Dude, I make so many of these things. Seriously, just ask. I'm supposed to throw them away after a couple of days.”

Tweek rounds the couch and sits next to Craig, huddling against him for warmth and handing his keys back.

“Token's over there,” Craig teases.

“You're warmer. No offense, Token,” Tweek says.

“I'm so high,” Token says, leaning back into the couch, and there's a pause before everyone laughs.

“I feel fine!” Tweek says. “I'm just...warm. And happy? And everything is like. Everything is just really good?”

“Tweek is also very high,” Craig says, and he kisses the top of Tweek's head without thinking anything of it. No one says anything, though Clyde looks smug, and Bebe and Token grin. Tweek melts more into Craig's side, unfazed.

“Maybe I am high. That's okay, though,” Tweek says, and then he looks up at Craig. “Are we high enough to eat?”

Craig laughs. He doesn't think he's laughed so much in a long time. “Dude, if you're hungry, eat. You can always smoke more later, if you want.”

Tweek gets another slice of pizza before huddling back against Craig, who doesn't mind the additional warmth. Tweek has always smelled like coffee, and though Craig isn't a huge fan of coffee itself, he admires the scent.

“Tweek, are you cold? I can get you a blanket,” Bebe says, and Tweek shakes his head.

“I'm fine.”

Clyde opens his mouth, and Bebe slaps a hand over it before giving him a threatening look. Craig doesn't mind the jokes, truthfully. He can see why they would say it's a crush. Tweek used to be a part of Craig's everyday, and then suddenly, he wasn't anymore. Part of Craig is scared to get used to Tweek's presence again, but the rest of him knows it's inevitable. They were inseparable before, and it really seems like they might be again, even with years of being apart.

“You guys know what I miss?” Tweek asks, and Craig realizes he was zoning out.

“What?” Token asks. He's melted against Clyde's side, Bebe on Clyde's other side.

“Stark's Pond,” Tweek says, and he grins when everyone gives him an incredulous look. “What? It's weird, okay, the stuff you think of when you're—gone. We had great times there.”

“Where did you go, anyway?” Clyde asks. Craig feels Tweek sigh.

“I'll tell you if you drive me to Stark's Pond,” Tweek says at last.

“It's freezing outside,” Clyde argues. “Are you crazy?”

“Yeah. Certifiably, in case you forgot,” Tweek says, and he shows off his perfect teeth in another smile. “C'mon, when's the last time you guys did anything fun at night?”

“Please don't tell me you want to ice skate,” Token says.

“Nah, I don't have any skates. I just want to see it? Maybe walk around a bit. I haven't gone since I've been back,” Tweek admits, and Craig has to acknowledge how piqued his curiosity is about where Tweek's been. Clyde looks up at Bebe and touches her cheek.

“You're the sober one here,” he says. “What do you think?”

“Tweek made us muffins,” Bebe says. “I can drive fifteen minutes up the road if he wants.”

“Ugh, so I have to move. Okay.” Token sits up and then stands, gives them all a sour expression. “Look at you guys. Who am I supposed to cuddle up with, huh?”

“Me,” Clyde, Tweek, and Craig all say at the same time. Bebe just giggles.

***

The ride to the pond is short. Clyde rides up front with Bebe, and Craig piles with Tweek and Token in the back, Tweek in the middle because he's the smallest. Craig smokes a cigarette out the window, pleased when Tweek curls into him again for warmth. Clyde plays bullshit on the radio, because of course he does. Craig will coerce Bebe to change the playlist on the way back. They pass the joint around again, and Craig is ecstatic by how blasted Tweek is. He doesn't want Tweek to be paranoid or anything else, just wants Tweek to feel included and happy, which Tweek definitely seems to be.

“Here we are!” Clyde announces. “Scenic Stark's Pond. Shitty ass ice hole in the ground. Are you happy, Tweekers?”

“Yes,” Tweek says, sitting up and looking out the window. “Wow, it looks smaller. Did it get smaller?”

“Nope. We got bigger,” Clyde says, and he snatches the joint back to himself.

“Remember the races we used to have?” Token asks, leaning over Tweek to look. “Us versus Stan and them. Tweek was always the fastest, so we put him against Kyle.”

“Kyle runs off of spite and hatred,” Craig says. “Putting him against the most caffeinated person made sense.”

“Kyle is very level-headed, actually,” Bebe says, turning to look at them in the backseat. “We have brunch sometimes.”

“Bebe is showing us all how sober she is,” Clyde adds, giving her a look. “Only sober people could say Kyle is level-headed.”

“He grew up!” Bebe argues. “Besides, sometimes Stan comes, too. We drink mimosas and talk about politics.”

“Sounds like them,” Craig says. “Always involved in shit.”

“I want a mimosa now,” Bebe says woefully, and Clyde pats her head.

“You can drink when we get home! You're off tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, but now I just want to sleep. When did we get old?” Bebe asks, and Clyde laughs.

“I dunno, babe. I ask myself that a lot.” Clyde turns abruptly when the backdoor opens, and they all shout when Tweek climbs over Craig, into the cold night air.

“I just wanna get closer!” Tweek says, sprinting towards the pond. The rest of them curse before following after him.

“What does he expect to see here besides ice and maybe a deranged hobo?” Clyde asks, shuffling behind Craig.

“Maybe this place is a good memory for him,” Token says. “Good memories are hard to come by in a place like South Park.”

“Understatement of the fucking century.” Craig snorts, and when they reach Tweek, he tugs Tweek backwards by his collar.

“Gah!” Tweek yelps, and then he turns, rubbing at his arms, a pout on his face. “It really is just an ice hole in the ground.”

“Duh. What'd you expect?” Clyde grumbles.

“I don't guess I expected anything, really,” Tweek says. He sighs softly. “I still like it here. It's quiet. You guys remember when all the adults in town used to say shit about South Park being a quiet mountain town where they could raise their kids? I always thought that was so stupid. It was never quiet here at all. But Stark's was.” Tweek shivers a bit, and both Craig and Clyde huddle with him, so then Bebe and Token do, too.

“Yeah, it's even crazier out in Denver. Not many quiet places like this in the city, not without a drive,” Token says.

“I can't believe you guys got out,” Clyde mutters. “I don't think I'll ever get out of South Park.”

“Sure we will,” Bebe says. “There's just more important things to worry about right now, but we will.”

“Besides, we didn't get too far,” Craig says. “We come here often enough to still be in the gravitational pull.”

“Yeah, I guess so. And Tweek came back.” Clyde swats Tweek's arm. “So where'd you go, you fucker? You promised to say.”

“The psych ward,” Tweek says, and Clyde snorts.

“Okay, but really,” Clyde says and then there's a pause.

“Oh, Tweek,” Bebe says, moving closer to him. “You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.”

“It's no big deal,” Tweek says. “I wasn't there the whole time, just a week or so. And I guess they call it something different for kids, but it was technically a psych ward in its own way. Some of the others got offended when you called it that, but not calling it that was just pretending. At least to me.” Tweek twitches, and Craig instantly can tell the difference between that and his shivering.

“Fuck, sorry. I didn't mean to be an asshole,” Clyde says.

“That's not why you're an asshole,” Tweek replies, and then he laughs. “You guys were the only ones who never treated me like I was crazy. Like, you picked on me, but if you didn't pick on me, I would've felt even more left out. You still included me in stuff, and that meant a lot to me. But everything else just really sucked.”

Craig thinks back to when they were kids. Tweek never mentioned anything at all. Craig definitely would have listened, even if he wouldn't have understood. He would have tried to, and he would have been there for Tweek, if nothing else.

“I was just really tired, and I was tired of being tired, and then there just weren't even consequences anymore? I just took a bunch of pills all the time, so I didn't see the harm in taking more, and then I had to get my stomach pumped and it was this whole fucking—thing. They kept saying I was suicidal and I didn't even really understand what that meant, and my parents were really out of it, so I went to live with my grandparents. It wasn't anything super secret. I don't know why my parents wouldn't have told you I just moved,” Tweek says, and he shrugs a bit. “My grandpa died a few years back, and my grandma died recently, so I moved back here.”

No one says anything. Craig thinks they're all trying to retain this information while being high as shit, and Bebe probably just doesn't know what to say. Craig knows Tweek wouldn't want pity, and he wouldn't want to think he was ruining everyone's good time, even if no one else is thinking that.

“How anticlimactic,” Craig says, and they all look at him. “I thought you got kidnapped by spies or something.”

“Nope. Just crazy,” Tweek says, and he looks grateful for the lightening of the atmosphere.

“They could have at least passed on our letters,” Token says. “We wrote you.”

“I know. I didn't know back then, but when I came home, they had all the letters in a box in my room. It's not... I mean, my parents aren't bad people. They just mentally checked out a long time ago, and then they chose to sedate themselves. They're not even on this planet half the time. I don't think they really wanted a kid, and then they had me, so they just convinced themselves all this shit was wrong with me even if it's not. And then somewhere I just really did become crazy because everyone treated me that way.” Tweek shuffles on his feet, and then he grumbles softly. “Wow, being high makes me really talkative.”

“That's okay. Being high makes me shut the fuck up,” Craig says, and they all laugh. Craig doesn't like that Tweek thinks of himself as crazy, but Craig also knows trying to convince Tweek of anything else will take time and patience, not words. Luckily, Craig has plenty of time and patience. He doesn't want Tweek to disappear again, not when things feel like they're finally going back to normal.

Well, as normal as things can ever be in this town.

“Can we get back in the car?” Clyde asks after a few quiet moments. “My ass is frozen.”

“Want me to rub it for you?” Craig offers.

“That's what Bebe is for.”

“Sorry, my hands are frozen,” Bebe says. “It'll have to be Craig.”

“I'll take one for the team,” Craig says solemnly. “It was a lot more fun when Clyde had an ass. I'll touch where his ass used to be.”

“Fuck you,” Clyde huffs, and they hurry back to the car, which thankfully, is still warm.

“Okay,” Craig says once they're seated. He leans forward and swipes at Clyde's phone, but Clyde recoils. “Your music sucks, dude, let me pick.”

“No! Passenger picks the music!” Clyde yelps, dodging more of Craig's swipes. “Bebe! Tell him!”

“I'll fight you for the passenger seat,” Craig says, and he makes to climb over, but Token pulls him back, laughing.

“Your ass is in my face,” Token says, and Craig makes a kissy face at him.

“Yeah, fuck off, Craig. I'm gonna play some nostalgia,” Clyde says, scrolling through his phone, and Craig groans, dreading to think of what Clyde will torture them with.

A familiar tune fills the car as Bebe pulls away from Stark's, and Craig laughs at the same time Token and Bebe do.

“Oh, my god,” Token says, and Craig meets Tweek's eyes, is happy to see Tweek smiling.

“MCR is back together,” Clyde informs them, turning in his seat to face them while his hand turns up the song. “Big things are happening.”

“MCR sucks,” Craig says, but that doesn't stop him from belting out the words to “Famous Last Words” like it's his personal power ballad. Everyone sings along, though it's more like shouting, especially after the second verse starts. Tweek is laughing so hard he's crying, though he's shouting along with them. Craig remembers when this CD came out, and they would all listen to it together, Craig hating on it the entire time. It seems like ages ago when they were that small, Stark's Pond seemingly huge in comparison. Their whole lives were ahead of them.

Things are different now, so different, but Craig doesn't hate all the changes. In fact, he likes some of them a lot, but it never hurts to go back and be a kid again, if only for a little while. It's true when people say you can't go home again, but that's only if you think of home as a place.

Clyde goes on to play “The Thong Song”. He pretends he's holding a microphone, closing his eyes as he screams, “She had dumps like a truck, truck, truck!” Craig does his best to tune it out, tries putting his foot on Clyde, but of course Clyde screeches like a little bitch, so Craig gives up and turns to Tweek instead.

“You good?” he asks, though he knows Tweek is, because Tweek is still smiling, and his eyes are bright even in the darkness of the car.

“Yeah,” Tweek says, nodding. He blinks in surprise when Craig's hand wraps around his, but Tweek doesn't pull away, and he gives Craig a shy smile. Craig thinks again of good changes already happening, and maybe better things yet to come, and he hopes years from now, they'll all look back on this night and laugh.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #262

WoW will probably start to take over my life again tomorrow oof so expect surveys to slow down some.

