#i also am malnutritioned but like that’s never been a problem before i’ve been malnutritioned my whole life i am american | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writefinch · 4 years ago

Text

Family-Owned Small Business

(CN: incest, sex work, mentions of sexual assault & suicidal ideation)

The worst part of my job is administration. Last-minute rescheduling when a client flakes on us. Chasing up payments. Booking accommodation at short notice. Answering messages! Jesus, every time in the last year when I've slumped, sighed, and thought to myself "fuck working, I need a break from all this" it's been when I've opened my messages and seen thirty different texts that need a reply. Some people are fine with it I guess, but for me it's boring, time consuming, and stressful.

Big deal though, right, I mean nobody loves doing admin, why even bring it up? Well, if I tell someone that for work last night I ate a client's cum out of my mom's pussy, I'd expect that they'd get fixated on the sex work and the incest. I'd expect them to freak out and not pay attention to the specifics of what I'm saying. So, first, I'd like that person to know that the thing I hate about my job is probably the same thing that *they* hate about *their* job. I would rather lick my mom's asshole for five minutes than answer emails for five minutes, and I answer a lot of emails.

Do we have to worry about violence, danger, cops, and legal trouble? Yeah, we do. Am I scared of these things? Yeah, sometimes, but I had to worry about all of those things before I started doing sex work. At least now we've got the money to buy our way out of the worst of it.

I'm not saying that what I do with mom is an objectively healthy relationship, let alone a perfect one. If you took me back in time and told me I could pick a completely different life for me and my mom, I'm sure there's a bunch of choices I'd pick over this one. But I never had that choice. I got hurt a lot growing up. I feel like I've finally escaped the things that hurt me, but I know that I've barely started to recover from them.

That's why I'm writing this. We've saved enough money to afford some therapy and my first session is next week. I want help with the fear, the nightmares, the mood swings and insomnia, I want to stop the rush of rage and terror that flows through me every time I see the word 'dad,' I want help untangling the stuff that came out of being told I was a pansy when I was growing up, then figuring out I'm gay, then figuring out I'm a girl, then figuring out I'm all three of those things while I was living in a place that kept trying to kill me for it. What I don't want is for the psych to pin it all on the two least harmful and least fucked-up things about my life, and worse, I don't want them to make me believe it. This journal is a prophylactic, an assessment of my job, my relationships and my life that I can refer back to if and when someone sticks their fingers in my brain and swirls them around.

I'll start with a problem statement: my dad. The memories that hurt the most are the ones where he almost appeared human, the flickers of joy, curiosity and humor that stood out from the bland cruelty that made up the rest of his personality. I'll remember him buying me ice cream or talking about a book or a movie with me, I'll doubt myself and wonder if I just went crazy and cut him out of my life for no reason, and then my brain will hook onto a random act of sadism he inflicted on me.

The physical abuse was bad all on its own, real psycho shit like driving me out into the woods and making me pick through the brush for a switch he could hit me with and a whole lot more I won't go into, but the emotional abuse was worse. When I was eleven, I forgot to feed my cat one day. He gave her away to my uncle, but told me that she'd developed malnutrition and had to be put down. I didn't find out the truth for another two years, when he just let it slip at Easter. He bragged about it, even, like he'd invented a really smart child-rearing technique. I don't want to write too much down here because I don't need to, if anything I want therapy to *stop* everything he did from running through my head. He's a punishment-obsessed sadist, a Baptist, and he works as a judge. Did he ever sexually abuse me? No. Parent of the year, right? He kicked me out for being a fag the day I turned eighteen, so it's ironic that my biggest fear is that he comes looking for me. He doesn't even know I'm a girl.

On the other hand, my mom has had an interesting life. She's kind of a fuck up. When I was one year old, mom and dad split and dad got full custody--being a judge helped with that--while mom left the state. She spent a decade trying to kick a heroin habit and a year and a half in prison for related stuff, got banned from even entering the state I lived in on account of her parole--again, dad being a judge helped with that--illegally emigrated to Canada for a while, and went to Oregon by mistake, doing a mixture of bartending, delivery driving, MDMA dealing and whoring to stay afloat.

The only reason we met again is that I was in the same city staying with friends, also whoring. I don't remember the first time I saw her, but the first time we talked was in a mutual friend's tiny studio apartment with a few other hooker friends. We ended up comparing our Pest Lists, shared a few drinks, and swapped numbers. A week later we fucked, and a month after *that* we realized that we'd Oedipus'd ourselves. It seems funnier now than it did at the time.

That was an emotional time. We cried with joy that we'd found each other, we started tip-toeing around the ideas of rebuilding our lives together, and we agreed to pretend that the sex had never happened. Of course, we got drunk together a week later and fucked again. She's hot! I have a thing for older women, I have a thing for breaking taboos, and I have a thing for being mommied in bed. Blame dad for raising me like this, I dunno.

We started doing sex work as a team after she got a dental abscess. The bill for the hospital stay and the tooth removal was insane, and the dentist straight-up told her that she'd end up with another in a different tooth within a year if she didn't get two root canals. Even when she was recovering, we could only afford fish antibiotics off of Amazon. We crunched some numbers and made some inquiries, and figured out that we could pull in two week's worth of our combined income with one night of mother-daughter stuff.

Our first joint session was with a real estate pervert I'll call Stan, a chubby balding powerlifter in his fifties who we'd both had as a client before. Mom took me over her knees and switched between spanking me and fingering me while he watched. I sucked him off while mom made out with him, made out with my mom with his cock between our lips, licked his balls as mom licked my ass, then let him fuck my ass while mom sat on my face. That was the first half hour. He came six more times before we passed out in the early hours of the morning, and I drifted off nursing his finally-limp cock in my mouth. He paid us the price of a used Volkswagen for our trouble, and I blew him one last time before we left as a thank-you.

Six months later, mom's teeth were fixed, I was on spiro, and we had just under a dozen clients for our "doubles sessions." Only a few of our appointments are ones with me and mom together, three or four a month, we mostly work alone. That's not out of a deliberate choice, it's just that we've got a strict criteria for who we'll double up on.

Trust is one thing: depending on the lawyers we can afford, what we're doing is either kinda illegal or extremely illegal. Since my dad is presumably still a judge, I don't want him to ever find out about this. He'd put us in a prison or a mental institution. We won't do a double session with a client unless we've both had individual sessions with them.

Money is the other thing. Getting your dick sucked by a hot mom while her daughter sucks your balls costs a week's wages for the average person. Hiring us for the night is more like a month's wages. Even in a city like this, there's only a few thousand people that can drop that kind of money on hookers. Then, they've got to *want* to fuck a trans girl and her mom together. Don't get me wrong, more people are into mother-daughter incest than you'd expect, but it's not a universal thing.

Clients are, on average, annoying. It's a fact of life. The thing that all clients have in common is a ton of disposable income and a fondness for fucking hookers. They're not necessarily bad people, but there’s a heavy ‘What can a banana cost, ten dollars?’ vibe to them. It’s not that they’re adrenochrome-drinkers who don’t see regular people as human, it’s more that they don’t have an intuitive awareness that other people don’t have savings accounts, health insurance, an investment property, and four figures of walking-around money at any given time. I guess I'd feel differently if I was like, a concierge or a PA, but there's a lot more pillow talk in my job.

I've had bad and dangerous clients before, there's been at least two occasions where I was pretty sure I was going to die--one where the hospital afterwards stay wiped out four months of income, not counting the month where I couldn’t work--but they were all before I met mom, when I couldn't be so careful about screening prospective clients and dropping them if they threw up red flags. I'm sure we'll get bad clients in the future, but we're in a better place to deal with them safely.

I also wanna write down what a "normal day" is like. Friday was a good example. I woke up early at 9am and cooked breakfast for mom. She was up already doing the laundry. We entertain some clients in our apartment, so we go through a lot of clothes and a lot of sheets. You can't fuck a guy on top of another guy's cum stains, that's rude. Some of the job is Housework But More. We don't really use the main bedroom or the sitting room because we treat them like bed and breakfast guest rooms. It's annoying but every time we have a session without getting an actual hotel or motel room we save like $50 minimum.

After breakfast I epilated, showered, and went for a run. Personal grooming isn't that big a deal in terms of time, I'm not saying I don't spend a lot of time on it, I do, but I'd be spending that time even if I worked in a bar or an office or something. Look: I'm hot. I might have been a weird-looking spotty nerd when I thought I was a boy, but as a girl I'm a fucking dime. I could get like, 25% uglier before it had any impact on my earnings. The only part of personal grooming that's necessary for sex work and I wouldn't do all the time anyway is power-washing my guts an hour before every session.

After lunch, mom went to see some friends and I played Magic for a few hours. At two pm, the actual work started. I picked up the work phone for the first time that day and began answering texts. An hour later I'd cancelled the 6pm appointment, blocked out all of Sunday evening, checked in with a few regulars, and provisionally moved three guys to the 'Time Wasters' list.

I spent a while sexting with a good prospect. He was a good prospect because he paid up-front for the sexting instead of treating it like a free samples platter at Costco. We scheduled a tentative appointment for next Tuesday, when his wife would be out of town on a business trip. Most of the guys I fuck have kinks, and I swear that 'cheating on your wife with a sex worker' is the most common one there is. Do I feel bad about it? At my hourly rate, absolutely not.

Mom got back at half four, so I took a break. We made tacos for lunch together and ate while watching Billions. She nudged me and told me that I need to do my injection, and, well, we have a little ritual for that. I'm scatterbrained and I'm not great with needles, but mom has been incredibly supportive with my HRT, and when I told her I was having problems taking them on time, she came up with a way to make me as comfortable as possible. As soon as the needle is ready, I laid down in her lap and she cradled my head in her arms, pressing her bare chest against my face. I took a nipple into my mouth and nursed it softly while she stroked my hair. She called me a good girl, telling me how proud she is of her daughter, how much she loves me, and asked if I was going to take my medicine like a big girl. On good days I inject myself while she pets me and coos over me, and on bad days she takes the needle and does it for me. As soon as I dropped the needle in the sharps container, mom pressed a Hitachi against my cock and took one of my nipples into her mouth, called me her big brave girl, and asked if I was gonna cum for mommy.

As usual, the answer was yes.

Late afternoon and early evening is when the messages start flowing in, especially on Fridays, when the kinds of people with hooker money have either left work early and thinking about getting laid, or are still held up at work and are desperately thinking about getting laid. This kind of messaging gets trickier, because it comes down to what I'm providing. Like, setting up a session is the kind of normal administrative stuff that's baked into the price of a session. It's also partly a sales job, so I'm naturally flirty and solicitous, and because I do sex work I talk openly about sex.

However, *sexting* is not normal administrative stuff. If I'm sending you messages for jerking-off purposes, I can charge by the hour or by the text but I will insist on charging for it. Also, it's not just sex that me and mom provide. There's a reason that 'companionship' is an old euphemism for whoring, it's because whores are good company. I'm a good listener and I don't judge, which means I'm like the fun parts of a therapist but without all the homework and self-improvement. I'm (unsurprisingly) friendly with all of my clients, and I have more than a few clients and former clients who I'd consider good friends and vice versa. I talk to a bunch of them outside of a business context, especially the ones I met outside of my job, and that's a normal part of maintaining a pool of clients for any sales job, but on the other hand... it's a demand on my time and it's a part of my services. I can and have bluntly told guys that they're wasting my time when it comes to uncompensated sexting, but the platonic stuff requires a lighter touch.

One of my regulars, Fintech Pete, sent me a message. Two messages later, he sent me $100, and we're off. Describing in gratuitous detail exactly how I'm going to suck his cock, begging him to fuck me until my clit is drooling all over the sheets, sending him feet pics, things of that nature. Pete is great for sexting because he barely jerks off while he's doing it, he saves all the messages and pictures and jerks off to them later, because he's got some biohacking routine where he only cums once a week. He said once that part of the reason he hires sex workers is that he takes each nut a lot more seriously if he's paying three digits minimum for the privilege. He does this teleconferencing report with the board of directors at his company four times a year, and every time he hires me to kneel under the desk in his home office and suck him off while he makes his presentation.

Anyway, while we were going back and forth like that, he mentioned that I'd made a joke one time about doing a joint session with my mom. I told him it wasn't a joke, and to cut a long story short, half an hour later I was asking mom if she was up for an overnight session starting at 9pm. She agreed, Pete confirmed, so we both got ready--think getting dolled up for a night out but with a more thorough enema--and drove to his place. He lived outside of town in a two-bedroom suburban home, alone with his two dogs.

As soon as we were parked in his garage I did the safety call in front of him: I rang a friend of mine, told her we were visiting a friend, told her it was at the address I sent her earlier, and told her we'd call her again tomorrow morning. Was it really necessary to do that with someone like Fintech Pete? No, but practice makes permanent. If you let these things slip when there's no danger, eventually they'll slip when there is danger.

Now, I don't want to imply that I'm in a lot of danger! There's a reason that most of the faces you'll see on the Trans Day of Remembrance are of poor black and brown women, because real danger comes when you can't turn skeevy jobs, when you can't afford to take precautions, when you have to make the choice over and over between maybe starving and maybe getting murdered. I'm white, I've got a good support network, and I've been relatively lucky in that I can do all these things to minimize my risks. I've still got to do them, though! Things like safety calls are a good habit to get into and it helps all sex workers if there's an expectation that they've all got someone looking out for them.

...I get that there is some bravado creeping into this journal. I start off saying that admin is the worst part of the job and a page later I flippantly mention that the job has put me in the hospital. On a day to day basis yeah, the admin is the bit that sucks the most, but if you offered me a deal where the admin is twice as bad but I never took that session, I’d take it in a heartbeat. This job has left me with some scars. Any time something cold touches my wrist I get a vivid flash of the first time I had my hands zip-tied behind my back in a cop car. I've had nightmares all my life, and more than a few of my nightmares are about stuff that's happened since I got into sex work.

If it seems like I’m downplaying it, it’s because the harrowing stuff is where the job has gone wrong, it’s not baked into the everyday stuff, and most importantly it has nothing to do with my mom. The work I've done with her is some of the least stressful and dangerous I've had since I started this job, and whatever wounds I have, she's not the one who caused them.

On a more positive note, a cool thing about doing sessions with my mom is that we can dress pretty conservatively and still have it come off as insanely lewd. Mom wore a black cocktail dress with an imitation pearl necklace and her hair up in a bun, I was in a white blouse under a lambswool sweater, a pleated short skirt, cheap dark tights--Pete has a thing for tearing them--and patent leather shoes. When you're going to suck a guy's world entirely off alongside your mom, the more modestly you're dressed, the more perverted it looks. Out in the suburbs it also means you get to avoid the microskirts and fishnets look which screams to the neighbors 'I've just hired a pair of hookers' or the mid-range raincoat over microskirts and fishnets look which screams 'I've just hired a pair of pricey hookers."

Pete's living room looks like the back room of a Radio Shack, computer guts everywhere, every surface turned into a makeshift workbench. It's not a suitable place for lovemaking; I don't want to have to pull shards of a soundcard out of my perineum. His bedroom is a lot neater, with a king-sized bed to sit on, a ton of pillows to lounge up against, and a TV mounted on the wall. Mom poured out some wine, a mid-range red zinfandel that we'd picked up on the way, Pete brought out some imported dark chocolate that costs like $40/kg, and I swung my legs over his lap and turned on the Food Network. I took a bite of chocolate, mom took a sip of wine, and before either of us swallowed she pulled me into a deep kiss, mixing the wine and the chocolate. It's a good combination, and Pete enjoyed the show.

The night started off with chatting. None of us were in any rush, not with an overnight session, and since Pete has been a client for each of us for a while it was a pretty relaxed atmosphere. Pete's fingers danced over my thighs, absent-mindedly plucking ladders into the fabric as we talked baseball, business, sex work, the difference between the gentrified fag bar downtown and the really gentrified fag bar downtown, programming and other nerd shit, local politics, the contestants on Cutthroat Kitchen, just normal stuff. Mom and Pete started talking about fancy cooking stuff so I started annoying them both by claiming that sardines are just fully-grown anchovies, that DOP labels are all fake, and that instant grits are better than the regular ones until mom jabbed me with a finger and told me that my mouth should be put to better use elsewhere.

You know how some people say "Cilantro tastes like soap, that's why it's good?" Same thing for how weird it feels to go down on my mom. The first time I ever jerked off, watching a 144p clip of Rocco Sifreddi fucking a girl in the ass while flushing her head down a toilet bowl, knowing that this meant I was going to go to Hell unless I begged God for forgiveness and never did it again, I came so hard I passed out. It feels good, it feels wrong that it feels so good, and it feels even better because it feels so wrong.

She was already wet when I got between her legs. I kissed her clit and started licking, her bush tickling my nose and her thighs squeezing my ears. Fabric rasped over my head as she hiked her dress up to run her hand through my hair. Everything was muffled but I could hear kissing and clinking, and I knew that mom was undoing Pete's belt and jeans to give him a Catholic-quality handjob.

I got mom worked up, bucking her hips and getting all breathy, until she asked me to get up here and give her some help. I crawled up to his groin and winked up at him. He blushed and grinned back. Pete's not a bad-looking guy. I mean, I don't care about looks in general, I guess I can look at someone and say that objectively they're ugly, and if someone is beautiful it adds something to the experience, but like... it doesn't really figure into it. Obviously most johns don't look like supermodels but they're not uniformly ugly, as I said before the thing that johns have in common is being horny guys with a lot of disposable income. Still, Pete is towards the better-looking side of that scale.

...Okay there is one thing about him that's weirdly common for my clients, I call it 'John Balding:' where a guy is losing his hair but in a slow, uneven, and kinda weird pattern, so that even when they cross into being more bald than not, they never bite the bullet and shave it all off. Pete is only like 30% of the way through that process so it doesn't look terrible yet, but he's on that track.

Anyway, back to the sex. A fun thing about double blowjobs is that you can take them a whole lot slower than solo blowjobs. Me and mom have had a lot of practice so we go at about 1/4th speed and it feels twice as good. She started off by wrapping her hand around the shaft, slowly stroking it while she softly kissed the tip, and I licked his balls, gently lapping at one, then the other, cleaning away the day's sweat and musk, carefully taking both of them into my mouth at once. Mom swallowed half his length, and I started kissing my way up his shaft as she pulled back up, my lips touching the head as hers reached the very tip. She grabbed me by my hair and pulled me into a deep French kiss with his cock in the middle, precum mixing with spit, moaning as we felt him twitch and grunt, mom's hand on his balls and my hand on his shaft. We broke the kiss and repeated it in reverse, taking his cock in my throat as mom kissed her way down to his balls. He came after five minutes of gentle little schoolgirl kisses on each side of his cock from the pair of us. The first rope caught mom on her cheek, the second hit her hair, but I wrapped my lips tight around the head and sucked him dry before he could spill another drop.

You can't give a client a mother-daughter blowjob and not snowball the cum back and forth in front of him. We've done it enough times to get the timing down: wait until he sits up straight, because if you don't he'll be too dazed from nutting in your mouth to really appreciate it. Make sure he's looking at you, move your hair out of the way so it doesn't obstruct his view, open your lips so that a trickle of jizz almost sloshes out, move in close to your mom so that your noses are touching and it's clear that you're about to kiss, sink a palm into her tits as she grabs your ass, and then you gotta really go for it: wide-mouthed, feral, energetic, like you're trying to reach each other's sinuses. If a little bit of cum spills out because you're being so sloppy, that's a sign that you're doing it right. You're going to lick it up afterwards anyway.

We broke the kiss, I licked mom's face clean, and we took a break. We drank some more wine, he offered us cigarettes--the coolest clients are the ones that let you smoke indoors--and we cuddled and relaxed for a while with Guy's Grocery Games playing on the TV. Pete went to get some water, and returned with three bottles and a strip of Cialis. He downed two pills, we both stripped off--it was sweltering by that point--and got ready for the next round.

Mom played with his nipples and I got between his legs again, this time going lower than his balls to eat his ass out. Rimming is a trusted client privilege like the mom-daughter stuff is, except it's less about trusting them in the legal sense and more about trusting that it won't be grainy down there. I like it when a client is clean enough to rim, because I'm extremely good at it. Mom says she's better, she claims she once made a guy no-touch cum with a rimjob, but I don't fucking believe her.

