#i dunno what he wants from me... ive given him everything i have to offer already.. even my lunch money

[dreamyggukkie]

so it is clear that kim taehyung has made it his life goal to always and i mean alwAys get me weak and smitten for him at any moment any time any day any second any hour - you get what im at :)) his manspreading tho.. fire emoji...

[bibliocratic]

I come bearing a sort-of fic idea! (Only if you feel inspired to use it, of course 😊) Back in ep 101, Martin figures out that/where the Stranger has taken Jon, and goes all BAMF to save him, using either Web powers or his developing Backup Archivist powers to do it. (Dealer's choice) Some of that sweet sweet emotional h/c...

Dearest anon, this fic has been so long in the writing, and it’s only distantly related to what you asked for. Hope you like it regardless. :)

Set in an S3 AU, implied JonMartin. Tim-centric.

Content warnings for strongly implied graphic violence, canonical S3 captivity and imprisonment, hospitals and hospitalisation.  Rated T for language and implied violence

Jon’s skittering, sprawl-legged slam against the archive door startles Tim from the shadowed walkways of his reveries.

The tilted legs of his chair thump back in a slap to the floor. Almost physically wrenched into the now, there’s a snapback to Tim’s spine, a vice-clench knot tightening in his jaw. His mood cranking up from frosty to furious.

“The fuck?” he barks at the intrusion. His snarling primed with teeth, his temper clawed to rend. He’s up and standing, whereas Jon’s practically handing off the door handle, the impact of his arrival almost knocking his legs out like ten pins from under him. An ugly, airless heaving of his chest. His eyes bloodshot, wild. In the weeks since Tim saw him, his hair has grown out unwashed and limp. His skin shimmering wrong in the light in a way that’s oddly greasy.

He’s a shattering mannequin of a man tending to ruin but Tim’s long pared down his own capacity for compassion. He loads up his questions in their chambers, and he knows where to place emphasis, where to press at the bruising, the soft-tissue targets; where the hell have you been, oh wait, don’t fucking bother, why would you even tell us anything anyway huh, because you don’t even trust us. So why the bloody hell should we care where you go galivanting off to for weeks without a word, fine by us, just fucking peachy.

“Martin,” Jon rasps out finally. His words floundering beached in his mouth, and Tim has never seen this particular mania, this bruise-sick shade of pathetic desperation. “T-tim, please, help, please, god, i-i-it’s Martin.”

Jon’s spasming, quivering hands are staining brown with blood.

-

“He wouldn’t have just left! Not – not like – like this!”

“You mean without saying anything. Not sharing with the class. I dunno, Martin, sounds exactly like something he’d have done. Classic Jon.”

“I’m telling you, something’s wrong!”

“Ha – everything’s wrong. Narrow it down.”

“You know what I mean! Something’s… He should be here, is all I’m saying, and Elias, well he’s useless but he – he knows something, I’m sure of it. We have to do something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know! Find him!”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be found. Huh, what about that? Maybe he’s finally managed to fuck off and leave here, legged it and left the rest of us to rot.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“We should – ”

“No. No, listen, Martin. This isn’t a team sport. Jon made his choice to go this alone. If he’s gone off somewhere, then that’s on him. There’s no ‘we’.”

“There used to be.”

-

Martin didn’t come in for work, and Tim assumed he’d left. Just like Jon.

He’d stewed in that betrayal, pacing lupine and furious, bricking up the walls of himself with his self-righteous anger. Because he’d been right, hadn’t he, he’d been vindicated in his bitterness, because of course Martin had left scurrying after Jon, of course there was never any loyalty to Tim despite his pretensions to their friendship. Of course, Martin hadn’t fucking stayed, and Tim was glad he was gone, free of his nagging and needling and whining.

Tim was acquitted in all his furies, every one of his poisonous doubts. The rose-thorns of his betrayals tore deeper, and he let the wounds fester.

-

Elias arrives in the aftermath.

Jon collapsed not too long ago. Shock and dehydration and whatever the hell happened to him threaded through him like blood poisoning. He’d babbled to the ambulance crews, his tongue a senseless oracle of clowns and skin and blood. They’d given him a shock blanket, the foil treating the light around them erratically, but he kept shaking it off and trying to stand, dressed in grubby boxers, an overlong coat, the fabric worn to grey at the pockets and stretched to billowing at the chest, clearly belonging to Martin.

It was hard for Tim to hate him like that, even as he’d barked at Jon to stay down. Jon’s face a theatre mask of ghoulish blood, begging the paramedics to help Martin, manic and spiralling.

The old bastard had had a heart after all.

There’s a bank of chairs outside the part of the ward where they’re keeping Jon. He’s pin-cushioned with IV’s, a set of machines monitoring his vitals. He wakes fitfully, and every waking is a pitiful confusion before he sinks back under.

Martin’s still in surgery.

Elias, deigning to leave his ivory tower, his face formed in an impeccable replica of concern. He wants to speak to Jon. To have, as he put it, ‘a private word’. He talks a precisely ordered stream of bullshit in his infuriatingly reasonable tone, about all this being such a terrible tragedy, such a blow to their little family, if only they’d known. Poor Martin, of course, what a horrible ordeal, we’ll naturally help him with recovery, cover any time off, no expense considered.

Tim watches his mouth move, and knows in his gut that Elias could have stopped all this.

That he chose not to.

Elias doesn’t get within a hundred feet of Jon. Tim makes sure of it.

-

Jon does not speak for days. Delirious and distraught. Martin’s condition worsens, then stabilises, then lingers at critical. There are several more operations, and Tim does not know what they are doing, only that they are reforming a heap of blood and bone back into a person.

Tim wants to know what happened. Where Jon went, where Martin found him, who he needs to hate.

Tim learns to temper his frustration, the desire for knowing that curls at the bottom of his stomach. It is not a natural wanting, and it’s a spiteful, gleeful action, to deny that rot within him.

-

“Tim?”

“Stay still, boss,” Tim says. “You’ll pull everything out.”

Jon doesn’t say anything more for a long while. Tim shifts uneasy on the chair provided, thinking, hoping that Jon might have sunk back into sleep, when:

“Martin? Is he…?”

Jon turns his head to look at him. His eyes wide, beseeching, wet with fear. Wanting Tim to make this all ok.

Jon’s eyes in this light are a lot like Danny’s. Tim sucks back a hard breath, and doesn’t meet his gaze, and he knows that only distresses Jon further, who will take the avoidance as a death knell, as a punishment he is expecting to have earned.

“He’s alive, boss,” Tim says eventually. The words hard won. “He’s… he’ll be alright.”

That could be a lie. He doesn’t know much these days.

-

“Th-there was a room,” Jon stammers one day. He’s sat up, pillows stuffed behind his back. Tim’s bought him an apple juice carton like you buy for children, and he hasn’t touched it, even to push the plastic straw through the top.

His fingers at his lap twist, twist, twist.

“It must have been a … a factory floor, or something. One of those old textile mills or something, up near Manchester. It used to have those big machines for spinning cotton, there were big, discoloured spaces on the boards where they would have sat. There were columns, load-bearing, every fifty feet or so, and t-the chair that they – they had me tied to was anchored against one of those s-so it didn’t – so I couldn’t move it, or knock it over. I-I don’t know how long I was… I.” Jon stops, out of breath. “I don’t even know the date.”

Tim tells him. Jon blinks, and murmurs ‘oh’ like it’s not what he was expecting. His hands are shaking. Tim should reach out, shouldn’t he, it should not be this difficult to provide comfort.

His hands have forgotten how easily reassurance used to come to him.

“Th-they didn’t, they didn’t hurt me. Not, well, not exactly, I-I-I mean, it wasn’t – they wanted me unharmed.” Jon’s voice has crept small and crouched, words tuck under his tongue. “They were waiting. For the right time. They were going to t-take my, um, my skin. For their – for the ritual.”

“Christ.” Tim hisses out, because that is fucked, this whole thing is fucked. How the hell is this the way their lives have turned.

Only Jon’s fingers, his restless hands make noise for the next minute.

“I don’t know how Martin found me,” Jon says.

Tim has a creeping suspicion. It’s the same thing that helps Tim spits out exactly the right seeds to allow hurt to take root. What told Martin that there was something wrong. He could call it intuition, but that’s not how their world works.

Gifts, of a sort. For their faithful service at the temple of their all-seeing god.

“He tried to get me out. Snuck in somehow, cut the ropes with this – huh, this battered old kitchen knife. But I couldn’t… they’d had me tied to the chair for so long that standing up was… I couldn’t walk, and it’s my fault, he was half-carrying me but – I slowed him down, a-and then Nikola came back. And I couldn’t do, I couldn’t do anything, there’s never anything I can do, and they pulled me away and I. I tried, Tim, I-I tried, and I wasn’t… please, Tim, you’ve got to believe I tried to stop them.”

Jon’s fingers are moving to fist in his hair, yanking, tugging, his spine moving to fold himself over.

“Stop,” Tim says sharply. Trying to loosen Jon’s clenched hold.

“I tried, I tried – everything, I offered them anything they wanted, and they just kept – I-I-I tried, Tim.”

“I know,” Tim replies. Quieter. Softer. Separating Jon’s hands from his hair, pressing them back down to his lap, his burnt one held over the other pocked with worm scars. Tim doesn’t move his own away from the fragile tower they’ve made. “I – I know, Jon.”

“Martin – there was more of them. It was easy for them, to hurt him until he stopped struggling. They didn’t tie him up, they knew they didn’t need to. A-and Nikola, she was… she s-s-smiled as they pushed him over onto his back. She – she kept smiling. And she said they didn’t need the two of us. That they could have a bit of fun, a bit of – ” Jon’s voice chokes horrified. “A bit of practise. And wouldn’t I like that. To watch. To give the Eye something to look at.”

Jon crumples into tears then. In on himself like a disintegrating star. Tim feels cold and distant for a moment as he watches this shipwreck as though through the porthole of another boat. Listening to Jon’s hitching sobbing from elsewhere.

The rage is burning off him to reveal something plain and hideous in its humanity, and Tim hates it.

Jon falls apart, and Tim stays.

-

“You know your Archivist killed them all? He’s got a bit of a temper on him after all. Must be all that repression.”

The newest form of the Distortion still smiles like a headache. Her fingers curve corkscrewing. Tim, who is trying to get a Snickers from the vending machine two wards along from Jon, whips his head around to glower at the unwelcome visitor.

“What do you want?”

The Distortion, who has previously called themselves Michael, and is now still Michael but not entirely, whose face has refracted into a different form – there’s been a sort of change in management, if you like, except, well, that’s not really it at all, but do feel free to call me Helen.

“I was hoping for a teeny bit of gratitude. I was the gallant rescue, after that assistant of yours blundered in and made such a pig’s ear of it.”

Tim snarls. The Distortion’s expression wavers displeased.

“Ooh, touchy, alright. Calm down, firecracker. I bought them both back breathing for you. Your Archivist would be still strapped to a chair in Stockport if it wasn’t for me, to say nothing of that woebegone assistant. Blood all over my carpets.”

Tim ignores her. The glint in her eyes suggests she’s disappointed not to have riled him up.

“What now then?”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about the Circus for a while! Dear Jonathan’s seen to that quite splendidly. Knew he had it in him. Although, I suspect, even he didn’t know he could. The Circus was always good at pushing too far.”

“And you. What about you?”

The Distortion’s smile reflects a hundred alternatives.

“Oh, I’m just waiting to see what happens next.”

-

Tim’s thoughts have been straying to Danny a lot. Naturally, all things considered, his trauma’s head reared high and made horrifically manifest.

Jon is not like Danny was, too stiff and self-conscious in his own bones. But Danny’s skin had been lit up with that same live-wire intensity that last night, smeared in shadows and exhaustion and tears that shone foreign on his cheeks. Tim had not recognised the crying, silent, shaking stranger in his room, just as he barely recognises Jon.

Watching him finally fall apart holds no victory for any of them.