What do you wish people wouldn't call you? The only one I don't really like is Girt calling me "kid." He doesn't mean it in a derogatory way or anything like that; he's just always called me that since I was a high school freshman and he was a senior. Now as an adult that's been through things I don't believe anyone deserves, it's kinda weird but more so frustrating as, regardless of his intentions, I somewhat feel belittled. I've never said anything directly about my discomfort, though, so it's my own fault. I just don't want to make him feel bad for doing it for years lmao. What do people say about your name upon learning it for the first time? They don't say anything; my name is very ordinary. Why did you choose the hair length you have? I have a few reasons. The biggest is because I was just bored of average, long hair, and the fact I was at the time having a very hard time with self-care. My hair would get incredibly knotted to where it was hard to even brush it sometimes. Makes me shiver thinking back on it. For my own sanity and ease, it needed to be gone. Also, with how STUPID hot I get, cutting it all off helped with the weight of my hair (it's v thick) but more importantly how hot it made me it the warm months. Zero regrets chopping it all off, omg. If your hair could be ANY color, what would you pick? At this very moment, I really want silver hair. Do you wish your hair was longer or shorter than it is now? It needs a trim. Do you think you're attractive? (It's okay to say yes =P) No; I think I wouldn't look ALL to bad if I lost some more weight (I've literally been on a weight loss plateau for two fuckin years). When I was perfectly healthy, I didn't think I was very pretty even back then, but now that I look back, I feel I was decently pretty. Not gorgeous, but. What is your favorite band? Ozzy Osbourne. :') What is your favorite movie? The Lion King. The second one is like directly behind it. Finding Nemo is also very precious to me. What is your favorite book or magazine? The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton and Johnny Got His Gun by Dalton Trumbo. What is your favorite song? Ugh, this is impossible. I love way way too many. I suppose maybe... "Death Inc." by Motionless In White? Idk. What is your favorite color to wear? Black, duh. If you could visit anywhere in the world, where would you go and why? South Africa because I want to spend time with and take pictures at the Kalahari Meerkat Project and especially pet a Whiskers meerkat. I WILL cry. Meerkats literally changed my life. So many people I wouldn't know... If you got the chance and wouldn't get caught, would you cheat on a lover? NOOOOO the guilt though. Someone drops a fifty dollar bill and doesn't notice. Will you tell them? Definitely. I'd feel awful otherwise. Would you ever pierce something on your face? I already have my lip and tongue pierced, and I did have my nostril pierced, too. I want more, particularly an undereye microdermal if I can switch to contacts... which I don't like. I think it'd look pretty dumb with glasses. Are you selfish? EVERYONE should be to a degree depending on the occasion. Doing what is best for you is not a bad thing. Are you mean to people who are different from you? Wow no. I find people "different" from me interesting. Do you make fun of obese people? By the BMI definition, I am one of those people. So take a guess? Do you eat when you're upset? I have to fight that extremely hard, because I usually do experience the impulse to comfort eat when I'm very depressed. I've gotten way better at it, though. What if you had to choose between feeding yourself or feeding your pets? I honestly don't know for sure what I'd do... but I think I would prioritize my pets, honestly. It would break me to watch them suffer and lose weight. What if you saw someone being beaten on the street? YOOOO I READ THIS AS "EATEN" FIRST. But anyway I'd call the cops ASAP. There's a possibility I'd intervene if I felt myself capable of taking on the assailant. What if it was you being beaten? According to the night terrors I've had beyond count, curse like a motherfucker and fight back while calling for help. Who's the most important person to you (related)? Mom. Who's the most important person to you (non-related)? Sara. What's more important to you, happiness or success? Happiness. What's more important to you, your happiness or someone else's? Depends on the person. List the ten most important things to you: Oh, yikes. No order: 1.) My peace of mind, health, and happiness; 2.) my family; 3.) my pets; 4.) my career future; 5.) my friends; 6.) a YouTuber I've never met lmao; 7.) my pebble from my partial hospitalization program; 8.) Teddy's ashes; 9.) the Mark mug Sara gave me sobs; 10.) and the RP site I'm on. Like if it disappeared tomorrow with all the profiles and history and stuff I would break the earth in half oof. Have you ever lived in a mobile home? No. Have you ever had your bedroom in a basement? No. How many times in the past week have you eaten fast food? Hm. I don't think once. In the house - shoes, socks, slippers or bare feet? Bare feet.\ Do you consider dogs inside or outside pets? Usually indoor, depending on the breed and the time of year. What’s your favourite piece of furniture in your house? ig my bed? Have you ever had a crush on a friend’s parent? Yikes no. Do you prefer carbonated or uncarbonated drinks? Sucker for carbonated over here. Favorite thing that you can see up in the sky? A full moon. Would you rather eat at the table or in your room? I'm so used to eating in my room. Do you like the sound of birds singing when you wake up, or is it annoying? I love it. If someone gave you a kitten, would you keep it? I'd love to, but it'd really be my mom's choice. What’s your ideal activity for a rainy day? Nap oh lawd. Favorite type of cracker? Cheez-Its. Banana sandwich... yum or yuck? Only yum with peanut butter. Animal you like to watch but sort of creeps you out: Spiders. Bagels or English Muffins? Bagels. Do you like to daydream about sex? I do it sometimes. Which of your parents do you laugh more with? My dad is really funny. Have you ever been to an open casket wake or funeral? Wake, yes. Who mows the lawn at your house? A family friend. Have you ever written a story from beginning to end? When I was little and was writing that meerkat story, yes. I started on the sequel but didn't get far. What’s a big turn on for you? Being genuinely interested in what makes me me. Actually wanting to know the littlest things about me. Just show sincere interest. Are you doing anything tomorrow? I do know I'm fuckin finally getting my laptop home. Does your car have a name? N/A Do you own clothes from any celebrity clothing lines? No, but a bitch is getting a Cloak shirt or hoodie at some point. Who was the last person you ranted about? My bitch of a cousin for being a disrespectful fuck when all my dying grandmother wants is to talk as a group with the whole family. I ranted to Mom though, not in the group chat because I'm actually mature enough to not talk shit when, again, all our grandma wants is peace and love between us at the end of her life. I was SEETHING. Know any magic tricks? I don't remember any. I LOOOOOVED those magic kits as a kid, though. Is there music in your head right now? Right now "Dirty Pretty" by In This Moment is on, so does that count as "in my head?" Would you like to become a dancer? It'd be very cool, most certainly, and due to taking dance classes so long, I tend to think of potential dances in my head when I hear like... any song, lol. I'd love to be one if I had the grace and endurance + no hyperhydrosis. Name one person of the same sex as you you wouldn't mind doing: Hunny I'm bisexual, there's a lot, lmao. Dream woman? Uhhhh. Maybe my friend Alon. She was like one of my first hints I wasn't straight, lmao. But idk, I find soooo many women to be attractive. What is the most gory film you've seen? One of the Saw movies. What a surprise, ik. Ever fallen down a hole? ZOINKS no. Do you work better in a clean or messy environment? Clean, durr. Do you know any vegans? Only online. Do you like bananas? I am VERY picky with bananas. They have to be perfect. My preferred ripeness lasts only like, two days. .-. What's a film you've seen that confused you? Oh boy, idk. I don't watch many films... especially if I'm confused and the plot isn't great, I'll stop watching. WAIT!!!!!! NO!!!!!!!! I went to see Warcraft when it came out and I was so fuckin lost just because the orcs' voices are so goddamn deep that I just sat there like "uhhhh sir come again????" I didn't play Classic, and I'm not great at remembering every aspect of the plot, so. I'm to this day p confused lmao. Do you ever wear black lipstick? I really only ever wear black. What is next to your bed? I have a white shelf to my left where I put my meds, a drink, the fan... that kind of stuff. My cat's food bowl is to the right of it on the floor. Are your fingernails dirty? Nope. Have you ever fell for someone believing you could "fix" them? Not for that reason, no. Describe a picture of yourself that you hate: LASKJDLKFJAOWJE my friend took a picture of me eating a hot dog once and joked she was putting that shit on Facebook and it was funny as shit but thank Christ she was in fact joking. Would you rather play a good or an evil character in a play? While I'd love to be the evil one, I'd probably make it too cheesy because I am a BAD actress. Has anybody ever lied to you just to impress you? Story of one of my "best" friendships. What's your favourite shade of blue? Baby blue, probs. Can you remember a world before iPods? I do indeed. On rides to school when I sat in the back, I would bring one of those portable CD players with me to play discs. Where did you go on your last date? I can't remember the place's name... Lume's? Something like that? Breakfast place in Illinois. Do people find you "cute"? It happens sometimes. Who does the best remixes? Oh idk, I don't pay much attention to this. Where do you get your news? Facebook, lmao. What social stigma does society need to get over? What DOESN'T it need to get over???? What was the last photo you took? Probably something funny on Facebook to send to Sara lmao. I will get memes to her some way. What mythical creature do you wish actually existed? As badly as I want to say dragons, I don't think it'd be a great idea, heh... Maybe dryads. What are you interested in that most people aren't? As of recently, TARANTULAS. I've fallen in LOVE with them. What's the most ridiculous thing you have bought? No clue. What sounds hit you with major nostalgia every time you hear them? The gem collecting sound from Spyro. It was my text ringtone on my last phone! I need to move it over to my current one. What was the biggest realization you have had about yourself? I was possibly the bigger villain than Jason in the breakup. But idk. What topic could you spend forever talking about? Gay rights. Which way should toilet paper hang, over or under? In the original patent, it was designed as going over. GMM knowledge. Therefore I find over as correct, BUT I ultimately don't care like... at all. I don't even really notice when I go in the bathroom. Are you usually early or late? Usually slightly early. What do you wish you knew more about? Politics so I could be a more helpful member of society alksdjfka;lw What is the most annoying question you've been asked? It's not really like, annoying I guess, but the closest would be just how frequently people see my lip ring and ask if it hurt. It's incredibly sensitive skin, and even if it wasn't, a needle went all the way through it. Like... guess. News flash: being stabbed hurts, lmao. Like I always explain that it's not awful, but duh, there is pain. What is your favorite milkshake flavor? Yummm chocolate. What was the worst phase in your life? 2020 thinks it's a bad guy, but lemme tell ya, shit's got nothing on 2016. Do you like sprinkles on your ice cream? I hate sprinkles on anything. Just an annoying texture with negligible flavor. The last time you went out to eat - what did you order? It was just a milkshake. Do you have all 32 teeth? I'm missing two wisdom teeth that just never grew in. Do you know how to do the moon walk? Never tried. What is one of your favorite comedy movies? White Chicks. Has anybody ever told you that you have a good singing voice? Yeah. I don't think I do. Onion rings or french fries? Fries. Not an onion ring fan. Who is the best cook that you know? Sara's mom is great, omgggg. She's cooked things I generally don't like yet I wound up enjoying. Can you name 3 different dinosaurs? Let's see: Spinosaurus, stegosaurus, velociraptor. I was a dino kid, man, just gettin' started. *finger guns* What's the largest amount that you can juggle at one time? I can’t juggle. What was your favorite thing to go on at the playground as a kid? I'd daaaash for the swingset. Do you know how much you weighed at birth? How much? Ummm I think 6-something pounds? 7? Where do you spend most of your time at? At home. In my bed. Exciting stuff, y'know. What noise does your favorite animal make? If my memory serves me right, they have over 40 vocalizations, but I'd say barking and chirping are the most ordinary/basic. Have you ever fallen in the toilet when you were little? lol I don't think so. What is the best kind of mac & cheese? I'm a basic-ass Velveeta bitch lmao. Who is your favorite oldies band? Boy oh BOY, you're asking a classic rock/metal addict. Of course it's Ozzy tho. But I love soooo many!! What is your favorite farm animal? Pigs! Do you like to play Monopoly? I'm not a big fan, no. What is the most fun restaurant you have ever been to? I like the vibe of Buffalo Wild Wings. Or I just have good memories there. What size bra do you wear? I'm actually not sure. I haven't bought new ones in a while and I don't think the ones I currently have are the right size anyway. Do you have a ceiling fan in your room? No. Who was your favorite Sesame Street character? I don't remember too well, but I think Cookie Monster? What about Muppet? Idr. What was going through your mind during the presidential campaign? I am sadly paying no attention. What do you think of the Duggar family ( 17+ kids )? Could you handle taking care of that many children? Ew, hell no. I don't believe the number of children warranted in a family should be legally monitored, it's much more difficult than that, BUT RATHER I'm very firm about knowing when it's more than enough. Population control is a thing. NOBODY needs that many kids imo, not even close to that. So far, what is the number one, best decision you have ever made? How has it affected your life? Letting go of Jason/accepting life without him. It has made my life much, much brighter and healthier. Have you reunited with any old friends recently? Was it awkward, or just like old times? No. When was the last time you talked to your first ex? February of 2017. Wow... been a long time. How different is your online personality from your offline personality? I am MUCH more outgoing and talkative online. What are your favorite holiday-themed movies? Jim Carrey's How The Grinch Stole Christmas, Hocus Pocus, The Nightmare Before Christmas, etc... Do you listen to Christmas/winter-themed music when the season comes around? No. Is there anything that you do that’s potentially controversial? Yes. What is your most recent obsession? Most recent, whew, tarantulas. I'm really gonna try talking Mom into letting me get one when/if we move. Do you say “merry Christmas” or “happy holidays”? To you, does it really matter which one is said/you say? Do you do your best to remain politically correct? Instinctually, I say "merry Christmas;" that's what has always been said around me. I personally see zero problem in calling it whatever... Like just appreciate someone wishing you well. You get the concept, and that's all you really need imo. As for political correctness, I'm kinda... down the middle? Like I feel it's been taken way, way too far, but I see some caution in wording as wise. If you could relive one week of your life, which would it be, and why? Would you do anything differently, or keep it all the same? Ugh, my first visit at Sara's. I just loved it so, so much. I think I wouldn't change a thing. It felt perfect. Is there a part of your life you wish you could remember, but can’t? Sometimes when I take these surveys and they ask "how old were you when...", ha ha. Frustrates me. What was the last thing/event to trigger a painful memory? It was last night, actually. The Final Fantasy VII remake is out, and I started watching a YouTuber I like play it. Jason got me to play the original, playing it a lot when we spent time together, but I only got a bit beyond half-way through before my PS3 broke. Cherished memories, so it was decently triggering indeed. I loved the game though and ABSOLUTELY want to see it played out in its entirety, so I shoved past the pain and am glad I did. Now I'm anxiously awaiting the next video aljkdsjfawe Y'ALL I wanna play more FF. What do you think of people that choose not to vote? I can't say anything, seeing as I never have voted before... Are you keeping anything from the people you love? Nothing important, no. Have you ever written a suicide note, whether joking or not? Yes, and that stupid novel is one of my biggest regrets. Who the FUCK would joke about that, though. When was the last time you let something ‘go to your head’? Not even like an hour ago. This happens allllll the time. When are you most likely to show off? Maaan Guitar Hero used to be good for that shit, ha ha. I was an expert at that back in its day. I haven't played it in forever, and on the rare occasion I do, I am suuuper rusty. Which would you prefer: spectacular view of the ocean, or of the mountains? MOUNTAINS!!!!!! Do you follow any dating rules/play any dating games? No. When was the last time you felt extremely confident about something? ME????????? CONFIDENT???????????? WHAT A CONCEPT!!!!!!!!!! When was the last time you blew the seeds off of a dandelion? Wow, not a clue. Probably not since we lived at my old house and I would go on walks down the path. What was the last thing that happened that you couldn’t explain? Oh I dunno. What do you do with all of your spare change? I just keep it in my wallet. Where did you hear about your all-time favorite band? He was and still is one of my mom's favorites! How many cans of soda do you drink in a day? AHHHHHH soda is my biggest nutritional weakness. I refuse to let myself drink more than one a day now though. It's funny and disgusting, when I was HEALTHY AND SKINNY I could on a rare occasion start a fourth can in a single day. Nowadays the thought almost makes me shiver. What is the oldest thing that you own? and the newest? The oldest thing, ummm. Not sure. Probably a stuffed animal in the attic. I just got two new books today! Is there anything you wish you had never found out about? Yep. A number of things. What is something that you refuse to believe in? Astrology. What is something you wish more people believed in? Gay rights. What food is your ultimate comfort food? Ice cream. Have you ever put anything inside a time capsule? What? OMGGGG I remember doing this in elementary school as a class! I don't recall what was in it, though. Is there too much violence on tv, or are people to sensitive? Too sensitive, but also negligent. It's got a lot to do with raising, imo. Don't show kids wild shit at too young of an age, and when they are shown this kind of stuff, you make it obvious that the behavior/content is unacceptable irl. Entertainment is not responsible for someone's shitty actions made with their own volition. What is something you used to fear, but no longer do? My first huge fear was thunderstorms. Now I enjoy them lol. Do you think it’s important to know a 2nd language? Not mandatory, no. Especially depends on if you're going anywhere. Do you know anyone that’s just naturally good at almost everything? My old friend Hannia IMMEDIATELY came to mind. She was the best in class GPA-wise, first chair for flute in band, and just in general STUPID talented. Do you know anyone that’s just bad at everything? BITCH ME What is one emoticon you use often? A sarcastic :^) or <3 What is one emoticon you almost never use? A lot, particularly ones with equal signs for eyes.

[alleiradayne]

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Summary: Elizabeth Andersson is about to get deported back to Sweden, but her dedicated assistant, Dean Winchester, comes up with a solution. Square Filled: Proposal AU Warnings/Tags: I might have totally missed the mark on this square. All fluffs, lots of Queen references because why not. Alcohol consumption. Characters/Pairings: Dean Winchester/Elizabeth Andersson Word Count: 900 A/N: For @spnfluffbingo2019​, this fills the square Proposal AU. Thank you, as always, to @atc74​ for beta’ing. Song: Crazy Little Thing Called Love by Queen

“I think I have to shut down the company.”

That tiny statement played on loop, a broken record intent on ruining everything he had worked for over the last decade. Dean Winchester stared at the center of her desk, unseeing. He had taken a chance on the opportunity of a lifetime. A chance to do some honest work, to get out of the family rut just like Sam had. He had invested over ten years of work into that stroke of luck only to have the rug pulled out from under his feet.

“Dean?” she repeated. “Are you… are you going to be okay? Do you think you could find another job soon? I’d hate to leave you unemployed, but I don’t have much of a choice.”

Dean shook his head as though to clear his rambling thoughts. “What happened?”

“My Visa. I have to go back to Sweden,” she said. “I've been trying to get dual citizenship for years but my number hasn't come up yet and so every year like a good little ex-pat, I renew my work visa. They denied it this year.”

Of course. Why wouldn't bureaucracy fuck him over. “There has to be something we can do.”

She shook her head, stray wisps of her blonde falling loose from her typically perfect coiffure. Dark circles weighed heavy on her eyes and lost was her usual spark, that flame that shined so bright. It pained him to see her that way, vulnerable and defeated. So Dean did what he did best.

“Let's go out,” he said as he stood. “One last happy hour.”

Elizabeth sighed as she motioned to her desk. “I can't, Dean. I've got a mountain of work to do—”

“No, you don't,” he started as he reached across her desk and grasped her hand. “It'll all still be here tomorrow. I promise.”

Her jaw worked as she searched for the excuses. “Alright,” she said with an exasperated huff. “Where are we going?”

“The Amsterdam?” he asked as he held up his fingers in a makeshift A.

Elizabeth stood and grabbed her coat from the nearby rack. “The Amsterdam, as always. Lead the way.”

“I've got an idea,” Dean started, “but I don't think you're gonna like it.”

Elizabeth stared over the rim of her glass as she sipped her whiskey. The heavy crystal thudded on the think oak of the bar as she set it there, then said, “I'm all ears, Dean. You know I love to listen to you talk.”

Great. Dean filled his lungs work a deep breath, then spoke. “Marry me.”

Elizabeth didn't miss a beat, her barking laughter filling the bar and drawing the eyes of other patrons. A few tears even rolled down her cheeks when she regarded him once, then twice, only to break into a further fit of giggles.

After a long, embarrassing minute, Elizabeth noticed his discomfort and quieted. “You were serious.”

After that reaction, Dean wanted little to do with the thought. “I was just joking,” he said with a flippant wave of his hand. “Stupid, really. I mean, we'd have to live together, act like a real couple, go on dates, have sex. Sounds like a lot of work just to—”

His words clipped short when Elizabeth's lips landed on his, and Dean nearly fell off his car stool. But then he was on his feet, pressing between her spread thighs, and she has to push him back lest he fold her right there in the bar.

“I'll marry you, Dean. On one condition,” she said.

He grinned against her lips as he said, “Anything.”

“Tell me you've always loved me,” she demanded. “Tell me it wasn't all in my head and you actually love me.”

Dean wrapped her up in his arms and pulled her to his chest, holding her tight. A trail of kisses placed along her jaw stopped at her ear and Dean spoke.

“I love you, Ms. Andersson. I've loved you for years, since the day we met.” He returned to her lips for a brief kiss, then added. “And it wasn't your legs, or your ass, or your tits, or your lips, or those hazel eyes of yours that seem to change colors on a whim. It was your heart that won me over the first time we talked. Your passion knows no bounds, Elizabeth. I admire that tenacity, that dedication. And if you love me even half as much, I'll die a happy man at the end of my days.”

If Dean knew Elizabeth half as much as he hoped, her underwear would be ruined after that, and she would invite him back to her place. And though she gaped in wide wonder at him, the moment passed as fast as it came. Elizabeth grinned as she asked, “My ass really did nothing for you?”

His hands slid down her back. “Maybe a little.” As his touch smoothed over the supple curve of her ass, he hummed through his nose, more than pleased.

“Well?” she asked.

He licked his lips in anticipation. “Okay, you caught me. I’ve dreamed of your fat bottom,” he sighed. “Imagined my face buried in it, fucking it, grabbing it, slapping it. God, you’re death on two legs. I need you, Liz. You're the love of my life.”

She smiled a coy smirk at him as she said, “Alright, lover boy. Let’s go home.”

Feedback is appreciated! Feel free to reblog, too!

If you want in on any of my tags (Sam/Jared, Dean/Jensen), send me a DM or an ask!