He got hard after a minute of digging my tongue into his ass, but his cock was still super-sensitive so we figured we'd tease him for a while longer. We swapped places, mom ate his ass while he made out with me, squeezing my tits and playing with my cock. I like it when guys touch my tits, my cock is... fine, I guess? I don't viscerally dislike people touching it but it doesn't do much for me. After a minute of that he reaches around and works a finger into my asshole, which is much more my speed.

By the time he was two knuckles deep I looked down and saw his cock twitching, leaking precum onto his stomach. He seemed pretty worked up. I kissed his neck, nipped at his ear, and whispered, "Do you wanna breed me, Mister?"

He sure did.

I use condoms unless I've got an extremely compelling reason not to, and mom has a cool trick for getting them on. She grasped Pete's cock around the base, placed her lips around the tip, deepthroated the entire thing in a single stroke, and as she slowly lifted her head back up, his cock was neatly fitted with a condom.

As soon as I lubed up he put me on my back, pushed my ankles up to my ears, pressed his cock against my hole and sunk into me inch by inch. He muffled my moans with a kiss and rutted me into the bed. I gotta give it to him, all that biohacking and cardio is doing something right because he railed me at a fast, steady pace until my dick was leaking all over my tummy and I couldn't form sentences in my head any more. Mom made out with him as he finished, and at that point I was just babbling nonsense. He was gentle and cautious as he pulled out of me, stroking my hair as I reached down to take off his condom. I poured the contents out over my tits, slumping back against the headboard as mom licked them clean.

It wasn't yet midnight by then, and we went on like that through the night. Licking his feet, mom-daughter 69, him sucking my cock while mom rode his dick like a Sorority cowgirl champion, more wine, more double-blowjobs, tacking an extra $200 onto the fee for the privilege of pissing in my mouth instead of having to get up to go to the bathroom, a whole buffet of fun whore stuff.

We woke up at around ten in the morning, stayed for breakfast, then said our goodbyes. Me and mom thanked him for his custom, and he thanked us for a good time. By midday we were at home, we both showered, checked our calendars, messaged our evening clients to confirm that they were still on, and then... well, the rest of the day kinda evaporated. I played Demons' Souls until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer, passed out in bed, and woke up when my alarm went off in the evening.

That's one of the things I don't like about overnight sessions: you're technically only spending like, ten to twelve hours with a client, and for some of that time you're either not fucking or actively asleep, but it kinda feels like it destroys two days. By the time it's scheduled, everything in the rest of the day is either preparing for it or doing it, and when you get back it takes the rest of the day just to recover. I don't like that part of my job, and if I sit down I can probably go through a whole bunch of things I don't like about my job. I still know that my job isn't a *bad* job, because the last time I had a bad job it was at a chicken processing plant. Know how I know that the chicken job was bad? Because I excused myself for a bathroom break four hours into the shift, walked off site, and never came back.

You know what, there's another reason I know that this isn't a bad job and that mom isn't a bad mom, and I guess it's part of the reason I've written all this down in the first place. I was seven years old when I first wanted to die. By the time I got to high school, suicidal thoughts were just the radio static in my brain. I can't remember any point after like, grade school where I didn't daydream about suicide every single day.

Now? I sometimes go for weeks without thinking about killing myself. It hasn't gone away completely, it still pops up when I'm upset or stressed out or tired or really hungry, but what I do is I talk to mom about it, and she talks me out of it. I feel guilty sometimes about putting that pressure on her, and taking that pressure off is part of the reason I'm going to therapy I guess.

I hope it works out.

I really think it will.

#story #stories

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nevermindirah · 4 years ago

Note

I am but a sad little trans man who absolutely wants to know your thoughts on immortals capabilities to transition because I have thoughts and they make my depressed little trans heart hurt because how in the world could they transition if their bodies heal everything?

Hi! Sending you hugs because I've been struggling with the exact same thoughts! I wrote this lil meta last month but I don't like it and my brain keeps interrupting things like my job and trips to the grocery store to get me working on this puzzle.

From what we see in the movie, our elderly friends have regular-human healing, just faster and MORE, plus magic. We have canon evidence of how this works with wounds/injuries and can infer from there about how their immortality would handle infections, genetic/physiological/autoimmune/etc disorders, malnutrition/dehydration/etc, mental illnesses, and dental stuff, as well as things that bodies do that aren't necessarily bad but often need medical care — like pregnancy and gender transition. (I’m not a medical professional, just a nerd who loves a good Wikipedia rabbithole.)

Let's start with an easy one. Nile's hand healing after she stuck it in the fire is just a lickety-split version of what would happen to a regular human with a small skin wound: clotting, inflammation, rebuilding, healed.

When Nile yeets herself and pharma bro out the window of the topmost tower, we see the same thing happen again but bigger, plus we see several of her bones pop themselves back into place, and presumably any blood vessels that got torn up magically correct themselves under her skin. Humans have been surviving injuries like major bone fractures for a very long time but a bone that heals without medical intervention to realign the fractured pieces might heal at a new angle, meaning it doesn't work as well anymore, and it might cause damage to surrounding organs/tissues and leave a lot of scar tissue or a chronic wound. But Nile only needs Booker and Nicky keeping her upright for barely a minute and then she's walking around on her own just fine.

A large wound that breaks deeply through the skin, like Nile's sliced throat or Booker's exploded abdomen, can be survivable for a regular human if it doesn't irreparably damage critical organs and if you can get medical attention before you bleed out, but even with modern medical intervention the results are rough. Jay and Dizzy aren't wrong for being deeply weirded out by Nile's flawless neck: even with the best plastic surgeons in the world on the case, closing up a wound like that will leave scar tissue that affects both appearance and function.

So, we've got immortality magic moving bones back into place, restarting stopped hearts and lungs and brains, rebuilding major structures like arteries and intestines, healing up wounds without scar tissue, pushing out bullets, and otherwise handwaving the big stuff. But it's not a magic wand, it’s a process, and bigger wounds take longer. It's like these people's mitochondria have little gnomes in there with schematics to rebuild their bodies to factory default.

From how these bodies handle wounds we can infer that they'd handle pathogens / infectious diseases the same way: inflammation, white blood cells attack, byebye plague see you never. And if these bodies are resetting bones and rebuilding organs, they're probably also correcting genetic disorders and shifting around physiological problems like bone spurs. So let's keep on inferring.

What if, instead of every death erasing hormone replacement therapy and gender-affirming surgery and leaving a trans immortal detransitioned over and fucking over again, what if the magic that governs immortality considers dysphoria-causing body parts just like any other wound to heal?

What if Booker is a trans man, and he's got that sweet muscle mass and that height and that beard that comes all the way up his cheeks because he's been on the wonder drug that is testosterone for over 200 years? What if immortality was all "we see you've been hung from the neck until dead, and your eyes have been pecked out, and also you have all these hormones that turn your body into a shape that makes you miserable — we're gonna fix all that" and then regenerated his pecked-out eyeballs and unsnapped his neck and undid the results of months of insufficient food AND ALSO started pumping him with the fantasy version of HRT so his chest started to reduce and his fat redistributed itself and his beard started coming in?

Who's to say that's not how it works?

All my dysphoria is social — I'm fine with my body for the most part and I CANNOT STAND when people assume things about my gender, because of my body or for any other reason. We see pretty clearly with Booker that mental illness isn't magically healed the way physical injuries are, and I think that's because the causes of mental illness are a combination of physiology/chemistry stuff and things like our beliefs about ourselves and the world, our experiences of trauma, and our experiences of getting our needs met or not. If I were immortal I could maybe break up with my SSRI, but it wouldn't stop me from getting misgendered — I'd still have to find a way to cope with the ongoing trauma of that. Having to navigate hundreds of cultures' ideas about gender when my gender is "uhhhhh" sounds like absolute hell for me, no thank you, do not want.

But for my fellow trans people whose dysphoria is primarily body-related, and for my social-dysphoria pals whose gender is something nearly every human being would recognize and all they need is to pass, how about let's make an executive decision that immortality includes HRT for anybody who needs it, with no psych eval or begging your insurance company or poking yourself with needles, and just like with wound healing it's like regular HRT but faster and more. HRT so powerful and so magical that it gives you the best possible version of the results you want and none of the results you don't. If I had the option to go on HRT for just like one or two changes but not the whole battery of things I would fucking do that, and if I were to join our elderly friends, maybe I could.

This might be easier on transmasc immortals than transfeminine ones, because testosterone's effects are basically impossible to reverse. But also you can't just keep waking back up after repeatedly drowning for 500 years, so fuck it. We're making an executive decision here.

Estrogen that grows your breasts and softens your dick but doesn't lessen your ability to orgasm. Immortality magic that makes your beard go away and maybe shrinks your height an inch or two or six. Maybe Quynh is trans and one time a few thousand years ago she got injured in battle worse than Booker's grenaded belly and she woke up an hour later with a vulva and a uterus and now her body is just like that. Factory reset.

I subscribe to the "God made wheat and grapes but not bread and wine so humans could share in the act of creation" model of transness and I personally feel very weird about the idea of immortality magically giving a trans immortal cisnormative genitals the same way it resets bones. There's no one right way to have a pussy or a dick, you know? Maybe Quynh woke up from a catastrophic gut wound in like 800 BCE with a constructed vagina rivaling the best our modern money can buy, without a uterus but with a clit that's just as magical as anybody else's.

I've been thinking about writing a Book of Nile fic with trans man Booker, which is why the two of them are most of my examples here. It would include porn, because apparently I can't write more than 1500 words about them without writing porn, so I need to think more about what's going to feel good for me and other trans people who might read it and won't accidentally facilitate cis people objectifying us. Like, I've thought in a lot of detail about what a clit enlarged by that many centuries of testosterone might look and feel like, and that specific experience is not mine so I'm treading carefully.

Cis people are welcome to reblog this! Fellow trans folks are welcome to join me in the act of creation on this post ;)

#trans things #fandom friends #tog meta #tog #book of nile #fic ideas #transphobia #dysphoria #gore #long post #mine

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stillchaoticlogic · 5 years ago

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Fated: The Beginning

Pairing: Reno x Reader

Summary: Ordinary days sometimes house the most extraordinary moments, even if we don’t know it at the time. On that fate filled day you would have never expected the red haired boy to one day become a Turk. You had no idea that your kindness would be repaid in ways you’ve never dreamed about. You had no idea he was the one you were meant to be with. Here’s your story.

Prelude

Today is a day just like any other day. Sitting at your desk among your many co-workers, you are part of the HR team at Shinra. Is this want you wanted? Not really. Okay, not even close, but it pays the bills. Another email about an internal issue in another one of the departments have you sighing in exasperation.

There is suddenly an excited murmur among the department and you turn in just enough time to see a tall lean redhead come sauntering up to your desk. You recognize him immediately; even though he is no longer lanky having grown into his height, with lean with broad shoulders. His shirt stretched taut over his muscles making all the women stare. His hair is a vibrant healthy red no longer dulled by malnutrition. His gaze is almost sultry as you are locked in place by his deep green eyes. You blink up at him in confusion at a loss for words.

Reno…

No, not just Reno…

Reno of the Turks.

He smirks down at you before he sits casually on your desk, like this is a common occurrence in your world, as if he does this all the time, and presents a letter to you.

“I wanted to be the one to deliver this to you,” he says with a casual shrug at your silent question, his voice is deep and velvety.

“Thank you,” you say in shock as you take the letter into your hands inspecting it while ignoring your curious co-workers around you.

“I bet you don’t even remember-” Reno begins.

“I do,” you interrupted as you glance up at him through your lashes, “I remember you, Reno. You’ve done well for yourself.” You say as you lean back in your seat to look up at him easily, casually opening the envelope in your hands. A delivery from a Turk is rarely a good thing and your curiosity gets the better of you.

He sends you an easy grin, completely comfortable and confident in his place and in himself. Of course, you had heard about the successes of Reno. Your dad kept up with his progress and would casually mention him to you from time to time. But even if your dad hadn’t kept you up to date, the Turks are quite notorious, and Reno isn’t exactly one to blend in.

“Indeed I have, though it’s not exactly the life I had pictured,” he leans forward conspiratorially and with a wink he murmurs, “it’s even better.”

You chuckle as he casually leans back, a smirk on his handsome face regarding you before he indicates the letter in your hands. You pull it from the envelope and glance over it before you gaze up at him with wide eyes. He winks and puts a finger to his lips.

“So, long time no see, how’ve you been?” Reno asks just like you are old friends, shifting his posture comfortably on your desk. Though, perhaps you are at this point.

“I’ve been good, you know, just working and hoping to move up,” you say with a shrug.

“How’s your dad?” Reno asks good-naturedly.

“Oh, that’s right,” cuts in a snarky voice, “the ‘princess’ gets things handed to her on a platter.”

You glance over at your co-worker as she regards you with disdain. Reno glares over at her and asks in a sharp tone, “did we invite you into this conversation?”

“Uhh… N-no…” Your co-worker stutters, trying to avoid his menacing gaze.

“Then mind your own business,” his voice is almost a growl that sends a shiver down your back. She shrinks down into her seat and quickly averts her eyes back to her work.

You giggle at him, “I had wondered if I was going to get to meet him.”

“Meet who?” Reno asks as he glances down towards you in confusion, the hostility from a second ago completely vanished.

“‘Reno of the Turks’,” you say with a smile.

He sends you a sly look, “well, if you wanted to meet him all you had to do was ask.” He leans forward on your desk, holding your gaze before pulling away with a subtle wink.

“‘Wanted’ is a strong word, I think I’m happy with just ‘Reno’,” you say with a soft smile.

His eyes soften, if you hadn’t been watching him you would have missed it.

“So, you never answered my question,” Reno says clearing his throat, “how’s your dad?”

“He’s doing well! He’s now head of his department, and his people love him.”

Reno nods his head, “I may need to stop by and see him, it’s been a while…”

“You should, he would like that. He’s very proud of you, you know…”

“He is?” The surprise is evident in his voice. You know he has no biological family of his own, the Turks had clearly become family for him.

“Of course, you made him look good,” you say with a wink.

He laughs with you, “Of course I did. How many of his recruits became a Turk?”

“Only one, but seriously, he keeps up with you and he doesn’t often keep up with any of his recommendations. He even keeps me up to date with you, so I know he’s really proud of the fact that you made it.”

“He’s a good man,” he says with a nod as he avoids your eyes.

“Thanks, Reno. So, what turned you into my delivery man?” You ask as you lean your elbows on the desk and rest your chin in your hand grinning up at him.

He chuckles as he rubs his chin, “well, I recognized your name in the stack and knew that I needed to stop by and see you. After all, you are perfect for this.”

“I am?” You ask with a tilt of your head.

“What?! Of course! You aren’t afraid of anything,” he winks as he stands up and checks his phone. He regards it with an exaggerated frown, you nod your in understandment.

“You’re right, I’m not…” you smirked as you watch him walk away.

“Not even the Turks?” he inquires teasingly over his shoulder, the phone now at his ear.

“Not even the Turks,” you repeated, a sly grin sliding onto your face.

“See you soon,” Reno dismisses with a wave as he heads for the door. He’s speaking low and fast into the receiver.

“See you…” You lift your hand up in a half-wave, you aren’t sure he even saw. You’re still more shocked at seeing him after all this time, and now the letter in your hands. The letter is your chance to move up, and not just by a little bit, but to the top; to achieve a more exciting life, instead of just barely getting by and pushing papers at a desk surrounded by hostility.

“Are you a Turk candidate?” Whispers one of your co-workers. You could almost call this particular one a friend, if only she wasn’t so exhausting to deal with.

“Umm… No… Reno and I just knew each other briefly when we were younger. He was just stopping by to say hi, and deliver some mail he found.”

“Are you sure that’s it and you’re not just his next whore?” The snarky coworker from before spat bitterly.

“What is your problem?” You ask in annoyance turning towards her.

She gives you a haughty smirk, “you just think you’re so great because of who your daddy is and this job was basically handed to you on a platter. Now you even have a Turk to fight your battles for you? How pathetic.”

“We literally have the same job, doing the same thing, and you think this is glamorous? I work just as hard as you, probably harder since I’m not sticking my nose into everybody’s business. Maybe focus more on your work and less on your spite and you might actually get promoted. Also, my relationship with Reno, regardless of what it is, is none of your business. But you can trust me when I say I don’t need him to fight my battles. I can do that just fine,” you bite back.

She scowls at you, about to hiss another retort when your name is called over the com system, along with 4 other names, to meet at a specific conference room. With a shaky breath, you stand up and head out. You can feel your heart racing as nerves wrack your body.

You gaze around at the other candidates, three men and one other woman, all looking equally confused and gripping a similar letter in their hands. No one says anything before the screen on the far side of the room springs to life, on the other side is the Rufus Shinra.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I’m sure you are all very confused as to why I have called you here. As you have ascertained from the letter given to you this morning, I am in need of a personal assistant and you have all been selected as potential candidates. Since this is a time-sensitive matter, we will be doing the interviews today. You have all been chosen since you are the best at what you do and hold qualities that are valuable to the position. You all also come highly recommended by a member of the corporation and I look forward to speaking with each one of you. Thank you.”

Quick and to the point, you would expect nothing less of Rufus Shinra.

The first man called into the office is a serious-looking man named Chase. Your right leg begins to bounce with nervous energy and you just stare at one spot on the wall in front of you. You were not expecting this to be what you did today. Next up, was a man that resembled more the likeness of a snake than an actual man. You don’t bother listening to his name, he’s too smug for you to pay much attention to. Shortly after, your name was called next and you walk into the room with your back straight, a serious look on your face.

You regarded the four Turks in the room calmly. They are positioned behind Rufus Shinra’ desk and you read it for what it is -- an intimidation tactic. You catch Rufus’ eyes and give him your most professional smile, holding out your hand to shake and introduce yourself confidently.

“Miss. (L.Name), you have come to me highly recommended. Please, tell me what you could bring to this position?”

You give him another one of your best smiles before you begin your answer, “thank you, sir. I am very efficient, hard-working, and reliable. I always strive to solve problems creatively and effectively. I work independently, as well as in a team with no problems. I-”

“These are very wonderful answers, Miss. (L.Name). However, everyone I have chosen today is efficient, hard-working, and reliable. They are the best in their current department. What I want to know is what sets you apart from them.”

Your eyes widen from being suddenly interrupted. Rufus Shinra regards you coolly from behind his sleek marble desk. Your eyes are in your lap and you glance up just enough to see the Turks gazing at you with unreadable expressions. You inhale a sigh, a smirk slides its way onto your lips as Reno’s words echo in your mind, and you throw caution to the wind.

“Well sir, I was told recently I’m not scared of anything. And I mean anything. I don’t just mean work-related challenges, even though I can tackle them head-on as well. I mean, I was almost assaulted on my way home from work last week and I had to beat three drunks into the ground with the lid of a trash can,” your gaze is fierce as you regard the past week’s events, “I don’t take anyone’s shit, and I don’t particularly care who they are or how important they think they are, I don’t tolerate being disrespected. So to put it frankly, if you are looking for an assistant that will wipe your ass every day and praise everything that you do… Then I am afraid I’m not that person. However, if you want an assistant that will contribute valuably to Shinra and it’s future, all while actually getting things done, then you can do yourself a favor and hire me now.”

The room is silent at your speech and you know in the next moment you are either getting promoted or fired. When a smirk slides onto his lips and a light chuckle escapes them, you start to feel the tension leave your shoulders.

“He was right about you… You are perfect…” Rufus muses more to himself than to you.

“My father?” You ask instinctively.

“Reno,” he says as he indicates the redhead to his left, “he said that you’re perfect for the job. I admit at first I didn’t believe him. You seemed too compliant, but, as it turns out, he was right.”

“So, I start Monday?” You ask with a sly smile as you regard the group before you.

“Yes you will, unfortunately, I still have to do interviews to keep up appearances. The job is yours though.”

You can’t stop the smile on your face, “thank you, sir! You won’t regret this.”

“Let’s hope not…” Rufus glances between you and Reno, just as Reno sends you a signature wink.

“We shall discuss the details of your new salary on Monday, in the meantime, you have the rest of the day off. You will be moving into your new apartment closer to Shinra and my condo.”

“Oh?”

“Someone will be in contact with you this afternoon about your new accommodations.”