Martin is not like Danny was. Taller, for one, wound-up over tight in his own clockwork of fears. He’d be about Danny’s age though. Maybe.

Danny went back to the Covent Garden Theatre, alone, and the being that had then gone by the name of Joseph Grimaldi had torn off his skin as easily as wrapping paper.

Martin went alone. He didn’t ask Tim for help, because he knew Tim would have said no, and there’s an ashy shame coating his tongue, knowing it would have been true.

It’s powerlessness that’s snarled him up in barbed wire, toothless and immobile. Tim’s felt powerless for a long time. That is not going to stop.

But his anger hasn’t protected him. Hasn’t protected Jon. Certainly hasn’t protected Martin.

Jon is not in bed when Tim goes back during visiting hours. The nurse directs him to another ward, indicating in few words that this jaunt was neither encouraged nor advised, but the patient was not one to be dissuaded.

Sounds like Jon.

The man himself has dressed erratically in the spares Tim bought. A t-shirt that is divorced from his own style, the colouring drawing him over-sallow, the jeans too short and trailing above his ankle. He’s squashed himself into a chair, his back folded like a shepherd’s crook, his scatter-shot energy spent into exhaustion. His hand in Martin’s wrapped one.

Martin’s awake. The ministrations of the Circus left his face mostly alone, clear enough for tubing to be threaded into his nostrils and down his throat but the bandaging is extensive. Tim would have thought he’d be away with the fairies on morphine by now, and rightly so, but his jaw sets imperious when he sees Tim. He doesn’t let go of Jon’s hand.

“You doing alright there, Marto?” Tim asks. There is another chair nearby that’s been left by a visitor long gone, and he drags it over. Tim chooses to keep his voice low, chooses to squash the anger that sparks up in him at the violence done to Martin’s body.

“What does it look like?” Martin replies. Not snapping, no wisp of anger there, but there’s a pained whipcord strain to his response, a forced pace to his breathing.

“I thought they’d have you on the good stuff,” Tim says after a moment.

Martin gestures with imprecise movements at a remote off to his right, a grey blocky shape with buttons, hooked up to some sort of patient-controlled analgesia machine.

“You not taken any?”

Martin, as best as he can, shakes his head.

“Why?”

“I just don’t want to, alright?”

Tim doesn’t push. The silence between the two of them is protracted, uncomfortable, but Tim can stand to learn some patience.

Martin’s eyes are watery, clearly trying to push through the pain. Jon sleeps on.

“He won’t tell me,” Martin says. “But it’s bad. I know it’s bad. Right?”

“Yes.”

Martin deserves his honesty. Tim doesn’t know how long Martin suffered on that factory floor until Jon ripped the Circus’ sawdust out with his fury. Long enough for the bandages to coat his arms and legs and back like lacquer, changed multiple times a day to make sure the skin grafts take, and the stitching holds.

Tim should have been there. Like he should have been there for Danny.

“God, Martin,” he says, and he’s surprised to find his throat has clenched tight. “It’s… I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? I went and got myself…” Martin trails off, swallows with difficulty. “I did this, it was all, all me. Fat lot of good it did.”

“You don’t know that…” Tim starts, but Martin looks at him and he seethes without raising his voice.

“What good’s come out of this then? Go on, Tim, tell me. I’m a – I’m a mess, and what the fuck do I have to show for it. What the fuck have any of us gained from this? I just fucked up, and it – I thought I was going to die. And worse, I thought they mightn’t let me, that they might take what they left as scraps a-a-and – ” Martin’s jaw clacks shut as he pushes down his distress.

“You saved Jon.”

“I didn’t though. The bloody – the bloody door monster showed up and did that simply fine without my help!”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what you changed. God, Martin, this whole, this entire thing is all so, it’s fucked, right, it’s…” Tim’s voice wobbles, cracks. “But you tried to do something. You tried to help. And I’m – I’m so sorry you did it alone.”

Martin doesn’t leap to forgiveness. But he nods and Tim puts his hand on the wrappings up his arm and he doesn’t move away.

“What now?” he asks after a moment.

“I don’t know.”

Martin closes his eyes.

“I’m tired,” he confesses. “I’m just so tired of all… all this.”

“We’ll think of something,” Tim says. Finding that he means it. It’s not a promise, but it’s as good as he’s able to offer these days. “You should take some of that morphine. It’ll… it’ll help.”

“It makes me feel out of it. Like, sluggish. And everything’s far away.”

“That means it’s working, Marto,” Tim says, trying for light-hearted, but Martin’s shaking his head, and the shivering is back in his hands. A wide and trembling glaze to his expression.

“If they come back…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

“I’ll stay,” Tim says. Pats Martin’s arm in a way he hopes conveys reassurance.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Martin nods. Tim helps him grasp the grey remote, push down the button. It’s not long before Martin’s drifted off.

Tim sits there for a long while, thinking about the future.

[broken-clover]

AU-gust Day 6- Hospital

I’m here early! Mostly because I had a lot of this written earlier, so if that didn’t make it obvious enough I really liked this prompt. While it’s a hospital prompt is isn’t especially intense or gory, after yesterday I tried to make this one pretty lighthearted. Honestly I feel like the only really uncomfortable part of this is how much effort I put in trying to make a Pokemon expy. Hehe.

Sorry-not-sorry for more Sin and Bedman, it’s a bit more ‘romantic’ then last time but still pretty much platonic friendship. Enjoy!

Though it felt weird to say, Sin knew his least favorite thing about his father was his charity. Helping out people in need was a good thing, obviously, but a ridiculous amount of his childhood memories involved being dragged along to food banks, hospitals, and shelters so his dad could give corny, well-wishing speeches and lend a hand to those less fortunate, forcing him to help out alongside the other volunteers. Sin had used to wonder if it was because something about having a cute little kid around raised everyone’s morale, or whatever.

Well, considering he was now a grown-ass teenager at the age of sixteen, and Ky was still dragging him along, maybe he’d been off the mark.

At least he’d been allowed to take a break after an hour of schlepping donation boxes up to the children’s wing. Of all the places his dad went to for charity work, hospitals were by far his least favorite. The colorless, sterile atmosphere was just unnerving to be around. As soon as he could, he made a dash for the nearest sign pointing him toward the courtyard.

Sin swiped his guest ID through the maglock, which released with a cheery beep. The white walls and stench of antiseptic gave way to an array of soft colors and the smell of flowers. He took a deep whiff of the aroma and sighed with relief. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his handheld, fully charged for when he got a break and could take a minute to loaf off and relax.

Which game had he left in it this time? He popped out the cartridge and smiled. That was right. Pocket Beasts: Light version. His current favorite. He just needed a comfy place to hunker down and play.

A few stone benches were placed in between bushes and flowerbeds, all unoccupied. The place looked really empty, but it made sense. Everyone who wasn’t already busy was probably at Ky’s speech. At least it meant he’d be able to get some peace and quiet and privacy.

He spotted a pretty lavender flower poking out of the bushes and approached. The ‘flower’ moved, making him realize he’d seen wrong. Sin groaned inwardly at the sight of another person, perched on the short stone wall surrounding the flowerbeds. They didn’t glance up, if they’d even noticed him at all, appearing too absorbed in their own handheld device to care about much else.

“H-hey.” He raised a hand at them, and offered a twitchy half-smile. There were so many ways he knew this could go wrong. Sometimes people screamed at him until he fled, or immediately launched into the most boring small-talk possible. Sin just wanted to play his game, he really had no interest in causing any trouble. “Can I sit down?”

Sin braced himself for a response, but he didn’t get one. “Hey?” He tried again, waving harder. Maybe they were deaf? “Is it ok if I sit out here?”

Eyes glanced up at him, but only for a half-second before they returned to the screen. Well, it wasn’t a ‘no,’ so the best he could assume was they just didn’t care.

Hesitantly, he found a place to sit. If the hospital gown and IV hadn’t already given it away, it was pretty clear that he was a patient, not a visitor. He was scrawny and spindly to the point where it was almost disturbing, his skin was pale and sickly, and the messy bedhead was only slightly offset by the awkward purple hair dye. Why was he out here in the first place, instead of at Ky’s speech?

He knew staring was rude, but he just couldn’t stop himself. Every time he tried, there was another odd little detail that caught his attention. A peculiar little hairclip in the shape of a pink arrow. A purple charm bracelet half-hidden by his standard-issue hospital band. Glittery star stickers on the sides of his handheld, and- hey, he recognized that game!

His expression brightened. “Oh, you play Pocket Beasts too? That’s my favorite! Who’s your starter?”

The only response he got was a couple of button clicks. Sin found himself sinking back into an uncomfortable silence. Well, he supposed it was better than being yelled at. He switched his game on.

Dad said he wasn’t supposed to use the internet at the hospital because it would mess with all the fancy machines, so online matches were out of the question. Well, there was always the battle tower. Maybe he could item grind to kill time. He still needed to finish his Soup Encyclopedia and some of the rare cooking items could only be found there.

Any discomfort he had was wiped away with the familiar music and intro screen of the game. How could he worry when there were battles to be won? All he had to worry about was making the most of his free time.

His avatar flickered into existence, still in the last town he’d visited. As soon as he moved towards the nearest building, though, a little indicator popped up on the bottom of the screen. Puzzled, Sin took his stylus and tapped on the icon.

Trainer BEDMAN would like to battle!

>Accept Decline

‘Bedman?’ He looked up at the little avatar that had appeared, then glanced off to the boy at his side. The messy lavender dye-job was surprisingly close, as was the magenta arrow pinning his bangs out of his eyes. Was it just some weird coincidence? If he wanted to play, he could have just asked…

Despite his confusion, Sin clicked ‘Accept.’ PvP battles were more fun than doing the same grind he had done over and over again. Even if he did lose, it was in a totally unique way.

The usual introductory animations played out as their avatars posed and tossed their first beasts into battle. Sin had to snicker at the disparity between their choices. He always liked sending his biggest and toughest beasts out in the beginning, and pretty much anything looked tiny beside it.

But smaller meant faster, so he wasn’t all that surprised to see the other one attack first. He braced himself for a tough starting move...only to be confused at the sight of a sand cloud being thrown at him.

Enemy Used SAND TOSS!

Accuracy Lowered!

Sand toss? What a waste of a turn! Sin grinned as it switched to his turn. Karate chop, a pretty powerful start, it always hit, and he had the type advantage, what a great way to start a match- !

Attack Missed!

“What!? How did that miss!?”

“Karate chop has a standard accuracy of 100%.” A low, quiet voice spoke up next to him, making Sin practically jump back in shock. “But I lowered your accuracy with sand toss, so now there’s a 15% chance it won’t hit.”

“...Huh.” He looked back at his screen. “Never see people use sand toss out of, like, NPC fights.”

“Most players treat accuracy-modifiers as a waste of time, but if you have a Pocket Beast with a high enough defense, then the turns spent not attacking are made up for when the opponent can barely hit you later.” The strange boy had such a casual tone to his voice, as though they’d been conversing for hours already.

It was a bit jarring, but Sin tried to roll with it. “I guess that does make sense. Sorta like when a beast has the ‘Decoy’ ability and the first attack never hits?”

“Kind of. But a lot of players know which beasts can have Decoy, so they know ahead of time to focus on stat-altering moves or poisoning instead of wasting a turn when they know attacking won’t do anything. Take your turn.”

It took him a moment to process the last bit, but he noticed the battle menu had popped up again. He picked another attack. “Why’d you want to battle me? Did you just pick at random?”

“You were the only opponent available.” Another sand toss. “It’s hard to find people to play with on local, and I’m not allowed to use global matchmaking in my room because it needs an internet connection.”

Sin waited for his two-turn charge move to activate, but before it could be his turn, a swift attack managed to knock his beast out cold. “Damn it! I thought I had that…”

He spotted a triumphant little smirk out of the corner of his eye. “Pocket Beasts is all about tactics. You have to take everything into account. It’s easy to just care about how much damage a move can do, but you’re doomed from the start if you don’t have the right stats, or the best moveset to compliment them.”