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN FLUFF BINGO MASTERLIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

The Whole Thang:

@atc74​  @hannahindie​ @bevans87​  @meganwinchester1999​  @plaided-ani-on-hiatus​  @oneshoeshort​ @jonogueira​ @andkatiethings​ @elfinmox​ @wonderfulworldofwinchester​ @princessofthefandomrealm​  @just-another-busyfangirl​ @jmekitchens​ @81mysteriouslyme​ @dolphincliffs​  @seenashwrite​  @canadianspnhunter​  @meowmeow-motherfucker​ @depressed-moose-78 @staycejo1​ @hobby27​  @pretty-fortune​ @mypopculturediva​ @fanfictionjunkie1112​ @sandlee44​ @4llmywr1tings​ @claitynroberts​ @maddiepants​ @scarletluvscas @donnaintx​ @blackeyedangel9805​ @rainflowermoon​ @winchesterprincessbride​  @lazinessisalliknow​ @the-is13​ @waywardafgrandma​ @keymology​ @sister-winchesters99​

Dean’s Dames (Jensen):

@supernatural-jackles​ @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​ @akshi8278​

[terapsina]

Mary’s is a Long (Island) Sad Tale

Summary: 

The phone rings for a few moments and then switches to voicemail - ‘This is Kate, you know the drill.’ - Mary ends the connection and tries again.

“C’mon. C’mon Kate, please pick up.” She whispers. One ring, two rings, three rings... voicemail. For half a heartbeat she wants to just keep calling like a crazy person until Kate answers but she forces herself to take a deep breath because that would be insane. She can leave a message, like a calm and reasonable person whose mother didn’t just admit to faking a missing kid’s death. “Kate, hey, I didn’t know, you have to believe that I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, please just... just call me back, okay?

/or/

The time between Mary's mother telling her the truth about her involvement in Beth being announced dead and Mary barging into Wayne Tower. Plus a little bit of the time after.

- ao3 -

As she flinches away from her mother’s touch, bile rising in her throat, the thought that makes her spinning mind come to a screeching halt is her words about Kate. Her mom said she didn’t want Mary to hear this from her stepdad or Kate.

Which means that Kate already knows. 

Her eyes skitter around the pier, avoiding the sight of her mother’s tearful face, sure that if she doesn’t she’ll throw up right there in broad daylight. She can’t be here, she has to get the hell away from this woman she’s loved all her life and thought she knew, away from the face that now feels like it belongs to a stranger. 

So she does, she stumbles past her mother and then she rushes off, hands tight around her middle, trying to contain the scream that hasn’t passed her lips but is echoing through her mind anyway.

For the next few minutes all she does is hurry to put as much distance between herself and her mother as she can get.

Her mother forged the evidence that made her stepdad stop searching for Beth, which means that right now Kate absolutely loathes Mary’s mom. And that’s fine, right this moment she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to forgive her mother either.

How could the woman who taught her the difference between right and wrong have done this? And... oh god. What if Kate thinks that Mary had already known?

Halting in place Mary grabs her purse to search for her phone, - her fingers shaking so badly she almost drops it before she can unlock the screen, - after a moment she gets to her contacts and scrolls down to her sister’s name to call her.

It rings for a few moments and then switches to voicemail - ‘This is Kate, you know the drill.’ - Mary ends the connection and tries again. 

“C’mon. C’mon Kate, please pick up.” She whispers. One ring, two rings, three rings... voicemail. For half a heartbeat she wants to just keep calling like a crazy person until Kate answers but she forces herself to take a deep breath because that would be insane. She can leave a message, like a calm and reasonable person whose mother didn’t just admit to faking a missing kid’s death. “Kate, hey, I didn’t know, you have to believe that I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, please just... just call me back, okay?”

Because that didn’t sound unhinged at all.

Mary looks around, glares at the group of people throwing strange looks at the crazy, crying girl and doesn’t know what to do. She can’t go back to the car, even if she gets there first it’s not like she wants to be driven home. She doesn’t want to be anywhere near her mother right now.

What she wants is to talk with her sister. 

Her eyes rove around the street, searching for inspiration and land on the five star hotel on the other side of the street. It’s as good as place as any to wait for Kate to call her back. And hotels have bars.

-

It’s half an hour and one Tequila Sunrise later that she tries to call Kate again.

“Hey, I know you probably don’t wan’t to talk with anyone right now but can you please call me back? Mom... my mother told me what she did. I’m so sorry, Kate.” Mary says, and after spending a few minutes hopefully waiting for Kate to call her back this time, she waves over the bartender for another glass.

Usually not getting a response from Kate wouldn’t feel like this big of a deal, she’s used to it. But today she can’t help analyzing what it means, because if Kate is about to disown her stepmother then a stepsister is such convenient collateral damage.

-

The phone finally rings maybe ten minutes after that but before the relief has had a chance to set in she sees her mother’s face flash across the screen. In the picture her mother is smiling, eyes crinkling at the corners that make her look kind and loving and-

Mary swipes left on the red button, chest tightening with simmering anger. She finishes off her second drink in two big gulps.

She doesn’t want to hear her mother’s justifications, or her apologies, as if it’s Mary that needs to hear them. What she wants is for it to be yesterday when she’d thought that the worst thing her mother had ever done was occasionally make Mary feel like the family embarrassment.

-

“I can’t believe she’d do that.” She mutters into the speaker, head down on the counter. “I mean how did she even justify that to herself? I could-”

“Hey there.” Interrupts an unwelcome voice from beside her. “What’s got a girl as pretty as you so down?”

“Get lost!” She snaps at the sleazy white guy as soon as she picks up her head from the shiny wooden surface of the bar, she puts him to be at least fifteen years older than her, not that it would have changed much even if he was her own age and cute. Right now she wants to be hit on almost as much as she wants to ever again be in the same room as her mother.

The guy hisses something quietly under his breath before he leaves, Mary misses it under the smooth sounds of the piano that’s running as the background noise for the hotel bar but she can make an educated guess as to its nature.

She rolls her eyes and as soon as the guy’s gone turns her focus back on her call, only to find it’s already disconnected again.

“Shit.” She says and reaches over to finish off her glass but stops mid-reach, throwing a suspicious look at it and then the seat beside her. She hadn’t been watching the glass, and she’s still sober enough to remember to be cautious.

She pushes the half empty glass back to the bartender and asks for a Mai Tai to replace it.

-

“If you’re avoiding me because you think I’ll take Mom’s side you don’t know me at all. What she did was horrible and I would never ever ever ever ever- ever is such a weird word have you noticed? What was I saying?” Mary says cutting short and hiccups, it seems to jump-start her short term memory, “I’d never ever take her side. I hate her.” 

It hurts to say, it hurts even to think it but it’s the only word that fits how it feels to think of the harm her mom’s done. To remember all those times when Kate would say that she knew that Beth wasn’t dead and Mary didn’t believe it, and her mom sat on the other side of the dinner table and said nothing for more than a decade.

She wipes her cheeks for what feels like the hundredth time in the past few hours, the movement making her head spin around her feet even though she’s sitting. It’s possible she might have drunk a bit too much.

Time to change her plan of attack, waiting for Kate to call her back is clearly not working. She needs a cab.

-

Kate’s apartment being a bust has brought her to Wayne Tower - Kate wasn’t home, not even mad would Kate have made Mary bang on her apartment door for ten minutes straight without letting her in.

So now she’s facing the world’s most stubborn security guard. Though Mary is going to get past him, because he might not know it but if there’s one thing that being raised by She Who Won’t Be Named has made her ready for, it’s elbowing her way into wherever she wants to go. And right now that’s to see Kate.

“I’m sorry Miss, I can’t let you in.” The man says rushing to catch up with her as she storms her way toward the private elevator.

“I’m here to see Kate.” She says and fends off his attempt to steer her away back toward the exit and pushes the elevator button.

“Miss Kane isn’t seeing anyone right now.”

“Well I’m not anyone and if she plans to avoid me just because Mom turned out to be the Evil Stepmother she’s got another thing coming.” She says and steps into the elevator as soon as the doors slide open, leaving the guard with the choice of either following her or physically carrying her out. He’s not going to try that second one yet though, Mary can tell. She pushes the uppermost button on the elevator, - it’s always the uppermost button, - and then she waits.

A minute later, as soon as the elevator door slides open again she rushes out, dragging along the guard who, in a last ditch effort to stop her, is now holding her by her elbow.

“Kate?! Kate!” She yells. “I need to talk to you, okay? I hate her too. Kate?”

-

It turning out that Kate’s been off somewhere with Alice the entire day that Mary tried desperately to get in touch with her, to make sure she wouldn’t be losing her sister in the upcoming parental divorce is so typical it’s almost funny, - if ending up curled up on the ratty couch of the clinic that’s hiding inside an abandoned building, under two musty blankets as she finishes off the last slice of pizza given to her by Kate’s associate-assistant-real-estate-person Luke, and fighting off a migraine - can be considered amusing instead of depressing.

She finishes the last bites, throws a look at the dark screen of the phone and after a moment of hesitation turns her back to it to lay down and maybe finally catch some sleep.

Who knows, maybe she’ll wake up in her own bed at home and this past day will just be a bad dream that never actually happened.

-

She doesn’t wake up in her own bed. She also doesn’t wake up alone. Her feet are laying across someone’s lap.

“I’m mad at you.” Mary whispers in the darkness at her visitor.

“I know.” Kate says back.”I talked to Luke.”

For a minute Mary doesn’t know what else to say so she lets the silence speak in her place. Eventually though the thing she’s been trying to get Kate to hear all day spills out. “I didn’t know what Mom had done. Not until this morning, I would have told you if I'd known.”

This time it’s Kate who doesn’t answer but she reaches over to squeeze her hand and Mary sighs in relief.

“What were you doing with Alice?” She asks, not sure if she wants to know but nothing else seems to come to her mind and the silence is turning oppressive.

“She brought me to show what happened to her after the crash.”

Mary freezes in place, her throat closing up. She’s known that story couldn’t possibly turn out to be good since Kate had said that Alice was Beth. But now whatever happened will always at least partially be her mother’s fault. Because her stepdad would have never stopped looking without the evidence of those skull fragments, and maybe they would have found her.

Maybe she really could have grown up with two sisters.

“What...” She’s terrified to ask what Kate has learned but she also needs to know. “What did happen?”

“Mary.” Kate says in a pained voice and falls silent, like the words don’t want to come, or maybe like she’s trying to protect her from them.

“Just say it.” Mary says, harsh.

“She was found by serial killer. Apparently, he wanted a playmate for his son.”

In a second Mary is off the couch and rushing for the door leading to the only working bathroom in the entire building. She gets there just in time to throw up those slices of pizza and numerous cocktails. By the time Kate follows her into the bathroom and belatedly turns on the light she’s still dry heaving over the toilet seat, tears running over her cheeks. It doesn’t help, she’s still sick to her stomach.

“I’m sorry, Kate.” Mary says and looks up to her.

Kate looks like the world has broken to pieces under her feet, like an earthquake has ruptured something vital and all the light has been leaked out of her. The closest Mary’s ever seen Kate looking to this was five years ago when Sophie broke Kate’s heart. But even then she didn’t look as hopeless as she does right now, back then she had that anger that managed to carry her out of the city. Now even that seems absent.

It’s enough to make Mary bring herself together. She gets up, quickly washes out her mouth and then steers Kate back to the room they came from.

Once they’re back to sitting though, this time with one of the blankets around Kate’s shoulders, Mary’s at a loss again.

What can she possibly say to make Kate feel better? She doesn’t even know how to make herself feel better.

The silence between them grows again.

Eventually it’s Kate herself who breaks it.

“You don’t have to kill anyone to get me to talk to you, you know.” Kate says, the sound tired but with just enough of a hint of real humor to make Mary think Kate will be okay. Eventually.

Then her words register and Mary’s eyes narrow. “How much exactly did Luke tell you about my visit to the Wayne Tower?”

“That was about it. He told me you’d tried to find me, found out I was with Alice and then said that when you left. He was quite insistent I should talk to you though. Why?”  Mary sees Kate side-eyeing her thoughtfully with a twist to her lips and a raised eyebrow.

Mary doesn’t blink. She knows that look on Kate too, it’s a curious look. It’s a look that means Mary needs to go back to Luke the first thing tomorrow morning and either swear or threaten him into keeping his silence.

First though she needs to distract Kate and she’s got the perfect thing too. She’s been thinking about it for a bit now, though she’s pretty sure she wouldn’t have gotten up the courage to actually mention it without the added incentive of making sure Kate never hears about the things Mary had said today while upset.

“Hey, Kate?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I go live at your place for a bit? I don’t think I can stay in the same building as Mom right now and I... I don’t actually have anywhere else to go.” The words rush out of her so fast she’s not sure how she’d kept them in until now.

Mary looks up, uncertain, and finds Kate looking somewhere over Mary’s shoulder but after a moment she focuses on her and nods.

“Okay.” Kate says. “You can stay as long as you need to.”

And that seems to be all that Mary needed to be pushed over the edge because she immediately bursts into tears. Except this time she finds Kate bringing her into her arms, starting to rock her in place as she runs soothing circles over her back.

“I’m sorry.” Mary says and then repeats it, again and again, like she’ can’t stop. She’s so sorry. She’s sorry her mom did this, she’s sorry about what happened to Beth, she’s sorry she can’t be the sister Kate actually wants.

“It’s alright, Mary. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.”

[kaikhaos]

The Hurricane Sandy Saga Continues…

So here’s the story of my life since October 28, 2012 and all the chaos that has come with it. This is not a happy story, so far, but I’m hoping you guys can help make it one, or at least help prevent a bad end. This is a story of corrupt banks, government bullsh*t, and a 25 year old disabled trans queer who just wants to go home. Over the next five thousand words, I hope you realize the extent of how life has repeatedly NOPED at any sense of logic. At the end of my story, I’m going to ask you to help me out if you can and to spread the word either way.

The tl;dr version is that my family is facing homelessness for the fourth time in eighteen months and I really need you guys’ help to get us back into a stable situation so this never happens again. The mortgage company has screwed us yet again and is holding on to $250,000 that is supposed to be ours. So while we own one house and one newly demolished lot, we have nowhere to live. If you can at all help out, please do. My paypal link is here: http://paypal.me/mihaelkai .

My name is Aleks. This is my story.

First, let’s get one thing out of the way: I’m disabled. I have been legally recognized as disabled since I was 18. I have a combination of mental health issues and physical health issues that make it so my capacity on any given day varies greatly from “I made it through a day at a con thanks to lots of painkillers!” to “I brushed my teeth today and didn’t cry doing it!” But I try. Anxiety, depression, C-PTSD, & ADD are just a few of the things I’ve been diagnosed with by my therapist and psychiatrist, paired with diagnoses from my doctors of migraines, fibromyalgia, and a degenerative connective tissue disorder known as Ehlers-Danlos that all combine to leave me in fairly constant pain basically everywhere. My brain and my body attack me constantly but I still try to do what I can. Unfortunately, it means I can’t just go out and get a 9-5 or retail job to help fix my situation. I can only do what I can do and I have to know my limits.

I live with my mother and my QPP Luca who are both also disabled.

You may know in 2012 we were hit by Hurricane Sandy. If you don’t know that, you’re about to find out. We had six feet of water in our house and my grandfather’s house next door (AKA: my inheritance) floated off of its foundation and was straight up condemned. Ever since then, life has been, in a word, chaos. It’s gotten to be a theme in our house that if it can go wrong, it will go wrong. Even my therapist has given up on making any kind of treatment plan and is basically just focusing on damage control. And honestly, at this point, I just wanna go home.

But Aleks, it’s been seven years, why aren’t you home yet? Oh boy, I am SO glad you asked. Let’s get into this history.

First, a prequel. I’m not rich, my family isn’t rich, but we get by. Our house wasn’t big, but it was beautiful. In 2006, my mother bought two tiny houses next door to each other from an old man who wanted to sell them to a family the way he’d grown up in the smaller house while his parents lived in the other house. The one house was a six hundred square foot bungalow that would become my grandfather’s and its neighbor was a seven hundred square foot house that would become mine and my mother’s.

Our house was gorgeous and cute. Built in the early 1900s by a tinsmith with scraps from all of his jobs, all of the walls were tin instead of sheetrock or plaster, the floors were gorgeous hardwood, and the three bedrooms were each under a hundred square feet. It was tiny but it was ours.

On August 28th, 2011, that house was hit by Tropical Storm Irene. Our house was flooded by two feet of water on the first floor. The Atlantic Ocean took out our floors, cabinets, appliances, electrical outlets, the bathroom tile, and the furniture, not to mention rusting the heck out of the bottom of the tin walls. It took six months to get the final eighty thousand dollar settlement out of the insurance company.

The check was deposited by the mortgage company who said they would hold onto it and dole it out as we hired contractors or finished repairs. But here’s the thing: The settlement barely covered enough for the supplies, so we maxed out credit cards and depleted personal savings and finished our repairs a few months later with the help of very few contractors and a lot of DIY.

We installed our kitchen appliances as the last step and called the mortgage company that day to ask them to come and inspect and verify the repairs were done so they could release the other seventy thousand dollars that they were holding onto. They said they were backed up and that they would come and inspect in a month.

Our new stove was 22 days old when Hurricane Sandy hit us.

Where Irene was manageable, Sandy was devastating. My grandfather’s house floated on the storm surge and landed three feet away from its foundation. The legs of our lawn table were bent and sticking out from under the house like the damn wicked witch or something. Our house on the other hand shifted by an inch. Not much, you’d think, but enough to break every pipe in the house and damage the entire structural stability of the house.

The town building department condemned my grandfather’s house and wrote ours up as “more than 50% damaged”.

Needless to say, both houses were left completely and totally uninhabitable.

The mortgage company inspector came and said because everything was wet and ruined that they “couldn’t certify the repairs were completed” even when we were standing there with a stack of receipts and before and after pictures, clearly proving everything had been replaced since most of the materials had been changed. So they decided they wouldn’t release the $70,000 they were holding onto from Irene until the new SANDY repairs were done. Even though we’d already spent that money on repairs and run up debt because of it, they decided they were just going to hold onto it for longer.