“Thank you, I look forward to working with you,” you say sincerely, getting up to shake his hand once more before leaving the room.

Your expression gives nothing away as you leave the room and head back to your desk to gather your things. Though, there is an energetic skip in your step as you head to the door.

Several hours later, as you are finishing cleaning off your bookshelf there is a knock at your door. You furrow your brow and go to answer it. Opening it, you find Reno on the other side. He looks up and into your eyes the moment the door opens.

“Figured you might be hungry,” he says, indicating the pizza in his hands.

You smile as you open the door wider, “a man after my own heart.”

Reno smiles as he walks inside and inspects the place.

“Nice place! I think you’re gonna love your new one too, though.” He sets the pizza box down on your kitchen counter.

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I do. You’ll be pretty close to all of us too.”

You walk to the cabinet to grab plates for you both. You hand him one before he opens the box and you both dig in.

“You’re right on time. I was starting to get hungry.”

“Yeah? How’s packing going? You need any help?” He asks around a mouth full of pizza.

“I couldn’t ask you to help me, Reno. You’ve done a lot for me already, recommending me for this job and all.”

“What are you talking about? You were already a candidate. I just put the bug in the boss’ ear. Plus there is no way that I could stand Tseng’s pick,” he says with a shudder.

“Let me guess! That really serious looking guy!”

“The one who never even changed his tone the entire time,” Reno says with a groan.

“Yeah, working with him would have been brutal…” You say as an afterthought as you take a bite of pizza.

“There would have been two of them then…” You share an overexaggerated look of horror with Reno before you both burst out laughing.

“I’m glad he picked you,” he leans against the counter sending you a sly look.

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Well, you actually have a personality, plus you are WAY easier on the eyes than those other guys.”

You scoff as you playfully punch him, “so you just wanted me to have the job because of my looks?”

“Hey! I said you have a personality first!”

You laugh heartily, glancing over at him. “Thanks, Reno,” you say, bumping him lightly with your shoulder.

“Don’t mention it,” Reno shrugs.

You both fall into a comfortable silence before you head to your fridge and pull out some wine.

“Want some?” you offer, as you go to grab a glass from the shelf.

“You don’t have any beer, do you?”

You frown slightly, “No… You want anything else?”

“Naw, the wine is fine…”

“Sorry, I’m not much of a beer drinker…”

“S’okay, it’s your house… Plus I should have grabbed some on the way over.”

You pour him a glass and hand it to him. He thanks you quietly before he takes a sip, “not bad…” he regards the liquid in his glass.

After a few minutes, Reno claps his hands, “come on! We gotta get you packed!”

“Reno! I told you that you don’t have to help!”

“Well too bad because I am!” He says as he undoes the clasp on his suit jacket and throws it over the back of your couch.

“Is the apartment furnished?” You inquire as you glance around your own place.

“Nope, I’m taking you shopping tomorrow while the movers come to pick up your things.”

“Wait! What? Tomorrow? The movers are coming tomorrow?!” You begin to panic.

“Yep! That’s why we gotta get you packed!”

You curse under your breath, “you could have said something sooner!”

“And ruin dinner? That was top notch cheap pizza!”

You hide your smile and roll your eyes, “you’re ridiculous…”

“You love it,” he smirks as he grabs a box and heads into the kitchen.

It’s at that moment a small meow is heard from the floor and Reno looks down in surprise. His eyebrows practically jump up into his hairline and his mouth opens in surprise.

“Is this!?” He exclaims.

“It sure is!” You giggle as Milly skirts around Reno and rushes to you. You pick her up as she regards the new person warily sniffing the air in his direction. You pet her to help calm her nerves and speak gently to her as you do so. She eventually relaxes against you while still regarding Reno with distrust.

“I can’t believe you still have her… Then again I don’t know how long cats live,” he scratches the back of his head in slight embarrassment.

“They live for a while. I once heard of a woman whose cat was 32 when she died.”

“The cat or the lady!?” He asks in surprise.

“The cat!!” You laugh.

Reno chuckles as he slowly approaches you and holds out his hand for the cat to sniff. She does so hesitantly before rubbing her face against his hand. He chuckles again as he pets her, astonished that she is in your arms.

His eyes soften as he watches her rub her face against his outstretched hand, no doubt recalling the last time he saw her.

“It seems so long ago… a lifetime…” Reno says softly.

“I guess for you it was…” You glance up at him with a smile.

“Yeah… My life changed a lot that night… I owe your dad a lot,” he murmured wistfully, “He got me off the streets, helped me make something of myself. Even when I was talking about my dreams that night, I didn’t know if I would ever escape that hellhole. Now look at me, I’m a Turk. Not exactly the life I was picturing back then, but I’m not going to complain about it.”

“I’m happy for you Reno… People were so cruel to you…”

“Hey now! Enough with the sappiness! We’ve got to get you packed! You move in tomorrow!” He turns away abruptly leaving Milly meowing in annoyance that her pets stopped suddenly.

“Oh! Right! Okay!” You exclaim in surprise at the sudden topic change. You understood though, he doesn't want to relive his old life, he left it behind so many years ago. Perhaps this time though you’ll get to be the friends that the two of you never got to be.

With that, you both get to work packing up your apartment, throwing jokes and comments at one another along with knick knacks that you each find along the way. The playful banter is something you didn’t know you needed, it keeps the nerves at bay. Or maybe it’s Reno that you didn’t know you needed...

Notes: Apparently there is a... cam guy? I don’t really know anything about him except his name is Reno, every time I’m looking for Reno gifs his gifs show up too. So there are just clips of this guy shaking his ass on the bed and I’m always so surprised when they show up! I can’t... Anyway long time since this was updated but I hope you enjoy it anyway!! Shout out to my Beta: @westsideeffectsvary

Please like, reblog and comment! You know all that good stuffs!

#reader insert #Reno #reno sinclair #reno x reader #ff7 reno #Reno Of The Turks #reno imagine #reno sinclair x reader #ff7 imagine

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poliel · 3 years ago

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Surprise Egg 2/13: Morning Sickness

I don't have a real solid headcanon for how long grumpus pregnancies last so I'm vague about the passage of time in this fic. But that's not super important anyway.

Almost from the start Buddy had made sure to make time to spend with Filbo even though he never requested anything of them after he’d asked them to bring everyone back to town and to assist everyone else if their various problems if possible. Now that they were dating though, Buddy tried to do so a bit more often. It still wasn’t as much as they would’ve liked though. Their story and finding Lizbert had to take precedence. Keeping everyone fed and bringing folk back to town and helping everyone with their things was also important and took up quite a bit of their time as well. Adding in the fact that they were actively exploring the island and testing all the ways they could interact with and catch the various bugsnax scattered across it, they were very busy indeed.

They did what they could though and if Filbo minded he didn’t show it. He seemed happy with whatever time they could find for him. They felt a little guilty about it but that’s just how it was. To make up for it they tried to sleep in town more often, with him if they came in early enough in the night. Which steadily became a thing more and more often because they were just that exhausted.

“You feeling okay, Buddy?” he asked them one evening after they’d stumbled into town with little to show for their hunting efforts.

After doling out what little they had caught, they’d gone to flop down by the firepit to stare into it as they forced themself to eat. So it was their own fault he’d noticed their discomfort. There wasn’t any use complaining about it so they never did but well, he’d asked so… “I’m sick.”

The already worried expression on his face grew more so. “Oh uh, I’d offer to make you some soup or something but uh… yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Except for the fact that it had heavily affected their ability to function today.

Filbo fidgeted with his paws. “You seem to be eating okay though, that’s good.”

“That’s the thing, I feel like I’m going to puke but I’m also starving.” And so they ate, staring into the fire to distract themself from how every ketchup ‘flower’ they ate made them want to throw their guts up a little more. The newfound peanut butter helped though, they should’ve grabbed more of it while up in the mountains earlier, it had yet to grow in the garden since Wambus had planted it literally just yesterday.

“Oh, if only Eggabell was still in town. She’d know how to help.”

“Well, she’s not so… sit with me and talk? Tell me what goes on around town when I’m not here.” A distraction was welcome and spending time chatting with him was always nice.

He still looked a little unsure but sat down next to them anyway. “Okay. After you’re done eating though you should rest.”

Today day was already more of a bust than anything so why not go ahead and waste the rest of it. It’s not like they’d get much done anyway so… “Fine.”

The nausea came and went randomly, sometimes worse, sometimes barely there, just a nuisance. The exhaustion and hunger were constants though. Often they were light headed too, standing up and not having blackness eat at the edges of their vision became a rarity. With nothing that could be done about it though they kept trucking on and didn’t complain.

Filbo picked up on the fact they weren’t feeling well though. Insisting they rest more or even take a whole day off. The former they did fairly often when he suggested it, the latter though they couldn’t afford to do. Thankfully, probably due to the fact they often listened to him about the former, he never heavily insisted on the latter, making things easier for both of them.

One thing they were willing to share though was… “Sometimes I want to eat mud.”

On the bed, Filbo looked up from the notebook they’d lent to him at his request to see more of their doodles because he liked them for some reason. “What?”

His tone had enough concern in it to draw Buddy’s gaze up from the notebook they were currently doodling in – a spare that had mostly doodles of bugsnax but would now have a doodle of Filbo flipping through the other notebook. “Sometimes I want to eat mud,” they repeated.

“Uh… why?”

Maybe they shouldn’t have brought it up after all. But the sound of the rain pattering against the hut’s roof and the view they had of it through the window as they sat at Filbo’s little table had brought it to mind in general. Making the craving return. “I don’t know. It’s really weird though, huh?” They’d never felt like that before.”

“Okay, but um… you’re not ever going to, right?”

“Of course not. I also really want to eat the bugsnax but like mud, I know it’d be worse for me if I did.”

Filbo was silent for a few seconds before flipping the journal closed and rolled out of bed and walking over and sit at the table across from them. “Maybe it’s time you uh, take a break or something? Go back to the mainland, get some real food and then come back.”

“I can’t.”

“I’m sure we’d all be fine on our own without you for a couple weeks.”

“I’m sure you would be. But I can’t go back until the story’s done. And the longer Lizbert’s missing, the worse her situation could be for all we know. If I take the time to go back to the mainland, she could be dead even before I return to start looking for her again.” Which would be bad in general and would hurt the conclusion of their big story.

Filbo sighed, hanging his head. “Yeah, I guess that’s true. I’m just worried about you.”

Buddy had already known that of course but… it was nice to hear. So nice it made them almost feel like crying. Which was dumb, it wasn’t that big a deal, so why were they so emotional? … “I’ll be fine,” they said instead, putting on a smile for him. “I’ve been through similar hardships before and came out fine.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I was lost in the woods for like a whole month apparently when looking for Moth-grump once. And while that’s far less time than I’ve spent here so far, I didn’t have a reliable source of food or water and no shelter whatsoever.”

“That sounds pretty awful.”

“It was.” Even if sauce, dandelions, and tree sap from the Surgerpine trees wasn’t much it was at least consistent, plentiful, and took no energy to find and collect. Even if for some reason they felt worse off here they couldn’t be, right? Especially since they weren’t really losing much weight, they’d started to at first but seemed to have evened out. “But it was worth it, just like this is going to be. … Or it was almost worth it.”

“What happened?”

“I got concrete evidence the Moth-grump is real, pictures and video, everything you could possibly ask for. It was going to be my biggest story. But then, after I got back to civilization, before I was even fully recovered from being lost in the woods for a month, I got mugged and robbed. They stabbed me three times, stole all my stuff and left me for dead. And now no one believes me and I couldn’t find the cave again when I tried because I’d been that lost. And I’m still mad about it.”

As they’d talked Filbo had leaned forward on the table in interest, his expression going from intrigued to worried to frightened before settling on a mix of bemusement and concern. “You sound almost uh, more mad about them ruining your story than them trying to kill you.”

“I am. Well, I’m mad they tried to kill me too but… it was going to be such a good story. And now no one I tell believes me. My boss thought I was making up excuses for why I was gone so long and didn’t have anything until I went to office to show her the stab wounds. And even then, she didn’t believe me about the Moth-grump. No one does.”

“I believe you. I mean like, if bugsnax exist, why can’t Moth-grump?”

As they looked up at him, they were almost overwhelmed with how much they loved him, letting it out in a purr. Was being overly emotional a normal symptom of malnutrition? “Thank you! This story’s going to be better anyway though and no one’s going to take it from be this time. It’s worth whatever I have to go through to get the full thing.”

He smiled at them warmly. “You’re very passionate about your work, huh?”

“Yeah. Hunting cryptids is kind of my thing.” Had been for as long as they could remember. “Though, solving any mystery is cool too and I do ghost hunting stories pretty often as well, those are always fun.”

“Could you tell me more about uh… the stuff you hunt and… stuff? If you want to anyway. I’m just curious and uh… I’ve never actually asked you about that before, huh? I’m always doing most of the talking. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.” Buddy didn’t typically bring up their specific work with people since they often got looked down on for it so it was a habit not to. Also… “I like listening to other grumps talk, especially if it’s you. I’ll gladly tell you more though, what do you want to hear about, if anything in particular?” And he’d already convince them to take the rest of the evening off so it’s not like they had anywhere else to be right now.

“Uh… more about the Moth-grump maybe?”

#my writing #bugsnax #filbuddy #filbo fiddlepie #the journalist #pregnancy #malnutrition

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ajokeformur-ray · 5 years ago

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Baby, you’re fucking gorgeous// Joker x Reader//

Okay, so this one wasn’t requested but I have to get it out of my system. Every time I look at Joker, I blush like crazy and I just know that smug bastard would enjoy the attention. And so, this little imagine was born. Hopefully it’s as good as the Arthur Fleck ones I’ve written, because I haven’t written for Joker before. Let me know what you think!

Summary: You’re still unused to Joker… his mannerisms, his physical appearance, and you. Can’t. Stop. STARING. He notices, of course he does, but he subtly teases you until finally, oh, finally, you just can’t take it anymore. Are you in for a long night? Oh, most definitely.

TW; swearing, smoking (Joker), err… soft smut, teasing Joker. Mentions of Arthur’s malnutrition in real terms; if it upsets you or may potentially trigger you, then please skip the asterisked (*) paragraph. The asterisks are placed immediately before and after the paragraph. No critical plot info. is in that paragraph! I will signal its finish with another asterisk at the end.

word count: 1,560

Arthur Fleck/Joker: @writings-of-a-gen-z @x-avantgarde-x @mapreza1 @insomniabird @mavalenovaninagavi @itwasrealenough @morrisonmercurymalek @rand0ms-fand0ms @rafaelina-casillas @aclownthing @rebs-doom @vivft @help-i-am-obssessed @autumnaffection @taintednihilist @vladtoly @mg-woolf99 @misstgrey92 @that-s-life @dopey-girl-blogs

Wanna be added to the taglist? Let me know in a DM or ask, please - comments can be hard to track

Oh, help you.

Arthur Fleck, your beloved significant other, had only just recently, in the last few days, completed his gradual but inevitable transition into Joker. You had come home one night expecting to see a bare faced, very weary and tired Arthur greet you at the door, but instead you had opened the door and before you had even shut it behind you, hands had grabbed your face and pulled you into a huge messy kiss; traces of greasepaint all over your face.

You had stepped back to see an exuberant Arthur. “Hey, Arthur!”

Arthur had smiled softly at you, his eyes so kind and gentle, but he had shaken his head patiently. He had known that you wouldn’t know who he was, and that it would take time before you could tell his personas apart. “When I’m like this, call me Joker, darling.” Then he had burst into laughter, the sound loud and bouncing off the walls; it was freer and more genuine than you had ever heard him before. You had accepted this new persona without question, only wanting him to be happy, and that was that. Some days you didn’t know who would greet you at the door. It didn’t matter, though, so long as you saw your enigmatic love at each day’s end.

Despite your bravado in front of Joker, you still weren’t acclimatised to him. You had seen glimpses of him over the months, flashes of his confidence had shone through Arthur and you had found yourself malfunctioning, blushing too badly to be able to look Arthur in the eye. It had excited you, though a deeper and easier to hide part of you had worried for the future of Arthur Fleck… would you still be a part of it? Would he still love you as this new person came into light?

As such, you had a problem. Only days before had you met Joker, and now with you sat on the sofa watching Joker dancing without music, his own eerie but liberating rhythm playing on a seeming loop in his complex and twisted mind, you were mesmerised. You were caught like a fly in a web. You hadn’t been able to look away from him all day. Arthur was devastatingly beautiful but Joker… oh, Joker was ethereal. You loved him. To love Arthur was to love Joker, he was the same man, and you had been conflicted about loving Joker initially but, like all other potentially bad decisions in your life, you had chucked yourself down the rabbit hole head first. You could only hope that Joker would catch you, just as Arthur had.

As Joker turned with stilted movements, he spotted you staring. He raised an eyebrow, winked at you and then carried on dancing like nothing had happened. You quickly grabbed the nearest cushion, burying your face in it to muffle the strange noise that left your throat, but also the blush that spread like wild fire across your face. He was fucking gorgeous.

You squeezed the pillow just a bit harder on your face, biting your lip to further muffle the second squeak that left you. Arthur had been able to make you blush with just a straight face but Joker… Joker knew what he did to you without even trying, and it seemed as though he had already figured out that this new persona, his truest and freest self, was your greatest weakness.

You inhaled the scent of cigarettes and your love as you released the cushion and stood, intent on going to the kitchen to get some food for yourself and Joker. Even now, he took very poor care of himself, but he lavished you with everything. It was frustrating, but you supposed that you could take care of the two of you. Joker already worked so hard to support you as a small family, so the least you could do was to do your share.

You turned to the barely stocked fridge, thinking of what kind of meal you could make with what was in there. You had the ingredients for a basic pasta bake, so that was what you set your mind to. Arthur couldn’t eat much of anything at all, his body so used to starvation and malnourished from such a young age that even slightly rich foods could make him sick; his body unable to digest it, and you had quickly had to adapt to his body’s needs.

You turned to the oven, your mind still fixated on the haunting images of Joker dancing to music that was in his very soul, and began to make dinner. A soft, low humming had replaced the silence in the apartment, and you found your body reaction to Joker’s music. Your hips wanted to sway, your head wanted to tilt up towards the ceiling so you could listen better, and as you set the pan down for the pasta bake, large hands seized your shoulders; spinning you around into a dance.

You were too preoccupied with the way that Joker’s eyes stared into your own to notice what he was doing with your body; turning it this way and that, spinning you, and dancing with you like Fred and Ginger.

“Like what you see?”

You blushed as Joker winked, and he laughed. There was a tinge of hysteria to his laughter, but you didn’t mind. Laughter was better than sorrow, and you had long since learned the different emotions behind every laugh that Arthur had.

Two could play at the confidence game… Arthur and now Joker were able to read your body language with a single glance in your direction, so intuitive was he. If he could tease you, knowing exactly what he was doing but being less suppressible than Arthur so he could enjoy what he did to you, then you could use a little bravado of your own. You made yourself, with the low stirrings of lust mixing with love and affection in your gut, look Joker full in the face. You allowed the blush to rise, resisted the urge to cover your face with your hands, and let Joker see.

You even squeaked again, much to your mortification and Joker’s amusement. You cleared your throat, drew some more strength from that familiar touch you swore you could feel even in your dreams, and said, “Baby, you’re fucking gorgeous!”

“Have you started dinner yet, kitten?“

You shook your head. "No. Just about to st -"

"Save it. I know what I’m hungry for and it’s not pasta.” Joker gave you that look and you made a mental note to clear tomorrow’s schedule. You’d be walking and sitting funny for the rest of the week, if memory served you well. Last time he had looked at you in that way, with such blatant want and fire in his eyes, you had had sex multiple times in one night… every time you had started to drift off, he had woken you up with a demanding kiss and praises whispered in your ear.

“Hey, uh, J-joker?” You stuttered over his name, your eyes still on his, and he winked at you, his smirk widening. The cocky bastard was not helping you at all and he fucking knew it.

“Yes, dearest?”

“Do you even know how beautiful you are?”