He couldn’t help but grin along with him. “Wow, you’re really good at strategy!

‘Bedman’ managed a small, awkward smile. “Well, um, not like I have much else to do…”

“Really?” Sin tilted his head. “I guess it’s good you’ve got something fun to do while you’re here, all this hospital stuff skeeves me out. When do they let you go back home? I dunno how long you’ve been here, but I think I’d go nuts after a couple of days.”

“I’m not sure. I’ve been here a while, already.” A lucky hit from Sin’s beast managed to knock his first one out. “Since...last January, if I remember correctly.”

Last January? Jeez, forget a few days, he was sure he’d be past insanity after a whole year!

Sin donned a look of pity. “That sucks. What’s wrong with you?” The words came out before he could think or realize that it wasn’t an especially nice thing to say. “Uh, shit, sorry-”

“Mmm. It’s okay. At least you don’t mince your words. I have a neurological disorder that affects how my brain processes information. It’s a bit hard to describe. Let’s say a human brain is like a computer, it processes the inputs that are fed into it. Powerful, modern computers can process a lot of information all at once, but if a computer is old, or wasn’t built properly, trying to process too much information can make it overheat and crash.”

“Oh. So how do you keep it from ‘overheating?’”

“Sleep, mostly. I’m only awake for a few hours every day. When I’m awake, and I don’t have tests to do, I like to play games. My sister and I play multiplayer sometimes, but usually I have to play by myself. She has the same problem I do, so a lot of the time one of us is asleep during the times the other’s awake.”

Was it weird to get all this personal information from someone he’d just met? Sin wasn’t sure. But he did like talking to this guy. “Well, want to swap Friend Codes? If we’re registered as friends then local multiplayer should work, then you don’t have to use an internet connection!”

“Where do you live?”

“Central Illyria!” Sin beamed. “Like, half an hour at most. It should still work from there.”

The other boy gave him an odd look. “I’m sure there’s plenty of hospitals closer to you, then. Why did you come out all the way here?”

That got him to roll his eyes, making an exaggerated gagging noise. “My dad. He always drags me along on his charity stuff, carrying boxes and shit. He only let me take a break because he’s making some dumb speech up in the-”

And the regret came just as fast as he saw his companion’s expression shift. He hated the visits, obviously, but he knew it was important to a lot of people. And if someone had been stuck in a hospital for that long, maybe they’d be happy to have someone new come by. He must have come off as such a dick-

Before he could stew on it more, he heard a little laugh. “Yeah. I hate those, too.” Bedman was smiling at him. “You’re Kiske’s kid? That’s got to be awful.”

“Heh. Yeah, it really is.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Never gave you my name, did I? I’m Samson, but everyone just calls me ‘Sin.’”

“I was curious about your name, that does make a bit more logical sense.” His companion nodded. “It’s nice to meet you, Sin.”

“Same! What about you? Can’t imagine your name’s really ‘Bedman,’ is it?”

“More of a screen name, really. My name is-”

“Mattie! Dr. Baldy says you’ve gotta have your IV changed!”

They both jumped at the sudden noise, accompanied by the slam of a door. A girl with shaggy blonde hair and familiar features limped into the courtyard, setting her sights on them as soon as she was visible.

“There you are! I just knew you’d be out here.”

“Well, there’s not many other places I could be…” He said. “When did you wake up?”

“‘bout half an hour ago.” She replied. “Just in time for mom and dad to send me out to look for you.”

The girl’s expression changed when she noticed Sin. “Oh! Mattie, who’s this?”

“Sin, this is my twin sister, Delilah.” ‘Mattie’ pointed to her. “Delilah, this is my...new friend.”

“New friend?” Delilah reached out and shook Sin’s hard with a remarkable amount of strength. “Did my baby bro talk your ear off about his favorite game again?”

“You’re only older by nine minutes, Delilah!”

“He’s really good at Pocket Beasts.” Replied Sin. “It was fun playing with him!”

At that, he realized neither of them had selected anything in a while. He looked down at his screen

TIME UP

DRAW

“Aww, maaaaan…”

“Do we have enough time for another match?” Mattie asked.

“Dr. Baldy looked really serious. We probably can’t make him wait that long.” Delilah shook her head.

Sin tried to bring the mood back up. “Well, we were still gonna swap Friend Codes, right? Then we can play whenever! Either of you have something to write with?”

Delilah pulled a thick black sharpie from her sock. “I have a marker! But no paper…”

“Oh! Hold on a sec.” Sin rolled his jacket sleeve up and held out his arm. Just write it on the back!”

The two of them looked hesitant. “Is that safe?”

“It’s totally fine! It’s a little hard to wash off, but that means it won’t smear before I get home!”

Mattie took the marker and began scribbling on his forearm. “You’re really quite strange, Sin.”

“Thanks!” As soon as the wet feeling on his arm went away, he twisted around to see two series of digits.“What’s this other number?”

“Our phone number. If, um, you ever feel like calling.” Despite his attempts to hide it, Sin could see the faint blush to the other boy’s cheeks. “Do you think you could do one more thing very quickly?”

He couldn’t think of what it could have possibly been. “Yeah?”

“Can you draw something on me? I’ve never done it before. I want to see what it’s like.”

He grinned. “Hell yeah! I’ll try and draw something cool real quick!”

Delilah winced. “You know mom and dad are going to kill you, right?”

“Just say it was my idea!” Sin beamed. Mattie flinched the first time he pressed the marker to his skin, but he managed to still draw a straight line. He couldn’t think of anything in particular to draw, so he settled for a series of sharp, criss-crossing black lines circling his forearm. “How’s that?”

“...woah.” Simple as it was, Mattie looked utterly awestruck. “It’s…

“C’mon, Mattie, we’ve gotta go!” Tired of waiting, Delilah all but dragged him off the wall.

“See ya!” Sin waved as they departed. “You’d better bring your A-game next time we battle, I don’t lose easy!” He folded up his game and tucked it into his back pocket. That was probably his cue to leave, too.

As he hopped off the wall, he could make out a faint voice trailing away to the other side of the courtyard.

“Huh? What’s the deal with you, Mattie? You never look that happy!”

Sin smiled as he turned to leave. Ky was probably waiting for him.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been excited for the next visit.

[purplesurveys]

941

ACH

Do you listen to anything by Bach? I’ve probably encountered some of his material since I like looking for classical musical playlists to listen to on Spotify, but I’m nowhere near being a devoted fan or anything like that.

ASH

Do you like ash trees? I’m not attached to any kind of tree, really – but I know I have nothing against this kind, haha.

Do you have the ashes of a family member or a pet? No. The only ashes I’ve gotten to encounter are my grandpa’s, but we’ve since placed them in our local ossuary so that he can rest in peace.

How often do you feel like you want to bash your head against a wall? Before September, quite seldom. But with this month being so turbulent, chaotic, and nothing like I expected it to be, seldom has turned into every day.

Has anyone ever thrown you a big birthday bash? Sure. I had a big party when I was 7 and I also had a nice slew of celebrations when I turned 18. But if you mean a surprise birthday bash then no, no one has thrown one for me.

Do you know anyone who is brash? I do, but fortunately I haven’t had to work with her for a while now. I certainly often felt annoyed when I used to have to.

Do you typically carry cash or a credit/debit card? OMG Y’ALL I finally opened my own bank account last Friday I’ve never felt so grown-up until now haha. My dad helped me set up my first card, which is a debit card. :)

Have you ever crashed someone else’s party before? No, that sounds so annoying omg. I’d never want to be known as a gatecrasher. I know I’d be pissed if someone showed up to any of my parties uninvited.

Have you ever been involved in a car crash? Yes but fortunately they’ve all been super mild ones. One of my biggest fears is getting involved in a car crash where things would be out of my control and becoming seriously injured, like if a drunk driver crashed into me or if a 12-wheeler loses its brakes and slams into my car or something. I think I’d live in resentment for the rest of my life if that sort of thing happened to me and still ended up alive.

Do you use Door Dash? I didn’t know what this is so I had to look it up, and even though we don’t have Door Dash we do have several apps that do exactly the same services.

How often do you use a dash in your writing? I like using them in more casual contexts like survey entries, personal essays, feature articles, etc. I avoid dashes in academic writing since dashes are not really the most formal of punctuation marks.

Last place you made a mad dash to? The car repair shop that my dad asked me to meet him at because his situation was a little urgent at the time.

Do you make it a habit to flash people? Oh wow, no I don’t. That’s one of the last things anyone can expect from me. I like wearing revealing or skin-tight articles of clothing, but that doesn’t mean I like giving absolutely everything away lol

Do you prefer flash or no flash on a camera? No flash, always. I hate the effect that flash does and I never go for it, unless I’m in an area where lighting is poor.

Is the Flash one of your favorite superheroes? No. I’m not very big on superheroes to begin with.

Do you use the phrase “I’ll be back in a flash”? Not really. I find myself using “I’ll be super quick” more, or using ‘jiffy’ instead of flash.

Have you ever had a gash in your head before? Anywhere else on your body? I sported a gash near my eyebrow once because of some cousin who tried to blind me by hurling a glass jar towards my left eye and just narrowly missing my actual eyeball. Now there’s a scar in its place. Currently, I have multiple gashes on my arms and legs because Cooper.

Do you like hash browns? They’re okay, but I can’t have them all the time because I find them way too greasy for my enjoyment.

Do you do hash? No.

How often do you use hash tags? Almost never, unless I’m fighting for a political cause like BLM or calling for free mass testing. Hashtags got real lame real quick when they started getting popular around 7-8 years ago.

Do you have long eyelashes? Yes, it’s my favorite feature of mine and I get compliments on them fairly often.

How often do you lash out at others? For what reasons? Not often, but when I do it’s almost always because I’m already buckling under immense pressure and probably have nowhere to release my stress onto. I don’t turn it into an automatic mechanism though, because I don’t want to make others feel like shit for things they didn’t do.

Do you like mashed potatoes? I enjoy them but they’re not really my favorite dish. I can do 4-5 spoonfuls of them before getting over them haha, like I can never seem to finish a serving of it.

Do you typically gnash your teeth together? No I HATEEEE the sensation and the sound that it makes. My sister grinds her teeth in her sleep and it drives me nuts whenever we’re on a family trip and we share a room.

Do you know someone who speaks balderdash? Sure.

What color is the backsplash of your kitchen? White.

Have you ever had any rashes before? What kinds? Yes. Back in high school I used to occasionally get a random itchy area on my leg and whenever I’d scratch it, it would turn into an ugly patch of rashes. I never figured what the condition was but I’m just glad it’s never happened again.

Do you typically make rash decisions? Sometimes. I really tend to impulsive. The last one I made was swapping a full-time job opportunity for an internship with much lesser pay. Even I was surprised by how quick I jumped into the latter, but I like the nature of the work of the internship SO MUCH MORE, and I dunno if I’ll be happy with what I would be doing in the full-time gig. Plus, internships here are never even paid ones, so the fact that they even offered to give me an allowance per day just goes to show how good the company I’m interning for is.

Have you ever worn a sash before? I probably have but I don’t remember what for anymore.

Do you often find that your personality clashes with others’ around you? Yes, but I’m also good at adjusting to all kinds of personalities so I’m not too bothered by the clashes.

Whose tires would you like to slash? Any racist’s tires, really.

Who would you like to smash with? No one at the moment.

What was the last thing you smashed out of anger? I don’t really tend to be violent when I’m angry. The last angry thing I did was to throw my head against a pillow, but that’s it.

Do you have a secret stash of something hidden anywhere? Nopes.

How often do you take out the trash? My parents prefer to do it so they don’t really ask us to.

Has anyone ever told you that you look like trash? Other than myself, no.

Do you like to splash in the pool, the bathtub, or in puddles? I wouldn’t call it my favorite thing to do; I hate the mess that it makes, ha.