And honestly? Fuck those guys. They are the root of some of the most evil parts of this, as you’ll see.

So back to the Sandy damages. First, the insurance company offered us a FIFTEEN THOUSAND DOLLAR damage assessment. Fifteen thousand bucks when we had six feet of water in our house. For perspective, fourteen months before Hurricane Sandy, Tropical Storm Irene sent 24 inches of water into our house and the insurance company gave us eighty thousand dollars to make those repairs. So yeah, fifteen thousand wasn’t gonna do it. The construction estimates for the repairs were coming in around two hundred and fifty thousand.

So, of course, we appealed. Our engineer said parts of the house were outright dangerous from the damage and had to be torn down and replaced. We told the insurance company this and they told us they would send their own engineer. And… well… they sent SOMEBODY. Was that guy a licensed engineer? Nope. Did they tell us he was? Yup.

So then we appealed to FEMA. The judge from FEMA told them outright to send a LICENSED engineer in his decision and left it at that. So then they did. This guy now said he thought fifty thousand was gonna do it. The insurance company looked at his report and went “mmm… so how about thirty thousand?”

So… no. So then we had to hire a lawyer and took them to court. We weren’t the only ones, thousands of people had to file these lawsuits. The lawyer told us not to let the mortgage company cash the $30,000 of checks we’d been given for the storm so far because it could be argued to be us agreeing to that number. He said we just had to WAIT. So the checks got too old to cash.

The Visiting Nurse Service started sending a therapist to our house once a week for each of the three of us to help with “Hurricane-Related PTSD”. Yup. Cool. On top of my regular C-PTSD. Awesome. But the guy was nice and having therapists to talk to twice a week (my regular one and this guy) was helpful. And he gave me some worksheets that helped me kind of have more of a tool kit. Everything still sucked but hey, we all trudged on.

Pretty sure this was around when the first roofing shingles started falling off of our rental house. We told the landlord that this was a problem and that the property was going to start getting leaks in the roof. We pointed out that it said in our lease that he was supposed to fix this little ‘issue’.

Repeatedly.

Including in writing and by sending him photos of the slowly growing stack of shingles that were not on the roof anymore and the leaky window.

And he still did diddly squat about it.

For five years.

Meanwhile during this whole… process, New York State started the New York Rising program to help rebuild the houses who were tied up in lawsuits like ours or who didn’t have insurance like my grandfather’s. We applied right away. It seemed like an answer!

…So then uh… New York Rising LOST our file.

…Uh… Twice.

And when they finally DID decide to properly process our application, they gave us a grand total of $88,000 and put us in the ‘Build a whole new house’ category. Our house is, as I said, under 900 square feet in size. You literally cannot build a house in our area for that price at that size. Especially when it’s a property that needs 14 foot deep helical pilings and a nine foot high foundation to comply with current code. The foundation alone is $50,000. The lowest estimate we found from any construction company after no less than TEN bids was $180,000 NOT counting the architect who’s another $15,000. NY Rising expected us to be able to rebuild for a fraction of that. So we started looking into finding other financing possibilities while waiting on the lawsuit to continue going through.

We decided to hire our neighbour’s architect because he was something resembling almost affordable. We gave him a deposit. …A few weeks later, he had a heart attack while leaving the building department’s office. …A few weeks after that, he started being investigated for embezzling money from his clients.

At this point, we’d been out of our house for years. And more and more shingles kept falling off of the roof of the rental. Then a siding tile fell off too because the landlord’s son’s landscaping company crashed a lawnmower into it.

We started looking at houses to buy so that at least we would own something.

Then my grandfather (who had been a major contributor to our household finances) had a severe stroke. Six months later, he died. Suddenly we were $3,000 tighter per month. The possibility of buying a house went out the window. But we made do as best as we could.

FEMA was paying for the rental house we were living in while going through all of the appeal and lawsuit procedures and, when we hit their funding cap, New York Rising’s IMA program stepped in to pay “whichever is less, your rent or mortgage”. It still meant higher costs as the rent around here is more than our mortgage, but it made it so we could get by.

The one silver lining was that once my grandfather was out of the picture (since he’d been living with us in a shared rental since Sandy), I was able to start on testosterone injections. January 28, 2015, I was able to start my injections and officially begin the medical side of my transition.

Then New York Rising hit a cap on IMA funding. Which… sucked pretty fucking hard because then there was a few thousand a month more money we had to find to shell out. But then the program was extended and that was awesome.

Then our cat, Pickles, developed severe kidney problems. She was my best friend since the day she showed up on our doorstep a week after we bought our house in 2006 and wandered into the kitchen demanding petting. She moved into our lives and never left. I couldn’t give her up without a fight. So I spent all of my savings on her medical bills and started giving her saline injections twice a day every day to help her kidneys flush the toxins they couldn’t handle themselves.

Then the IMA ran out again. So back to the land of suck. They told us we would be eligible for a little more funding. But only if we demolished the existing house.

In order to legally demolish the house, we had to pay for a construction company to do it under their license. New York Rising expected us to be able to demo the house for $5,000. The lowest bid we received was for $9,000. When we told them this, their reaction was essentially “yeah, yeah, we know, just make it work”. Make it work is a cool and funny phrase when spoken by an aging fashion consultant on television. It’s not so cool or funny when it’s being told to you by the people who are supposed to help you fix your house. It is stressful as hell.

Then Pickles got sicker. And sicker. And her at-home dialysis wasn’t enough to keep her going anymore. Pickles passed in May 2016.

In 2017, we finally won our lawsuit. The judge ruled the insurance company had to release a full payment to the policy maximum of $250,000! Those jerks tried giving us $15,000 and the judge was like “Uh… no, this is $250,000 of damage”. Victory! But we were still out our legal fees because, unlike homeowner’s insurance where the insurance company pays the fees, flood insurance is federally underwritten so you’re not allowed to get the legal fees paid for. Some flood insurance companies realized they’d fucked up and as a result agreed to pay for the legal fees. Our flood insurance company… wasn’t so generous. But a check was still generated by the flood insurance company thanks to the judge. Huzzah, light at the end of the tunnel!

…Then the lawyer refused to sign the check.

Apparently our lawyer has had dealings with our mortgage company before and run into the same problem as we had with their “we’ll release your funding at the end” theory. Except for him that meant “we won’t pay out your legal fees until the house is finished” and he didn’t like that. So they wanted him to sign the check over to them and he wanted them to sign the check over to him. They spent years arguing over a piece of paper with some dollar signs on it while we got needlessly further into debt.

Then one of my ferrets, Wasabi, my emotional support animal, got really sick really suddenly.

By the time the vet scrambled to find out what was wrong, it was too late and he was gone. It turned out that he had a rare autoimmune condition caused by heavy metal exposure from the water. His sister survived, but now Lemon was alone and she and I were both devastated. Watching the way she would get excited and then sad any time we brought out a toy with Wasabi’s scent on it broke my heart so I replaced her toys.

A month later, people came knocking on our door offering free water filters if they would let us track the toxic plume of decades old industrial chemicals and waste spreading unhindered through the groundwater supply that had apparently reached us and was contaminating our pipes.

Eventually, during all this, New York Rising started to realize that their $160 per square foot amount just wasn’t enough when it came to houses like ours. So they started a program called the Recon 100 program. The goal of this program was supposed to be that New York Rising would take over the build process, they would hire contractors and architects in bulk, essentially hiring them for ‘bundles’ of 10 or 20 properties at a time to get them to accept a lower profit per house because they would be guaranteed months of solid work. We were signed up into the program.

Now, as a condition of this program, we had to stop doing any work on our own, we’d have to return whatever hadn’t been spent on repairs already, and we’d have to give them any insurance checks. But New York Rising was bragging about how they had programs that would allow you to repay the funding over several years because they knew everyone was using a little bit here or there to make ends meet. And that was all well and dandy because once the repairs were done, the mortgage company would release what they were holding one way or another. They would have to. …Right?

Meanwhile, our rental assistance hit the next cap. New York Rising told us not to worry because once this paperwork was approved, we’d be eligible for a higher cap of extended rental assistance. It was just a matter of waiting for the paperwork to get approved, they said.

Then our caseworker at New York Rising decided she was going to deny our receipts for the funds already spent. And that she wasn’t going to file the appeals to that denial that we explicitly asked her in writing to file.

Then on top of that, we discovered that at some point our NYR caseworker had decided to NOT sign us up for the extended timeline repayment thing because… fuck knows why, honestly? And that now she wasn’t going to apply us for it because “oh it’s full now”. So NY Rising decided that, before they’d do anything, they wanted us to give THEM the money that was still sitting in those pre-lawsuit paper checks that went old immediately. The government decided that we either had to magic the money of an un-cashed check out of thin air or else it was up to us to: 1, get them reissued, 2, get them deposited by the mortgage company, and 3, somehow get the mortgage company to issue that money to New York Rising.

And they wanted all this done in less than a week because they decided this in the last phase of our approval process and there were other deadlines really close. …Needless to say, the mortgage company was like “lol um nah” even to the theoretical idea of giving the money to NY Rising for the repairs, nevermind the hassle of getting the checks reissued by the flood insurance company with an active lawsuit ongoing.

New York Rising only said “too bad, figure it out yourself and PS because you’re not in this program anymore, we won’t give you the continued rental assistance, why aren’t you done rebuilding your house yet?” Meanwhile, we were waiting on them for months because they told us it was just waiting for the paperwork to go through.

Meanwhile, we had a new jerk of a builder/flipper neighbour. He’d bought the house next door to us when the family with the new baby decided it wasn’t worth waiting so many years to have their own house fixed. Let’s call him Fish Head. He decided to have his building supplies delivered to our neighbour’s yard WITHOUT her permission because there wasn’t enough room on his property. Straight up, he had a whole pallet of building supplies just dumped on her yard. She complained, obviously, and her husband threatened to call the cops. So he moved his shit to to OUR yard because we happened to not be there that day. It took WEEKS to get him to move the shit, even WITH calling the cops.

Turns out, cops don’t give a shit if someone puts hundreds of pounds of building materials on your yard. They’ll tell you you’re well within your rights to move it yourself but if you don’t have a forklift or a whole team of burly humans to assist you in the move then too bad so sad.

Thanks, Fish Head.

But back to the housing. We were months overdue on the rent because we were “just waiting for the paperwork to finish processing”. They told us we’d get all the back stuff in one lump payment. They lied and now we were up shit’s creek.

Our scummy landlord finally sent a notice saying “I’ve waited long enough, get out”. So that was… cool. We were able to keep him from coming after the back rent by pointing out that he was a slum lord and that we’d notified him in writing about being a slumlord, but it still meant we had to move out immediately and in a rush. Thankfully, it was May.

So on June 1st 2018, we moved into our RV parked at a local campsite. Three adults, a cat, and a ferret, crammed into an RV that was anything but recreational.

We installed cameras on our house around this point because Fish Head kept having his workers trample all over our property and they kept breaking things and leaving garbage everywhere.

Then the engineer said he thought he could figure out a way to save the main body of our house and raise it, that we’d only have to demolish off the back room and possibly the bathroom in order to raise it. It was another light at the end of a repeatedly lengthening tunnel. So we changed tracks completely and had him start drafting stuff up for us to raise the existing house, rebuilding only the porch.

Now, here’s the thing about the local campsites, we don’t have many of them and they sell out pretty quickly. Especially for the height of the summer. So they didn’t have any of their ‘full hook-up’ sites, AKA the ones that get you electricity and everything, but we had water and a bathroom and a shower facility and the barbecue to cook food, and it was… survivable. Not exactly comfortable but survivable.

We started doing the work to repair the house instead of following the line of thinking of rebuilding it. We cashed in everything we could and scraped together every scrap of money we possibly could, we sold things, we asked for help where we could, we got a very understanding contractor to give us the lowest prices we could. We managed to get the mortgage company to pay out some of the Tropical Storm Irene money directly to the contractors. Remember that guy, wayyyy back in 2011? And the mortgage inspector who missed a pre-Sandy inspection by a week? Yeah. They still had that money. So even though it was technically Sandy damages as we’d already done the work from Irene, we managed to get them to pay that out. But WHATEVER. It got it paid.

We had a looming deadline from New York Rising that they wanted the house raised by December 31st. Or at least that they wanted it lifted and pending the new foundation. They call this ‘cribbing’ and it basically means your house goes up on Jenga Towers and that you can’t live in it for a while until the foundation is done and it goes back down. So we had to somehow make that happen. But first things first, the campground was closing for the season and we had to have a place to live.

On November 1st 2018, we were able to move back into our house.

Temporarily, at least, while permits and construction drawings and everything went through for getting the house raised.

So we applied to the mortgage company to get the remaining $40,000 that they had from Tropical Storm Irene, the full final payout. And, amazingly, we got it. In it came and went right back out it went to the contractors who were supposed to be working on raising the house because that December 31st deadline was still looming.

Then Fish Head who we keep running into issues with, FINALLY got a stop work order on his house for not having the right permits. Serves you right, Fish Head. But, in retaliation, he decided to lie to the building department that we were living there without utilities? Somehow? When we literally had all our utilities? And had gotten the “90% complete” inspection from our mortgage company? So THAT was a whole mess to try to straighten out. When we met with the head of the building department, he literally turned to the guy next to him and said “See, remember I told you about this guy? This is the retaliation I was telling you about” because he was the guy who had personally signed the stop work order on Fish Head.

So the next big concern was that December 31st deadline. Everyone kept debating whether or not New York Rising would extend it at the last minute again (as they’d done that once before), and we started scrambling to try to find somewhere to live while the house was raised. Ideally, we were looking for somewhere that WASN’T the cold tiny RV in the middle of a New York winter. We applied to a few apartments but because we were paying the mortgage and everything our debt to income ratio didn’t qualify.

On December 24th, 2018, we got the $250,000 check from the flood insurance company with our name and the mortgage company’s name. It seemed like a Christmas Miracle. So we immediately sent it over to the mortgage company so they could cash it and we could apply to have those funds released, remember, our house was FINISHED and HABITABLE, except for needing to be raised per the new flood zoning stuff. At the very least, we had the 90% inspection, and on our next inspection we got a 99%.

So we immediately started applying for the final permits for getting the house raised and my grandfather’s house demolished. The lady at the building department is… nice but not very organized. So we had to deal with the town jerking us around with the permits taking forever to get done, well past the time estimates they tell you on the phone when you call and ask about time estimates.

We rushed to have our disconnects done. Water, electric, sewer. The house was all wrapped up in a pretty bow ready to be raised. We moved into a hotel. All we needed was the final elevation permit and the money from the mortgage company.

So back to the mortgage company and that $250,000. The mortgage company denied the payout 3 times saying, “Oh we don’t have… this paper or that paper” for papers we had confirmation they had. The guy on the phone one time when we were like “….We submitted that one on x date while speaking to Z employee”, he tried saying, “Oh this fax isn’t legible…” and we were just like “…FAX… you mean the scanned in PDF we submitted via your web upload?” And he was like “…Oh. hold please…” and suddenly he could read the form. Magic. So basically they were just LYING to us. Why? Fuck knows.

Then it was, “Everything is fine and it’ll be issued in 3 days” on the 23rd. And we got the elevation permit! And the demo permit on my grandfather’s house! Everything was rolling along and it was all going to be fine! Right?

Not so fast.

On the 31st we still had no check. We called and it was, “Oh it has to go to this other department because it’s over $70,000, but everything is approved and they’ll issue the check in 5 to 7 days, HONEST”.

We called back on the 5th and THAT lie had turned into “Oh well… we sold your loan effective the 4th, you’ll have to ask the new guys”. The mortgage company SOLD OUR LOAN to another company WHILE our payout was “APPROVED AND SENT TO THE CHECK ISSUING DEPARTMENT”.

We called the new guys who told us, “Oh we don’t even have a ID NUMBER assigned for your loan yet, call back in a week to get your loan number and then it’s another week until we can even see your funds and start your payout claim oh and we probably need to schedule our own inspection.”

So it’ll be easily a month OR MORE before we get the money.

We are trying to expedite this whole process as best as we can. We managed to get the ID number in only 4 days. They seem to be arguing with themselves about whether or not they need a whole new inspection or not.

Meanwhile, we only really had the money for the hotel for the lift time but all the disconnects have been done (there is no heat, water, or electricity) so it’s not like we can just go BACK HOME during the delay either.

We have $250,000 on the way and we’re about to be homeless. Again. For the third time in 18 months.

If we can just get $5,000, we can pay to have the house RECONNECTED AGAIN to everything so we can wait these fuckers out and get the payout.

Every little bit helps.

Please.

The other option is living in the RV again just to have a roof over our heads. But unlike last time when it was warm, it is February and we are in NY. It snowed yesterday. RVs aren’t designed to keep warm when there’s snow out.

Please help me and my family stay in a house.

My paypal link is here: http://paypal.me/mihaelkai .

I am also taking a limited number of 1000 word or less commissions! That’s about the limit of what I can handle committing to right now! DM me for details!

(Mutuals/Friends: If you can’t donate but you can loan us some for two months or so, we can pay you back as soon as we get that check? Please let me know if it is a donation or if you would like to be paid back so I can keep a record.)

[dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt]

Tell us about your ocs?

AHHHHHHHHHHH MAJI THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING ‘BOUT MY BABIES I LOVE YOU HI !!!!!!!

This is gonna be a lightning round for my Main Nine Ten but there’s a more in-depth one right here (+ my poly zombie bbs and their chaotic neutral daughter)!!