Joker’s smirk widened to almost ear to ear (though his makeup made that illusion even stronger) and one arm slipped around your waist, pulling you tightly into him. His other arm gracefully came up and over his head, his fingers dangling loosely in the air. and he slowly lowered you into a dip. Where had this strength came from? Hovering above you, Joker’s eyes softened and he almost looked like Arthur again. It was a close enough resemblance that it made you want to cry. Where was your sweet man? Where had he gone? Did he still love you? You would never stop loving Arthur, no matter who he turned into, but you couldn’t confidently say the same about Joker.

You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kiss him badly. Joker must have read it on your face, for his eyes flickered down to your lips and his smirk faded as he just stared at you.

“Joker?” He was starting to make you nervous, and you got up to move, to leave, but his fingers dug almost painfully into your hips and his lips descended upon yours messily. His kiss was greedy, his tongue pushing its way past your lips. He kissed you like it was the last time he’d ever get to kiss you, and it was with a surprising show of strength that he murmured, “Jump”, against your lips, and lifted you so that your legs were wrapped tightly around his waist.

Without breaking the kiss, Joker somehow managed to carry you seamlessly through the flat, unfaltering in his step despite how your body obscured his vision. It was with great faith in his muscle memory that he navigated the two of you to the bedroom. He roughly shoved you off him and you landed on the bed. Your body didn’t cease bouncing before he was on you like a lion pouncing on his prey, and his lips seized yours again, his face paint smearing all over yours.

You were in for a long night.

#arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck #arthur fleck imagine #joker #joker imagine #joker 2019 #joker 2019 imagine #joker x reader #joaquin phoenix #Joaquin phoenix joker #joaquin phoenix x reader #phoenix!joker #phoenix!joker x reader #phoenix!joker imagine

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clairecrive · 5 years ago

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“Great expectations”- modern!Alfie Solomons x reader imagine

The lovely @kingarthurscat requested this imagine with the prompt “ you better have a very good reason for waking me up at four in the morning.” with Alfie. Thanks again for the request honey, I had a lot of fun writing this! Hope you like it!

I haven’t proofread it so I’m sorry if there are any mistakes. Oh and btw, everything mentioned is true.

As always, feedback and requests are always appreciated!

Tag list: @mollybegger-blog (let me know if you wanna be added)

“No way!” you whispered excitedly at what you had discovered.

It never occurred to you that you can literally find anything on the internet. And by anything you mean, the endless content about your latest obsession, whatever it was. You had always been passionate about literature and learned as much as you could about the little things of authors’ lives.

You couldn’t put into words the joy and the bliss you felt whenever you learned something, completely useless academically, but that gave you a better insight about the author personality all the same. For example, lately, you had discovered that Lord Byron vaccinated his children against cowpox or that he named his dog smut which you found incredibly funny seeing that nowadays the word is used to describe scenes of sexual natures, which surprisingly fits perfectly with Byron’s lifestyle. Or that one time Shelly wrote a letter to Keats worried about Byron’s mysterious disappearance and then wrote a follow-up letter in which he explained that the Lord had almost died of dehydration and malnutrition because he was too engaged in other activities, if you what I mean. Keat’s answer was the best thing though, he basically told Shelly that he should have left him there. The three most famous poets argued like petty girls in high school and you loved it!

Not to mention all the stuff you learned about Greek Mythology and Etymology which were somehow deeply related.

However, what sent you into pure bliss as of right now was the sudden realisation that no one really knew about author’s voices, which sounds like an obvious thing but somehow that never occurred to you. No one knew about Byron’s or Keat’s or even Plato’s voices. What if they had a funny voice? Or like a lift or something? Wouldn’t be absolutely ironic if someone like Plato who is so snob and racist have a shrill, high-pitched voice? That would be karma’s doing but much to your dismay there was absolutely no way to know. Imagine how upsetting it would be to find out that someone like Lord Byron whose name alone is enough to send you shivers and was able to be a token of his status, who you had always thought to have a very deep, husky voice that it must have been one of the reasons why people of both sexes found him so irresistible had instead a strident or thin voice? That would be mindblowing. As it was the fact that if Oscar Wilde had lived just a little longer maybe we would have registrations of his voice. How cool would that be?

This were the little things you lived for. It’s unusual, you’re aware of that. For that reason, you had always been very careful in sharing this interest with the people in your life. Some of them shared the same excitement, to your surprise; others didn’t really care for it but usually smiled politely just not to upset you. You’d always understand when someone was on your same wavelength but were grateful nonetheless that you were lucky enough to have supportive people in your life that even if they found you weird were kind enough not to tell you.

When you first started dating Alfie, you never really let him on this unusual hobby you had. Sure, he knew about your love for literature and reading but that was it. It was only after the first month that you had gradually initiated him to it to see what his reaction was. At first, you justified your discoveries by saying that your teacher had said them or that you had read them in the book you were studying, which sometimes was the truth. Letting him know that that was exactly what you spent your free time doing and sometimes even the time you should be sleeping or studying was a whole other thing.

Over the dates you had been to, you had found out that Alfie was quite the intellectual. Despite his rough exterior he had read his fair share of books and was very passionate about literature. That was one of the things that had attracted you to him, to be honest. Your head was saying that you should go ahead and share this new piece of information you had found casually, without making it too much of a thing. If he wasn’t as excited by it as you were then in the worst-case scenario you wouldn’t share those kinds of things with him anymore and in the best case, he’d enjoy hearing it just because he loved you and he would appreciate every little thing you shared with him. Just like you’d listen to him complain about work problems or over the difference between rum and bread which apparently wasn’t discussed.

So tonight, you let your enthusiasm carry you away and called him to share the realisation that had hit you. Currently, Alfie was in the USA for business reasons. Something about making a deal with a potential partner which would allow him to expand his rum overseas. However, that didn’t register to you until you were met with his sleepy grunt and the blackness of his room.

“Y/N?” his raspy voice was the only thing you could hear along the sounds of him shifting in the sheets. When he called you last time he had told you that he would leave his phone on so that whatever happened you could call him. He wasn’t expecting you to actually do it though.

“Oh shoot. I forgot about the time difference Alfie, I’m sorry. Go back to sleep, this can wait until later.” you quickly apologised

“What is it?” he ignored you and moved around so that he could turn on the light on his bedside table.

“It’s really nothing babe, I’m sorry. I got carried away from the excitement and forgot you were in the States.”

“Well now I’m up, ain’t I? So you better have a very good reason for waking me up at four in the morning,” he said rubbing the sleep from his eyes finally letting you see his face. Gosh, how could he be so handsome when he literally just woke up? You really were lucky.

“So, I was wasting my time on the internet like I usually do until I came across a post that left me shook.” you started explaining

“So far this doesn’t seem like a good reason to wake me, love,” he muttered but you could see it from his eyes that he didn’t really mean it. To be fair, only the fact that he didn’t tell you to go to hell and actually was ready to hear you out got him the “best boyfriend of the year” award.

“It wasn’t a normal post, Alfie. Hear me out. Have you ever thought about how we have never listened to the voice of the most famous poets of all times?” Now it was out and it was time to study his reaction.

“That- well I’ve never thought about it pet. That’s weird, innit?” The gods were smiling upon you and had graced you with the most fantastic human being in the whole world. He had actually stopped to think about it before answering you and had a face of utter surprise just like you had when you first read the post.

“You know what’s even more mind-blowing? The fact that if Oscar Wilde had lived a little longer we would have known his voice? Now how cool would it have been?!” By now you weren't sure anymore if your enthusiasm was for the fact itself or for how much you loved and appreciated the man laying on a bed on the other side of the planet.

“Fuck, that really would have been cool. Is it because he died in the 1900s?” he asked engaged with the conversation just as much as you were.

“Yes! I did a little research, right? And I found out that first gramophones were being patented in that time. So ten years or so later and now we would have known his voice. What an unfortunate series of coincidences.” you shared his feelings and what you learned with him.

“What?” you asked when you noticed that he was staring intently at you without saying anything. He had a little smile on his face and the intensity of his gaze was actually starting to make you feel self-conscious.

“You really are a geek, aren’t you love?” he asked and it was one of those rare times where the word was told with affection and not with scorn.

“I guess so.” you timidly admit. Love wasn’t the only thing you could see in his eyes, there was also a lot of tiredness.

“I love you, Alfie, thank you for listening to me even if I interrupted your beauty sleep.”

“Don’t even say it, love, you can always count on me. Even if it’s to share something like that at four in the morning.” he snickered lightly but behind his words was the unspoken promise that whatever it was you could share everything with him and that almost made you cry of happiness.

“Well, I promise I won’t do it again. I mean the four am part. Go to sleep baby, I’ll see you tomorrow right?” you softly said.

“You will pet. Goodnight, well I guess it’s a good morning now. I love you.” his sweet words were the last one you exchanged before hanging up.

Well, that had gone way better than your greatest expectations.

#alfie solomons #modern alfie solomons #modern!alfie solomons #alfie solomons imagines #alfie solomons x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders x reader #Tom Hardy #tom hardy imagines #alfie solomons imagine #tom hardy x reader

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sa-gt-tarrius · 5 years ago

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Done Deal [Secret Santa gift]

Warnings (the most prominent ones are in bold): Mild language, lots of crying, panic attacks, self-deprecating thoughts, mentions of malnutrition, unsympathetic Deceit, angst for weeks

A deal is a deal, that much is true. But snakes aren’t known for their integrity. Virgil should have figured that out months ago. Meanwhile, cryptozoology and rebuking the laws of mathematics disrupt Logan’s daily routine.

Excuse me while I post this before noon lol. I figured I’d give my secret sander some time to read their gift while I’m at work today.

@secret-sanders-sized — Thank you so much for organizing this secret santa! It can’t have been easy to coordinate such a big event, especially so close to the holidays. I applaud your hard work and tenacity, but I REALLY hope you get some rest once it’s all over.