Have you ever thrashed violently before? What was the cause? Yeah. I probably embarrassed my grandma for life when I did so, but it was when I had to be confined to the hospital and they needed to insert the IV thing on me. It sent me into the worst panic attack I’ve ever gotten and I ended up thrashing a lot and several people had to hold me down so that the nurse could stick the thing into my wrist.

Do you own and use an eyelash curler? No. Those make me cringe so bad...I hate how they get so close to the eyeball. Kate brought her makeup kit to school everyday and she always made me try to learn how to curl my own lashes, but it just made me feel so nauseated lol

Have you ever experienced backlash from others? A few times before.

Have you ever had whiplash before? Never.

ATH

Do you prefer a shower or a bath? Shower. Much more efficient. Baths are relaxing, but I don’t like how I end up bathing in what’s pretty much dirty water.

Have you ever given another person or an animal a bath before? I’ve only given Kimi a bath. I let my dad bathe Cooper since he’s too much of a handful for now, plus I think it’s fair if we bathe one dog each haha.

How good are you at math? I can answer advanced algebra, statistics, and geometry questions if you give me enough time to review and get reacquainted with the formulas, but I’m perfectly alright with no longer revisiting trigonometry and calculus for the rest of my life.

Do you feel like your life is on the right path? Career-wise it definitely is; I’m happy with the direction it’s going right now. Everything else seems so turbulent at the moment and I can’t say I’m happy.

Are there any bike paths or footpaths in your area? We have sidewalks, if they count.

Have you ever gone on the warpath before? Not really. I do get very angry with certain people if I think they’ve been behaving badly, but I rarely get confrontational.

Is there a birdbath in your yard? No, those aren’t common here at all. I’ve only seen those in cartoons, I think.

Have you ever had a footbath before? Nopes.

What’s the last thing you’ve had to deal with the aftermath of? I can think of one thing but it’s still pretty triggering so I don’t feel like bringing it up at the moment.

Have you ever witnessed a bloodbath? Thankfully I haven’t. I get so queasy when I see blood though; it’s so much better off this way because I wouldn’t be able to deal with one at all.

Are you a sociopath or a psychopath? Do you know anyone who might be? No lol. I don’t think I know of anyone who could possibly be either. I wouldn’t want to associate myself with one in the first place.

Who’s the last person that you faced the wrath of? Myself.

AMP

Do you have an instrument that you plug into an amp? Nope, I own 0 instruments.

When’s the last time you felt amped up? What was the reason? Thursday morning when I parked in front of the office I was gonna have my job interview in. I needed to hype myself up to feel confident so I spent a couple of minutes in the car pumping my chest and screaming and shit, lol

Have you ever gone to day camp or overnight sleepaway camp? No. My mom wouldn’t have allowed me as a kid.

When’s the last time you felt like a champ? It’s been a while. I haven’t exactly felt like I’ve been winning in anything.

Last time it was damp where you lived? This afternoon. It was really humid for a good few hours and then it ended up raining.

Weirdest place you’ve ever had a cramp? My index finger whenever I’d try to use chopsticks; and my toes when I hiked in Sagada. The toe cramps were so bizarre I was actually laughing-crying the whole time the tour guide was treating me; my dad was taking photos of me too loooooool

Do you refer to your grandfather as “Gramps”? No. I call both of them Lolo, which is our local version of Grandpa.

Have you ever worn a headlamp before? No, I’ve never really had to.

Do you have a ramp anywhere in your house? I don’t think so, no.

Has anyone ever called you “scamp” before? No.

How many lamps are in the room you’re in? How many are actually turned on? There is one lamp, and it is currently turned on.

Do you stamp your feet when you are angry? It doesn’t tend to be a behavior of mine, no.

Last time you used a postage stamp? Not sure...grade school, probably? I never used those a lot.

Are there streetlamps on your street? What time do they turn on? Yep. I don’t keep track of their schedule but a safe guess would be either 6 or 6:30 PM.

Last place/area that you wanted to revamp? My room.

Do you know anyone who is a tramp? No.

Have you seen Lady and the Tramp before? Not the full movie but I’ve seen a lot of excerpts from watching Magic English as a kid.

Do you know anyone with a “tramp stamp”? I don’t think so.

AWK/AULK/ALK

Is the squawk of certain birds annoying? Which ones? I’ve never found any of them annoying, but maybe that’s also because there aren’t a lot of different birds flying around where I live.

Do you prefer hawks or falcons? And…why? I don’t have a preference; I’ve never encountered either.

Has anyone ever watched you like a hawk before? That sounds a little creepy and I wouldn’t want to know if anyone has.

What was the last thing you used caulk on?   I’m almost positive I’ve never handled that, haha.

[a-zebra-is-a-striped-horse]

[citialiin]

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm. tagged by: @forseenclade thank you ! man i am so bad at doing memes.  tagging: @blossomingbeelzebug @zhrets @lupichorous @dansiere yayayayayayayaya

My muse is:   canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated [ z/iggy stardust is DEFINITELY not my original character, but 683 is, and every single part of how i rp ziggy from his backstory to his personality was made up by me. that being said, ziggy is still a character that exists in media. ]

Is your character popular in the fandom?  YES / NO. [ im pretty sure ziggy is tied with the thin white duke as one of b*wie’s most famous fictional personas? ]

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom?  YES ? / NO / IDK.

Is your character considered strong in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK.

Are they underrated?  YES / NO / IDK. [ maybe a little overrated ]

Were they relevant for the main story?  YES / NO.

Were they relevant for the main character?  YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG.

Are they widely known in their world?  YES / NO.

How’s their reputation?  GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL. [ celebrity rock god of limitless talent vs inevitable overrated washup. most celebrities are polarizing anyways ]

How strictly do you follow canon?  — there isnt much canon to go off of i think? the album barely even states if ziggy is an alien and b*wie himself got really wishy washy about it (sometimes saying z is a human who was contacted by aliens, he was an alien himself, etc). i dont think we know anything about him besides what he looks like (red hair / weird eyes / pale / “well hung” lmao) and he has a band called the spiders from mars, he plays the guitar left handed, he’s bisexual + androgynous, and he’s charming and popular with the teens but inevitably is a victim of his own ego. and he dies.  that too.  but that’s literally it! we know Nothing else about him.  so i filled in all the gaps because my brain has worms.  theres a little bit of the story that verges on fantasy (that he’s some sort of messiah messenger for “the infinites,” whatever the fuck THAT means, david) so i nix that because i prefer hard scifi.  and theres one BIG part that i just ... deleted out of his canon, in that the world is ending in 5 years in his timeline, and he’s like ... aware of this ?  but that’s dumb and confusing.  i legit dont care anymore. my OC now.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals.  —  im so embarrassed i know i could be genuine and actually try but i have brain blockajjolajlakala33lak33klak333ak3jka3akjj323j3 i guess it’s like ... ziggy is truly the ultimate expression OF humanity because he reveals everything both wrong and right about the human condition, he literally embodies the best of humanity and the worst at the same time, he’s a really interesting critique on the idea of genuineness/earnestness vs commercalism in art, the perils of fame, and also how humans are so inherently corrupting?  a lot of thematic stuff i like exploring is like what is innate to humans vs what is learned behavior, what are things that humans do naturally that ziggy mimics out of his desire to be like us?  i think he has a really good story arc -- he went from being a literal nameless CLONE in a society full of pragmatic forward thinking science-oriented people to a sell out rockstar celebrity in a society of people that value individualism and self expression and art, but in the process completely lost his mind and himself and gave into the worst that humanity has to offer like rampant selfishness, drug abuse, self destructive tendencies, etc. characters changing is always interesting and ziggy truly changes for the worse -- but he is never just black and white, he was never good and then suddenly evil, he just was always the same person putting on different facades and trying to be himself by constructing an identity that maybe was who he wanted to be versus who he actually is.  i dont know what im talking about. hes just an alien trying to be too hard to be human in all the wrong ways.   i just like how “gray” ziggy is. he isnt good or bad, he can be very nice and he can be very mean, he’s overtly showboating confident but at the same time deeply afflicted with self-consciousness (why tf else would anyone be So obsessed with how they present themselves?).  hes an icon of individualism but also commercialism.  he’s freakishly alien but is almost more human than humans themselves.  he struggles as lot in his head -- which makes for interesting writing, i guess !!  Im so emabrrased im not going to go back and read what i wrote so if i typoed dont look at me

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?).  —  i think ziggy comes across as really mean and nothing else.  his horrible bitchy rudeness comes across as hee hee hoo hoo sassy isnt he a rascal when it’s supposed to be more like ... he’s so far gone into the celebrity delusion he’s conflated aggressive rudeness with charmingness because no one told him otherwise and everyone worships him to the point where he’s just given into the delusion that he can do no wrong.  i think theres the general simplification problem that happens with a lot of fictional characters, it’s easy to see him as just a whacky sassy glittery quirky rockstar when i guess it avoids the inherent tragedy of like ... everything else about him. his totally fake and false sense of identity built up from superficial things like fame and labels and stardom.  maybe my version of ziggy is just too weirdly depressing and sad when i know his original iteration wasn’t quite so ... grim.  im not very sure tbh.  

What inspired you to rp your muse?  —  hmmm ... a lot of things! i just really got into b*wie stuff in early 2019, i’ve ALWAYS loved aliens and sci-fi, and i was really shocked that db sets up such great visual storytelling potential but does it through music.  i just really liked ziggys “story” and i like any chance to think about aliens so i just got invested into piecing together a little backstory for him using, like, the cumulative knowledge of literally every other piece of science fiction ive ever consumed in my life.  this was summer 2019 when i was making initial pitches for my thesis film, and so i just randomly decided to pitch “animated version of ziggy stardust” as one of the potential ideas.  shockingly everyone liked it a lot and so did my professor who thought it was really cool, and then i just ended up sticking with the character and working on him for an entire year.  ziggy became my hobby but also my homework.  he was such a fun character because everything about him was interesting to me and i had just enough source material to have a starting point but so much room to take him in any direction i wanted to.

What keeps your inspiration going?  —  honestly, yooooou guyssssss. i have some really amazing fwends that ive met thru here .... and some of our dumb stupid stories have literally become NOVEL length. it just self generates inspiration because you realize the limitless amount of stories you could tell with this one single character when your character enters his story or he enters their story and etc. etc.  ive drawn endless amounts of comics and stuff for him ... ziggy is just so endlessly interesting ...   cringe be cringed bro but recently (i know this sounds dumb bear with me or die.) ive kind of realized a lot of how i rp z comes as some metaphor for the experience of being an asian immigrant/being asian in the US -- his home “culture” is a lot stricter than the rampant selfish individualism of the usa (he only lives in the uk and usa, so he thinks the whole planet is like this), he’s dissuaded from standing out from his community and his selfishness becomes a community burden rather than a personal flaw, and when he does come to earth, he goes through such awful culture shock, literally nothing makes sense to him and everything is Different.  and while some things are different in a Nice way, something things are different in an Awful way, and he’s given the option between losing his true personal identity as an atominan and giving it up to be a human.  the allure of being a human is a little too much but losing yourself like this is traumatic, in a way.  obvs like ... a little silly and definitely not something that i actively intended to put into his story arc, its just something that fell into place cuz i guess i worked so closely with my own personal experiences and feelings of “alienation” (pun intended) to try to understand how he would feel being a literal alien an shid. its cathartic to write about him. but he also has a lot of my own personal interests just thrown in -- 70s fashion, scifi, science, tryhard implications about human nature, art history, whatever dumb nonsense i get into

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice?  YES / NO / SOMETIMES?

Do you frequently write headcanons?  YES / NO  [ i would prefer information to spring up organically in the story but cuz threads always get dropped i end up just telling people outright. i didnt want anyone to know his home planet/his old name but barely anyone writes enough with ziggy to get to that point to reveal it (i legit managed to do it organically Once) so i just had to write it in a post lmao orz ]

Do you sometimes write drabbles?  YES / NO [ wrote a ton of drabbles ! drew a ton of comics! ]

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO 

Are you confident in your portrayal?   YES / NO / I DUNNO?