June

TINY AGENDER VELOCIRAPTOR DEMON. V BITTER N GRINCHY. LITTLE BALL OF PTSD AND SHARP WIT. HAS SHARK-LIKE TEETH, LONG SHARP NAILS, OLIVE SKIN, AND SHINY BLACK HAIR DOWN TO THEIR MID-NECK. LOVES FAST FOOD AND BEING ALONE. HIGHKEY ALLERGIC TO LOVE AND DOESN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH IT. OPERATES OFF FEAR AND SPITE. LEADER OF HELL’S PACK. BE CAREFUL BC THEY DEFINITELY BITE. CARES ABOUT ONLY TWO PEOPLE AND ONE IS A DOG. THEY’RE MY FAVOURITE BC I AM A SHAMELESS BAD DAD. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.

Dante

SOLDIER BOI, SECOND-IN-COMMAND OF HELL’S PACK. FORMERLY HUMAN, DID SOME DARK SHIT DURING THE SINO-FRENCH WAR, THUS BECAME A DEMON. VIETNAMESE IN APPEARANCE, BUFF ENOUGH THAT HE COULD PROBABLY TROW A T-REX ACROSS A FOOTBALL FIELD. LOVES VIOLENCE BUT IS PRETTY EAST-GOING FOR THE MOST PART. MUCH SMARTER THAN YOU’D THINK. BRILLIANT TACTICIAN. EVEN BETTER FRIEND. ALSO HIS EARS STICK OUT A BIT AND HE’S ACTUALLY ADORABLE. ALWAYS TOO COMPASSIONATE FOR HIS OWN GOOD. LOST OF SCARS BC HIS JOB IS WRESTLING WITH 500 POUND HELLDOGGOS ON THE REGULAR.

August

AUGI MY REGAL ESTEEMED TRUTHFUL GENDERFLUID DISASTER BIRB. LIKES TO PUT ON A VERY CALM “I’M BETTER THAN YOU” AIR, BUT INSIDE THEY’RE JUST A PIPING HOT ANXIETY-AND-ADHD MESS. THEY MESS UP A LOT BUT THEY RECOGNIZE THEIR MISTAKES AND ALWAYS WORK TO RIGHT THEIR WRONGS. IS JAPANESE IN APPEARANCE BUT HAS WHITE HAIR AND BLUE EYES, OFTEN PUTS IN CONTACTS AND DYES THEIR HAIR SO AS NOT TO LOOK ‘UNNATURAL’. WOULD STILL LOOK BETTER THAN YOU WHILE WEARING A POTATO SACK AND KNOWS IT. LITERALLY EVERYTHING ON FLEEK.

Ben

SWEET FALLEN ANGEL WHO MADE A MISTAKE AND FELL FROM HEAVEN AND IS NOT WELCOME IN HEAVEN OR HELL ANYMORE SO HE LIVES ON EARTH AND WORKS AS A MIDDLE SCHOOL TEACHER WHO WOULD DIE FOR HIS STUDENTS. HE MAKES NEXT TO NO EFFORT TO TAKE CARE OF HIMSELF AND IS VERY DEPRESSED, MOSTLY MUTE, WARY OF OTHERS, AND KIND TO A FAULT. HAS UNNATURALLY FLAMING RED HAIR AND BROWN EYES. VAGUELY SQUISHY. ALSO EXTREMELY DANGEROUS AND VOLATILE DUE TO THE NOW OUT-OF-CONTROL ANGEL GRACE HE STILL POSSESSES.

Myriad

THE COOLEST GENDERFLUID SNEK. SMOOTH AS EXTREME SMOOTH PEANUT BUTTER. HOW THEY TREAT YOU DEPENDS ENTIRELY ON YOU, IF YOU’RE A GOOD PERSON, THEN THEY’LL LIKE YOU. IF YOU’RE A BAD PERSON, THEY’LL SHOW YOU WHAT BAD IS REALLY LIKE. DEMON OF PUNISHMENT, IT’S IN THE TITLE. ABSOLUTELY CHAOTIC AND ACTS ON THEIR WHIMS. DEFINITELY WANNA STAY ON THEIR GOOD SIDE BC NOBODY WILL DARE FUCK WITH YOU AND BEING ON THEIR BAD SIDE IS SUICIDE. THEY’RE 6′5, DARK SKIN, DREADLOCKS DOWN PAST THEIR SHOULDERS, FANGS AND MULTICOLOURED EYES AND INTIMIDATING AF. THEIR FAVOURITE ITEM OF CLOTHING IS A SOFT KNITTED KITTEN SWEATER.

Ginger

FEISTY “TEENAGED” DEMON CONSTANTLY IN HER REBELLIOUS STAGE. HUGE LESBIAN. OBSESSED WITH BREAKING RULES AND LAWS MOST OF ALL. LOVES FAST CARS, BEER, AND DOING WHATEVER THE FUCK SHE WANTS. SHE HAS A BIG HEART BUT CAN BE QUITE SELFISH AND TENDS TO ACT WITHOUT THINKING, ALWAYS MEANS WELL THO. HARDCORE 70S AESTHETIC. LOUD AND UNAPOLOGETIC AND YES HAS AN AUSTRALIAN ACCENT. LIKES TO LEAVE LIPSTICK MESSAGES. HAS NO PATIENCE FOR BORING OR STUPID PEOPLE. CHUBBY, FRECKLED AND CARROT-HAIRED WITH TURQUOISE EYES.

Mars

ABSOLUTE STINK MAN. MANIPULATIVE, CHARMING, AND ALWAYS THINKS HE’S IN THE RIGHT. CARES ABOUT HIS FAMILY VERY DEEPLY THOUGH. THINKS HE’S THE BEST. HAS A NASTY HABIT OF EXTREME DOMESTIC ABUSE. HAS AN EVEN NASTIER HABIT OF THROWING A TANTRUM IF A POTENTIAL LOVER TURNS HIM DOWN AND MAKES THE BRIEF REST OF THEIR LIFE AS CLOSE TO A LIVING HELL AS POSSIBLE. THE MOST SPOILT CRUEL BRAT YOU’LL EVER HAVE THE DISPLEASURE TO MEET. GOLDEN HAIR, FLAWLESS WHITE SKIN, GOLDEN EYES, UNNATURALLY HANDSOME FACE YOU WANT TO CAVE IN WITH AN ESKY.

Jesse

SOFTEST FIGHT ME SWEETHEART. A GAY TRANS GUY BORN IN 1919, LOST HIS PARENTS TO INFLUENZA AND EVENTUALLY SUCCUMBED TO THE INTENSE HATRED DIRECTED TOWARD HIM AND COMMITTED SUICIDE. DESCENDED TO HELL BY CHOICE BC HE FOOLISHLY BELIEVED HE DESERVED IT. ENDED UP IRONICALLY FINDING HIS SOULMATE THERE. NOW THEY LIVE TOGETHER SICKENINGLY HAPPY. THE CHILLEST NICEST GUY TO HANG OUT WITH, TOTALLY A SOCIAL JUSTICE WARRIOR WHO IS ALWAYS DRAGGING HIS BOYFRIEND INTO FIGHTS. LOVES PAINTING AND SKITTLES AND LOUD ROCK MUSIC. IS BLACK AND KEEPS HIS HAIR NATURAL MOST OF THE TIME, WITH A CRAP TON OF FRECKLES AND A SMILE THAT MAKES YOU FEEL SAFE.

Vrox

NATURAL-BORN DEMON WITH A BUNCH OF ANGER AND DEPRESSION ISSUES. ONE OF THE MOST UNSTABLE HELLHOUNDS, OFTEN HAVING TO BE CONTAINED FOR WEEKS ON END IF HE LOSES HIS COOL. GENUINELY TRIES TO BE BETTER THOUGH. WOULD DIE FOR HIS BOYFRIEND JESSE. PICKS FIGHTS A LOT FOR FUN AND ALWAYS WINS THEM. KIND OF LOOKS LIKE A DISNEY PRINCE, BUT A DISNEY PRINCE COVERED IN SCARS AND WITH THE WORST RESTING BITCH FACE IMAGINABLE. IS NORMALLY PISSED OFF ABOUT SOMETHING. HAS A VERY HARD TIME DOING WHAT HE’S TOLD AND OFTEN GOES OFF ON HIS OWN. DEFINITELY A BIG SAP DEEP DOWN. HAS STRAWBERRY BLOND SHORT HAIR AND BLUE EYES AND IS BUILT LIKE ADONIS.

And finally, my best OC… the one you’ve all been waiting for…

Taco

LESSER HELLHOUND WHICH BASICALLY MEANS A BABY HELLHOUND WHICH BASICALLY MEANS A HELLHOUND THAT IS JUST A REALLY SMART DOGGO THAT HASN’T ACHIEVED HUMAN INTELLIGENCE OR A HUMAN FORM YET UNLIKE VROX. TAKES THE FORM OF A LI’L BLACK PUG WHILE ON EARTH. JUNE’S CONSTANT COMPANION. LOVES COLOURFUL JACKETS AND MAKING FRIENDS AND BITING HIS MASTER’S FEET. BIG PAT SLUT. HATES PIGEONS, THEY’RE HIS MORTAL ENEMY. VERY LOYAL UNLESS SOMEBODY ELSE HAS FOOD, THEN THEY’RE HIS FAVOURITE PERSON. V PROTECTIVE OF HIS MASTER. LIKES DANTE, EVEN THOUGH HE LAUGHS AT HIM AND BURRITOS HIM IN BLANKETS SO HE LOOKS LIKE E.T. DOESN’T KNOW HIS TONGUE IS SUPPOSED TO BE KEPT INSIDE HIS MOUTH. ABSOLUTE GOOF BALL. I LOVE HIM.

[spideyy-girl]

Speak Now - Bucky Barnes (AU)

Request: Do you do any song fics? If you do, could you please do a Bucky Barnes fanfic with Speak now or Angel with a shotgun with a college/roomate Bucky??

Summary: based on the song Speak Now by Taylor Swift (i suck at descriptions as you know so imma leave it at that just read it)

Warnings: lil bit of angst, wedding crashing, some fluffy at the end ;)

Word Count: 2769 (7.6 pages)

Date: September 26th, 2018

A/N: YES!! I DO TAKE SONG FIC REQUESTS. I actaully love them to be honest. SO feel free to send some. Sorry I haven’t been updating and thanks for being patient with me school just started a few weeks ago and that’s always shot haha yay. But I’m back on track! Hope you guys like (Also one of my older imagines but it’s not too bad I guess haha)

I am not the kind of girl, who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion

But you are not the kind of boy, who should be marrying the wrong girl

Bucky Barnes has been my best friend since sophomore year in high school. We met at Phys Ed, where I had surprisingly outrun him, which almost never happened. It was bound to be ever since. 

In recent years I had even begun to develop a crush on the long-haired man, well, at least it was at first just innocent. I didn’t even realise I was falling until I hit my head hard on the ground. What would cause such an awakening, you might ask? 

“He’s getting married,” Steve Rogers, our neighbour and Bucky’s roommate said, looking almost depressed about what should have been happy news. But how could anyone be happy? Especially with Carli Anne Johnson, the biggest princess bitch in town, in fact, maybe even the world. The bowl of ice cream you had in your hand was dropped out of pure shock, devastation, anger.

“H-h-he, w-what?” You asked, trying to contain yourself. You were never one to show any signs of weakness. “To that bitch?! I can’t even look at her without wanting to rip my eyeballs out. And he never even told me!” I started yelling, pulling at the strands of your Y/H/C hair. Steve nodded solemnly.

“I know, which is why I came here.” He said looking at you, grabbing your shoulders with his strong hands. “You can’t let him marry the wrong girl, we all know that it can’t be her he spends the rest of his life with, especially you.”

And that’s how I got here, about to crash my best friend’s wedding, and hopefully win him back. I couldn’t let him marry the wrong girl.

I sneak in and see your friends

And her snotty little family all dressed in pastel

And she is yelling at a bridesmaid

Somewhere back inside a room wearing a gown shaped like a pastry.

Steve helped me sneak inside the venue, Bucky had asked him to be his Best Man anyways. I see the giant hall at the end of the corridor, plastered in white ribbons, streamers, and other decoratives. There was an expensive looking velvet carpet with gold trimmings rolled down the aisle all the way up to the altar. I could see some of my fellow classmate’s and some of the football team, Bucky’s friends, sitting in the pews. On the other side of the grand hall, I could see the Johnson family, all dressed to the nine’s in beautiful pastel pinks, purples, blues, and yellows, while the men wore sharp black tuxes.

As I walk further down, I can hear screaming. I knew that voice. Actually, this yelling often occurred right in front of my face, targeted at me. Carli’s tan face would start to turn red, the colour not suiting very well with her perfectly curled platinum blonde hair and sparkling baby blue eyes. 

I peeked into the room to see the exact image I thought of playing out right in front of me. It was odd seeing it from a different angle. She was yelling at her little sister, Lizzy, who looked like a rose pink pastry. I felt awful for the young girl, to have such a monstrous being as a sibling. What did Bucky ever see in her? Sure, she was gorgeous, but that shouldn’t have mattered.

“Stop being such a little shit, Elizabeth. Last I recalled today was my special day, not yours. I’m the one getting married, not you!” Carli screamed at the quivering girl, her spit flying into her face, the fat tears rolling down her face slightly smudging her makeup. “Not like anyone would ever want to marry you anyways. You’re not even that pretty.”

“But Carls, all I asked for is if you could help me with my hair and makeup since I figured you're the expert at this.” Lizzy reasoned, trying her best to look strong and stop crying. “I just wanted to spend some time with you! I never see you anymore!”

“Thank God,” Carli mumbled, though it was still clear as to what she had said. “I don’t even know how I survived with you for, like, ten years. I’m happy I’m getting away from all you losers. Now, why don’t you go and fix yourself up, you look like a trainwreck.” She stomped off to the attached door to the dressing room when she finished.

This is surely not what you thought it would be

I lose myself in a daydream, where I stand and say

I drag my eyes away from the young teenager and continue onto my path towards the grand hall where the ceremony will be held. My mind didn’t even process what I was doing, where I was going, the events about to happen. My nerves started to crash over me like a raging tidal wave. I was walking in the open, not stopping to think if anyone had seen me or are about to. Then I felt a tight grip on my arm, pulling me into a small room on the side.

I was about to scream but I felt a rough hand cover my mouth, muffling the sound. Dread rippled through my body as my eyes widened and breath hitched.  Oh no, I thought to myself. Please don’t let it be him, please don’t let it be Bucky. 

The hand was lifted when they were sure I wasn’t going to screech at the top of my lungs and turned me around. Thank God, it was Steve. He looked a bit worried, and a bit terrified.

“You okay? You were sort of dozed off, walking around there.” He said, scanning you over. “ You’re lucky I caught you before someone else did. I just wanted to check if you remembered the plan.” I nodded, staying silent.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I said quietly, keeping my head down. “What if he really is happy with her? I would ruin his life.” Steve shook his head, shaking me.

“Have you seen him lately? A total mess, I’m telling you. Besides, I think he’s been dropping hints for a while now.” Steve encouraged me. “Why don’t we run through it?”

Don’t say yes, run away now

I’ll meet you when you’re out of the church at the back door

Don’t wait, or say a single vow

You need to hear me out, and they said Speak Now.

I went through a small speech I was supposed to give when I would barge in. I had so carefully written it to perfection, but now I could only remember bits and pieces. What was I thinking when I agreed to do this?!

I pretended as if Steve was Bucky and the crowd, but I couldn’t even say it in front of him, let alone like 500 other people. I told him where I planned to meet him if he did agree to run off with me, away from Carli, her stupid stuck up family, and apparently all the other troubles of the world.

I couldn’t let him say yes though. Although I would never admit it aloud, I realised the way Bucky had looked when she popped out of nowhere and stole him away from us for the rest of the day. If I let this ceremony go through, she’ll steal him away for the rest of our goddamn lives.

It’d hurt me too, seeing him run off with the girl he never loved. Not just because of my constantly growing feelings towards him, but that’s also the protective best friend side coming out of me. I couldn’t stand him not being happy, and living the rest of his sorry days with that thing.

Somewhere deep down, I hoped knew that it was supposed to be me up there in the flowing white gown and veil standing in front of him, a big smile adorned on my face as well as his. And he knew the exact same thing, pondering it just minutes before he got married off, but to the wrong girl.

Fun gestures are exchanged

And the organ starts to play a song that sounds like a death march

And I am hiding in the curtains

It seems that I was uninvited be you lovely bride to be

I hear excited whispered conversations that are soon cut off by the earth-rattling sound of the giant organ playing. The tune of ‘Here Comes the Bride’ was smoothly played out, as the small voices were silenced. The tune sounded depressing as if it were a funeral instead of a wedding.

Everyone turned their head to the back of the room, where I was standing just moments ago. I had hopped behind a velvet curtain matching the roll of carpet down the aisle when I heard the first chord of the organ.

I got a good look at everyone’s faces who had attended. As it seemed, there were a lot more familiar faces than I had counted. Mostly everyone from our year, and even quite a few from the ones below and above us. Of course, I wasn’t one of those individuals. I hadn’t gotten an invitation.

I wasn’t even informed of the engagement. My best mate’s engagement.

I wondered then if she had forced him not to send an invitation to me, or if I had possibly even slipped their minds. It was almost 100% not the latter. Surely Bucky would’ve said something if he was free to say it. Right? 

I’m distracted by my thoughts as my eyes land on the said boy. His long black waves were gelled back, other than a thin strand that hung loosely at the side of his face. It looked much different than his usual ponytail. He was dressed in a white tuxedo with a black button up underneath and a black bowtie. He had white pants to match his blazer, and shiny black loafers adorned on his feet.