@killerfangirl3 — I had a blast working on this and I’m proud of the result. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! (I’m so sorry about the block of text. I was aiming for 6k words max, but I got... carried away. Oof.)

~~~

Part 1:

Patton Sanders was one of the few people you could find awake during the witching hour. It was common to find him binging old cartoons or sifting through photographs through the dead of night while the rest of the world slept. And every morning, without fail, Patton would wake up one hour later than his roommate. He'd either dash about to get ready for the day, cry for a few minutes, or just give up and sleep until noon.

Logan never understood how Patton could, as they say, burn the candle at both ends. He'd tried discussing the possibilities of health problems stemming from erratic sleeping, only to be met with disheartened shrugs of agreement. Patton didn't seem to care, so Logan just let him be. As long as he was on time for work, there was nothing else Logan could do for him.

On the flipside, Logan’s sleep schedule was curated to a science. He was in bed at ten, asleep at ten-fifteen, and awake no later than seven the next morning. If Logan happened to fall asleep just minutes later than usual, he would be too tired to wake up in the morning, thus disrupting his entire day. Going to bed at the same time every night was not only ideal, but it was also necessary for his health and his sanity. Logan couldn't function without routine.

That’s why Patton was surprised when Logan stumbled down the stairs into the kitchen at 2:53 AM. Patton didn't even hear him at first; he was too busy checking the cookies in the oven to notice his roommate was nearby. At that moment, Logan resembled a nerdy cryptid, wandering the halls like a phantom. His eyes were baggy and bloodshot, and his face was drooping from exhaustion. Patton had to wonder if Logan slept at all.

“Logan?” Patton piped, eyeing the other man carefully. Logan hummed in reply, tiredly fiddling with the coffeemaker. Patton tried to grab his attention again, louder this time. “Kiddo... you’re up late.”

“Mmm, yes, yes,” Logan mumbled. He chuckled to himself, twirling a mug around in his hands. “I need coffee.”

Patton stared at his roommate, bewildered by his lacklustre response. He found it odd to be the coherent one of the two for once. Usually, it was Logan who struggled to deal with a delirious Patton. It was jarring to have the roles reversed. “Logan,” he said once again, “what are you doing at this hour?”

Logan turned away from the coffee machine, his weary eyes straining to focus on Patton. Was it because it was dark, or because he was just that exhausted? Perhaps it was because he had forgotten to put on his glasses. It took Patton a moment to remember that Logan never forgets his glasses.

“...It’s been a very long week,” Logan finally sighed, turning his attention to the sugar and cream. The machine beeped softly, and Logan got to work pouring a hearty glass of caffeine for himself. “Sorry for interrupting. I’ll be out of your way in a moment."

Patton blinked twice, taken aback. “What? No, no, no!” he exclaimed, raising his voice a bit. “I—I didn't mean it like that! I'm just worried about you. Are you alright? Did you have a nightmare?"

A groan erupted from Logan's throat at Patton’s sudden outcry. His hands shot up to his temple, trying to ease his pounding headache. "I'm fine," he assured him. "I lost track of time is all."

"Oh." Patton frowned, then smiled again to cover it up. "Well, if you're up, why not come sit with me? The cookies are almost finished."

"Cookies," Logan deadpanned incredulously, "at three in the morning?"

"Don’t be a flour-puss, Logan," Patton replied with a cheeky grin. He turned to the oven, fishing out an oven mitt from a nearby drawer. "Go sit at the table. I'll be right there."

Logan simply nodded. He pulled out a chair and plopped down, swirling his coffee around mindlessly. Maybe it was because it was late and his brain was barely functional, but Logan's thoughts wouldn't stop racing. He was sure that if he were fully awake, he could handle this situation with ease. He'd tell Patton that everything was fine and that he was just stressing over an upcoming exam. But, for some godforsaken reason, Logan was considering telling Patton what he was really doing up at this hour. But would Patton understand? Would he even believe him?

Logan didn't even notice when Patton took a seat across from him. He only jolted out of his trance once a plate of cookies clattered onto the table, producing a quiet clunk that scared Logan more than he'd be willing to admit. Patton muttered an apology as he adjusted himself to get comfortable. Logan couldn't even meet his gaze.

“So,” Patton began, shifting uncomfortably. Logan wasn’t exactly looking forward to this conversation either. “...Up and about at three? You’re turning into me, kiddo. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” Logan huffed, his tone a bit harsher than he would have liked. He immediately regretted opening his big fat mouth upon seeing Patton’s hurt expression. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean… it’s just been… busy. I’ve been distracted by my research project."

"Research project?" Patton tilted his head. "You mean for your class?"

"No." As soon as the damning word left his mouth, Logan quietly cursed under his breath. "I mean... y—yes. For my class." Patton looked unconvinced. "Look, it's nothing important. I have nothing aside from school tomorrow. I'll be able to sleep in for a while. I’ll be fine.”

"Kiddo..."

"It's nothing, Pat."

Patton's expression softened. He reached out and grabbed Logan’s hand, squeezing it gently. "Logan, please. I’m worried about you. You know you can talk to me about anything, right? We’re friends. I’m here for you.”

Logan managed a smile. “I know you are, Pat. It’s just… Well... I’m not sure you’d believe me.” When Patton didn’t reply right away, Logan continued. “I’m not quite sure I believe it myself. Maybe I’m just delusional.”

“Delusional,” Patton repeated, holding back an ironic laugh. “Logan, you’re the most logical person I know. If you believe something, you probably have good reason to. Besides…” Patton glanced at their interlocked hands. “...you always do this. Keep things to yourself, I mean. It’s not healthy.”

Logan opened his mouth to retort, but no words came, so he nodded along.

“So please… tell me what’s going on with you. I’m worried.”

“Well, I…” Logan paused, tensing up. He glanced around the room, then tightened his grip on Patton’s hand. “Perhaps it would be better to show you instead.” He stood up, tugging Patton upstairs to his room. Patton didn’t argue. He simply followed and hoped that Logan would be okay.

Part 2:

Maybe Virgil was an idiot for borrowing tonight. At least one of the two humans was usually awake at this ungodly hour. But Virgil didn’t need much this time around—a paper clip from Logan’s room was all he had to grab. A paper clip would be perfect for making a climbing hook. Virgil misplaced his old hook somewhere, so he had to make a new one.

Deceit was out exploring somewhere, perhaps scouting a different floor, so Virgil had to go borrowing alone this time. That sucked, mainly because Virgil hated borrowing with every fibre of his being. It was dangerous, physically taxing, and took way too long. But it had to be done, so Virgil decided to just get it over with so he could go to his room and sleep. Once the coast was clear, Virgil silently slipped into Logan’s room.

Logan was the better human to borrow from, in Virgil’s humble opinion. Logan was predictable, almost to a creepy extent, making his belongings easy pickings. Besides, Patton’s room had bugs in it from being too filthy. Logan’s room was cramped and cluttered to be sure, but at least it was clean and somewhat organized. As long as Virgil was careful and left everything as he found it, borrowing from Logan’s room was fairly straightforward.

But this time around, something was different. Virgil couldn’t put his finger on it, but the room wasn’t the same tonight. It was… quiet. Almost too quiet. Wait, was Logan even in here? Virgil peered upwards to the bed, straining his eyes for a snoring mass beneath the blankets. Nope, Logan was nowhere to be found. That was odd, but Virgil would not waste this opportunity. He scrambled under the bed to orient himself before making the climb up the desk.

“Weird,” Virgil muttered under his breath. Logan was practically a robot. He did the same thing at the same time every day without fail. To see him breaking that routine was rare. Virgil crouched down on the carpet, leaning on a small paper box next to him. That’s when it struck Virgil—that box wasn’t any old box!

By some strange stroke of luck, Virgil stumbled upon the box of paper clips beneath the bed, which meant Virgil didn’t even have to step into the open. What a lucky break! Virgil didn’t think to question how they’d gotten under the bed frame. Instead, he frantically started stashing paper clips into his sack, being careful not to poke himself with the metal tips. Virgil technically only needed one paper clip, but they were versatile enough for most home repairs or impromptu tools, so Virgil thought it best to take at least five.

However, just as he was closing the paper clip box behind him, the bedroom door opened.

Part 3:

Patton didn't know what to expect when he entered Logan's room. The room was usually clean, if not disorganized from all the stray notebooks. However, Patton quickly realized that the whole room was a complete mess tonight. There were pencils and papers were scattered across the surface, and Logan’s laptop had over 30 tabs open, including multiple math and physics articles, an anatomy lecture on youtube, and a webpage detailing various mythological creatures.

Logan stopped by the desk, facing Patton with the most intense and pleading expression he had ever seen. "Promise me you won't think I'm crazy,” Logan said firmly. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” Patton said without thinking. In reality, he was quickly becoming worried. What could have Logan riled up this much?

Logan took a deep breath, full-screening one of the physics articles on his browser. “Are you familiar with the square-cube law?” Patton shook his head. “Right... In layman’s terms, as an object’s surface area increases, its volume increases much more than you’d intially believe. An object that is twice its original size will NOT be twice as dense as the original—rather, the volume increases by a factor of eight. The same principle applies to things decreasing in size. Do you follow so far?”

“Yes,” Patton said, despite not understanding a word Logan was saying.

“I’m getting to the point, I swear...” Logan pulled up a biology seminar, pointing at various graphs on the screen. He was getting excited now, pacing about the room as he spoke. “Many people have wondered what would happen if a human being were to become extremely small. The short answer is... no one could survive for long at that size. A miniature human being would encounter a multitude of problems that the species isn’t designed to handle… a shortage of body heat, bad eyesight, and the obvious problem of being too small to process oxygen—”

“Sorry, kiddo,” Patton blurted, looking rather dazed and confused, “but could you just, um… get to the point?”

Logan coughed, looking a bit embarrassed. “Well, the point is… erm... Heh heh, the idea of tiny people is ludicrous, correct? According to everything we know about biology and physics, it shouldn’t even be possible for a human being that small to exist.” He shuffled awkwardly, suddenly at a loss for words. “So… I suppose… it’s, erm… Well, it’s a ridiculous concept, anyway. But I can’t help but wonder if…”

As Logan stumbled his way through the sentence, Patton’s eyes lit up a bit. “Do you think… maybe it is possible after all?”

“Well, it shouldn’t be,” Logan huffed, “but it’s the only explanation I can think of. You see, I… I’ve been tracking some strange occurrences lately. Food has been vanishing from the cupboards. There are tiny hidden doorways in the walls by the floorboards. There’s three in the kitchen and two in the living room. It’s so peculiar.”

“Couldn’t it just be mice? Or some other rodent?”

“That’s what I thought, too. But then I found something…” Logan opened the desk drawer and pulled something out. He carefully placed it in Patton’s hands. It was a piece of twine, beaten up and fraying. One end was tied into a sturdy loop, and the other was attached to a hook made of a fishing hook. Patton bent down and stared at it, unsure of what he was looking at. “I found it in the cupboard with the ramen,” Logan explained. “No mouse is capable of constructing tools like this.”

“That’s true,” Patton muttered, stroking his chin. “But still… tiny people? Are you sure?”

Logan looked away, biting his lip. “Well… there’s one more thing I need to show you.” He clicked the mouse twice, opening a folder of videos. The timestamp on the most recent one clocked in at a whopping 61 hours. “I set up video cameras in here a few days ago. And I think I caught one on film.”

Patton gasped sharply. “What? Really?!”

“Yes… Here. Look at this.”

The pair kept their eyes glued to the screen as a video began to play. It was a fuzzy recording of Logan’s room from above the door. Patton shot a glance to that part of the room; sure enough, a security camera hung there, a pale red light flashing faintly from its side.

At first, it seemed like the footage was frozen. But then, in the corner of the frame, something moved. Patton couldn’t quite discern what it was. The shadowy figure scuttled across the floor and onto the desk, rummaging through Logan’s belongings.

“There.” Logan paused the video, pointing to the figure excitedly. He zoomed in, growing more excited as the faint silhouette of a person came into view. “There it is.” The footage was dark and blurry, but Patton saw it. The shape of a person, no more than five inches tall, hunched over on Logan’s computer desk. Logan tore his attention away from the screen to fix his gaze on Patton. “Normally, I’d acknowledge that this is a stupid hypothesis and I’m just sleep-deprived. But…” He paused, staring at the tiny figure on the video feed. “...I think I may be onto something.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Patton said quietly. He slowly twirled the hook around in his fingers, enamoured by the impossibly miniature handiwork.“I mean… it’s weird, for sure. But the evidence is right there.”

“Indeed. I just have to make sure I’m right.” Logan hunched over the computer, closing a few of the tabs. “All of this evidence is for naught if I can’t prove anything. I have to know for sure. So I’ve been setting up traps that would be able to capture something more intelligent. I’m also considering checking out the holes in the kitchen more closely, although I’m afraid of scaring it away…”

“So this is your research project,” Patton said as the pieces clicked into place in his mind. “This is why you’ve been up late.”

“Yes, I believe that these creatures are likely nocturnal. But I haven't had much luck with finding traces of them.”

Patton grinned, leaning over Logan’s shoulder and closing the laptop. “Well, maybe I can help with that. Two heads are better than one, after all.”

“That... That would be satisfactory,” Logan said with a small smile. He should have known better than to doubt Patton.

Part 4:

Now, as far as they knew, Logan and Patton would continue to speak in total privacy. They discussed Logan’s findings and hypotheses about why tiny people are living in the walls. They argued about the possible origins of such a species, and what kind of bait to use to catch it, and whether glue traps were considered humane. What they didn’t know was that someone was listening to their conversation from beneath the bed.

Virgil’s mind was racing and his heart was beating so fast that he was sure it’d pop out of his chest. Damn it all! He was so careful, so calculated with his borrowing, never leaving a trace of his presence. But despite his valiant efforts, Logan realized that he was in the apartment. And they even had recordings of him! It was only a matter of time before they were captured. If only he hadn’t let them find his damned grappling hook...

Virgil didn't enjoy entertaining the thought of being caught by humans—it caused him too much distress. But the imminent discovery of borrowers in the apartment seemed fast approaching. Would they kill him? Keep him as some pet? Experiment on him? Toss him outside to freeze in the winter cold? Virgil wasn’t keen on finding out, which meant only one thing: they would have to move. Quickly.

Virgil had only moved once in the past, to move out of his parent’s home when he came of age. He was ill-equipped to move on such short notice on his own. But that was one solace Virgil had: he didn’t live alone anymore.

About a year ago, he’d met another borrower who was looking for shelter from the first snowfall of the season. He called himself Deceit, which was an apt name, considering he was the living embodiment of sliminess. He was the best borrower Virgil ever met; Virgil had to wonder how he became so adept.

Virgil quickly learned that Deceit didn’t talk about himself. All Virgil knew about Deceit is that he’d been alone for almost all of his life. The mysterious borrower never talked about the scars covering half his face, or the slight limp on his left side. He never talked about his family, or his past, or his tendency to hide away in his room for hours.

Thinking back, Deceit probably wouldn’t have given Virgil a second thought at first; the strange borrower seemed perfectly content on his own. But when Virgil pleaded for Deceit to stay with him after the winter passed—Virgil must have been lonely if he was willing to trust a stranger that much—they eventually agreed on living together.

It was a contractual friendship, so to speak. Deceit would usually borrow for the both of them, being the sneakier of the pair. In exchange, Virgil provided Deceit with a place to stay. Additionally, Virgil was a skilled builder and mechanic, able to construct all sorts of tools from scraps that Deceit found under the fridge and behind the couch. His home was fully insulated, wired with working lights, and outfitted with furniture. So not only could Deceit stay hidden with Virgil, but he was also warm, safe, and comfortable.

The two quickly adjusted to the balance. They’d been living together for about a year with little issue. Both of the humans in the apartment were unassuming, and Deceit never gave them any reason to believe things were amiss. But now... their delicate way of life was being threatened. Everything that they worked for was about to be for naught.

Shaking his head, Virgil retreated into the wall. He'd have to tell Deceit the bad news so they could start packing right away.

As he made his way through the walls, Virgil’s fear of being caught gave way to spite and anger. This would put a whole three years of borrowing to waste. Now what? Where would they even go now that they couldn't stay in the apartment? The snow was falling like bullets this late in the year, so they didn't even have the option of fleeing into the woods nearby. They'd have to pray and hope that there was a building close enough to move to.

At least he had Deceit with him. Having someone to keep him sane will be all too necessary now.

”Hey, Dee?” Virgil called out, slipping into the main room. He immediately went toward his room, intending to fetch his gear. “Dee, we need to talk. It's important.”

When no one replied for a minute, Virgil entered his room to grab his stuff. It couldn’t hurt to get a head start with packing. Virgil ran through his mental checklist of supplies as he stepped into his room. He would need food for a few days, his collection of homemade jackets (he’d need all of them if he wanted to stay warm), and his borrowing gear. New hook, bag, blade… What else should he need? It’d been too long since he moved Virgil took a quick look around to get ideas on what to bring.

He paused, did a double-take, and stumbled back in shock.

His room was completely empty. There were no clothes in the closet, no bag of tools by the door, and none of Virgil’s journals on the shelf. The blankets from his makeshift bed were stolen away. Even the emergency rations he hid behind a loose board were missing. Virgil stood still and gaped horror for a good few minutes. What happened here?

Virgil quickly paced around the room, inspecting the empty room more closely. Somebody stripped the place of everything but the heavy furniture, like the side table and the dresser. Everything else was just… gone. Well... there was one other thing. A small folded note with Virgil’s name on it. Virgil hesitated before tentatively opening the note, dreading the contents.

virgil, the humans know about us. i just finished packing. meet me in the pantry right away.

Virgil read and re-read the letter a few times, relief washing over him. On a hunch, Virgil went into Deceit’s room too. It was empty too. Presumably, Deceit had already packed everything. Okay, Deceit knew too. And he’d already packed their things. That’s good. That’s good. Breathe, Virgil.

This was… good. As soon as they’d stocked up on food, they could leave. Leave it to Deceit to be two steps ahead of things. Virgil was at ease knowing that such a competent borrower would join him on the journey to a new home. However, as Virgil made his way towards the pantry, he still couldn't help but worry about what the future held. Virgil lived in this apartment building for most of his adult life. He wasn’t keen on leaving it all behind. And he still wasn’t sure where they could go. Maybe they could just move down the block? Would that be far away enough to throw the humans off their scent?

“Dee?” Virgil whispered, finally arriving at the pantry. He emerged from the hidden tunnel, carefully slipping into the open. Deceit was there, but hadn’t noticed Virgil yet; he was busy cutting into the tops of boxes and fishing food out of them. The other borrower was struggling to reach the cereal below him. “Dee, I’m here.”

Deceit perked up, whirling his head around. “Good. I need help with stocking.” He gestured for Virgil to climb onto the cereal box with him. “I can’t reach. Can you climb in and pass me what’s inside?”

“Sure.” Virgil made his way up the shelves, careful not to let his foot get caught between the thin metal bars that made up the shelves. When he reached the cereal box, he carefully lowered himself next to Deceit, peering inside. “How much do you need?”

Deceit squinted his eyes, scanning the contents of the box. “Just a few pieces should be enough. This'll be the last of it. I’ve already packed granola and some trail mix.” Virgil nodded, handing Deceit his bag and lowering himself into the box. He sunk a bit into the cereal at first but stayed close to the top of the box with a bit of effort. “Throw up what you can,” Deceit said. “Try to get bigger pieces.”

“Okay.” Virgil got to work tossing various bits of cereal up and out of the box. Deceit caught them and shoved them into his shoulder bag, filling it to the brim. After a few minutes, his bag couldn’t hold anything more. “Is that enough?”

“Yes, that’s perfect.” Deceit grinned widely, glancing around the pantry. Nope, no sign of the humans. “And with hours to spare.”

Virgil huffed, sinking even lower into the cereal. “That’s great. Can you help me out now? I’m sinking.”

Deceit blinked, staring at Virgil from above. “Oh, are you now? Isn’t that a shame?” He grinned even wider, adjusting the straps of his bag. “You’re a good person, Virgil. It’s a shame you’re so naïve.”

Virgil froze up. “What?”

Maybe it was Virgil’s imagination, but Deceit’s face seemed to darken in reply to Virgil’s stuttering. “I enjoyed our time together, Virgil. Maybe you’ll get out of there before you suffocate.” He laughed jollity. “Or before you… you know… get caught.”

“You tricked me!” Virgil hollered, momentarily forgetting that he should keep quiet while humans were in the house. “You’re stealing my stuff, you little—”

“Excellent observation, Virgil. You’re so clever.”

“I thought we were a team,” Virgil hissed as he struggled against the cereal, feeling his chest sink below the surface. Tears began to prick at his eyes. “We were in this together! We had a deal!”

“The deal is off,” Deceit hummed, vanishing from sight. His footsteps sounded from outside the box. Virgil could barely make his muffled voice out. “If you hadn’t left your hook lying around, I wouldn’t have to do this. When the cards are down, it’s every borrower for himself.” He paused, his voice growing quiet. “For your sake, I hope you escape soon. The humans will be here in a few hours.”

Virgil’s breath quickened. A panicking sensation began to well up in his stomach. “Where will you go?” He cringed at the way his voice cracked. “You’ll freeze out there. It's too cold.”

“Mmm, I don’t know about that. With all these jackets of yours, I should be warm enough.”

“You bastard!” Virgil screamed angrily, quickly becoming more and more desperate to get out. Was Deceit going to leave him here? After all they’d been through together? “Let me out right now, or I swear—”

“Or what? You’ll call me even more vulgarities? Why, I’m shaking in my boots.” Deceit let out a hearty chuckle. “I’d love to stay and quiver more, but I really must get going. Good luck, Virgil,” Deceit whispered coyly, “and thank you for everything.”

“Don’t you dare leave me here!” Virgil squawked, not wanting to believe the sound of Deceit’s footsteps pattering away. “Dee?! D—Deceit! Wait! Don’t leave me!” Virgil wasn’t exactly listening more than he was simply panicking, but he knew at that moment Deceit was gone for good. Where he went, he’d never know. Virgil was alone now, with nothing to his name, and with humans hot on his trail. He was trapped and afraid and all alone. He stopped shouting, and instead relegated himself to emitting quiet sobs.

Was this it, then? Was he stuck here forever? Or would the humans find him when the sun came up? Virgil didn’t want to find out. He grunted and cursed to himself as he writhed in place, but he only sunk ever deeper beneath the quicksand of sugary wheat crisp. Only his head and arms were above the surface now, and he wasn’t keen on having his entire body buried in sugar and wheat puffs.