Are you confident in your writing?  YES / HAHA NO.

Are you a sensitive person?  YES  / NO. / IDK ? 

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal?  —  definitely!  like i said ... my version of ziggy ended up being the protag of my thesis film and for 1 yr straight his characterization, backstory, design, and even how i wanted to animate his fucking movements (ziggy stardust timing charts.) were beaten to death in a classroom environment, torn apart and rebuilt into something better.  had i stayed with what i originally wanted to go with, ziggy would be so different than how i write him 2day. amazingly my pre production professor is a literal two time emmy award winning storyboard artist and animator so he definitely helped me design him (my version of ziggy is meant for ... a cartoon, obviously, not real life) and give him a better backstory?  and my post production professor is a retired disney animator who worked on hercules and a bunch of old disney channel shows?  had i gone wah wah wah i dont want to hear ur critiques i wouldnt have made him better.  if you ever think ziggy seems inconsistent or poorly written ... tell me !! i literally major in ... animation. cartoons. entertainment.  my job is to entertain you. if you are not entertained, there is a problem.  ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED ????

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character?  —  I LOVE QUESTIONS? i love ... answering questions ... if you ask me something ill come kiss you.

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why?  —  sure! i dont know why that would happen, though, because i mean ... he’s an OC. but i gues someone could be like “i feel like this is incongruous to things you’ve previously established in his character” or somethin

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it?  —  i feel like a lot of b*wie stans would find my version of ziggy weird but i mean thats fine!  i guess my goal is to have a well written character, not necessarily an accurate version of ziggy

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it?  —  if you hate MY version of ziggy thats fine but if u hate ziggy stardust in general (like the bowie concept) then u need some taste what the fuck is cooler than a egomaniac genderless bisexual rockstar alien with red hair? nothing. go back to watching your CW shows you dirty filthy normie

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors?  —  yes! dm me though. dont clown me on the dash like that.  i usually write your replies 12 AM - 4 AM so it’s expected.

Do you think you are easy going as a mun?   —  hmmm ... maybe! i do like to talk to people and i am VERY nice, trust me, if youre ever sad ill do everything i can to make you feel better. but im quiet! i dont really reach out to people and i tend to just keep to myself.  im not very social or extroverted at all haha i barely can make ooc posts without feeling like god’s coming to beat my head in with a brick. im sitting here at 5:30 AM with this meme feeling like if i post it i will die (BUT I MUST)

[snarkwrites]

FFT: villainesses want heroes; ray palmer

Notes:

Okay look. It was fun to attempt writing a kind of morally gray / bad girl type. And it’s something I do wanna do again at some point.

Summary:

Ginger did all the wrong things for all the right reasons. And it nearly cost her family, a love and her actual life. Thanks to her sister Sara, she’s back on the Waverider and she’s recovering. When her memory returns, can she recover what she had with Ray? or is it too late?

Pairing:

Ray Palmer x Lance!OFC, Ginger

Warnings:

morally gray character, innuendo, mentions of temporary amnesia..

“You’ll do as I ask, Ginger.. Or your father and your sister Laurel? The real one? Well, they stay dead.”

The phone went dead and Ginger threw it, swearing as she practically paced a hole through the floor. From the doorway, her sister Sara spoke up.

“You’re the leak? You’re the reason Damien’s been a few steps ahead?”

That look of disappointment in her sister’s eyes had Ginger biting her lip and looking down, instantly ashamed of herself, despite Sara not really having any room to talk. “You don’t…”

“Don’t you dare tell me I won’t understand.” Sara was angry and hurt and stepping closer to the younger sister she thought she’d been bonding with.

Apparently, her baby sister was just using her as a means to an end. Sara stepped closer, glaring down at her and her sister swallowed hard, taking a few shaky breaths.

“Well? Don’t you have anything to say for yourself? I mean, color me curious. What’s so damn important that you’d throw all the good we’ve done.. That you’d throw your own sister.. Under the bus?”

“Damien promised me he’d bring back our dad and Laurel, okay? Look, you got years with them both. Mom, she… she whisked me away to Nebraska when I was still a baby. Do you think I liked growing up away from you guys? Do you think I wanted to deal with Mom always putting her teaching career over me and refusing to let me see our father or either of you?” Ginger snapped at her sister, pacing, winding her fingers through long blonde locks as she punched at the wall next to the door.

She was in over her head, she knew that now. Thing of it was, she was too little, too late. She clearly saw now that Damien had been using her from the start. Manipulating events that at any time could’ve gotten the team hurt or even killed. The only way out of the situation she’d gotten herself into was through it. And given the anger she saw in her sister’s eyes right now, asking for any kind of assistance to pull off what she had in mind was probably going to result in a brawl.

A throat cleared from the door and Ray stood there, staring at her in confusion. “You’re the leak? I thought..”

“Ray…”

Ray didn’t even bother sticking around, he turned and walked away, vanishing from Ginger’s sight and Ginger sank back into the chair, lightly beating her head against the back of it.

Yeah.. She was definitely going to have to go this one alone, it seemed. It’s what you deserve, Gin… her mind echoed as she stood and smoothed her shaking hands over the front of her favorite pair of jeans.

It dawned on her.. She had a particular advantage. Maybe if she acted quick.. She sprang up from the chair and made her way off the WaveRider….

And that was the absolute last thing she remembered, prior to waking up in the medic bay on the ship.

XXX

Everything fucking hurt. From the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes, there wasn’t a part of her that didn’t ache. The steady hum of the machines alerted her to the fact that something was.. Horribly wrong.

The platinum blond man stepped out, rubbed his hands together as he shook his head and chuckled. “I swear, I wish I knew what was so gosh darned enchanting about that idiot Palmer.. Not only did he manage to bewitch my own flesh and blood… But he got under the skin of one of my best assets.” the man tutted and shook his head, checking her vitals as he asked her calmly, “Do you still think shooting the serum directly into your neck was a good idea, Ginny? You’re such a smart girl, I’m almost disappointed to see you do something so foolish.”

“Look… I dunno who you are or what the fuck you’re talking about but… If you’re gonna kill me, make it quick, alright? It’s not like I got anything to live for.”

Damien eyed her, a brow raised at first. Then the look of confusion transformed into one of sheer joy. The memory erasing serum he’d been testing -and that she’d mistakenly grabbed when she was trying to steal the mock up of Mirakuru he had, it worked!

And it worked quite well.

Ginger felt that the guy was just dragging things out on purpose. She’d never really been a fan of someone who didn’t have the balls to get straight down to their intentions. Her mother always told her she got her mile wide stubborn streak and her strong sense of right and wrong from her father and that at times, it could be infuriating.

She managed to pry her wrists free and when the guy was puttering around his lab, she snuck up behind him, raising the only weapon she’d been able to find high above her head, every intention of braining him to death with it if it meant her making it out of this situation alive.

Her jaw dropped when he cleared his throat, lifted a finger and the object she held in her grasp fell to the floor with a noisy clank. He turned, staring her down. “If you’ll have a seat, I’m more than willing to explain everything… Including how you sought me out, desperate for dear old daddy to get one more chance at life… To have your whole family together again.. How you sold out your own sister for a chance to bring your dead one back.”

“You lying piece of shit!”

“Oh, but I’m telling the truth, darling.”

Ginger’s mouth opened and closed. While every fiber in her being wanted to believe the man was full of bullshit, there was this feeling deep down inside that insisted that no, he wasn’t.

And that thought blew her mind.

She went for the blunt object she’d been intending to use as a weapon again and Damien waved his hand, sending her crashing back into the room, a table toppling over on top of her. The table pinned her down, although by her own math, she should’ve easily been able to lift it.

The door burst open just as she started to black out all over again. She didn’t start coming to until she felt herself being scooped up.. The cologne.. Something about it was… familiar in a way.

She definitely knew whoever it was who was behind her rescue. She gripped hold of them, muttering the first name that came to her mind torn between consciousness and just giving in to the void again.

Ray sighed as he hurried down the hall, trying to locate Mick Rory to pass Ginger off for safety.

“Shh.. You’re gonna be okay.”

“I’m kinda like a cat. I tend to land on my…” she was starting to slip out again. Everything faded out and the next time she opened her eyes, she was somewhere entirely different. She almost wanted to say it was a hospital room… But something felt off about the whole thing.

The blonde woman who resembled her mother stepped towards her, a hand out and she tried to scoot as far away from her reach as possible. She was fighting against the drips and IV’s, hell bent on getting away and lucky she didn’t injure herself further. She stopped shy of ripping anything out because she’d always heard that doing that was never a good idea and she wasn’t keen on dying.

“Who the hell are all of you? Where the fuck am I?”

Sara caught her just as she managed to get a hand down to where her thick soled boots would’ve been normally and she spoke up. “Do you remember anything?”

“No… Wait… I remember a fight with a biker in an alley. Because he caught onto me hustling him in a game of pool..” Something about the memory didn’t feel right, but she wasn’t.. Sure about anything enough to know.

Sara glanced at Ray, tears stinging at her eyes. This was similar to the way her sister acted before they reconnected. Had her father lived -and been the one to raise Ginger, he would’ve definitely had his hands full, given some of their intel on her prior to choosing her to become a Legend.

Sara sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m Sara. Your sister.”

Ginger eyed her, wary. “I haven’t seen her since I was 4. How do I know you’re not lying? Mom told me Sara died…” Ginger trailed off, fidgeting.

“Mom believes that too. Nothin Dad tried tellin her would convince her otherwise.” Sara reached out and tilted her sister’s chin to make her meet her gaze. “Do you remember anything?” Sara tried again, hoping that maybe jogging her sister’s memory would free anything.

“Coming to Star City and visiting Dad’s grave..”

Ginger’s eyes settled on the lanky brunette male standing in the doorway and she nodded to him. “Getting shitfaced and waking up in a bed with that guy… Have you two… ya know? Because that tongue…” Ginger fanned herself, giving a giggle of delight at the way the guy blushed when every set of eyes in the room with him turned to fix on him at once. “In all seriousness.. He will totally rock your world.”

Ray’s face darkened and he cleared his throat.

Mick was quick to step between Ray and Sara, reminding her that the important thing here was to find out what Dahrk did to her kid sister while the guy had her. Ginger rubbed her head and grimaced as she felt dried blood and what felt to be a clumsy attempt at stitches.

“Well this is just peachy.” she mumbled as the others stepped out into the hallway. Sara immediately slapped Ray in the back of the head and Ray gave her a sheepish look.

“You… I can’t even right now.”

“Try being me.. She remembers our first night together.. But doesn’t remember anything else.. I get the feeling she might not take it well when she realizes just how serious we’d gotten before that night she left to go stupidly offer herself up to Damien.” Ray shook his head, swinging at a wall. “I still can’t believe she fucking did it.”

“She thought if she went and stole the device and serum herself, she’d be giving us an edge. She had all the passcodes to his compound, Ray. She’s never been afraid of anything. We both know this. Did you really think she’d sit back and just.. Let things go?”

“I wish she had.” Ray grumbled, taking a few deep breaths, staring intently into the room Ginger was currently recovering in. He’d spent months thinking he lost her too, that she’d died when they faced off against Damien a third or fourth time. And then they started to hear rumors about some badass new assassin. Apparently, she’d gotten on Damien’s bad side somehow, because the next thing they knew, Gideon was picking up a ping on Ginger.

Given that Sara had way more than enough time to calm down, to figure out the motive behind Ginger playing double agent, - a talk with her mother helped, and that in the months following Sara cooling down, she had ample amounts of time to settle into a pattern of blaming herself for her baby sister possibly dying, them going to try and rescue her and face Damien one final time was inevitable.

Ray hadn’t worried about anything beyond getting Ginger the fuck out of the compound. In fact, he’d kind of stepped up and really taken on leadership of the whole attempt.