But the most different thing about his look was the stern look on his face. He looked almost emotionless, not happy but not angry or disappointed either, it was nothingness. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that side of him, his signature flashy grin was always plastered to his slightly chapped lips, it was always his best feature. Without it, he looked like a lost soul.

She floats down the aisle like a pageant queen

But I know you wish it was, you wish it was me

Don’t you?

Right on queue, I heard the clicking of her six-inch heels, like she needed to be any taller anyways. Although I despised her more now that I ever did for the whole time I’ve known her, I can’t not say that she looked absolutely stunning. Her long, lacy white wedding gown dragged behind her for what seemed like miles, held by two of her bridesmaids at the end. her veil was laced, with small white flowers on the headpiece. Her white heels laced up to her knees, also covered in little flowers and butterflies. 

Although she was the devil in human form, I do see the reasoning as to looking past her ugly personality and to her beautiful exterior. In fact, there were many people who would accept her for just that. But not Bucky. Not my Bucky.

I looked at him, back up near the altar, and although I could tell he thought she did look stunning, that he felt guilty. Like he was thinking the same as me, imagining my face, my body, my persona in that flowing dress, those high heels, behind that veil.

She stepped up to stand in front of him, like any other normal wedding, when I noticed that she held the exact same expression as her fiancée. The nothingness. And then, the ceremony commenced.

I hear the preacher say speak now or forever hold your peace

There’s the silence there’s my last chance

I stand with shaking hands all eyes on me

Horrified looks from everyone in the room but I’m only looking at you

“If there are any objections, speak now, or forever hold your peace,” the priest says as he stands between the couple. Bucky looks around the room, almost hopeful that someone would stand up, but no one. Not yet anyway.

I look down at my hands, sweaty and shaking. I wipe them off on my lovely Y/F/C dress, and lightly grasp the soft material. I look up to see Steve looking back at me expectantly.

“This is your last chance!” He mouthed at me before winking and turning back to the front as if nothing had happened. I took a deep breath, before standing up from my place.

“I object!” I stated loudly, everyone in the room freezes, before turning towards me. Every single pair of eyes stared me down, but I focused on only one thing, or more specifically, one person. James Buchanan Barnes. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, you bitch!” Carli screamed, stomping her feet and her face turned redder than I’ve ever seen it before. “Get out of here! You weren’t invited! No one wants you here-”

“Shut up for once, will you?” Bucky snarled at her, but not breaking our eye contact. I could see the ghost of a smile starting to appear again.

“These two obviously aren’t now and never will be truly happy with each other, it just wasn't meant to be,” I said, as I slowly inched up the aisle. “And I’m here to make sure that Bucky Barnes doesn’t marry the wrong girl.”

“Thank God,” he mumbled with a slight laugh, only to get harshly hit in the stomach with a bouquet of flowers in the hands of Carli.

“What the hell are you talking about, baby? We’re perfect for each other, and everyone knows it.” She said after she dropped the flowers and started to rub his arm, only for him to shoo her off.

“Let’s be real here, Carls. It was never gonna happen, and it never should. You’ll find the perfect person for you one day, but let me tell you now that that person is definitely not me. Because me person is right here, in front of me. Y/N L/N.” Bucky said as he walked down the shallow steps towards you, his bright smile in full effect once again. I smiled back, feeling tears well up in my eyes. 

I am not the kind of girl, who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion

But you are not the kind of boy, who should be marrying the wrong girl

So don’t say yes run away now, I’ll meet you when you’re out of the church at the backdoor

Don’t wait or say a single vow, you need to hear me out and they said Speak Now

And you’ll say let’s run away now, I’ll meet you when I’m out of my tux at the backdoor

Baby I didn’t say my vows, so glad you were around when they said Speak Now

I met Bucky at the back of the church once he changed out of his suit and into his usual black jeans and a band tee. I quickly changed out of my dress as well. When he walked out he looked like he was glowing as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and kissed my temple. I smiled and cuddled into his side as we started walking away from the chaos.

“I’m so happy you showed up. I didn’t know if Steve had told you or not about it. I was sort of planning this.” He says as we got into my slightly worn down car. I started it up and drove out of the parking lot onto the abandoned narrow road.

“I’m happy I did too, wouldn’t want you marrying someone like her. Don’t know what you were thinking.” I laughed and he soon joined in, nodding his head in agreement. After the laughter died down there was a silence. It wasn’t awkward, just sort of there. “So, what happens now?” I ask, looking at him for a quick moment. He smirked, putting his arm on the back of my seat, squeezing my shoulder.

“We run away together, we can continue our education somewhere else. You know, live happily ever after.” He said in a mocking quirky voice. I giggled.

“Sounds like a plan.”

[dr-gloom]

Coffee Date?

Part 1  Part 2  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9

Part 3 is here! I had an idea for it but atm it’s not getting me anywhere, so I’m going on this new tangent

Whiiiiich means there may be a future part that takes place between parts 2 and 3 and I am soooo sorry. Of course, I could just leave it out and the story would be fine. I’m taking too much space for this.... just.... if I can write it out, I will, if I can’t, the story won’t suffer for it.

This one is going to start rather slow to some (most) people; it’s Virgil and Roman’s first meeting.

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairings: the platonic friendly kind

Warnings/Tags: Feelings of depression, Human AU, anxiety, anxiety attack, mentions of abuse, past abusive relationship

Read it on AO3

fic masterlist

like what I do? buy me a coffee or GoFundMe

Virgil spent a lot of time on his own now. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Patton or Logan, in fact they were practically family (Pat more-so than Logan, whom he’d only met a couple years ago through Patton), so he loved them dearly. It was just... having someone around all the time was overwhelming, sometimes. Patton was almost always home when Virgil was awake (he’d be the first to admit his sleeping schedule was... horrendous), and when he wasn’t Logan was usually there. Virgil could cut off his thumb and still count on that one hand the number of times he’s been completely alone in Patton’s- in their apartment. 

Logan didn’t live there, per se. He had his own place, but he spent most of his time outside of work at Patton’s and Virgil’s apartment. Virgil is pretty sure Logan has a crush on Patton, but Patton hasn’t said anything so he figures it’s not his business anyways. So he’d decided to give them some time to themselves and dipped out of the apartment shortly after Logan stopped in. Currently, he was just wandering aimlessly through town; he didn’t care if he got lost. He... didn’t care about a lot of things, anymore. He’d never tell Patton that, though. His friend would be heartbroken to hear that he didn’t care of he lived or died. After everything Patton’s done for him, he couldn’t hurt him like that. Virgil stopped in front of a small coffee shop and went inside. 

The interior is plenty cozy, with warm redwood furniture and soft creme-colored walls. Virgil glances around for a moment before walking up to the counter, glancing at the sunny employee’s smile before looking down at his chest. He didn’t know how to feel about people smiling at him. “Hello there, dark prince. What will you be having this fine afternoon?” Virgil raises an eyebrow at the nickname and looks over the menu before muttering, “Can... Can I uh... hot chocolate?” The employee - Roman, if his name tag is correct - smiles and nods, grabbing the biggest size and writing Virgil’s order. “Will that be all?” Virgil nods. “Alright, your total is $3.37.” Virgil takes a five out of his pocket and hands it over, telling Roman “Keep the change.” before sitting in the furthest, most isolated corner of the coffee shop. Virgil pulls out his phone, quickly exiting out of his texting history without looking and pulling up Tumblr. While he waits, Virgil scrolls through his dash and reblogs/likes whatever he finds funny. After a few minutes of this, a coffee cup is set in front of him and Virgil looks up to see Roman smiling kindly down at him holding his own coffee cup. 

“I’m starting my break right now. Would you mind me joining you?” Virgil shakes his head and tries his best attempt at a smile before picking up his cup and sipping at his hot chocolate. That’s some good shit. Virgil goes back to his phone, ignoring Roman. 

Roman, apparently, has other plans because he tries to strike up a conversation. “Soooo. You never told me your name. You know, that’s usually the custom in coffee shops.” Virgil raises an eyebrow and looks around. “Well, I think it’s accurate to assume that out of a clientele of... 7 people, you could find my face.” Out of curiosity, he looks at what Roman wrote on his cup.

Tall, Dark, and Handsome

Virgil instantly feels his face heat up. He sets the cup down a little too quickly and stuffs his hands in his lap. Roman grins. “So, can I have the name of the prince of my dreams, tonight?” Virgil looks up at Roman, making eye contact for the first time since he’s walked in. “I- I uh-” He wasn’t sure how he felt about all of this, but he didn’t think it was good. Roman leans in with a soft smirk, and Virgil leans back. 

“Or maybe you could tell me over dinner tonight?” He reaches over and takes Virgil’s hand, kissing his knuckles. Virgil shudders and pulls his hand back, feeling sick. “I really-” 

“Or perhaps you need to think on it? That’s alright, take all the time you need.” Virgil’s eyes dart around the small shop. Including the other employees, there were ten other people in the building right now. Ten people to witness if Virgil flipped out and made a scene. Ten people to watch this practical stranger get angry with him because he can’t even turn someone down right. He can still feel Roman’s lips pressed against his hand and it’s making his breathing come out a little funny. He brings a hand up to his chest; has his heart always beat this fast? He looks up at Roman to see the other staring at him. Oh god, he was already making a scene, he was being a nuisance. He clenches his fists in his lap and stares at his knees, shaking slightly, sinking into his bulky black hoodie. 

Roman smiled as a gothic cutie walked in, looking around before coming up to the counter. Roman couldn’t help the little nickname that slipped out as he asked what Virgil wanted, and he wrote the order on the cup before taking the money with a grin. It wasn’t until said cutie was gone that he realized he forgot to get his name. He hums in thought before writing Tall, Dark, and Handsome in sharpie. He briefly debated adding a small heart, or his number, but decided to play it safe and just made the man’s hot chocolate. When he brought it to him, Roman was practically vibrating with nerves as he asked to join. Truthfully, he had actually just clocked out for the day, but cute boys were much more receptive when you were only going to be around for fifteen minutes, not indefinitely. 

When he asked for Dark Angel’s name and got that snarky response about how empty the coffee shop was, he had to hide a laugh behind his hand. When the stranger looked at the cup and turned red, Roman internally cheered. He’s totally into me! He called the other the prince of his dreams. Smooth. When they made eye contact and Roman looked into those beautiful eyes, he couldn’t help but suggest dinner. He was a romantic at heart, this was his... semi-grand gesture. He kissed Dark and Stormy’s hand, feeling suave as hell, until cutie pulls his hand back. He backtracks; don’t want to come on too strong now, Roman. Then he’s looking around, and Roman can see him starting to freak out, and oh god he really screwed this one up didn’t he? 

“I’m really sorry, did I read this wrong? If you’re not into guys you can say so, I’m sorry I overstepped. Are you alright?” 

Virgil barely heard what Roman said, his heart beating loudly in his ears. He stood on slightly shaky legs, stuttering out an excuse to leave as he grabbed his phone and the cup and started heading for the door. He made it outside but didn’t stop, blindly turning and walking down the sidewalk. Was he heading to Patton’s, or away from it? He didn’t care, he just wanted to be away from that coffee place. A hand grabs his shoulder and he spins around; if not for the panic gripping his throat he would have screamed. 

Roman stands before him, face the picture of concern and guilt, hands fidgeting in front of him like he doesn’t know what to do with them. After a moment of silence, he speaks up. “I swear I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable and I’m so sorry for whatever I said and did that made it seem like I had ill intentions. Can... Can I make it up to you? We can go wherever you like, any public place with plenty of witnesses even, and we can just chat. I’d like to be your friend, if that’s okay.” Virgil looks at Roman, studying his face for signs of a lie. But you could never spot them on D-. Virgil nods slowly, shoving his hands deep in his hoodie pockets to hide their trembling. “Yeah... Okay. Let’s go to the park.” Virgil looks around, then turns and starts heading for the park. He hasn’t been over there yet, but he’s seen it when he goes to the store with Patton - they pass right by it. 

He can feel Roman following behind a couple steps back, and he can also feel the waves of guilt and anxiety coming off of him. Maybe Roman wasn’t such a bad guy after all? Maybe Virgil really did just misunderstand him? They reach the park after a few silent minutes of walking and Virgil plops down on the nearest park bench with a small sigh. Roman sits beside him, leaving a good six inches between them, and the two silently people watch.

It seems like hours before Roman finally gathers the courage to open his mouth. “So... If you don’t mind me asking, and if you don’t mind telling a virtual stranger, what happened?” Virgil doesn’t bother asking what he means; he already knows. He sighs slowly, leaning his elbows on his knees and looking at the concrete between his feet. 

“I met Dee back in our Junior year of high school. He had just moved here from like, Texas, I think? So he had no friends. We became close pretty fast, along with my childhood friend Patton.” Virgil rubs his chin with his index finger as he thinks. “He asked me out to Junior prom. Before then, we’d both known we liked the other but were dancing around it. Prom was our first date, I guess.” He has no idea why he’s telling Roman all of this, but he feels like he can trust him. “We started dating after that. He was... a great boyfriend, the best really. So kind and considerate, wanted to protect the people he cared about... When we graduated, he asked me to move in with him, which I did. He went to school and I stayed home. He said if I got a job he’d never get to see me, so I didn’t. He apparently had enough money from his parents that we didn’t have to worry about stuff like rent. 

“When he got closer to finally graduating, I think the stress began to get to him. He started becoming more snappy, he was easily angered, and he didn’t smile or joke as much anymore. By the time he’d finally gotten his degree, he was almost a completely different person.” Virgil closes his eyes briefly. “He wanted me to ask permission before I did anything without him, he didn’t want me going to see certain friends, and even the ones he liked I had to ask about first. He... He’d come home from a bad day at work and. And he’d hit me.” Virgil opens his eyes when a gentle hand settles on his shoulder. “He’d started to do it when I messed something up, or if I argued with him. When I did something without asking. A- a few months ago-...” His voice breaks and he has to take a deep breath before continuing. “A few months ago, he raped me for the first time.” 

This is the first time he’s said it out loud, and the words bring tears to his eyes. “H-he said if I loved him, I’d do this for him, and- and I did, I do, y’know?” He scoffs derisively. “God, how fucked am- am I that I still love him. He hurt me over and over and left me to rot and I still... I miss him.” Roman is silent for a long moment, letting Virgil compose himself before speaking up. “No you don’t.” At the quizzical look Virgil shoots him, he elaborates. “You were used to a certain... way of living. An expectation for how your day, or maybe the rest of your life, would go. Now that he’s not in your life... That expectation is gone. You don’t miss him, you miss the expectation.” He hums and sits back. “Well, maybe you miss him, but I’m sure it’s the old him you miss. That man has been gone for a long time; have you mourned him, yet?”

Virgil looks at Roman, blown away by how the man who’d been goofily hitting on him not even an hour ago was now speaking with such... wisdom. He shakes his head, and Roman nods. “You should. You’ll feel better.” Virgil bites his lip.

“Virgil.” 

Roman looks over at him. “What?” 

“My name’s Virgil.” 

He smiles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Virgil.”

Virgil hesitates before walking through the front door, trying to relax. It’d be fine. Patton always said the more the merrier, right? As soon as the door shut behind him, he was being nearly bowled over by Patton running over and pulling him into a hug. “Oh my god, kiddo! You had me so worried! Where have you been? Are you okay?” Virgil felt a ball of guilt settle in his stomach and gently hugged Patton back. “Pat, I told you I was going out today, you didn’t have to worry.”

“But you were gone for so long!”

“Patton, we have been over this. Virgil is an adult, he can take care of himself just fine.” Logan comes wandering out of the kitchen, standing a couple feet back from the other two still by the door. Virgil gives him a small wave that he returns. “So, how was your outing?” Virgil swallowed nervously. Here goes. “Pretty good... I even made a friend.” Patton gasps and pulls back, holding Virgil at arm’s length. Patton was the only person Virgil would ever let touch him this much, but right now he really wished he’d stop. “That’s great kiddo! Who are they?” Virgil picks at his cuticles. “Well... his name’s Roman.” 

“Roman?”

“Yeah...”

“And how old is this Roman?” Uh oh. Dad voice. 

“He’s the same age as us, Pat.” Virgil looks from Patton to Logan then back again.

“And you just met him today.” Virgil looks at the carpet. “....Yes.”

“Virge, you know I love you, and trust you with my life, but how well do you really know this guy?”

“Well enough that I told him about Dee.” 

That makes the room go silent, and Virgil pushes on before he loses his nerve. “And we’ve been talking all day and getting to know each other. I actually uh... invited him over... for dinner...?” Patton blinks, trying to fight back a smile. “Really.” 

“Yeah...” 

“Well, where is he then?” Logan takes a step forward. Virgil nods and opens the front door, leaning out into the hallway and calling out. “Hey dude you can come in, they won’t kill you.” Patton opens his mouth to say something when Roman walks into the room and Logan of all people cuts him off. 

“Roman Prince?”

“Logan Barry?”

Patton and Virgil share a confused look. “You know him, Lo?”

Logan nods, still staring at Roman slightly wide-eyed. “He was my college roommate.” 

A grin almost instantly splits Patton’s face. “Well! The more the merrier!” Virgil would bring up the fact that Patton just decided to trust Logan and not him, but honestly he’s just glad this worked out okay. 

“So, what’s for dinner tonight, Padre?” Virgil snrks at the nickname and Patton positively beams.

“Pasta!” 

A/N: Well this one definitely did not write itself.

I blame this on the fact that I waited until midnight to start on it and I’m tired. 