Virgil grit his teeth, remembering the breathing exercises his parents taught him. Four in, seven hold, eight out. But more than ten minutes went by and Virgil couldn’t calm down enough to hold his breath for more than two seconds. His constant struggling and weeping were pulling his neck and shoulders underneath.

You have to calm down. Virgil shook his head, clearing his messy and diluted mind. Keep it together, Virge. You can’t give up just yet. He would stay alive—he had to. There was no way he was about to go down in such an undignified manner. Virgil steadied his breathing, keeping his entire body as still as possible. Then, ambling with care, he wiggled his feet around, trying to find his footing. If he could just get a foothold on something, then maybe he could hoist himself up and escape. But try as he might, Virgil’s feet helplessly sifted through the cereal like it was water. He couldn’t get to the top of the box.

Virgil’s next instinct was to writhe around and tilt the box onto its side, but the borrower was discombobulated from panicking—he did not know which way he was facing. If he knocked the box over the wrong way, the fall to the distant ground would seal his fate. And even if he survived the fall, he’d be too injured to escape before the humans found him.

That left only one option, which was to wait and bide his time. Perhaps the humans would walk into the pantry without checking his hiding place. If he could just listen for the direction of the pantry door, he’d know which direction to tilt the box without toppling off the shelf. It wasn’t ideal, but it seemed to be the only way out of this mess. So Virgil took a deep breath, willed his body to stay perfectly still, and waited.

Part 5:

Patton didn’t quite believe in the existence of tiny people in the walls. As Logan said, it was a bit outlandish. Still, something strange was going on. Logan showed him the hidden doorways scattered across the apartment; they were so well hidden that Patton didn’t see them at first, even after having Logan point them out. Patton also examined the hook a bit more while Logan scoured his security camera footage. It was well-crafted, with secure knots and loops holding the hook in place. It seemed too small for a person to make, but too complex and intelligent for a rodent to make. So even though Patton was still in doubt, he had to admit that Logan had a point.

That being said, their “research” wasn’t making any progress. Aside from what Logan already found, the two humans couldn’t find any further evidence of tiny humanoids in the apartment. And soon, it was time for Logan to go to bed. He'd have to be ready for class in the morning.

“I don’t work today,” Patton said as he fished out two bowls from the drawer. “So we can look more when you come back.”

“Of course,” Logan replied. He was busy with the coffee machine again, discarding the filter he used earlier. “I’ll check the library on campus to see if there are any resources that might help us.”

Patton nodded. “And I’ll keep looking online.” He wandered into the pantry, reaching for the nearest box of cereal. “What should I do if anything comes up?”

Logan hummed, thinking for a moment. “Maybe just… call me. My ringer will be off when I’m in class, but I check it regularly.” He glanced over at Patton, who had finished pouring his cereal and was shoving his head into the fridge. Logan blinked thrice. “I didn’t know that brand of cereal came with a toy.”

“They don’t,” Patton replied as he dug out the milk from the fridge.

“Then what is that?”

Patton looked over at Logan. The other man was staring intently at the table, eyes widened and eyebrows raised. Patton followed his gaze to the aforementioned cereal bowl; a strange purple object was protruding from beneath the cereal. Cocking his head, Patton twisted the cereal box in his hands, searching the labels for any sign of a toy inside. He found nothing.

“That’s weird,” Patton muttered, turning his attention back to the bowl, only to screech in horror. That purple thing just moved. On its own. Logan jumped, nearly dropping his mug on the floor. Patton backpedalled across the room, his back pressed tightly against the fridge. “Wh—what is it?! It’s moving!”

“I’ve got it,” Logan grunted as he reached for a nearby dishcloth. He approached the bowl slowly, spreading the cloth out with his hands. Then, with careful precision, the dishcloth was neatly placed atop the squirming thing, effectively trapping it inside. “Patton… pass me the dish gloves.”

It took Patton a second to respond. He quickly grabbed the gloves from inside the sink and placed them on the table near Logan. “Thanks,” he said, focusing on putting the gloves on one at a time as to not take his hands off the cloth. “Now… stand back. I’m taking the cloth off now.”

Patton nodded, keeping his distance as Logan slowly peeled the cloth away. Both of them let out startled, disbelieving gasps.

“...I think we found it, Logan.”

Virgil didn’t want to believe any of this. He expected to wake up any second, back at home. He’d get up for breakfast and Deceit would chastise him for sleeping in. They’d eat granola and Virgil would ramble on about this strange dream he had where he was trapped in a cereal box for hours on end. But as the two human tenants loomed above him, staring him down and locking him into place, he realized that he wouldn’t be waking up. This was real. This was real.

“It’s…” Patton stuttered, taking a step forward. “It’s… a tiny person.”

Logan nodded slowly. His wide eyes remained glued on Virgil. “I was right... I can’t believe I was right!” He suddenly grinned, grabbing Patton’s shoulder. “Do you know what this means?! This is a massive discovery—it could revolutionize the field of biology!”

“I—I’m sure it could,” Patton chuckled humourlessly, still staring downwards. The tiny person half-wrapped himself in the dishcloth, cowering against the table. It appeared to be a young man, likely in his mid-twenties. He wore a baggy violet patchwork jacket and a black scarf that hung loosely from his neck. “Can it… talk?”

Logan turned back to Virgil. “I’m not sure. Theoretically, it’s vocal cords should be too small to produce audible sound… but at this point, it might as well be possible. Its very existence is unlikely.”

“Okay, then… um…” Patton broke away from Logan, who started furiously writing notes on a nearby napkin. “H—hi,” Patton began, smiling awkwardly. “Can you understand me?” When the tiny person didn’t reply, Patton kept talking. Maybe he was just shy. “I’m sorry about that… I didn’t know you were in there.”

Virgil quivered at the giant face taking up most of his vision. He had to look away—he was too intimidated to look into those massive eyes. “I—I don’t...” Virgil started to whimper out a sentence before shutting himself up with a quiet grunt. Don’t be stupid! You can’t talk to humans—you know the rules. Idiot.

But it was too late. Patton’s eyebrows shot up at Virgil’s halfhearted reply. “You can talk!” He smiled widely, his face lighting up. “Okay, that makes this easier.”

“Fascinating,” Logan muttered, studying Virgil carefully. “This can’t be real… You shouldn’t be able to speak with vocal cords your size.” He set the note-scribbled napkin aside, leaning over Patton’s shoulder to see Virgil better. “Where did you come from? Are you human? Are there more of you?”

“I’d... I’d go easy with the questions, Logan,” Patton whispered. “I think he’s getting overwhelmed.”

Well, Patton wasn’t exactly wrong. Virgil was totally and thoroughly petrified. He tried to rise to his feet, but he was shaking so badly that he couldn't even kneel without falling onto his stomach. His breathing was uneven and sharp, like he was struggling for air. Virgil let out a strained sob, becoming increasingly frustrated with his inability to run away.

Logan’s mouth sealed shut. He recognized the signs of a panic attack before Patton did. “Patton, get him some water.” Lowering himself as to not seem intimidating, Logan quieted his voice to a whisper. He held his hands in front of himself as a gesture of goodwill. “Hey… it’s alright. It’s alright.”

The tiny person heaved again, his whole body convulsing rapidly. “Y—you—you—“

“Shh… I won’t touch you. But you need to breathe. Do you know any breathing exercises?”

“F—f—f…” Sneaking a glance up at Logan, Virgil gulped and looked away again. “F—four, seven, eight.”

“That’ll work. Come on, I’ll do it with you. Breathe. Four in…”

As the tiny man and Logan breathed in sync, Patton got to work fetching some water. A normal cup would surely be too big, and they didn’t have any shot glasses for the tiny man to use. Sighing, Patton relegated to removing the gap from the jug of milk and using it to hold the water. He rinsed it out and filled it generously, hoping it would be small enough.

When he turned back to the two, the tiny man had calmed down somewhat. He was still shaking, but he was at least breathing steadily. Logan kept counting in a pattern, praising the tiny person the whole time.

“There we go. Good job.” Logan smiled softly. The tiny man forced a grimace in reply.

“Here,” Patton mumbled, placing the cap near the small person. He saddened at the way Virgil’s whole upper body flinched. “It’s water. Drink what you can, okay, kiddo?”

Virgil took a second to nod. “O—okay.”

Drinking water had never seemed like such a momentous task before. The cap was too heavy to lift, especially with how weak Virgil was, so he had to scoop up the water and sip it from his cupped hands. It was demeaning, but it wasn’t the biggest problem—the whole time Virgil drank, Patton and Logan kept their huge eyes locked on Virgil, never for a second looking away. It wasn’t just awkward; it was terrifying. They were so huge, much bigger than they seemed from a distance.

A cough sounded, then someone spoke. “Logan.” At the sudden voice, Virgil stopped drinking and craned his neck up. “My name is Logan. This is my friend Patton.”

Patton crouched down a bit, resting his chin on the table uncomfortably close to Virgil. “What’s your name, kiddo?”

“Uh,” Virgil stammered, fiddling with his sleeves, “m—my name...”

Logan’s eyes widened. He had to force his voice to stay level and quiet as to not scare him into silence. “Yeah?”

“...M—my… my name is… Virgil.”

Patton and Logan exchanged a glance. “Virgil,” they repeated, making sure they pronounced it right.

“Well, Virgil,” Patton whispered, “it’s nice to meet you. Would you like something to eat?”

“Uh…” Virgil hesitated, rubbing at his forearm. Patton’s question was rather sudden, wasn’t it? He wiped away a few dried-up tear streaks before answering. “Wh—what kind of food?”

“Whatever you’d like, kiddo.” He picked up the nearby box and shook its contents. “How does cereal sound?”

Virgil cringed at the suggestion—he wasn’t keen on cereal after being nearly suffocated by it—but nodded as to not anger Patton.

Cereal it was, then. Patton began the arduous search for the smallest bowl he could find. Logan looked like he wanted to say something, but kept silent. Instead, he glanced between Patton and Virgil, keeping his hand locked against his own mouth.

Virgil watched Patton with a cautious gaze as the human trickled a few drops of milk atop the wheat crisps. Once Patton finished and slid the bowl towards the silent Virgil, Logan pulled him aside. “Pat, can I talk to you?”

Patton snuck a look at Virgil, who was mindlessly chewing on a damp piece of cereal, then nodded. They slipped into the nearby bathroom, not noticing the baffled expression on Virgil’s face. Did they just… leave him here by himself? They did realize he could escape, right? Humans couldn’t possibly be this stupid, could they?

Virgil seized the moment of isolation to get a better grasp of his surroundings. He was sitting squarely at the centre of the kitchen table. Aside from the cloth he was seated on, there was nothing else on the table with him. The chairs were also pushed in, meaning that Virgil could probably climb down them with little trouble. There was an escape tunnel behind the fridge, if Virgil remembered correctly. If he acted quickly, he could make it there before the humans came back.

Having decided on his next move, Virgil rose to stand, only to find his legs were still gelatinous and wobbly. He remained standing for exactly two seconds before crashing onto his side. His throat bubbled out a pained yelp, and he clutched the shoulder he landed on. Okay, maybe the humans weren’t stupid for leaving Virgil alone. Maybe they were just sadistic.

Virgil paused as another thought crossed his mind: even if he escaped from Logan and Patton, what would he do next? He had no food, no clothes, no tools, and he was all alone again. There was no way he’d survive for long, even if he got the chance to escape. Everything was pretty much hopeless at this point.

“Stop crying,” Virgil growled to himself. But he didn’t stop. The tears just kept coming, welling up in his eyes and careening downwards like a waterfall. Virgil curled into a ball and cursed himself over and over, helpless as the tears rolled silently down his face. “You’re so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Wasn’t he absolutely, positively pathetic?

Part 6:

Virgil’s inner torment went unheard by the humans. Once the bathroom door closed, ensuring their privacy, Patton spoke first. “You noticed it too, right?”

“Yes,” Logan grumbled. “He’s too thin. And he’s very pale... I think he’s malnourished.”

“We have to do something, Logan. Can you help him?”

“I can try.” Logan grit his teeth, massaging his face for what must have been the fourth time that night. “He needs food and water. And warmer clothes. Do we have anything he can wear?”

“Maybe there are some old doll clothes in Roman’s room,” Patton said thoughtfully. “I’ll have to look around. You watch him while I check.”

Logan bit his lip nervously. “An examination could be in order… but I’d hate to scare him.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Patton replied sadly. He opened the door a crack and peered outside at Virgil, who was curled in on himself and mumbling incoherently. He grimaced at the disheartening sight and turned away. “Just be gentle. And don’t talk too loud.”

Logan nodded firmly. “Of course.”

It was decided, then. Patton opened the door and rushed upstairs while Logan quietly approached the table. Virgil’s face was puffy and stained with tear streaks, and he was still shaking like a leaf. The tiny man eyed Logan wearily, never taking his eyes off him for a moment.

“I need to perform a medical examination on you,” Logan explained. He sat down in the nearest chair, pulling himself closer to the table. Virgil’s eyes went wide as a giant hand approached him, spreading its fingers as it reached towards his quivering form.

“N—no!” Virgil cried, clutching his jacket closer to his chest. His breathing quickened once again as the panicking sensation resurfaced. “I—I—I’m not—“

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Logan whispered, his hand still drawing closer. “I just need to make sure you’re uninjured.”

Virgil let out a strained and angry whine. “Don’t touch me!” he hollered, fists clenched. Logan frowned at the fearful reaction but didn’t retract his hand. Instead, with as much grace and gentleness as he could muster, he latched his index finger and thumb firmly around Virgil’s torso. The tiny man yelped as the hand hoisted him off solid ground, dangling above the tabletop for a moment before he was finally plopped into Logan’s other hand.

As soon as it set him in Logan’s palm, Virgil dropped to his hands and knees and scrambled back in the table's direction. Logan gasped and yanked him back by the hood of his jacket, holding him firmly in his palm. “Be careful!” Logan snapped. He moved his thumb over Virgil’s chest, pinning him down. With his free hand, he began manipulating Virgil’s writhing and trembling form, investigating each limb with care while gripping them too tightly for Virgil to escape. He twisted the borrower’s arms around, lifted his legs, and flipped his body between his front and back.

Logan did his best to search the minuscule body for signs of injury or illness, but it was hard to ignore the sobs coming from the trembling man in his hands. Virgil stopped fighting against the massive fingers once he’d run out of breath, which wasn’t saying much; he barely had any breath left in him. Logan continued to twist him around, prod him, and fiddle with his clothes. He paused his work every few moments to write something down on his napkin.

This went on for several minutes. During that time, Virgil got ahold of himself, although he was still terrified. “This won’t take much longer,” Logan finally muttered, breaking the thick and tense silence. “So… how long have you been living here?”

Virgil flinched as a giant finger lifted the back of his shirt up. Geez, that was cold! “U—um… I—I’m not.”

The shirt fell back into place. Virgil hugged himself closely as Logan wrote something down. “That hook I found belongs to you, doesn’t it? And those hidden doorways in the kitchen… you must have created those.”

Oh... right. Virgil forgot that Logan knew about him before being found in the pantry. He meekly nodded, hoping that telling the truth would leave him better off than lying would.

“I don’t understand how anyone could survive at your size. Do you get cold easily? Can you see well?”

“Uh… yes to both?”

“Fascinating. And what about your diet? How much do you have to eat to sustain yourself?”

Virgil let out an exasperated noise. “I don’t know! Twice a day usually gets me by, I guess?!”

“What sorts of things do you eat? Do you have allergies?”

“Can you stop with the questions?” Virgil cried, already becoming frustrated with Logan. Being interrogated was not fun, let alone when a human was doing it. "I can't tell you anything! I shouldn't even be here!"

"Why not?"

"It's..." Virgil grimaced. "...It's the rules. That's all I can say."

“But there’s so much I have to know. How long have you been small for?”

“I don't know, how long have you been annoying for?” Virgil retorted cheekily.

“Were you hit by a shrink ray? Like in those fiction movies? I was sure that they were scientifically impossible to create, but perhaps it's not too farfetched.”

Virgil let out a sharp hiss instead of answering the question. Logan reeled back, his expression unreadable. “I’m sorry… Did you just hiss at me?”

“I do that when I reach my limit with stupid questions.”

With a single eyebrow raised, Logan continued. “I just have a few more.”

“I don’t care.”

“How tall are you?"

"Not tall enough."

"Okay... Well, what about reproduction? Do you have—"

"Ew. No, hard pass."

Logan frowned. This wasn't going anywhere, was it? "Fine. Are you a social creature? Do you live alone?”

Wrong thing to say.

“Would you just shut up?!” Virgil screamed, pounding his fists on Logan’s hand as hard as he could. “Just shut up already!” Before he realized it, hot tears began rolling down his cheeks again. “Just... stop…”

The newfound silence felt like molasses. Logan’s mouth seemed to glue itself shut, but his eyes darted between Virgil and his notes. The human had plenty to ask, to be sure, but for some reason refused to say anything more.

Virgil’s anger gave way to numbness. He’d really done it this time, huh? Most borrowers weren’t dumb enough to lose their temper at a human being. And now he was crying again.

The silence carried on for what felt like hours, but it was eventually broken by Logan. “I’m sorry.”

“...What?”

“I’m sorry,” Logan sighed, having the decency to avoid eye contact. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”

Well, this was interesting. A human apologizing to a borrower? Has this ever happened before? “Um…” Virgil cleared his throat and rubbed his arm. “It’s… whatever.”

“I hope you can forgive me for being so interrogative. Satisfying my curiosity should not have come at the cost of your mental stability.” Logan muttered something under his breath. He then turned to Virgil, his eyebrows furrowed. “I’ll stop with the questions now.”

Virgil was in awe. He’d screamed at Logan, called him annoying, and started crying like a child, but Logan wasn’t angry. He was actually very nice, despite his initial misgivings. Well, now Virgil simply had to answer the questions then, didn’t he? After the human was polite and said sorry and stuff. “I…” Virgil coughed, forcing the words out of his mouth. “I used to live with someone. But not anymore.”

“Oh.” Logan frowned, lifting Virgil closer to his face. The human’s features were tinged with a sort of concern; Logan slowly began to understand why the question set Virgil off. So he paused, choosing his words wisely. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Virgil opened his mouth to say ‘no’ but found himself forced into silence. Honestly? He wasn’t sure how to answer that. On one hand, Virgil didn’t even want to think about how his only friend abandoned him in a cereal box, leaving him in the clutches of a pair of humans. But on the other hand, Virgil wanted nothing more than to just blabber on and on about how he was feeling. Borrowers didn’t have therapists, and Deceit was never a terribly good listener. It’d be all to easy to overshare, to reveal all the borrower secrets in his moment of weakness. But... maybe if he was careful... he could talk without giving away specifics. A vent would do him good, anyhow.

Virgil decided to take the plunge.

“I trusted him,” he grumbled before he could think to stop himself. “We were supposed to work together. I helped him when he had nowhere to go. And what does he do to thank me?! He traps me in a cereal box and steals everything I own!” Virgil pounded his fists, growing more and more heated by the second. “I mean, I get it. We weren’t exactly friends. But we had a deal, and he… he just…”

Virgil’s words screeched to a halt, and he found himself unable to look at Logan without his gaze flickering back to the ground. The anger had died down, leaving the chill of fear and the hollowness of sorrow behind.

“I thought… I thought we were in this together. But he took everything from me. I have no food, no clothes, and… and I’m alone again.” Virgil snorted, crossing his arms. “I never should have trusted him. I was better off by myself.”

Logan said nothing at first, neither his hand nor his face moving an inch. Virgil slipped his hood over his face, hiding his embarrassed expression. Great, now he thinks you’re a crybaby too. Some borrower you are.

They remained stagnant in awkward silence for a few more minutes. But then, gradually, the hand holding Virgil began to shift around. A thumb started stroking his side with surprising gentleness, and the remaining fingers curled inwards towards Virgil, forming a protective barrier.

“I should say this upfront,” Logan said suddenly, startling Virgil out of his confusion. “I’m not good at comforting people. That’s Patton’s forte. That being said, I’m… very sorry that happened to you.” He pressed his lips together, and his eyes narrowed. “I can’t imagine someone violating your trust like that.”

Virgil laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, he’s a filthy snake. I hate him.”

“Indeed.” Logan fell silent. “...You said he took your food and belongings?”

“...Yeah?”

“I see." A beat passed before Logan continued. “Well, if you happen to be in a position where you are unable to live comfortably, might I suggest staying here for a while? With Patton and I?”

Virgil’s breath hitched. “Stay with you?”

“You don’t have to,” Logan added quickly to cover his flustered demeanour. “I simply thought… if you have nothing to your name, we could help you resupply. And if you wish for company, we could provide that too. I’d hate for you to be alone and so ill-prepared for the winter.”

Virgil tried with all his might to wrap his head around what was happening. A human, the one thing he’d been told to avoid for his whole life, just offered him a place to stay. This had to be a trick, right? There was no way this was real.

“...So what’s the catch?”

A chuckle sounded. The human stroked his chin in mock-thought. “I do have a few caveats, I suppose. You’d have to join us for movie nights, as well as accept all Christmas presents given to you.” Logan snapped his fingers. “Oh! You’d also have to help bake cookies. Patton would appreciate the help.”

Virgil scoffed. “This is a scam.”

“I assure you, it is not.”

“So what do you get out of it?” Virgil craned his neck upwards, staring at the underside of Logan’s chin. “What’s in this for you?”

Logan thought for a moment, staring into space. “Nothing much,” he settled on saying. “The company of a fascinating human being would be sufficient.” Logan tightened his embrace on Virgil, holding him firmly against his chest. “You stay here, and in exchange, Patton and I support you however we can. That seems like a fair trade, no?”

“Well... first of all, borrowers aren’t human.”

Borrower. Logan filed that word away in the back of his mind. He’d ask Virgil about it later.

“Second, that’s not a deal I can make. How do I know you won’t keep me in a jar or something?”

“Well, I haven’t yet, have I?” Logan asked. “If I truly wished to harm you, I would have done so by now.”

Virgil grit his teeth. “Yeah, cause you don’t have to. I can barely move. No point in trapping me if I can’t run away.”

Logan opened his mouth to retort but found himself unable to come up with a sufficient reply. “I suppose… you’ll just have to trust me.”

Virgil was tempted to holler with laughter. Instead, he bit his tongue and looked away. There was still one thing plaguing his mind—would Logan get mad if he asked?

“...The camera footage.”

“...What?”

“You recorded me,” Virgil muttered quietly, tugging at his sleeves. “Delete the video.”

Logan was about to ask why but thought better of it. “Would that make you feel better?” A nod. “Very well. I’ll see to deleting it right away.”

Virgil didn’t say anything else. As far as he knew, Logan could be lying about deleting the video to gain his trust. There’s no way a human would comply that easily.

“So…” Logan looked down at the borrower in his hands. He loomed menacingly, though not on purpose, causing Virgil to flinch away. “Do we have a deal, then?”