Sara hadn’t been in the mindset to think clearly. To be honest, he hadn’t either, but he knew he wasn’t going to lose another woman he loved.

His hand rested against the glass as he watched Ginger like a hawk through the window. He couldn’t stay away, so while the others were talking, he made his way in quietly. Ginger’s eyes lit up at seeing him and she teased quietly, “Come to give me sweet dreams again, Dr. Feelgood?”

Ray stared at his hands. There was so much he wanted to say to her. Things he needed to say. But it all got trumped by the fact that he was just glad she was there and alive and able to say things to drive him crazy and make him blush.

“How’d you know?”

“Know what?” Ginger asked, moving to sit up, sort of snuggling against his side and leaning her head against his shoulder.

“I’m technically a doctor.. And that’s what you called me….”

“After that night when I woke up in your penthouse. I remember that much.” Ginger nodded, giving a frustrated sigh. The light bounced off of something on a chain around her neck, and curious, Ginger pulled the chain out of it’s hiding place beneath her favorite tee shirt. As soon as she saw the dog tags and read the name on them… And the simple engagement ring that was also on the chain, everything rushed back to her at once and she sighed, going quiet.

“Oh.”

Ray eyed her, eyed the necklace he knew she never took off. He swallowed hard at the sight of the engagement ring he’d gotten her as a ‘joke’ when they were stranded in 1975 together on her first mission with the team.

“You were more than just a one night stand to me and true to form, I completely fucked that up.. My sister, she… Why would any of you even bother coming for me after what I did?”

“Maybe sometimes, princess.. Maybe sometimes the good guys fall for the bad girls. Did you really think I was going to just leave you there?”

“Ray, I would’ve left me there, okay? I can’t believe I was so fuckin stupid. Damien was never gonna bring either of them back.. And I betrayed the only sister I have left.. And you, I-…” she trailed off, looking down at her lap. She was about to do something she hated doing and tried to av oid at all costs.

Something she hadn’t done since the night she came to Star City and spent an entire night sitting at her father’s graveside doing it. The fat tear made it’s trek down her face just as Ray tilted her chin to make her look at him.

“I get it. I didn’t at first. I wanted to hate you. I really wanted to hate myself… Especially after we thought.. Ginger, you’ve been gone almost a year now. We thought you died… I spent almost a year thinking that you died. Knowing I could’ve stopped you from leaving that night, but I was too disgusted by what you were doing to bother.”

He leaned in, cradling her cheek against his hand, wiping at her eyes with a tissue. “Everything is going to be okay. You’re back and I’m not… Nothing like that is ever going to happen to us again.”

Ginger swallowed hard. “It’s not too late?”

“When you really love someone, Ginger, it’s never too late to try and fix things. If that’s what you want.”

Ginger glanced down at the dog tags and the ring he’d given her in joking. She slipped the necklace from it’s place around her neck, unfastening it. Ray raised a brow, biting his lip as she slipped the ring off the ball chain and onto her finger.

“Does that answer your question, Dr. Palmer?”

He pulled her onto his lap and as they started to kiss, throats cleared from the doorway.

“For fucks sake, you two! Jesus, get a room.” Sara turned until they’d both finally caught on to not being in the room alone and could be bothered to pry themselves apart in the sense of public decency.

“You both done now?”

“Actually, as soon as I can get these stupid fucking drips out of me…”

“Don’t… Don’t you dare finish that, Ginger Louise Lance.” Sara groaned, laughing as she moved closer, making an attempt to hug her sister.

[nightmaretyrantvantas]

So I’m finally getting around to writing out a bunch of info about my Sander Sides au so I hope youre all ready--(its like 1 am im so sorry for any spelling mistakes and missed tags)

So its 1 am on a work night and I cant sleep and I’ve had lots of ideas and canon things for this au bouncing around my head for days and now TONIGHTS THE NIGHT ITS HAPPENING IM DELIVERING YOU ALL THE DETAILS AND EVERYTHING I CAN THINK OF AND TYPE 

Also please feel free to ask about this! I know I got a few new followers from all my recent sander sides art and also thanks to @sugarglider9603 reblogging some art I made of their au I got the biggest flood of exposure and attention on my art ive ever had and I have so much to thank them for, for all recent exposure ive gotten the past couple days( theyre so sweet and lovely and easy to talk to sugar deserves all the love--) and its given me a huge surge of motivation and confidence to post this. And please, my inbox is always open to talk about my aus or my art! Ask questions, send requests, send headcanons or ideas, send fluff angst im open to anything and I try to do all requests sent to me(sooner or later)

Oh oh! and please id you catch any and all the little inspirations or anything let me know

And finally this au is a LAMP au with Remile and Demus on the side

Ahem ahem anyway onto the au!!!

More under the cut so I dont flood your screen too bad!

Ok so! 

This Au was originally inspired by @residentanchor‘s amazing fanfic A Lesson in Practicality and also a little bit by @prettyinaccurate‘s fanged virgil au( I’ll get more into that further down) 

So it takes place in a (currently) unnamed bigger city I based off San Francisco and Sacramento( because I live in Cali and those are the two major cities ive really visited ya know?) The boys are all in various stages of their twenties when they move into a four bedroom apartment together: Patton Foster is the oldest of the roomies at 27, then Logan Masters at 26, Roman Prince at 24, and finally Virgil Collins at 22. They move in together because it all works out for them really, the apartment is in a good distance to all their current jobs, whether by bus or even in Pat’s case in walking distance and with all four of them it was well affordable and was pretty nice. I mean hey it even came with a little communal balcony ( since theyre on third floor of the building) 

Things are understandably a little rocky at first , i mean isnt it always though?

Virgil has alot of anxiety and so he tends not to talk really at all at the beginning unless he ABSOLUTELY had to, mostly communicating in noncomittal noises and soft grumbles, and he was fresh out of collage and barely two years into his job and out on his own for the first time and he wasnt really ready for it either like christ too many people

Patton was bright bubbly and caring. This wasnt his first rodeo with roomies, I mean cmon, hes been sharing a room with his older brother Damian(deceit) on and off almost all his freakin life, nor was it his first time living on his own with strangers(hes lived in two different parts of two when he was job hopping before he settled down in his current part time job)

Roman was extroverted loud and exciteable, he too was used to sharing his living space( he had TWO siblings after all) and before he had moved into the apartment he had tried living on his own and with other roommates while he attended collage, but those just didnt work out well ( he ended up staying with his older brother Remy in his studio apartment across the city while he finished out that semester and searched for a job to keep an income.

Logan was serious minded stern toned and confident, he had a minor degree in teaching that he was slowly repursueing and had been out on his own for awhile before he had moved in. And though cold at first he soon found his group of housemates...enjoyable.

Its about a month into them living together that they learn exactly why despite slowly getting close and getting to know each other Virgil still kept a wide distance: He had entirely sharp teeth.

“ I dunno....I was born with them..theyve always been a sharp pain in my ass...” - virgil, about his teeth

Of course just having sharp teeth wasnt bad enough oh no. You see a few years back when he was about 18 he was young and dumb and made horrifically stupid and reckless decisions under peer pressure and ended up doing something that not only pointedly (haha oh god im not funny) chipped his front teeth but it fucked up his teeth pretty majorly, he went from having a normal overbite to almost having a goddamn underbite and crooked all his teeth, and the only way to fix it( because somehow miraculous for all the damage done it turned out to be mostly reversable aside from the chipping) was getting braces to realign his teeth. So he’s had pretty purple braces over his fangs since he was 18 and they werent expected to come off until he was AT LEAST 25 and he was insecure about them. ( he got mocked for them through his two and a half years of junior collage)

Once the gang finds out they are understanding and helpful and dont make a big deal about it( though virgil gains a significant amount of more vampire related nicknames from roman)

Once they get close and comfortable around each other the apartment is pretty warm and lively! 

Virgil works at the art store as an assistant manager and head stocker( a bit of a dream come true since he was an art student)

Roman works as a part time waiter at a family resturant as well as working at a nearby theater( he was of course a lovely theater major) 

Patton worked at a nearby cafe and bakery as a bit of everything! He helped wait tables, serve behind the counter, and helped in the back in the kitchen( the owners were family friends and he’d been working there almost four to five years at that point, boi knows how to do everything) 

Logan worked at a big name bookstore, and also provided tutoring sessions for highschool students on the side by commision

More FACTS~~

Family ages for the big families go as follows:

Fosters: Damian(28), Patton(27)

Prince: Remy(26), Roman(24, older twin by 10 minutes), Remus(24, younger twin)

Emile is 27 and is a licensed therapist and works as a counselor for young adults that volunteers at the nearby library to ready to children

Remy works as a coffee barista in Emile’s building

Remus does alot of odd jobs, kinda working as an independent for hire and gets a surprising steady flow of work and pay. Hes still a trash man though, but hes a successful trash man( partly thanks to Damian calling in favors with connections)

Damian works at a law firm slowly moving into the position of prosecutor

Virgil doesnt really get along with his family and at some point Emile offers to take virgil in as his adopted brother, with Damian assuring him if he wanted concrete legal papers to start changing his last name, cutting ties with his family, anything needed for it he’d see to it that they’d be providing(something our boi really appreciates)

Remy visits Emile on his breaks since hes literally just...two hallways down and vice versa

Damian and Remus live together in the next, slightly smaller city over because Damian’s work transferred him to a different office in order for him to keep moving up in the ranks so to speak. 

Hes also good at what he does.

Family nights happen whenever they can

Patton got to teach them how to cook alot of complicatied dishes from scratch, a bonding time he adores

Roman got Virgil an Espeon hoodie after they all start dating and virgil loves it and wears it alot around the house because its a thicker hoodie and warm( though he tries to ignore the big ears and the obnovious tail

Virgil also loves visiting Roman’s work on what Ro likes to refer to as “ hellish days” AKA kids day which means goofy kid friendly theme days. His favorite was probably alice in wonderland day when Roman was Tweedle Dee

Roman played J.D at the local theater and likes to hum some of the his songs to switch up the Disney

The balcony is covered in houseplants and and a corner of old blankets and pillows to sit and chill on

Once a month Logan and Patton have what is affectionately referred to as the Cat Discourse

After any particularly rough days at work Patton tends to massage Logan’s shoulders and back to make sure Lo doesnt get any really bad stress knots

in return when Logan sees Patton’s head a hard day he makes Patton’s favorite drink and pulls him into a hug and let the older man fall asleep in his arms while they watch movies

Pat and roman sense each other’s bad days and order in some cliche diner food and hole up in pattons room with Pattons computer and relax the shittiness away with comedy specials and movies 

Likewise Virgil has a knack of picking up Roman’s bad days and always grabs a couple glasses and a bottle kinda cheap wine and they end up curling up together on Romans bed marathoning Disney movies on Virgil’s laptop 

and when Virgil closes himself off more than normal Logan manages to lure him out of his room and they end up sitting out on the balcony quietly talking and stargazing

so loving and fond and soft with each other

you hurt one of them you gonna get BEAT by the others. 

Speaking of getting beat, never EVER mess with Roman or Remus in Remy’s proximity

Remy Andrew Prince can and WILL fuck you right up if you hurt his little brothers. He’s protective.

and where Remy will rearrange your face Damian will ruin you mentally and legally if you so much as mistreat a single freckle on his little brother’s face, despite knowing that Patton is fully capable of taking care of himself. 

Everyone protects Virgil, dont mess with or hurt virgil or you have the pack coming for ya throat

aaaaaaaaaaaaaand thats all I have for right now! Of course more will be added but now its almost three in the morning and I have work at 1:30pm and im sleepy finally! But I hope you guys like this! And please, feel free to talk to me about it, my inbox is always open!!

Taglist: @phantommoonpeople @sweetsweetemo @loganberrysanders

[robmanion]

all the things that could’ve been

For context, there’s a theory roaming around that the hivemind could travel through time and change events before they happened. here’s my idea of how that could have went. Mentions of kissing, so if you aren’t comfortable with that, don’t read or skip that part. Also mention of a panic attack. That’s the most graphic it’ll get. 