I realize I’m giving you all these little hope nuggets when you already know what’s going to happen, and honestly I’m not sorry at all, I’m horrible.

Hopefully this is okay!

Taglist:  @metaphoricalpluto2 @bunny222

[hopevalley]

bill and feet

An Inch, a Mile; A Minute, an Hour

Words: 4,270Summary: He’d been through the what-ifs tens of thousands of times. If only the rope had had more give to it. If only he’d arrived home sooner for lunch. If only he’d known Martin felt that lonely, or scared, or helpless. Maybe he could have been saved. {Or, Bill returns to the city to sell his family home.}Pairing/Character: Bill & Martin, plus some Nora and Abigail.Prompt: from this meme.Rating: T for themes.Warnings: SUICIDE.Genre: character study, angst, family, friendship.  

Bill’s a fun character and I was kind of shocked to see the lack of ‘fic about him, in particular pertaining to the loss of his son. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story. Click on the ReadMore for a few story notes.

All right, so the canon for WCtH is pretty sparse when it comes to character backgrounds, and Bill is no exception. We know very little about him, his marriage to Nora, or his relationship to his son, but here are the things that canon does state outright:

His marriage to Nora was an obligation/a way to pay back a favor to Jonas, Nora’s father.

They married to protect Nora’s honor when she ran off with a man but returned unmarried and pregnant.

It’s implied that Martin was Henry’s son. Nora has “always had a blind spot” when it comes to Henry, and Martin is, well, a name shared by Henry’s actor. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.

Bill held Martin when he took his first breaths, and he held him as he took his last breaths. The implication that’s made here is that Nora was not there when Martin died.

Nora felt that Martin was always a burden to Bill, because he wasn’t his blood son.

Without Martin they had no reason to remain married and they both seem very aware of it.

There are more things that are said, but it’s hard to separate the chaff from the wheat, so to speak. Bill says his wife proposed to him, but this is before he admits he married her out of obligation. Either she did ask out of desperation (and he felt obligated to accept), or he was just over-simplifying things (by putting herself in a position where she needed him to step in, she was more or less asking him).

Okay, so here are the headcanons I constructed based loosely on what we were given in the canon:

Martin died as an adult. I know the picture of him is as a child, but the wife isn’t Nora and so I discard it personally and replace it with something that makes a little more sense. I like the idea of the picture being of a younger Martin, but that doesn’t mean he died at that age. I think Nora ran off with Henry when she was much younger, say, late teens, and returned pregnant and young with no idea what to do. Bill, who was raised by her father for the last years of his childhood, was about a decade older than Nora and not very close to her. Truly a marriage of convenience. But if Bill was in his late 20s when he married an 18-year-old Nora, then it’s been twenty+ years. I definitely headcanon that Martin died in his early 20s.

Martin killed himself. I know this is a good wholesome show but let’s not pretend tragedy doesn’t happen, okay? I chose hanging because I feel like shooting himself would put way too much guilt on Bill (for having guns in the house) and absolutely destroy Nora (the blood and mess all over her home would be beyond traumatizing). I constructed it as a deliberate act where Martin planned it to be at a time where his father may have been able to intervene, which is why Bill kind of focuses hard on tiny details. (It’s also something he’s good at, per his job.) This is a little extra tragic for Nora because she wasn’t there for it, and never got to say goodbye. If Martin had died of a long illness, I don’t think she’d be so broken up over his death years later. She is, so it must have been something extremely difficult to process and accept.

Martin had Anxiety and Depression. This is ultimately what drove him to making the call. He felt hopeless, confused, scared. He didn’t know how to ask for help, and in this time period, he’d be lucky if he didn’t end up placed in an asylum for speaking about the way he felt.

Martin was gay. This isn’t something I addressed in the story, because I don’t think Bill would have figured it out, but it’s a personal headcanon that means a lot to me. 

Nora and Bill didn’t have a sex life. I think they care about each other in their own way, but neither of them trust the other with their heart and never did. I also feel that Bill would fully respect Nora not wanting him like that.

Bill loved being a father. But I also think for him, his relationship with his son, being shrouded in tragedy, is also a very personal and private thing.

These are only my personal headcanons; by no means do you, the reader, have to agree with them. This is just my interpretation of this aspect of Bill, Nora, and Martin’s relationship. There are many others!

Anyway, I tried to write this with the idea of a small emotional distance existing between Bill and his memories. Like, I’m sure he sometimes gets lost in grief over his son’s death. I’m sure he cries sometimes when he’s by himself. I’m sure he cried when his son died. But he’s viewing it a few years down the road in this story, and he’s built some walls so that he can view it with some objectivity. 

Bill is the sort of person to compartmentalize his hurt, and I got the feeling from what he does say of his son that it’s not something he likes talking about, but…he can. He’s started to move on and to stop blaming himself so much. It doesn’t take the hurt away, as many of you know, but it does help ease it.

Originally I had a small scene in here between Frank and Bill, where Frank talks about forgiveness, but of a kind not often talked about in the series: forgiving oneself. I took it out because it didn’t fit with the rest, and I think Bill has largely done this already. It just doesn’t have the power to keep him from thinking of the if-onlys and what-ifs. In a manner of speaking, selling the home he watched Martin grow up in is the final stage of his grieving process.

So it’s not that he doesn’t hurt. He does. But he feels it less, now, than he did, and he doesn’t feel it all of the time.

I also originally had a line in the scene toward the end where Bill remembers letting Martin crawl into bed where Martin apologizes for it and Bill forgives him, but took it out. It felt like just a bit too much. 

And yes, the things Bill says to Martin are supposed to lightly reflect what AJ says to Bill in S5E8: Weather the Storm.

Stay tuned for the AU in which Bill is on time and Martin lives. Well, maybe not…but it’s a nice thought.

The song I thought of while writing was this one:

I didn’t explore the deep tragedy of suicide in this story because it’s several years in the past, but if I ever hit up a more detailed/lengthy piece on Bill, it may show up.

[spacenightwing]

What are you doing here anyway?

Summary: Writing prompt for dialogue "What are you doing here anyway?"

Jason finds Dick in a place he's not supposed to be. Why? Their father is the king of pricks.

Brotherly bonding, drunken Dick Grayson and protective Jason Todd ensues.

HUGE thanks to @marvelgirl411 and @conchacunt for beta help! You guys are amazing thank you for everything!! 

A03

Jason likes this bar. It's in the heart of the Narrows, so it's not exactly the best place to snag a date and the quality of alcohol is pitiful on a good day; but it's cheap as hell and it's the perfect place to go when he's trying to avoid a particular bat and his cult following. On the accusations the Bat does find himself in this part of the city, Gotham's protector prefers to watch from the rooftops above, rather than actually be a part of the city he claims to love. So imagine Jason’s surprise when he walks into the bar to celebrate a particular annoying drug bust and sees the Golden Boy himself.

Jason spends a good minute and a half deliberating what to do. He comes to this bar for the sole purpose of avoiding the Bats. But he can't think of a reason Dick would show up in this dump. It's not even Nightwing looking to get answers for a case. It's Dick Grayson drowning himself in a couple of empty shot glasses and whatever he's currently nursing.

It’s not like Jason wants to be Dick's shoulder to cry on. He doesn't want to be anyone's shoulder to cry on! Maybe Barbra's… or Cass's. Maybe, if he's in the mood and the need to cry was world crashing. But Dick is in a place he is clearly not supposed to be, doing something that is uncharacteristically crazy for him.

Worse, right behind Bruce, Dick has one of the most recognizable faces in Gotham (one if the consequences of growing up under the shadow of Wayne Manor and Wayne Tower) and there are a lot of people in this bar who would like to take a crack at such a face; either to hold him for ransom or to symbolically smack frustration into the face of Gotham elite for so-called charity work.  Jason could see both happening. Or at least, attempted; no one in this bar could take on a Bat, even if Dick looks ready to blackout. Some people are already giving him some side looks that make Jason uneasy.

All this considered, Jason decides to take pity on the drunken brother. He walks up to the nearest end of the bar and asks for a draft beer. It's not exactly the liquor he's looking for to celebrate the bust, but it's better than nothing. After getting the cheap drink, he slides a stool next to Dick and claps him on the shoulder. That was a mistake.

Dick whips around and pulls a gun. "Dude!" Jason yells. "What the fuck you doing?"

"Jay?" Dick slurs. The gun dips towards the ground. Before Dick can do any damage with something he’d hate himself for, Jason grabs the top of the gun and pulls it out of his hand. He goes to unload it but finds the gun empty.

“What the actual hell Dickface?" If Dick is carrying around a gun, empty or not, it's worse than Jason originally thought. Jason’s not sure if he's okay with the fact that he got involved in something clearly out of his depth, but Dick clearly needs help.

"I didn't feel like becoming ransom." Dick's words spill out of his mouth without much control.

"So you carry around an unloaded gun? That doesn’t scare anyone in this town, you know that." Dick's response is a half shrug as his head falls onto his chest. "Do I even want to ask how much you've had to drink?" It takes him a few seconds, but Dick finally holds up four fingers. Jason doesn't believe that for a second. He looks to the bartender: a 50 some year old man who doesn’t seem to be paying attention to anything. "How much has he had?" Jason asks.

"Four," the bar tender answers.

"Four what?"

"Four tequila shots."

"Damn it, Dick." His brother may have been raised in galas, but he's still one the worst light weights Jason knows. Two shots of tequila tend to put Dick in a bad spot. This won't be a pretty night. Jason takes Dick's half full drink right out of his hand and takes a sip of straight whiskey. After letting the burn die down, he looks back to the man behind the bar and yells "why the hell would you give him a glass of whisky?!"

The old bar tender’s tired response is "I ain't his babysitter," and goes back to what he was doing before.

When Dick reaches out to take the whisky back, Jason slides it down the opposite end of the bar. It nearly falls completely off. "Asshole," Dick mumbles. Before he can attempt to oder a new one Jason stops him.

“The fuck you doing Dick?"

"None of your bees-wax little wing."

"Okay, are we twelve?" Dick's incredibly mature response is to stick his tongue out. "Do not make me be the big brother here."

It's a deep cut and Jason knows it. Dick's not exactly the best big brother, but he's been trying, much to Jason's protest. It started when he came back from the dead. Dick had been in too much of a pissing contest with Bruce to be much of a brother to Jason when he was alive the first time. When the long lost Robin returned, Dick took it upon himself to be "the brother Jason deserved" (and never wanted or needed).

"Don’t go there," Dick spits with bitterness. His face is pinched tight. But whether that pained expression is from Jason's insult or whatever caused this mood in the first place, Jason doesn't know. Probably both.

"Then don't act like it." Dick gives him the infamous Bat glare, which has little effect on a fellow former Bat, but at least he’s focused on something other than getting a new glass. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"B's full of shit."

"I could have told you that. I have told you that. But none of his shittyness has ever caused you, of all people, to do this. You've taken my spot at my bar and pulled gun. That’s my job. So what gives?"

Dick swallows hard. He takes a moment to collect himself then asks, "You know what day it is?"

"Ummm… Sunday…? Does it matter?"

"No. What date, Jay?"

Jason takes a second to think about. Soon realization dawned on him, resulting in him wanting to shove his fist into Bruce's skull.

Dick can see when Jason realizes the significance of the date. His response is to huff out a breath of hot air and pick up an old shot glass. Ignoring the fact that the glass is empty, Dick puts it to his lips, attempting to drink away reality.

Not needing or wanting to address the date, Jason asks, "What did he do?"

"Doesn't matter. I'll get over it."

"No you won't.”

"Nope. Honestly, I'll bury it. But what matters is the day he chose to be an ass."

Jason can’t argue with that. After a moment of silence, Jason asks, “Have you visited them today?" It's not a topic he wants to touch with a ten foot pole, but he'll go there for his grieving brother's sake.

"Yep. Still six feet under. Not much has changed."

And that's the saddest truth to the situation. No matter how many time Jason visits his mom, or how many flowers Dick takes to his parents on birthdays and anniversaries, no matter how many times Bruce broods over the Wayne family cemetery, the dead will stay buried; in all cases except him, it seems.  People say that time heals, but it that's the case, time is taking its sweet ass fucking time for all of them. Bruce knows exactly what watching parents die does to one's mind, even years and years after the event. Why he would choose today of all days to be a prick? Simply letting the date slip his mind isn't an excuse for the World's Greatest Detective. The goddamn time of his own parents death is the code to get into the man's personal military base for crying out loud. Forgetting one of the most important dates to your first adopted son is inexcusable. Hell, as depressing as it is, it's this date that brought Dick to Bruce; that brought Robin to Batman. The man has some fucking nerve.

This isn't the time or place to take Jason’s anger out on Bruce. For one, Bruce isn't even here. Second, Dick needs help now.  This is not normal for him and a choice few low-lives are again glancing at Dick with malice in the eyes. He's wants to get Dick out of here.

"Come on Dickiebird-"

"I'm not going to the manor. Or my place. I don't wanna see 'im."

"I'm an asshole Dickface; I'm not a monster. You're coming to my place. He won't bother you there."

Dick hesitates, but after a moment, he nods slowly and allows Jason to help him stand up. After assuring the bartender that he'll pay the tab tomorrow, Jason grabs his brother into a side hug and all but drags his brother to his motorcycle outside.  

Getting him on the bike isn't easy, but it's a hell of a lot easier than getting the acrobat up five flights of steps. His flexibility has always freaked Jason out, and when he's this out of it, Dick has very little control over him limbs. It's like trying to get cooked spaghetti to stand up straight.  But after about an hour of cursing and sheer determination, Jason is able to lie Dick down in his bed. He puts a trash can right next to Dick's faces and adds, "You throw up on my bed, you die Big Bird” before taking to the couch for the night.

The next morning, Jason is thoroughly entertained by making fun of a very hungover Nightwing, migraine be damned. Red Hood did miss out on celebrating his drug bust after all.

[elexuscal]

Fanfic: Guidance

Summary: Sometimes a person can become so lost, they don't even realize they've gone astray. Thankfully, Steven finds someone who's walked this path before. Fandoms: Steven Universe and Legend of Korra Warning for discussion of depression and suicidal tendencies Ao3 link As a birthday present for the awesome @swordtheguy!!

Guidance

The world around Steven is beautiful.

It’s a forest, bigger than any he’s ever seen, with trees that would tower even over Alexandrite. The sun that filters through its canopy is a vivid, shimmering green and gold. There are other lights, too-- fluttering things, birds and dragonflies and winged rabbits. The air is cool, but pleasantly so, like the first days of spring, and rich with the smells of bark, soil, and something almost electric.

Steven’s pretty sure he’s dreaming. After all, he’s never seen anything like this before, on Earth or off of it.

Thing is, he doesn’t usually realize he’s dreaming when it’s a regular dream. Which means this probably isn’t one.

“Hello?” Steven calls out to the world at large. The flittering critters react like a stone thrown into water, radiating away from him. “I’m really sorry for wandering into your head! I didn’t mean to!”

Nobody answers.

With nothing else to do, Steven sets off exploring. Walking along the mossy forest floor, occasionally trying to reach out to one of magical dream animals, but they all flinch away from him. He sighs, and tries calling out names for whose dream this could be. “Dad? Amethyst? Lapis?” Then, a little hopefully, “Connie?"

No answer.

“Fine,” Steven sighs. He flops down on a massive most pillow on the root of an absolutely massive tree.

Now what? he wonders.

He could wake up. Probably best. He’s learned the dangers of wandering in a sub-conscious where he’s not wanted.

But the thought of lying in his dark room, sleepless, is incredibly unappealing. Keeping his eyes shut tight, pretending he can’t hear the Gems creeping around, watching him. Wondering why everyone’s so freaked out, when he’s home and he’s safe. Worrying about the Lars, the one who actually deserves it.

Something flickers in the corner of his eye.

Steven turns. It’s a little plant-flowery-vine thing, pale translucent white, it’s little frond wiggling.

“Oh, hello!” Steven says.

It seems to hear him. At least, it wiggles a little more, stretching towards him.

“I’m Steven,” Steven says, ever polite. “I don’t suppose you know where I am, huh?” If it does, it can’t say, which is maybe to be expected of a plant. Still, he’s not giving up yet. “I was kinda hoping this is the mind of my friend, Connie. She kinda ran off earlier, and…”

The plant seems to look at him expectantly, which is impressive for something without eyes.

“She’s being… frustrating,” Steven confesses. “And I don’t know why! I was gone doing something dangerous, but it was something to save her. And when I came back, she was mad at me! It makes no sense! Doesn’t she get I was protect everyone? Her, my friends, the whole planet... “

The plant reaches out, closer to him, and Steven knows it can understand him.

“She said Stevonnie coulda defeated Aquamarine. But that’s stupid. Alexandrite couldn’t defeat Aquamarine! And she’s the size of godzilla! So if we’d tried, no way we coulda won. We just would have gotten carried off into space, and now we’d be trapped in a zoo. I couldn’t risk everyone. I couldn’t risk her."

The plant stretches, a leafy tendril coming to lay on Steven’s hand. It’s cool. Comforting.

It wants him to keep explaining.

“And I mean-- all the Diamonds really want is Rose Quartz. And who can blame them? She’s a killer. Or maybe she is… I wonder if Zircon is right? That someone else shattered Pink Diamond, and covered it up?” Steven sighs again. The plant squeezes his hand in response. “But then… why does everyone think my Mom did it? Did she lie to them? It wouldn’t be the first time…”

Suddenly, all those thoughts-- those thoughts he hasn’t had the time to look at, the one’s he’s actively been avoiding-- come spilling out of his mouth. Steven lets them. The plant won’t get angry at him, or start crying, or tell him he was irresponsible, or run away. The pant will listen. The plant will understand.