“It’s not much of a deal,” Virgil sighed. He shifted a bit, still not used to the feeling of being held by such a giant creature. “Fine. Just... n—no cages or anything. Please?”

“No cages. Understood.” Logan’s other hand hovered upwards. A single index finger was left hanging before Virgil. “Shake on it?”

Virgil froze, hesitant, before tentatively reading out to grab Logan’s finger. He shook it firmly, or at least he tried to. The finger was just so heavy that he couldn’t budge it much. Logan nodded, satisfied, and Virgil retreated to the centre of the palm. “So… now what?”

Right on cue, Logan let out a hearty yawn. “Perhaps a nap is in order. I understand you’ve been awake all night. Resting would be beneficial.”

“A nap?” Shrugging, Virgil nodded. “Okay, but how is that gonna—whoa whoa WHOA!!” Virgil lunged backwards and latched the thumb beside him with a death grip, gasping deeply as Logan stood to his full height. The distant kitchen floor shrunk beneath him. “P—put me down!”

“In a moment.” Logan rubbed his eyes with his free hand as he stumbled into the next room. Virgil, through his dizziness and vertigo, immediately recognized it as the living room. The TV was on—although it was muted—and an unfolded blanket was crumpled on the carpet. Logan silently plucked the blanket off the ground and sat on the nearby sofa, huffing contentedly as he stretched his body out.

Virgil was finally given the sweet release of solid ground… sort of. Logan gently set him on his chest. Virgil moved to sit up but was pushed into a lying position by Logan’s finger. “I—” Virgil groaned as he tried to sit up, but was pushed onto his back a second time. “I—I didn’t think you were gonna sleep with me.”

“I’ve been up all night. I need to rest too.” He moved the blanket so it covered his body, then set the very edge of the blanket over Virgil. “Goodnight, Virgil.”

Virgil chuckled nervously, a bit annoyed and shaken up but still amused. He pulled the blanket upwards, trying to ignore the rhythmic pulsing of Logan’s heart right below him. God, that was weird. “Alright. Goodnight, I guess.”

Part 7:

Logan and Virgil slept very soundly that night. Much later, a few hours before the sun would begin to peek over the horizon, Patton finally rushed back down with a small plastic bin in his arms. “Logan! I found it! I don’t know if they’ll fit, but maybe I can… uh…”

Patton’s words died on his tongue at the sight before him. Logan, with his arm dangling off the edge of the sofa, was snoring quietly. Virgil was curled up in the nook of his neck, completely motionless. They must have been asleep for a while, Patton realized. He glanced at the bin in his arms, then back at the sleeping pair, and let out a sigh. A smile made its way to his lips as he carefully set the box down near the couch.

“Logan,” he whispered, tapping the sleeping man’s shoulder. Logan murmured, stirring awake. Patton grinned at the sight. “Go to bed. Don’t sleep on the couch.”

Logan exhaled deeply and moved his hand, holding Virgil securely to his chest as he rose to a seated position. “Okay,” he sighed, standing slowly as to not wake up Virgil. Luckily, the borrower didn’t budge. “Patton, about those traps I set…”

“I’ll put them away,” Patton whispered. “Just go sleep, kiddo… I’ll take care of it.”

Logan smiled sleepily. “Thank you, Patton.”

“Go on.” Patton gently shoved Logan towards the direction of the stairs. “Get some sleep, alright?”

Moving carefully, Logan made his way upstairs, cradling Virgil in one hand and cupping him with the other. Logan wasn’t really sure how this was going to work. Where could Virgil sleep? Surely not on the bed—he’d be crushed if Logan rolled over. A night table with a blanket could suffice, but it would no doubt be very uncomfortable. And he could easily fall off sometime during the night.

Logan glanced up as he reached the top of the stairs. His eyes landed on the glittery ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign that dangled from a dusty, scarcely used doorknob. The guest room.

Neither Logan nor Patton set foot the third bedroom often. It used to belong to a mutual friend, one they’d met while in their first year of college. But that friend had long moved away to an art school in a different state. Now the room was more of a storage room than an actual residence.

Logan pushed the door ajar and stuck his head inside. The room was a total disaster, as per usual. Laundry was scattered everywhere, pencils and books were strewn about haphazardly, and the closet’s contents were spilling onto the floor. How anyone lived in these conditions, Logan would never know.

Then, by some stroke of luck, Logan’s eye managed to catch a splotch of blue from within the depths of the closet. The man tiptoed inside as if Roman would appear out of the blue and scold Logan for intruding. Logan shook the thought away as he reached his free hand into the closet, quietly dragging out a large blue bin. The lid popped off with minimal effort, leaving a wide assortment of toys exposed for Logan to sift through. He dipped his hand into the mess of action figures and model cars, feeling around until his fingers grasped a familiar object. “Perfect,” Logan whispered, fishing the object out.

It was one of the pieces to Roman’s old dollhouse—a small bed, just the right size for a borrower. The rest of the furniture set was probably somewhere in that bin, but Logan couldn’t bring himself to find all the pieces. It would take him hours. As he stood to leave, Logan briefly considered if doll furniture would demean Virgil, but the practicality of it outweighed Logan’s concerns. He put the bin of toys away with as much care as he could muster before meandering back to his room.

The surface beneath Virgil shifted and swayed like a boat. He woke up with a start, instinctively grasping onto the nearest object. Coincidently, that object happened to be a thumb. Virgil was in someone’s hands.

“H—hey!” he yelped, trying not to peer over the edge of the palm. “What the hell?!”

The sudden shout caused Logan to flinch. He glanced down at Virgil with a frown. Virgil couldn’t even see Logan’s whole face with the way it loomed overhead. “You’re awake,” he commented dryly.

Virgil hid his erratic breathing behind a scoff. “Y—yeah, I’m awake. Could you, like… put me down? Please?”

“Of course. Just a moment.” Logan took one last look around the room before finally placing Virgil on Logan’s desk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s whatever,” Virgil muttered, clutching his clothes tightly. He steeled himself enough to look at Logan fully but found himself backpedalling as a giant hand lowered itself towards Virgil.

“Here you are,” Logan whispered, placing something onto the table next to Virgil. “Will this suffice for tonight?”

Virgil’s mouth hung open as a small bed, about the size of Logan’s hand, slid onto the desk before him. It was a perfect scale replica of a human’s bed, complete with blankets, a pillow, and a small toy bear. Virgil reached out to touch the bear, surprised to feel plush instead of hard plastic. His hand ran down along the blanket, feeling the intricate pattern weaved into it. And the pillow… Virgil couldn’t help himself. He grasped the pillow tightly and buried his face into it, exhaling in contentment. He’d never had a real pillow before. “Where did you get this?”

“Our old roommate keeps his collection of toys in the spare room. I found that bed with his old dollhouse set.”

“An old dollhouse set,” Virgil repeated, laughing curtly at the notion. This bed was nothing more than a toy. The borrower carefully clambered onto the tiny mattress, shocked at how soft and plushy it was. “It’s pretty comfy for a doll bed. Man, humans have the coolest stuff.”

As Virgil busied himself with bundling the blankets onto himself, Logan’s expression suddenly changed. His face softened, and his eyes didn’t seem so piercing anymore. He looked… sad. “Virgil,” he began, slowly seating himself on his bed, “have you ever owned a bed?”

“Uh… not really, no.” Virgil pulled the blankets up and over his legs. “I mostly used fabric scraps and cotton balls. Whatever I could get my hands on.” Logan failed to notice Virgil gripping the blankets so tightly that his fists were turning white. “...One time, me and Deceit managed to find an old hat in the alleyway. He kinda claimed it as a bed for himself, and I slept in it whenever he was gone. It was the closest we had to an actual bed.”

Virgil shifted uncomfortably, looking away from Logan’s attentive gaze. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

“I... I wish I knew what to say,” Logan stammered with a grimace. “I can’t imagine this is an easy change for you.”

“Not really, no.” The borrower muttered, hiding his face under the blankets. The blankets were so warm. Virgil found himself struggling to keep his eyes open. “But I’m okay now.”

Logan hummed. He looked unconvinced. “You don’t mean that.” It wasn’t a question, either. Judging by the bags under his eyes and the redness of his face, Logan could safely deduce that Virgil was, in fact, not okay in the slightest.

A laugh bubbled from Virgil’s sore throat. “Yeah, not really.” Virgil yawned, snuggling further into the pillow. It did a fantastic job of hiding the tears building behind his eyes. “But... I’m better.”

Logan hummed a second time, not quite satisfied with that answer. “I suppose that’s a more honest statement.” He moved to flick the lights off before pausing and turning back to Virgil. “Will you be alright sleeping there? I can move you elsewhere if you wish.”

“No, I’m good.”

Logan nodded and moved away. Darkness flooded the room; Virgil heard the sounds of Logan fumbling back towards his bed. The blankets were shuffled around as the human settled onto the mattress. “You are to wake me up if you need anything. Do we have a deal?”

“Meh.”

“I’m serious, Virgil.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll wake you up or whatever.” Under his breath, he muttered something else, quietly enough that Logan almost missed it. “I hope hamster cages are comfy.”

Logan’s mouth was moving before he realized he wasn’t supposed to hear that last part. “I won’t put you in a cage, Virgil. I plan on keeping my promise.”

At first, Virgil didn’t reply. But then, a quiet voice spoke up. “How would I know that?” The borrower sniffled a bit. “I—I want to believe you're good, but I can’t afford to trust the wrong person again.” He paused to sob. “I just... can’t.”

“Virgil…” Logan sighed, straining his eyes to see Virgil in the darkness.

Virgil continued to ramble, choking back more sobs. “I want to trust you. I want to believe you. But I don’t wanna get hurt again.”

Logan dejected at that, silent for a moment, before standing up suddenly and shuffling across the room. Virgil eyed him cautiously, afraid of what the human was planning. But Logan simply sat down at his desk and opened his laptop, clicking his mouse a few times. Virgil couldn’t see what he was doing until the screen was suddenly rotated towards him.

Logan gestured to the screen. “The video has been deleted. There’s no trace of you in my files.”

Wait, he... he actually did it? That was unexpected. Virgil felt the tension in his body suddenly unwind at those words. “Oh. Uh… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Logan found his hand snaking its way towards Virgil, stroking the borrower’s side with a gentle brush of fingers. Virgil gasped in fright at first, but settled back down when he wasn’t being prodded or grabbed. “I know it must be difficult to trust me, especially after all you’ve been through tonight. But that’s okay. I don’t expect you to trust me right away—that would be foolish of me.”

Virgil sniffed again. “You’re not mad?”

Logan smiled, setting the laptop aside. “Of course not.”

That seemed to put Virgil at ease. His small body began to unfurl, slowly but surely. The sobbing continued quietly. “...Thanks, Logan.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Logan continued to soothe him, even though Virgil had gone quiet a few minutes ago. After a while longer, Logan finally noticed that Virgil fell asleep. The steady, shallow breathing could barely be heard from such a tiny throat. The human smiled wearily and retracted his hand. It was time for him to get to bed, too.

Logan allowed himself a few moments of peace once he was properly bundled within the blankets. Aside from the distant sounds of Patton downstairs and the strips of sunlight leaking through the closed blinds, the entire room was frozen in space and time. These moments of uninterrupted silence were usually welcome, allowing Logan to think without distractions. But now, the silence was a curse. The rampant thoughts swirling through his mind rose to a deafening roar. Logan pulled his pillow over his ears with a groan.

The man peeked out from beneath the pillowcase. Virgil was still asleep, tucked into a ball beneath the toy fabrics. Their meeting was such an unlikely occurrence that Logan had to wonder if he was seeing things. But he'd only been awake for about 25 hours straight; hallucinations due to lack of sleep didn't start until at least 30 or 40 hours of staying awake. Virgil was real, as difficult as it was to believe.

Perhaps he should skip class today.

Now that Virgil was asleep and calm—and far less likely to panic in his presence—it was tempting for Logan to take notes. He threw a sideways glance towards his notebook, sprawled open upon his desk by the laptop. The pages fluttered against the hot air coming from the nearby vent, taunting Logan incessantly. It couldn't hurt to just write some basic observations, would it? Things like height, behaviours he'd noticed earlier, maybe a quick sketch if he had time...

...But no. Virgil wouldn't appreciate his privacy being violated like that. The existence of these so-called borrowers seemed to be a secret Virgil was dead set on keeping, and for good reason. Logan wanted to know as much as he could about these mysterious miniature humanoids, but he also wanted Virgil to feel safe in his home. That’s why he offered Virgil a place to stay, after all.

Logan sighed; he'd have to put his curiosity on the shelf for now. His priority had to lie with Virgil's wellbeing. That was the deal. And Logan intended to keep his end of the deal, no matter what.

With that thought, he finally fell asleep.

67 notes · View notes

tacittherapist · 5 years ago

Text

Heartbeats quicken. The tremors return. Rose opens her laptop, glancing about to make sure she’s alone. Gods forbid anyone, especially Jade, see her revisit one of her lowest points. She craves it -- to know the bitter ennui of her past mistakes is a nectar that keeps her reality grounded and the fire under her lit. This particular memory is perhaps the worst mistake of her young life though, and to correct it would be to supp deep from the ichor of sweet relief. She pulls up the log...

tacitTherapist [TT] started trolling grimAuxiliary [GA].

TT: So. GA: So TT: It’s come to this. GA: Indeed It Has TT: And you’re still not budging. GA: Consider My Position Entirely Unmoved TT: Entirely? That seems a bit harsh. GA: This Is A Harsh Reality TT: I imagined you’d have at least granted me the niceties and lied about how malleable your convictions are. GA: Rose GA: What Is There Left To Say GA: We Have A Crucial Difference In Opinion That Cannot Be Reconciled GA: We Have Iterated Our Arguments To Each Other For Days Without Relent GA: The Underlying Basis To This Disagreement Is Presupposed On The Notion That This Infernal Game Has Shown You The Right Course Of Action Without Any Other Supporting Evidence That It Isnt Simply Lying To You Once Again TT: They aren’t lies, they’re possibilities. GA: But Only One Of Them Will Happen To Us GA: The Rest Dont Matter GA: Thus They Are Lies And There Is Just One Truth TT: Couching your beliefs that way is what I disagree with. GA: Then You Arent Fucking Listening GA: Only One Of Those Timelines Will Be The One We Are In GA: So Forgive Me If I Buttress My Language In Solipsistic Idiom GA: Unless You Can Give Me More Than One Percent Assurance That We Will All Make It Through This By Jumping On This Fantastic Savior Satellite GA: I Cannot Support Your Idea And I Suggest You Let It Go TT: I can’t. GA: I Know GA: Thats Why Theres Nothing Left To Say TT: I disagree. I think there are a variety of things left to say. GA: Do They Relate To The Problem At Hand Or Are You Stalling TT: Irrelevant. The impetus of communication isn’t inherently problem-solving, it’s to convey meaning. GA: The Impetus Does Solve A Problem GA: You Want To Convey Meaning So The Solution Is Communication TT: Semantics. I’m saying there are other avenues of thought we must explore first. GA: Rose According To You We Are Running Out Of Time GA: Is This Truly How You Want To Spend Your Last Moments With Us GA: Bickering Pointlessly On Separate Computers To Avoid Devolving Into Another Shouting Competition Which Karkat Invariably Wins TT: Would you rather I pivot into sweet nothings about how I’ve so enjoyed our time together on this desolate rock? TT: Would you rather I spin the yarn of our tale aboard this distant laboratory, slowly starving as our grist cache dwindles? TT: Must I recount our feeding calendar in which we literally take turns stemming the hunger pangs until we all eventually succumb to malnutrition and sickness simultaneously? GA: No TT: Then this is how I’m spending my last moments. Quite presumptuous of you to assume I’ve made up my mind as well. For all you know, I could be swayed and end up staying here. GA: Given You Were Just Eviscerating My Position Mere Seconds Ago As To Why We Should Stay Here Im Sufficiently Certain You Wont TT: That’s another issue. Your certainty. The Light has shown me countless avenues to success. There are literally endless timelines in which we follow my advice and everyone meets up to finish the game. TT: And yet you’re somehow unwaveringly certain that none of them will occur? GA: Your Argument Swings Both Ways TT: I don’t appreciate the implicit reference to my confusing sexuality, but go on. GA: If There Are Countless Possibilities In Which We Succeed Following Your Idea Then There Are Also Countless Possibilities In Which We Succeed Not Following Your Idea GA: Its Two Infinities GA: The Question Lies In Which Infinity Is Bigger TT: That makes no sense, infinity is infinity. GA: Yes But Some Infinities Are Larger Or Smaller Than Others GA: Some Infinities Are Not Even Truly Infinity But We Consider Them Infinity For The Sake of Mathematics TT: How does that make even remote sense? GA: While You Were Studying The Majyyk I Was Reading The Calculus TT: I didn’t realize I was speaking to Jade’s pupil. GA: You Arent GA: If I Were Jades Pupil Wed Have Met Up By Now And We Wouldnt Be Having This Inane Conversation TT: But you can become her pupil! If you just come with me. Trust me, Kanaya. Please. GA: I Trust You Rose GA: But I Cannot Go With You GA: Look GA: The Prophecy Satellite Is On The Horizon GA: You Have Not Much Time TT: Technically I have all the time I need. GA: Dave Has Sworn Off His Powers And You Know This TT: He can be convinced. GA: If Your Powers Of Persuasion On Him Are Anything Like They Are On Me I Highly Doubt That TT: Fuck you. GA: Rose

A pregnant pause passes as Rose looks over on the horizon. The satellite is indeed coming into view.

TT: I’m sorry, Kanaya. TT: I love you. GA: I Love You Too Rose GA: But This Is Goodbye TT: It doesn’t have to be. GA: What GA: Didnt We Just Go Over That Im Not Coming With You And That You Arent Staying Here TT: Yes. But if you don’t say goodbye, it means we’ll meet again. GA: Rose This Is Childish TT: If you don’t say goodbye, it isn’t the end. GA: This Is The End Rose TT: It isn’t the end. I’ll see you again. I’ll find John and Jade by myself and we’ll come get you. GA: How GA: How Long Will It Take To Find Them GA: And How Will You Find Us If You Ever Do GA: This Laboratory Is Bound To Continue Drifting Even After You Depart GA: We Wont Stay Frozen In Place Once You Leave GA: This Isnt Like One Of Those Trashy Rainbowdrinker Books You Devoured GA: This Is Real Rose GA: You Must Face This Truth TT: We are the shapers of our world. GA: Not This Again TT: We determine our own fate. GA: Rose This Is A Quote From Another Novel Please Dont Do This TT: We mold the physical to our whims and thrust it forward through our own designs. We shape destiny. We reject that which displeases us and create our own reality. TT: Can you really not indulge me? As this one last act of kindness? GA: I Will Allow You One Kindness But It Will Not Be This TT: Fine. As my last act of kindness from you, I want... GA: It Cannot Be Something Ridiculous TT: I want you to forget me. GA: What The Fuck Did I Just Say TT: Hear me out. TT: If truly everything we’ve been through thus far has meant so little that you can’t put your faith in my decision, I want you to forget it. TT: It will be as if it never happened. I was merely a phantom in this session, and should I somehow return (against your predictions), I will get to vindictively rub it in your face. TT: But if you’re right, and I never return, the pain for you is lessened. You were never in a relationship with me, so there’s nothing to mourn. I never existed. Things were simply bad, and my nagging insistence to redirect our course was never there. TT: I want you to forget me. GA: Rose You Know I Cant Do That TT: Not even for me? As your last kindness? GA: It Would Not Be Kind To Invalidate The Memories You Ensured We Would Create GA: It Would Not Be Kind To Devalue Everything You Have Done For Us GA: And I Still Cherish Those Memories Even If They Led To Something Painful TT: It will only cause you more pain if you hold onto them. I don’t want you to suffer. GA: I Want To Suffer These Memories GA: They Offer Me Some Reassurance TT: But not enough to convince you to join me. GA: No

Rose stops typing, a nerve in her snapping. Her face goes beet-red, despair swelling into wrath. She sets her claws to the keyboard once more.

TT: Then if not by your grace, I’ll make you forget through spite. GA: What TT: I want to be forgotten. I want my existence to be erased from this failure of a timeline. I never loved you. You meant nothing to me. GA: Rose TT: My departure will be a curse upon you unless you forget. Whether by magic or by will, you must forget me. All those memories I made with you meant nothing. I did those things only to ensure my own survival. Your presence was happenstance at best. TT: Now that I’m heading out on my own, our destinies are uncoupled. Whatever happens to you is beneath me. I am taking the path to victory, and you can all squander the rest of your miserable lives here. TT: I won’t come back for you. I gave you all the chances I had. This is your fault. GA: Rose Please Dont Do This TT: You won’t see me again. I’m getting on that satellite and I’m not looking back. Even if I am to die, alone on a satellite, it will be a Heroic death as the only one with any sense not to continue a cursed existence on this fucking rock. TT: I will live with only a spectre of guilt that I didn’t forcibly coerce you onto the satellite with me, chastising myself for respecting your wishes and letting you choose your own demise. TT: That is all. Goodbye.

tacitTherapist [TT] stopped trolling grimAuxiliary [GA].

True to her word, Rose closed her laptop and walked briskly to the edge of the floating laboratory to wait for the satellite to pass by. Sheer anger coursed through her veins, hoping that would mask her true intent. She had never displayed that kind of fury before, let alone to Kanaya. If she played her cards right, Kanaya might still join her, moved by the pure strength of her conviction. But there was no hesitant hand on her shoulder, begging her to stay or to join her. There was no last-second plea, no ‘Rose Wait’, and not even a footstep in her general direction as she waited.

Resigned, she boarded the satellite, breaking her word and casting a desperate glance back as the satellite continued its course away. Through the tiny window, she could see Kanaya simply looking down at her grubtop, her face stained jade. Regret swelled, and for just a second, she could feel herself begin to open the hatch and jump back towards the meteor. But the second passed, and soon she was out of range to give even a cursory wave goodbye.

The same tears begin to stream down her face as she closes the pesterlog and wraps her sheets tighter around her shoulders. She can’t keep putting off her meeting with Cetus forever... but she still doesn’t know how she’ll reckon with the shadow of her failed ploy.

#pesterlogs #long post #((by god this was brutal to write))

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celiacandsalty · 5 years ago

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Kal Penn’s Nuts

Warning: the following blog includes strong language, references to gluten, and excessive whining.

When my brother Jeff got diagnosed with Celiac disease in 2014 (at age 34) I distinctly remember my first thought being something along the lines of, “oh god, that poor bastard.” Not only because many most of the best foods contain gluten, but because I was already imagining the inevitable day when he goes to some business dinner or something and the server mistakes him for one of THOSE people. You know, the people we all roll our eyes at because they claim to have a gluten “sensitivity” or “intolerance,” but we suspect they’re full of shit and make a mental note to mock them at a later date. It’s hard to say why I cared so much about what hypothetical Cheesecake Factory employees in Ohio might think about my brother’s diet but I DID.

(I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but on TV shows now if they want to quickly convey that a character is an annoying douchebag, usually all they have to do is throw in a line where that person orders a gluten free whatever and a vegan something or other. It’s been a “joke” (for lack of a better word) for at least a decade now and for some reason shows no signs of stopping, despite the fact that it is completely unoriginal, unfunny, and hacky. What I’m saying is, gluten free is the new Nickleback.)

Okay, now cut to 2018 when I, following in my brother’s stupid footsteps, also get diagnosed with Celiac disease1 and all those pitying thoughts I never would have verbalized to my poor bastard brother come flooding back, only now they apply to me too and I can hear them all because they’re in my head. I did not take the news well.