I recommend listing to “if i’m being honest” by dodie for the first half of the story and “shrike” by hozier for the second half of this for the full experience. 

                                                     ______

      It had been about four years or so since Paul had taken that new job Mr. Davidson had offered. Well, it would have been four years. But Paul remembers those years so vividly, it came as a surprise when he woke up one morning and everything was different. 

      The year prior had been the worse one he had ever experienced. One mental breakdown over job layoffs, a car crash, and his mother’s funeral led to a mental hospital and caffeine addiction. He didn’t want to sleep (the nightmares were to real), so he drank to stay awake. He’d stay awake, and he’d feel more worn out, so he’d drink more to stay up. The caffeine crash happened, and he needed more to stay away from dreams- the cycle kept going until he collapsed on the subway. Next thing he knew, he had an IV in his arm recovering from extreme sleep deprivation. Of course, once he was out of the ER, his father drove him to the mental unit. He didn’t want to go, but Paul understood why- he needed help. Badly. So, if the next two months had to be spent in a bland white-walled prison, so be it. It wasn’t as bad as he’d thought, most of the people he met were so sweet and gentle. The only thing that really scared him was the amount of minors in the ward. Those poor children. 

      Once he’d been released, he started to take better care of himself. Got a therapist, moved to a different part of Hatchetfeild, looked for a new job. His old math tutor, Mr. Davidson, offered him a job to help Paul get back on his feet. All he asked for in return was a monthly meeting to check up on his mental health. Seemingly fair enough, so Paul accepted. 

      Paul tried his best to deal with other parts of his life. He’d even tried dating again- something he hadn’t done since high school prom. He’d always felt horrible about himself, about his face, his hair, his body, just a whole mess really. But he needed to get out there sooner or later, right? He started with a girl named Mary (sweet lady, just a bit too narcissistic), but by the god-knows-what-number date, he’d just given up altogether. He liked most of the women, he even flirted with some! But he just couldn’t get over the fact that a month ago he was in a mental hospital. It shouldn’t define him, but it just seemed to loom over everything he did. The only good thing about that place besides the kids were the routines. So, he spoke to his therapist about it, and she said that having a constant thing in life would be extremely helpful. While he was still addicted to caffeine, he felt that he could try and ease his way off it. So, coffee shop it was. 

      He had started off with Starbucks.First, it was an espresso. Next, a simple iced coffee. Then he moved to Iced coffee with creamer. Than to hot coffee.  Than a simple black coffee. Soon, he would be off coffee and down to the weird cappuccino things. 

      He was driving to Starbucks to get his morning coffee when he noticed a sign. Beanie’s. Huh, He’d never heard or seen the place before- must’ve been new. He pulled into their lot, parked, and walked in. He was hit with the smell of muffins and coffee beans. Only, it smelled slightly worse than Starbucks. But honestly, who was he to judge? He walked up to the counter, ready to order. A woman peered from outside a room, and yelled. 

      “EMMA! Costumer!” 

      Paul felt bad. God, if this ‘Emma’ girl was going to get yelled at, maybe he’d go back to Starbucks. Of course, that idea was thrown out the window when he saw her. 

      Paul wasn’t big on beauty. He could appreciate someone’s attractiveness, but he never really seemed to fall for anyone based on that. He had to know them, you know? But when Emma walked out, god he felt his cheeks heat up. She wasn’t supermodel pretty, but she was still breath-taking nonetheless. Sure, her hair was in a messy bun (that wasn’t done to be stylish, if he may have added), bags under her eyes, and looking like she wanted to punch a guy, but she was beautiful. 

      “Welcome to Beanie’s, what can I get you?” Emma asked. Gosh, her voice. Like velvet. Sad, tired velvet, but velvet. 

      “Uh, one black coffee, please,”

                                                ____________

      Paul would be lying if he said that he put up with Beanie’s mediocre coffee for Emma. But what can he say? She was one of the first purely good things to happen to him in a while. Sure, she never recognized him and he always talked super quietly and watched from afar, but it was enough for him. He told his therapist about her, and she said to just ask if she wanted to maybe hang out sometime. Of course, that was insane. He’d have to talk to her about things other than his coffee, and he just wasn’t ready for that. But it had been almost two months, and if Paul didn’t do something now, when would he? 

      So, that faithful day came. He walked into Beanie’s on morning, and paced to the counter. Look normal, Paul. This doesn’t have to be weird. 

      “Welcome to Beanie’s, can I help you?”

       “One black coffee,” He smiled. God he hoped he didn’t look as awkward as he felt. While she made the coffee, he noticed a small tip jar in the corner. He placed a $5 into it; Emma must’ve had superhuman hearing, because she groaned. 

      “Okay, okay! I’ve been brewing up your coffee-” 

      Paul stopped her from singing as soon as the first note hit. She may be attractive, but her singing voice was far from it. “No, no, it’s okay,”

      “Oh, thank you! You know, Nora came back from Coldstone Creamery last weekend and took up the whole singing thing. It’s annoying as hell,” 

      “Sounds like it,” Paul gave a breathy laugh. 

      “I’ve seen you around before, what’s your name?” 

      “Paul,” He extended his hand for a shake. 

      “I’m Emma-” she finishes her sentence while handing Paul his coffee. “-but I’m sure you know that by Nora’s yelling,” 

      At this point, Paul was 100% positive he had a crush on Emma. Okay, crush sounded childish. He had a thing...a fascination...no, no, it was a crush. And god damn it felt nice. To have something positive in his life after so long. 

      “Would you want to get lunch with me sometime?” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could think. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. But to his luck, Emma smiled. 

      “Yeah, actually, but it has to be dinner- my lunch break is only 30 minutes. What about next Friday, 7?” 

      A costumer behind Paul started to curse him out- Paul had forgotten other people existed. Oops. “Yeah, that works. See you then,” 

      “See you then,” 

      When Paul got home that evening, he was ecstatic. He had a date! Maybe it would even be a good one! But he didn’t want to get his hopes up- she looked excited when he asked, but she could be doing it out of pity. After all, he did stare helplessly at her. And if she knew he was there a lot, than maybe she hoped going out with him would just get rid of him. No, stop it, he told himself. If she didn’t want to go out with him, she would’ve said no. He’d just go on the date and see what happens.

     The next morning as he drove to Beanie’s, it occurred to him that he didn’t know where to pick her up. Or how. God, he was stupid. She was probably already on shift, so he decided on asking the moment he got into the shop.

      Of course, this had to be the day Emma was off shift. It was Wednesday, so she was off until 2pm. Of course. Paul sighed as he walked into the coffee shop. The last thing he expected was to bump into the one and only while she walked out.

      “Sorry, I- oh hey! You’re Paul, right?”

      It took a second for Paul to get his footing and voice back, but he smiled awkwardly. “Hey, Emma. Yeah it’s me. I’m actually really glad I ran into you, I have a question,” He and Emma walked over to the ordering counter.

      Finger guns. “Knock yourself out,”

      Paul chuckled before replying. “Can I get your number? I just want to know where to pick you up Friday,” a barista coughed, and he looked over. “One black coffee,”

“Yeah, of course! Here, lemme just-“ she snatched Paul’s phone right out of his hands, and put in her number. “There you go! I’ll send you a photo you can use for my picture so you know it’s me,”

      “Okay. Okay, uh, cool,” He smiled. The barista handed him his coffee, and he put a 10 on the table. “Keep the change,” he looked back at Emma. “Now, I’m going to go to my job,”

      “Why don’t you go over to Starbucks, huh? Coffee here’s shit,”

      Paul looked around the shop, and smiled. It just reminded him of her. “Because, some things are worth it. Like-“ he took a sip of the cup.”-Damn good coffee. And you,”

      She blushed. She fucking blushed. God she was adorable. “Well, thank you,”

                                              _____________

      So came Friday night, and Paul was getting anxious. Emma had said to meet him outside of Beanie’s (’I’m working until 5 Friday’, she said), but it had been then thirty minutes and there was no sign of her. It’s not like he was hiding or anything- he was sitting in his car, smack in front of Beanie’s doors, clear as day. Maybe she forgot. Maybe she blew him off. No, Emma was a nice person, she wouldn’t do that. Would she? But, just as Paul was starting to have a freak out, Emma pushed open the front doors and looked around. Thank god. She saw Paul and waved, walking to his car; he rolled down a window. 

      “I was starting to think you’d ditched me,” He laughed. 

      “Me, leaving you? Never,” She laughed back and got into the passenger seat. “So, where to, posh boy?” 

      “Posh boy?”

      “I dunno, you just look posh,” 

      Paul looked at himself; he was just wearing a nice polo and jeans. It’s not like he was wearing a suit or anything. “Oh, well thank you. You’re looking nice yourself,” That was true- she was wearing a nice pair of jeans with a blouse. 

      “Why thank you,” She imitated a British accent and failed horribly. 

      “You’re welcome, m’dam,” Paul replied with an equally bad accent. She giggled. “We’re just heading to a Mexican place. You like Mexican, right?” He returned to his normal voice. 

      “Of course! Who doesn’t?”

      “Alright, let’s go then!” 

      The ride to the restaurant was much more scenic than Paul expected. The highway was way to backed up to even move, so Emma suggested they take a back route. Paul didn’t know the way, so they ended up switching spots. Emma typed in the restaurant's name into the GPS, and off they went. Paul looked out the passenger window to find they were driving next to an apple orchard- god was it pretty. The budding flowers and ripe looking apples that hung from the trees made Paul practically taste the apples in his mouth, The smell of apple cider in the distance made him swoon. If there was one thing that could always remind him of childhood, it was the smell of apple cider- how his grandmother used to pick him up from school in the fall and make him apple pie and apple cider, and feed it to hi until he was stuffed. Those were the days. 

      “What are you smilin’ so hard about?” Emma asked. 

      “Nothing really, just it smells amazing,”

      “Alright,” He could feel her gaze on his face every now and again for the rest of the ride.

       Once they arrived back at the restaurant, Emma pulled into the parking lot, and jumped out of the car. Paul soon followed, and when they both got the doors of the restaurant, Emma smirked and opened the door for Paul. “Ladies first,” 

      “Very funny,” Paul said sarcastically, but smiled. 

      The restaurant wasn’t fancy, but it was on of those places that you probably shouldn’t wear a t-shirt to. The lighting was dim enough to eat in but still feel like you were eating at some five-star place. The food smelled amazing as they both walked past the kitchen, following the host to their table. They sat down, and took a good look at their menus before Emma cleared her throat to speak up. “You know, I saw you staring at me the past two months,” 

      Paul was taken aback. Shit. “What?” 

      “Yeah, you kept staring at me. You’d stay in Beanie’s and drink your coffee. It’s not hard to tell when someone's eyeballing you, just so you know.” She saw Paul’s face, and laughed. He must’ve looked stupid. “Don’t worry, it’s fine. I mean, I found it creepy at first, but you were always so flustered when you ordered, so I knew it wasn’t like you were stalking me,” 

      Paul rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t think you’d even notice me,” 

      “With a face like yours? It’s hard not to!” She gave a breathy laugh before continuing. “But then you asked me out and honestly, I was super exited. You seemed...sweet.” 

      “Well? Am I what you expected?” 

      “No,” Paul was about to frown, but then he smiled. “You’re so much more,” 

      The food was fantastic. Emma had gotten the chicken taquitos, and Paul ordered the beef tacos. Safe to say, it took a while to make, but they passed the time by staking the salt and pepper shakers from the tables around them (Paul noted later that taking them while people were eating wasn’t the best idea, but honestly it was so much fun that he didn’t care). Then their food came, and they laughed because they had so many shakers. Eventually they put them back. While they ate, they talked about family, their jobs, and then their pasts eventually came into the discussion.

      “So, what’s your trauma?” Emma asked after a mouthful of taquito. 

      “Hm?” 