Korra is sharing tea with Fire Lord Izumi and about ten of the highest ranking noble families in the Fire Nation, when a transparent woman appears in the middle of the table to tell Korra that she needs to come quickly.

The nobles erupt into a mixture of surprised expressions, scandalized gasped, annoyed frowns and curious questions.

Korra herself remains completely calm. She’d gotten pretty used to Jinora and other air-benders with spiritual projection.

She catches Izumi’s eye. The Fire Lord nods. m“Do what you must. I am sure we can carry on without you.”

Within five minutes, Korra’s in a nice, quiet, private chamber, eyes crossed, breathing deep, letting her spirit float out of her body and into a whole other world entirely.

What she finds there: vines.

Lots and lots of vines.

“So I’m guessing this is the problem?” Korra asks.

Jinora nods. “Furry-Foot said that it started showing up… well, spirit time doesn’t always correspond perfectly to our world’s, but a few days, at least. It’s spreading fast, snaring everything it touches. Won’t be long until it reaches the Northern Spirit Portal.”

Korra nearly swears. But keeping a positive outlook is important in the Spirit World, so she doesn’t.

She does wish this had happened at basically any other time. When she was at home in Republic City, or visiting family, either in the North or South Pole. But no. It had to have hit while she was in the middle of a tour of the Fire Nation. While she’s gotten better at this spirity stuff, she still would have preferred to actually walk into the Spirit World in her real body. She always feels so… naked, without her bending.

Whatever. No use grousing.

Jinora wants to come, but her form is flickering at the edges. Apparently she was at this for hours, not wanting to interrupt Korra. It’s late in Republic City. She needs her rest. After a little resistance, Jinora’s form vanishes, and Korra heads off alone.

She has to weave and duck her wave through the waves of spirits rushing from the ever encroaching vines-- until, suddenly, she doesn’t have to at all. They’ve all fled, or have become trapped.

Korra makes sure to float a good few feet above the surface.

She stares down at the vines. It doesn’t look like a dark spirit, all roiling blacks and purples, like oil on water. These vines are bright. Shimmering pinks, with sparks of yellow and blue just beneath the surface.

More to the point; they don’t feel like a dark spirit. Those are all-- rage and impotence and frustration and righteous fury turned sour. This-- well, Korra’s not great at sensing emotions, and she’s not going to say there’s no anger there. But more… sadness, maybe… And something almost earnest.

Korra shakes her head.

“Hello,” she says. “I’m the Avatar!. I’m here to talk to you about all the, well, attacking.”

An almost invisible ripple seems to pass through the vines as its attention shifts to her. One of its might tendrils raises up, reaching towards her.

“Woah woah woah!” Korra flings herself back; not sure if this thing can trap her in the Spirit World, but she’s not gonna risk it. “Look, I don’t want to hurt you. But you’re hurting a lot of other people. Can you tell me why? Maybe we can figure something out.”

Curiousity. Confusion. Those are the feelings Korra’s sensing from it.

“Did something upset you? Or hurt you? If something did, I’ll try my best to fix it. But right now, you’re hurting others, and I can’t allow that.”

The plant doesn’t answer.

Because, obviously, it’s a plant. But this is the Spirit World. You never know. Korra really wishes this was one of the spirits which can talk, since it’s a lot harder to do peace negotiations with something with no words or expressions.

The vines ripple and pulse, a pattern moving deeper into the core of its roiling tangle. Korra squares her shoulders, and follows it.

“This better not be a trap,” she mutters.

The vines’ lights glitter in a way that feels like it should be reassuring. Somehow it does little to reassure her.

The lights begin to accelerate, and Korra moves faster in response-- faster and faster. She feels like she’s being pulled-- not by the vines themselves, but by the instinct inside of her, Raava’s light recognising this is where she needs to go.

Around her is a forest, or what used to be one. Now every single inch of it is covered in vines, so thick she can’t make out anything beneath it. Looming in front of her is what must be the core. It reminds her of the great Banyan tree in the swamp, or a distorted reflection of it. A a core of vines, the heart from which this all radiates out.

Korra’s drawn towards it.

Instead of planting painfully straight into it, she flies through, insubstantial. Finds herself in a small chamber. A cocoon, almost.

There’s someone inside. A human face, thick vines from the neck down.

“Hi,” the person-- a boy-- says. At least, he looks and sounds like a boy, although it’s not helpful to assume that kind of thing with spirits. “Were you trying to talk to me?”

“Yes,” says Korra.

“Oh, okay! Sorry, I couldn’t hear you very well.” He peers at her curiously. “Is this your dream?”

“My… dream?”

The boy nods. “Yeah, when this kind of stuff happens, it’s usually because I’m in someone’s dream, and you’re the first person to come and talk to me. Except, when I do end up in someone’s head, it’s always someone I’ve at least heard of before…”

Korra crosses her arms. “This isn’t a dream. This is real. You’re in the spirit world.”

“Spirit world? What’s that?”

“It’s the… world for spirits,” Korra says, unbalanced.

“Wow,” the boy says, eyes going very wide. “Spirts, like ghosts? I didn’t know those were really real.”

The surprise in his voice is so genuine that it makes Korra take a second look at him. “Are you… human?”

“Sorta. I’m half-human.”

“Half human,” Korra echoes.

“How about you?” he asks, looking her up and down. “Are you human?”

“Sorta,” Korra repeats, unable to resist herself. “Half too, I guess. Half-human, half-spirit. I’m the Avatar.”

The pronouncement had earned Korra many responses over the years, from surprise, respect, annoyance and scorn. This boy just smiles and says, “Nice to meet you! I’m Steven.”

“Well, Steven,” Korra says, after a pause. “Are you part-spirit, like me?”

(Maybe it’s possible, after all. Korra’s not sure how, but if Raava managed to fuse with Wan, and again with her, why couldn’t some other spirit figure out some way with another human?)

“No, no. I’m half Gem.”

“Half… gem?” Korra’s mind filled with images of the many jewelry shops she’d visited with Asami. “Like, jade or diamond or something?”

This was probably the wrong thing to say, because Steven grimaced and shook his head vigorously. “No no no no. My Mom was a Rose Quartz.”

“Right,” said Korra, carefully not asking how someone’s mother could be a hunk of pink rock. “Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter what you are. What matters is right now, you’re hurting a lot of people.”

“What?”

“You’re hurting a lot of people,” Korra repeats. “And you have to stop.”

He shakes his head, looking genuinely surprised and panicked.  “No, no-- I wouldn’t. How?”

“Those vines,” Korra says, pointing at them and then spreading her hands to encompass the whole plant cocoon around them. “They’ve been spreading out, catching spirits and dragging them dow-”

“What? Where did-- how--” He looks down and his eyes widened. “Where did these come from?” He begins to struggle and struggle. “I can’t get out!”

“I-- know. Well, not exactly.” He bites his lip, still squirming and struggling. “I… I knew the plant was there. I was talking to it. But… it looked different. It was all white and translucent… and then it touched me… And…” He blinks. “I don’t know. Everything’s hazy, until you showed up.”

Korra hums in the back of her throat. Maybe this Steven isn’t the cause of monster-vines after all, but just another victim. Maybe even the very first.  

She wills herself to become more solid, more tangible. Gravity pulls her down. The plant-floor beneath her was firm, but slightly springy, like a dojo mat. “I’m gonna try and get you out,” Korra tells Seven. Wrapping two, strong hands the vines where the boy’s shoulders should be, she pulls.

Nothing happens.

She pulls and pulls and pulls, with all of her (quite substantial) strength, and those vines do not budge.

“It’s no use,” Steven says.

“Don’t give up so easily.” Korra pats the vague area of his shoulder. If there’s something she’s learned about spirits, sometimes you need to be indirect about these things. “I’ll figure something out.

“It’s okay,” Steven says. “Don’t worry. It’s not a big deal.”

Korra’s first instinct to point out yes, it is a big deal, and just barrel through to her next idea. This she pauses, and looks the kid over. “What do you mean? You can’t stay here. You must have friends and family to get back to, right?”

“Well… yeah… But don’t worry. They’re all angry at me anyway…. I just put them in danger. They’re better off without me.”

Korra’s frown deepens.

The vines used to be white, but they became pink. That seems important somehow. In the spirit world, a person’s emotions affects the world around them.

She sits down and crosses her legs, like she’s going to meditate, and asks, “Steven, when you were talking to the plant, what exactly did you tell it?"

Steven finds that explaining things to Korra is a lot harder than explaining things to the plant.

That’s her name. Korra, not ‘Avatar’. That part is a title, it turns out. It’s apparently kind of a big deal, where she comes from. There’s only ever one Avatar at a time, and it’s their job to help keep the peace and make sure everyone is protected and happy.

That’s part of the reason explaining things is so hard. The world Korra comes from is really, really different from his. Everything sounds super old fashioned, and there’s no TV or internet or video games. Also, a whole bunch of humans have super powers, and use it to fight and build stuff and heal people. Also, as far as Korra knows, there’s no such thing as Gems. When Steven explains about them, she says it sounds like something out of the “pulp science books” her wife likes.

But that’s only part of the difficulty. Most of it is because… well, the plant just sat there and listened. But Korra can talk, and Korra has things to say.

“So let me get this straight,” Korra says, fixing him her two piercing blue eyes. “You turned yourself in to these space empresses for your Mom’s crimes, and only escaped by a pure miracle?”

“Uh, basically.”

She throws up her hands. “Well, of course everyone is upset with you!”

“Well, they shouldn’t be.” Steven would have crossed her arms, except he couldn’t actually feel or move them anymore.

“Kid,” Korra says, her voice soft. “How would you feel, if one of them had gone and done that in your place?”

Well-- well. That-- he’d have been scared, of course, but the Gems and Connie have all gone and done scary things for him before. Lots and lots of times. But they’ve come back, safe and sound each and every time, and there’s no use worrying about what might have happened. You just smile and put that behind you and move on.

“I’d be happy they’re back,” Steven says, as firmly as possible.

Korra’s expression is skeptical.

Steven huffs and looks away. “You just don’t get it. No one does.”

“But I do. I really, really do.”

Steven hesitates, and glances back at the woman. When he does, her eyes are solemn, distant.

“It happened… oh, ten years ago now? Twelve?” Korra shakes her head, mouth briefly twisting in wry amusement. It fades quickly. “There was group going around; called themselves the Red Lotus. They believed in… well, a lot of things. Some of it was maybe even good. But their methods…” A heavy sigh. “They kidnapped a group of civilians, and threatened to murder them if I didn’t give myself up.”

As much as he can, Steven leans forward. “What… what did you do?”

“A few of my friends thought we could take them. Get to the civilians before they were killed. I didn’t want to take that chance.”

“So… you turned yourself in?”

“I turned myself in.”

The story which followed is horrifying and breathtaking. The battle sounds… brutal, with lava and explosions and flying, and it would have been really cool if people hadn’t died.

But even with poison in her veins, Korra had fought back, and she had one, and clearly everything had turned out just fine.

“So you did the same thing I did,” says Steven.

“Yeah, I did. But here’s the thing… As soon as I woke up, and realized what was going on, I did everything I could to escape.”

“So did I!” exclaims Steven.

“Because of your friend. Lairs, was it?”

“Lars,” he corrects.

“Right. Lars.” Korra nods. “As soon as you realized he was with you, you escaped to make sure he escaped. But the way you were talking…. Steven, when you turned yourself in, did you really plan on fighting back?”

The memories flood him, too strong to ignore; the fear kicking in his chest, the seething anger at himself, the desperation, the determination, the wish wish wish that this could all just go away…

… and despite everything, the paradoxical relief somewhere in the back of his brain, that at least this would be over, at least he wouldn’t have to worry any more, at least…

No. He hadn’t been expecting to ever come home.

Steven doesn’t say it aloud, but it must show on his face. Korra’s expression shifts into-- something. Not a frown, not a smile. She stands.

“You did the same thing as me,” says Korra, “and that’s why I’m so concerned.

“Because after that battle… I was really messed up. Both in the body and the head. I was weak, I could barely walk-- and I hated myself for it. I kept hearing things about what was going on in the world, about what the Red Lotus had done… People were dying, and I was stuck in a bed. I was so, so tired. Of everything. Sometimes I thought… I’d be easier to just… let go. Let another Avatar takeover. A better one.”

Steven wants to say something, but he has no idea what, and there’s no breath left in his lungs.

“It took a couple of years, but with a lot of hard work, my body got better. This--” she tapped her head-- “Not so much. I was sure I was… missing something. So I went looking for it.

“But… I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I just lied to them, took a boat, and…. Well, I told myself it was for the best. I was getting better. And if they knew what I was up to, then they’d just worry. That was the last thing I wanted. They’d already done so much for me, and I was just dragging them down. They were better off this way.

Steven doesn’t want to listen to this. He wants to close his eyes and put his hands over his ears and block it all off. Or run off. But he can’t do either. He’s just stuck here, listening.

“Here’s the thing,” says Korra. “I wasn’t actually getting any better. I was just-- wallowing. Being angry and sad, and in a weird, terrible way, kinda enjoying it.”

None of these words seem to fit the strong, confident woman standing in front of him. Steven manages to say, “How did you…?"

“I managed to find… well, let’s call her an old friend. She knocked some sense into me. Literally.” Korra laughs. “Then some other friends found me, needing my help. After three years, I finally went home. And let me tell you: my friends were pissed.

“And I can’t blame them! I’d blocked them out of my life and lied to them! It wasn’t fair to them… and it wasn’t fair to me. And they knew that. They were all worried, and one of the ways that came out was anger.”

Steven licks his lip. “So you’re saying…. You think that I’m…"

“Yeah. Look at this.” Korra lays her hands on the thick, pink vines enveloping his body. “In the spirit world, a person’s emotions affect the spirits around them. Anger and sadness can turn spirits dark. Make them attack others.

“From what you’ve told me today, Steven, you seem very caring. You want to protect and help others. You’re sad and angry-- but that sadness and anger is aimed inward, at yourself.

“But that can still hurt ones around you, even if you don’t mean for it or even notice. The vines are lashing out at others the same way. But they’re also hurting you.” She tapped his chest. “What happens if they grow over your mouth, or nose?”

“I…”

Steven wants to argue back. Tell her she’s probably misunderstood. That it’s okay, it’s fine.

But he has to admit, it’s not normal be trapped inside a mass of magical vines.

He stares down at the shimmering, swirling pinks of the plants around him. “Did I really do this to you?”

He thinks he feels a yes, rustling through the plant’s mind.

Steven sags. There are people out there, being hurt, and it’s all his fault.

Just like it was his fault that Aquamarine came for his friends. His fault that Lars is trapped in a Homeworld kindergarten. His fault that he left his family crying in the ocean. His fault that Connie doesn’t even want to talk to him.

The vines creep further up his neck.

“Steven, no.”

Korra’s voice voice is urgent and firm, and close enough that Steven can feel the heat of her breath on his face.

“Are thoughts like that helping anybody?” she asks.

“I-- I guess not,” says Steven.

He’s done things like this before. When Garnet first told him about Future Vision, when he fell off the Sky Arena with Connie.

Connie. She’s always been there, to help him through, when he’s sad or angry or afraid.

And he’d just told her… It was all fine. He hadn’t really tried to-- ask why she was upset. He’s just thought she was being weird and told her to be happy.

She’d never do that to him.

He feels terrible, and for a moment, he wants nothing more than to just curl up in a ball here.

But that won’t actually help her.

Suddenly, he can breath easier. The vines have retreated, and a pressure he hadn’t even

Noticed vanishes from around his chest.

“There you go,” says Korra, warm and encouraging.

She stays with him and talks with him, to help shrink away the rest of the vines. Giving him gentle reminders about how it’s okay, it’s alright, he can do this. Asking him questions about his life. What does he like to do with his spare time? What’s his favourite things about the Gems and his Dad and his friends? What kind of stuff is he looking forward to?

The vines get smaller and smaller and smaller. The pinks and yellows and blues fade and fade and fade.

He’s not sure how long it takes, but eventually he’s left standing where be began. On that patch of moss underneath a giant tree, with that tiny white flower at his feet.

Those flying creatures-- spirits, he knows now-- are getting back up. Stretching their legs and wings and other appendages, fluttering off as quickly as they can. Steven watches them go through slightly watery eyes.

A warm hand presses down on his head.

Steven looks up at Korra. “Sorry,” he says. To her, to the plant, to the whole spirit world around him.

Korra smiles, and nods.

“Now,” she says, straightening a little, “Let’s see if I can get you home.” “That’s alright. I think I can manage that part myself, now.” Already he can feel it-- a sort of tug, a sense of the world fading, as his real body begins to wake up.

But first…

He throws himself forward, and wraps Avatar Korra’s legs in a hug. The fur of her clothes is soft and comforting.

“Thanks,” he mumbles into her stomach.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, leaning down and hugging him back. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Steven says, and he’s left of the image of her warm, smiling face.

And then he’s in bed, eyes closed, wrapped in a soft duvet. He can heard people moving around downstairs-- clicks and clangs accompanied by sharp whispers, suggesting the Gems are trying to make him breakfast without disturbing him. The thought makes him smile a little.

His stomach growls. He would really appreciate having breakfast, and then going back to bed for an actual, proper sleep.

But he can’t, not yet.

Eyes opening, he reaches out for his phone, resting on his bedside table. He finds the right number near the very top. He types,

Hey Connie I’m sorry Can we talk?