Now, it almost goes without saying that it is easier now than ever before to find decent gluten-free food, especially in Portland, Oregon (where I fortunately already happened to live), but I gotta say, it’s a colossal pain in the ass and it still sucks. It sucks that I have to spend so much of my free-time moonlighting as a gluten detective, looking at menus for places I might possibly be invited to eat at someday and reading every word on every food label and trying to get to the bottom of whether miso paste or Werther’s Originals are safe for me to eat.2 It sucks that I don’t even really WANT to go out to eat much anymore because it’s such a stressful experience that I barely enjoy it anways. It sucks that I once enjoyed traveling and now I’ve pretty much written off at least a couple of entire continents (and they were good ones too.) It sucks that I have frequent anxiety dreams about accidentally poisoning myself. It sucks that I only just discovered Shake Shack 6 months before getting diagnosed and now I’ll never again know the joy of a squishy hamburger bun. It sucks that I no longer get to be the easygoing person in a group or at the office who, when asked about dietary restrictions, could proudly say “Nope! I’m fine with whatever (aka I am a very cool and chill person).” I could go on and on, but I’d have to say the thing that actually sucks the most is the whole gluten-as-a-punchline thing because for me it is so terribly unfunny.

A couple of months ago3 I was at the gym, listening to one of my podcasts in which the guests, usually comedians, get a chance to rant for a few minutes on any topic of their choosing. That week, Kal Penn (of Harold & Kumar fame4) was one of the guests and he made the bold choice to rant about GLUTEN. My blood went straight to a solid simmer before he said another word. I considered shutting it off, but I thought to myself, “Easy does it, Jeanne! Maybe it’s not going to be what you think it is.”

Narrator: It was.

Kal Penn went on to say that as a person living with a severe allergy to tree nuts, it makes him very angry that people who claim to have GLUTEN allergies or intolerances are diluting the seriousness of his legitimate food allergy. The main takeaway being that GLUTEN allergies are FAKE and a FAD and they’re a PREFERENCE, unlike Kal Penn’s very real allergy to nuts.

Of course, Kal Penn included the caveat that there is a VERY small percentage of people for whom gluten issues are real, but I feel like that finer point may have been lost in the message of screaming FAKE FAKE FAKE for 3 minutes.5

The annoying thing though, is that Kal Penn is right. It IS a fad. (Especially in LA.) And I HATE that it is. One particularly annoying thing about this is that restaurants are catching on and more and more GF items items are popping up on menus everywhere. Unfortunately, they are often actually GF, unless you have Celiac disease, which makes my gluten detective job much harder.6

Now I don’t doubt that living with a nut allergy is hard. And I imagine that Kal Penn and I actually have a lot in common when it comes to anxieties and frustrations around food and eating out. I know that I shouldn’t say that I’m jealous of Kal Penn and his nut allergy, but in a way I am. Yes, I’m sure it is terrifying to go into anaphylactic shock and have to be rushed to the hospital, but on the bright side, at least people don’t think you’re a douchebag liar!

Speaking of being rushed to the hospital, here’s the funny story about how I found out that I can’t eat gluten. A little over a year ago, I ended up in the emergency room after dramatically collapsing in my apartment and completely losing all feeling in the entire left side of my body. After getting an MRI (and some other very expensive tests), I was informed that there were several areas of stroke in my 34-year-old brain.7

I spent 3 days in the neurology unit with puzzled doctors coming in every hour to scratch their heads and look at me with great concern. I didn’t find out for another full week that all of this was a result of undiagnosed Celiac disease. Apparently though I was asymptomatic in terms of gastrointestinal issues (very common in adults), I had become so severely anemic8 that I literally almost died. Malnutrition and malabsorption are common symptoms of Celiac, and at this point my hemoglobin was so critically low that I required a blood transfusion and 2 IV iron infusions.

Ok, so cool story, I know, but is stroke and near-death a common effect of eating gluten? Nope! I don’t think so!

So what’s my point? Fuck, I don’t even remember now. But I guess what I’m saying is...we all know the people Kal Penn is talking about. And I spend way too much of my mental energy worrying that when I tell someone I can’t have gluten9, they might, for example, still serve me a salad that they accidentally put the croutons on and then tried to pick them off but missed a few because they probably assume I’m just another asshole doing the Whole 30.10

So, Kal Penn, believe me when I say that I am with you on the issue of THOSE people. But continuing to rail against them and their possibly exaggerated gluten sensitivities does nothing to stop them. (I suspect it might even make them stronger and more annoying.) It does however, continue to reinforce the already widespread belief that gluten is a made-up problem invented in the 2000s, by I don’t know, naturopaths and George Soros probably? And it’s this belief that is actually very dangerous to people like myself and my brother and the millions of other poor bastards with REAL incurable conditions, and, for what it’s worth, one that seems unlikely to change the way we treat someone with a nut allergy. And, last but not least, it is also a belief that occasionally ruins my workout/enjoyment of podcasts.

Anyways, thanks for letting me vent.

Oh, but sorry about your nuts, Kal Penn.

----

Cool family, right?? (Also my maternal grandmother had it too and was diagnosed in the 1980s.)

Still unclear

I meant to write this sooner. Fortunately, my New Year’s Resolution was to hold on longer to more grudges.

Among other things, like Obama’s White House?

I was also going to go back and listen to the podcast again to more accurately transcribe his rant, but just thinking about it made my heart hurt. If you want to hear for yourself, it was the November 9, 2019 episode of Lovett Or Leave It.)

Plus the pay sucks.

I think it could still pass for 28.

My blood’s solution to this problem was to produce WAY too many platelets, which I didn’t know and perhaps my blood didn’t know, are what make blood clot.

“Just tell them you have CELIAC.” Well guess what–some of THOSE people are co-opting our magic word too now!

Sorry if you’re doing the Whole 30 and not an asshole.

#celiac disease #kal penn #jon lovett

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jovialyouthmusic · 6 years ago

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Uneasy Lies the Head

A Royal Romance AU fanfic

Charlotte shows signs of waking, and Drake is on the road to recovery.

Word Count 3575

A/N Sorry for the huge gap between chapters. This ties up some loose ends. Future potential chapters include the big wedding, and Anton’s trial.

11 Reunion(s)

Charlotte drifted forward, eyes closed, hand on the unseen hedge.

‘Are you still there, Drake?’ she called out, unwilling to open her eyes.

‘Yes’ his voice was faint ‘Keep going, you’re almost at the exit’

‘Your voice is fading’ she said in panic, squeezing her eyes shut.

‘Trust me, keep moving’ he said ‘It takes a turn just before the end, remember?’ She nodded. She did remember – when leaving the maze there was one last turn that took you away from the exit, designed to trick the unwary. She felt the turn, walked a little way and it doubled back on itself, leading , she hoped, to the exit. Finally she felt the smooth wood of the archway that marked the end of the maze and stopped, holding her breath, afraid to open her eyes.

‘Are you there?’ she said shakily, afraid that there would be silence. She felt tired and didn’t think her legs would carry her any further. To her relief, his voice was close, next to her ear and she felt his warm breath on her cheek.

‘Open your eyes, Charlie’ She blinked, and saw only white – white walls, white ceiling, white light. She was afraid, but realised that someone was holding her hand. Slowly she turned her head to the side – to see Drake gazing at her with love. There was the sound of medical machines bleeping, reminding her of when she sat by her father’s bedside, feeling his hand grow cold. But her hand was warm, and she was breathing.

‘Drake’ her throat was dry and her voice barely audible but he smiled, squeezing her hand.

‘Welcome back, Charlie’ he said softly. She felt weak, and someone handed her a cup of ice chips to moisten her mouth. She tried to sit up, but felt weak.

‘Take it easy, you’ve been asleep for three days’ He said.

‘I – I was out riding’ she said weakly ‘and then I was in the maze’ Drake looked puzzled.

‘The maze?’

‘Yes, I couldn’t find my way out – but you told me how’ He frowned

‘It was a dream Charlie’ he said firmly ‘you’ve been in hospital for days’ It was her turn to look puzzled.

‘I – you were talking to me – and I saw Anton – and mother’

‘She’s delirious’ she heard a voice, and looked to see a nurse on her other side.

‘No – I – perhaps it was a dream’ she leant back on the pillows. Her mind worked slowly, and her eyes flew open. ‘Drake’ she said urgently ‘You were missing. How are you here? Am I still dreaming?’ He smiled, but she could see he was in pain, and she took in the hospital gown and the drip stand.

‘Bas found me’ he said ‘It was rough, but I’m still kicking.’ He looked at the medical staff by the bed. ‘Listen sweetheart, they need to check you out, so I have to leave the room. I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can. Will you be okay?’ He reached out and rubbed his thumb over her cheek and she saw him wince from some unknown injury. She nodded.

‘Yes, I’ll be okay now. See you soon my darling’ She watched him being helped gingerly back onto his bed and wheeled out of the room, and the doctors and nurses turned their attention to her.

Drake dozed in the room they had wheeled him into, but was woken by the door opening. He opened his eyes to see Hana pushing Charlotte in a wheelchair. He sat up, wincing but smiling to see her. Hana brought her to the bedside and she got up to sit on the edge of the bed beside him.

‘Hey you’ she said ‘From what I hear, you’re more battered and bruised than I am, so I came to you’

‘That’s probably true’ he replied. He shifted over to give her more room, lying on his side leaving his bad shoulder free of pressure though his ribs still ached from where he’d been kicked. She angled her body so she could reach out to stroke his forehead, pushing that stubborn lock of hair out of his eyes – the one that she remembered from when they first met as children.

‘Who did all this to you?’ she asked ‘I’ve only had a brief account’

‘It was mostly a man called Pascalle.’ he replied ‘ He was some sort of accomplice of Kiara’s and she introduced him to bring Savannah to our hotel. From what Bastien said, it turned out he supported Severus’s claim to the throne. Did you know I was kept in the dungeons at his Manor?’ Charlotte’s eyes grew wide.

‘Where he hosted the court? The one you own now you’re Duke of Valtoria?’ He nodded ‘But we’d never have thought of looking there, how did Bastien find out?’

‘Luckily he was able to monitor Kiara’s phone and she made a couple of crucial calls. Brad said they had problems finding me, as the plans they had of the Manor were misleading’ Hana spoke up next.

‘Drake, when you’re feeling up to it, Bastien needs to debrief you – you need to tell him exactly what happened so Pascalle can be charged.’ Drake nodded.

‘Some of it I don’t remember, but I got knocked over the head, kicked a couple of times in the ribs and stomach, charged my shoulder into a stone wall, and they only gave me water while I was there, no food.’ He instantly regretted saying it all as Charlotte’s expression changed rapidly between anger and sorrow, and she took his hand and squeezed it tightly.

‘Well the doctors say there’s no internal damage apart from a couple of cracked ribs and bruising – and dehydration and a spot of malnutrition – nothing that can’t be cured by a bit of time and TLC.’ Hana said. ‘And it looks like you’re in the clear now your Majesty – so the wedding can go ahead’ Charlotte beamed. Drake however, grimaced.

‘Except for the small matter of going to see my mother. I’m not sure I’d be clear for air travel with bruised ribs’ Drake’s face darkened ‘And I really need to talk to Lord Beaumont’ Charlotte frowned

‘Why’s that, Drake?’ she asked and he sighed heavily

‘It sounds like Savannah didn’t tell you everything’ he said. Charlotte looked puzzled.

‘What has Bertrand Beaumont got to do with it?’

‘The reason Savannah left was that he got her – he got my baby sister pregnant’ he growled, gripping on to the rail at the side of the hospital bed. Charlotte’s face showed her shock

‘Oh Drake, she didn’t say – did he – did he force himself on her?’ He shook his head

‘She says not, but he’s at least ten years older than her, he should have known better’ Charlotte frowned.

‘Drake, I know you’re very protective of Savannah. You need to tread carefully.’ She said ‘I understand your concerns and will come down on Bertrand heavily if he’s done anything wrong – but you need to give him a chance to explain himself first’ Drake subsided

‘Maybe, you’re so trusting, Charlotte.’ He smiled, and sat back into the pillows, feeling tired ‘I need to sleep, I’m in no state to go confronting anyone. I feel as weak as a baby’ Charlotte reached over and squeezed his hand.

‘I’ll see if they’ll allow us to share a room’ she said ‘I’d like to get back to the Palace as soon as I can, but I’ll wait for you if I have to’ Drake smiled weakly and squeezed her hand back. His eyes fluttered, and Lucy got off the bed for Hana to go back to her own room again, and talk to the doctors.

Drake woke after a long restful sleep, and opened his eyes to see his was still the only bed in the room. Lucy sat by his bedside reading some papers, and she looked over as he stirred. She smiled

‘Good news Drake’ she said ‘We’ve both got the all clear – we can go back to the palace – but you have to rest and build up your strength. I’ve already given a press statement, and we can also get back to planning the wedding.’ Her face fell ‘I’m sorry my darling, it looks like you won’t be able to make it to Texas, you’re not strong enough to travel right now, and we can’t reschedule the official wedding’ Drake rested back on the pillows, his gut clenching.

‘It’s okay Charlie, I don’t think Mom would have handled it well. She can barely speak to me on the phone, I don’t know how she would be face to face.’ He tried to hide his disappointment – not at the prospect of his mother missing out, but at him missing out on having a small private ceremony. Charlie smiled reached out to take his hand.

‘Let’s just take things a day at a time shall we? You’ve been through a traumatic experience and you deserve some TLC. I’ll make sure you forget all about it, I promise.’ She got up and smoothed her hand over his forehead. ‘I have to go and talk to Bastien’ she said ‘I won’t be long.’

The Captain of the Guard was in the waiting area briefing his deputy and turned to see the Queen, bowing his head respectfully.

‘Your Majesty – how is Walker?’ he asked

‘He’s weak, but recovering’ she replied. ‘He won’t be allowed to fly to Texas, so I wanted to run something by you’

‘Of course your Majesty’ he replied ‘You know I’m entirely at your disposal’ She gathered herself together and looked him in the eye.

‘I need to ask you a very personal question, Bastien’ she said. He nodded wordlessly and waited for her to go on. ‘How close are – were – you to Drake’s mother?’ she asked. He swallowed.

‘She was – not like a mother to me, but she and Jackson were very important to me when I joined the guard’ he said ‘I wouldn’t be where I am now without them’ She frowned in concentration.

‘You know we were planning to visit her before the wedding, have a small ceremony with her present?’ He nodded again. ‘How do you think she might react if you were to visit her?’ The guard’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

‘I have no way of knowing, your Majesty’ he said ‘I gather she found it difficult speaking to her son on the phone’ Charlotte paced the room before speaking again.

‘Would you consider visiting her and asking if she would come back to Cordonia for the wedding?’ she asked ‘Understand that this is not a royal command, just a suggestion for you to consider. I will of course fund any trip you might make, and cover Bianca’s expenses too should she decide to accept’ Bastien looked thoughtful.

‘Wold you allow me to think it over, your Majesty?’ he asked ‘I have to balance it against the importance of remaining here to maintain security for you’

‘Of course Bastien, I trust you implicitly’ she replied. ‘Just let me know when you’ve come to a decision’

-------

Drake was allowed back to the Palace later that day, under the condition that the Royal Doctor examine him regularly. He was wheeled out to a waiting limo despite wanting to leave on his own two feet, but he wasn’t quite strong enough.

He found it tedious resting – he was not a good patient and Charlie eventually had to put up with him getting out of bed, but was ready to banish him to his room at the first sign of weakness. As it was, he only sat in the study with her while she worked, and got up every now and again to stretch his legs and look out at the grounds. That night they fell into bed together and lay in each other’s arms, each counting their blessings that the other one was there.

In his dreams, Drake was back in the stone cell, in the dark with no idea when or if anyone would come and check that he was still alive. He woke with a shout, sitting bolt upright and shaking. Charlie soothed him and he lay back down in her arms, his heart racing. She realised that he would probably need some therapy to help him cope with his trauma and made a note to talk with her doctor in the morning. She watched him in the morning, noting that he wouldn’t close the door to the bathroom when he showered.

Drake scoffed at the idea of therapy for PTSD, but after two more nights waking in a cold sweat, and panicking when the door to the bathroom swung shut when he was taking a bath, he submitted to visiting a psychotherapist. The plans for the wedding went on, and the event got closer and closer.

A week after she had asked Bastien about visiting Texas, he asked to talk to the Queen privately, and she made sure that Drake was occupied, asking Hana to visit and ask him for a tour of the stables. He was happy to have something to occupy him as he was regaining strength every day.

‘Your Majesty’ Bastien entered her study, well turned out as usual.

‘Bastien’ she smiled ‘What did you want to talk to me about?’ He cleared his throat

‘It’s regarding the matter of Mrs Walker – Drake’s mother’ he said

‘Oh yes – what are your thoughts?’

‘I believe I can leave security to Lewis for a maximum of three days’ he said gravely ‘Which should give me enough time to visit and put your proposal to her if you allow me to use the Royal Jet’

‘Oh’ she smiled ‘that is good news. Of course you can use the jet – when might you want to go?’

‘The timing is important’ he said ‘I don’t want to go too close to the wedding as I need to be on top of security, but too early and Bianca will be waiting around a long time for the wedding’ Charlotte frowned in concentration.

‘That’s a good point. I had hoped to surprise Drake on the day, but I see it might not be possible. To be honest Bastien, just to have her here at some point even if she’s not present at the wedding would be sufficient’ He nodded in agreement

‘We will just have to play things by ear’ he replied ‘I may not be able to persuade her.’

‘We have to make the effort though’ Charlotte said ‘I’d never forgive myself if we didn’t try. Perhaps we could still have a small private ceremony too’

‘Rest assured, I will do my best to persuade her, your Majesty’ Bastien assured her.

Now there was only one barrier to Charlotte and Drake’s happiness – the trial of Anton Severus. He refused to cooperate or plead guilty, and Cordonian laws complicated matters so that the date of the trial was pushed back and pushed back until it was scheduled for a week after the wedding, and the date stuck. Kiara and Pascale’s trials were scheduled for another week after that, so the prospect of the happy couple having a honeymoon was remote.

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

Bastien took a deep breath. He stood on the verandah of Bianca Walker’s ranch and rang the doorbell. He had decided not to contact her beforehand, just go in cold and take it from there. Neither Drake nor Savannah knew he was visiting, and it was not unusual for him to vanish for days at a time on confidential royal or security errands.

It was impossible to keep a close eye on the house to see who was there in the time he had, so he was working almost blind. He didn’t like working with so little preparation, but time was of the essence. He stood where he was most likely to remain partially hidden from whoever came to answer the door, and the only other concessions to hiding his identity were a pair of dark glasses, and he had purposefully made the rented SUV dusty and muddy on the way.

He heard noises from inside as if someone was making their way cautiously to the door. The SUV was parked in plain sight and he waited with bated breath. He had a concealed weapon and his hand hovered in anticipation of a hostile reception. There was no indication that Bianca had remarried but she might be entertaining a male friend or have an employee on the property with an itchy trigger finger – or have a firearm herself. There were so many unknowns that his senses were on overdrive.

Before the door opened he heard the unmistakeable sound of a shotgun being cocked, and as the door swung back he raised his hands to show he held nothing, but let his jacket swing open to show his handgun.

‘I’m armed but I’m not reaching for it’ he said clearly as Bianca appeared, staring down the shotgun barrel at the stranger on her doorstep, but at the sight of her husband’s former protégé she dropped it with a gasp of surprise and dismay.

‘Bastien?’ she exhaled, and started to fold to the floor, but not before he stepped forward and stopped her from hitting it, supporting her dead weight as she fainted from shock. No-one else appeared, and he lifted her and took her into the nearest room to put her down carefully on a couch. He quickly searched for the kitchen to fetch some water and went back just as her eyelids were fluttering open.

‘Bianca’ he said ‘Speak to me, or I’ll have to call for a medic’

‘Bastien? She asked ‘Is it really you? How – why..’ her expression of confusion melted his heart.

‘Yes Bianca, it’s me.’ He said ‘I’m sorry I didn't let you know – I thought you might refuse to see me or run away.’

‘Why would I do that?’ she asked, and a shadow crossed over her face ‘Actually I can see why you might think that – I never contacted you in all these years.’ Tears spilled down her cheeks, and he knelt on front of her, pulling a snow white pressed cotton handkerchief from his pocket.

‘Here Bianca, take this’ he said softly ‘We’ve a lot to talk about if you will’

After what felt like an age but was probably less than an hour, he had filled her in about what had happened to Drake. After her son had phoned her, in a panic she had stopped listening to the news and cut herself off from the outside world. She felt deeply guilty for leaving Drake and Savannah, but explained to Bastien how she had a nervous breakdown after she had returned to Texas for a short visit, and the contact with Drake had brought it all back after years of coping with her loss.

‘Bianca, Drake really wanted you to be part of a simple ceremony here in Texas, but as you know now, he can’t travel before the State wedding’ he explained. She mopped up more tears before answering

‘That is so sweet of him. I don’t know how he can bring himself to consider me after what I did to him and Savvy’ she said sadly.

‘Grief does odd things to us’ said Bastien ‘And you were so much in love with Jackson – I saw that every time I visited. But I saw the fear in your eyes when we left for work in the morning, or when he got called out to an emergency.’

‘Not a day goes by without thinking of him’ she admitted ‘Even after all these years. For a split second when you appeared I thought it was him.’

‘I’m sorry, I should have dressed differently, but I wanted you to identify me when you saw me’ he said. The two fell silent for a moment before Bastien took her hand and squeezed it.

‘Drake misses being a family – he’s got Savanah back and I know he’d love to make things right with you. I hope it can bring both of you peace. If you felt able to do it, I know it would mean the world to him if you could come back to Cordonia with me, even if it’s only for a short while.’ Bianca’s face was a picture of fear and indecision. She swallowed hard.

‘I’ve barely left the ranch for so long now’ she said ‘Just the odd trip into town or to visit friends. When do you need me to decide?’

‘If you want to come back with me, I will be going tomorrow morning. You can come any time you like before the wedding, we can send someone to fetch you, but I’ll be busy arranging security for the wedding when I get back. I thought you would prefer to travel with someone familiar’ Bianca started to weep silently again. Bastien waited patiently for her to gather herself together again.

I – I really don’t know if I can she said ‘I – I want to. Let me sleep on it. You can stay over if you like, I’ve plenty of room, rattling around this place on my own. Joe will be back later tonight – he helps me run the place, he can stop over if – if I come with you’

‘That’s fine Bianca’ Bastien said softly. ‘I can leave you to your thoughts or keep you company, whatever you wish’

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