      “Come on, we’ve all got something. Spill,” 

      God, was she ready for that so quickly? Was he even ready for that? He’d never told anyone at the office (minus Bill, but Bill was his best friend) about his past, so how was he to tell a woman he doesn’t even know? “Uh, I just went through a rough patch,” 

      Emma seemed to catch on that he didn’t want to talk about, and didn’t push. “Ah- I get that.” It sounded like she wanted to say something, but she stopped herself. She probably realized it was a bit early for trauma talk. Thank god. 

      By the time they’d finished eating, the sun was just about done setting. Paul drove her home this time, and the winding back roads and stoplight gave him time to think. He was starting to fall for Emma. He knew his heart was moving too fast, that it was all too much, but he didn’t care. She was everything he’d ever wanted and more. He couldn’t risk loosing her. Paul looked over at her- her head leaning against the glass, eyes closed, but he knew she wasn’t asleep. She really looked like an angel. Paul didn’t believe in God all that much- he’d grown up in church, but he never believed God made time for everyone. Now, he was starting to believe it. 

      When the GPS told him he’d arrived at Emma’s place, he parked and shook her gently. “Emma, we’re here,” 

      She groaned. “Okay, okay,” She opened her eyes. “I wasn’t sleeping, but god I wish I was,”

      Paul pretended to be offended. “ Am I that boring?” 

      She gave a small laugh. Paul got out of the car, and opened her door for her. She gave a thank you. “You can come up with me for a bit, if you want.” Was Paul going to say no? Of course not. He followed her up the complex until they reached her floor. She dug the front door’s key from her pocket, and unlocked it. The place was nice for an apartment. A small couch, with a tall lamp in the corner. The kitchen was decent enough, and it looked like it had been recently cleaned. The smell of lavender took over his senses, and he exhaled sharply. “Come ‘ere,” Emma motioned with her hand, to which Paul followed- he hadn’t realized she’d starting walking ahead of him. He followed her into her bedroom. It was a nice light shade of gray with a purple accent wall. Quilts everywhere, her bed looked more like a giant pillow than a mattress with a headboard. A small table that acted as a dresser sat in the corner, along with a small bookshelf. While he was looking around the room, Emma had put on a record because of course she had a record player on her nightstand. He recognized the artist- Hozier. His voice acted as an anchor to the real world when Emma walked up to Paul and kissed him. 

      The kiss was soft- not to hard, more like she was testing the waters. Her lips tasted like coconut. Must’ve been chap-stick; or who knows, maybe she really just tasted that sweet. He’d been so lost in her, he didn’t notice he was kissing back. He didn’t notice his arms wrapping around her waist, her hands in his short hair. He didn’t notice that she turned them around, and that they were moving backward. It wasn’t until his back hit her bed, with her kissing him more deeply on top of him did he snap out of his trance. He didn’t want this. Well, he did, but not this quick. Not on the first date. He felt like.. he didn’t know why, but it just didn’t feel right. 

      “Emma?” He whispered, doing his best to pull away from the kiss. 

      “Yeah?” She asked, her voice breathy. Paul looked away; he felt so fucking stupid. He’s a guy- he’s supposed to want to fuck her on the first date. But he didn’t want to fuck her- not yet. And that seemed like such a degrading term- fucking someone. He wanted to love her, make her feel like she was the only thing in the world that mattered to him. But not yet. Not this early. His thoughts must’ve been planting themselves on his face, because she pulled back. “Paul, what’s wrong?” Her voice sounded like honey, and Paul hated to do this to her. 

      “I’m...I’m not ready. I do want to, you know..just, not now,” He did his best to explain. She nodded. 

      “Of course. i don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to. Do you just want to lay here? We can keep going without the sex, if that’s what you want,” 

      Paul wondered how he managed to find a woman like Emma. “Yeah, that’s fine,” 

      They curled up together on Emma’s bed, sharing a couple of kisses her and there until they both fell asleep to the distant sounds of traffic and Hozier. 

      The next morning, Paul woke up to the sunlight hitting his face. He didn’t even want to open his eyes at first- the sun and the warmth wrapped around him made him feel like a cat. A lazy cat that didn’t want to move, even though the day had started long beforehand; even though the cat knew it needed to eat, that it needed to get some fresh air, it wouldn’t move for the world, as it was right where it needed to be- Paul was just like that cat. But, he couldn’t get his way, could he? He opened his eyes, and smiled. He was in Emma’s room. She was tangled up with him; their legs intertwined, her head leaning on his chest, his head leaning on top of hers. She looked at peace. 

      Paul’s back pocket started to buzz, and Paul gave a quiet groan. God, he couldn’t get one morning of silence, could he? He gently moved one of his hands off of Emma’s back. and slowly reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone. Mr. Davidson, it read. He picked up. 

      “Hello?” He whispered. 

      There was chatter behind Mr. Davidson’s voice. Was he at the office? No, it was Saturday- he was probably at Starbucks or something. “Paul, where are you? You missed our monthly meeting,” 

      Fuck. “What time is it?” 

      “About 11,” 

      “I’m so sorry, sir. I, um..I had a date, and-”

      Paul could practically see the smile on Mr. Davidson’s face. “No worries, Paul. And you don’t need to call me sir, remember? You know me. I’ll move the meeting until Monday,” 

      “Than you, Nathan,” 

      “Paul, I’m glad you’re back on your feet. You deserve it after the year you’ve had,” 

      “Thanks,” Paul bid a quick goodbye, and ended the call. By the time he’d turned his phone off, Emma was starting to stir. 

      “Morning,” She muttered. Her hair was a mess, and it was so adorable. 

      “Good morning,” 

      This is perfect, she’s perfect, Paul thought. I’m going to marry her. 

                                            _______________

      It had been three and a half years, and Paul had never been more happy. He and Emma had been in a relationship since the first date. Emma had moved into Paul’s larger apartment. They got a cat together, and then things settled down. Paul had gotten to know everyone at the office to be one first name basis with everyone. He, Ted, and Bill went out of guys night every month. Emma kept up her job at Beanie’s while she got through community college. She given Paul her pot farm proposal, and Paul laughed. When he found out she wasn’t kidding, he helped her get a medical marijuana selling license. They worked on logos together, and honestly Paul did his best to support Emma no matter what. 

      Not that their relationship was perfect. When Paul’s department faced possible layoffs, it sent him into a frenzy. He couldn’t be unemployed again, living like that was hell. When Mr. Davidson called Paul into his office, Paul snapped. He started having a horrible panic attack, and the office ended up calling for an ambulance in fear of his safety. Emma, of course, was Paul’s emergency contact (along with his father), and they both ended up at the office in under a half an hour. They both talked while the first respondents calmed Paul down- Emma and his father weren’t allowed near him while he was still on edge. To this day, Paul regrets that was the way Emma met his dad. After that whole ordeal, Emma made him talk about his past. She said she needed to know, because if she needed to help on moments notice, it was important to know those things. So, Paul told her about how when they’d gone on their first date, he’d been out of a mental hospital for two months. How he’d had a mental breakdown when he lost his first job, and even thought about suicide at one point. He explained that’s why he freaked out when Mr. Davidson called him into his office. Emma understood completely- she told him about her sister’s death, and how her parents never really talked to her that much after the death, because in their grief-stricken state, they blamed her for her sister’s death. That night, both of them cried, holding one another until they wore themselves out to sleep. 

      But through all their ups and downs, they never lost sight of what they loved about each other. And now that three and a half years had past, Paul knew. He wanted to marry Emma Perkins. He wanted to share her last name, or for her to have his. He wanted to be with her until he died. They both already wanted this- marriage would just make it official to everyone else. 

      “I’m going to propose to Emma,” Paul blurted at Guy’s Night. 

      “What?” Bill asked. 

      “About time,” Ted scoffed. 

      “I have a ring picked out and everything. i just don’t know when,” 

      “You know, I proposed to Vanessa when we were having sex,” Bill commented awkwardly. “But she said yes,”

      “Look where that got you,” Ted pointed out. 

      “Not what I meant, Ted,” Bill shot back. “Look, Paul, all I’m saying is whenever feels like the best time, even if it’s weird, go for it,” 

      “Just not during sex, that’s just stupid,” Ted laughed. Bill glared at him, and Ted nudged him. “All in good tidings, Bill,” 

      “Thanks guys,” Paul smiled.

      Turns out, the right time was on a Saturday night, while they watched Dateline on their couch. She was wearing his sweater, and the cat was on her lap, and she was so perfect. Paul couldn’t think of a better time to ask the woman he loved to marry him. 

      “Emma?” 

      “Yeah, Paul?”

      Here goes nothing, he thought. “Em, I love you. And honestly, you supported me at my best, and helped me up through my worst; and I like to think I’ve done the same for you. You helped me become the man I am today, and..and everything you do reminds me every day why I’m so thankful God led me to you,” 

      “Paul, what are you doing?” Emma asked. She gasped when he got up from the couch and onto once knee. 

      “This is a little bit awkward because I don’t have the ring with me,” Paul laughed, “But Emma Lauren Perkins, would you marry me?” 

      Emma put her hands over her mouth, and started to laugh. She let go, and she was smiling so wide. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes!” She jumped of the couch (the cat hissing and running away) and into Paul’s arms. “Of course!” 

      Paul kissed her, and she kissed back. They were getting married. 

                                           _______________

      Paul’s been waiting for three and a half years for this day, but even in his dreams did he picture hoe beautiful Emma would be walking down the aisle. 

      They couldn’t afford much- they worked minimal wage jobs, and even with help from Paul’s father, they couldn’t afford a big venue. So, they decided on a small reception on the beach in Rhode Island. The boat ride and drive from Hatchetfeild to the beach was about 2 hours. Once they got there, they unpacked their stuff at the hotel room. They didn’t plan on having much of a honeymoon, just at the same beach they were to marry in for a week or so. But that was enough for them. 

      When the day finally came, Paul was a bubble of nerves. The wedding would take place in a small park, with the first dance and after party actually being on the beach (no one wanted to see Emma trip on her face because of sand on their wedding day (as funny has Paul and Emma seemed to think it would be, they decided against it). 

      So, there stood Paul, waiting at the end of the aisle. Emma’s friends and relatives on one side, Paul’s father and coworkers on the other. Bill offered to marry them, since Emma was atheist and priests were fucking expensive. The bridesmaids and Paul’s mates walked hand in hand down the aisle. Mr. Davidson and his wife walked down next, and Nathan winked at Paul as he passed. Finally, Paul saw Emma walk down the aisle with his father, and he lost his breath. The white dress complimented the rose flower crown that she and him were proud to say she made herself, and with her hair in a loose bun, she looked more like an angel than he’d ever seen her. When she got to the from of the alter, Paul nearly broke tradition and kissed her right then and there- but he had to hold back. The both smiled at each other while Bill went through the motions. 

      “Paul Matthews, you may now recite your vows,” Bill said. 

      Paul took a deep breath. “Can I just say how nervous I am?” The crowd laughed. “No, really!” He looked over at her. “Emma, when i met you, i was a mess. I didn’t think I was going to get better, that nothing in life mattered You came to me at the hardest point in my life, and you embraced it. You were always so gentle and patient with me, and that really meant the world to me. When I met you, the world just got so much brighter. The smells, the brightness, the colors, everything just just better. And times got hard for us, but I’m so thankful that you stuck through it all. You mean the world to me. I love you so much,” 

      Emma laughed an wiped away a couple of tears as Bill spoke up again. “Emma Perkins, you may recite you vows,” 

      “God damn, Paul, you’re a sap,” She muttered, laughing again. “Paul, I didn’t think I was worthy of love before I met you. I used to think that I’d always have to change myself for love, because that’s all I grew up knowing what love was. And frankly, I didn’t want that. The you stumbled into my life, and I realized I didn’t have to change a thing to love someone wholeheartedly. You taught me to love myself, and I hope I’ve done the same for you. Paul, I love you more than words can describe, and I hope you’ll be right there next to me for whatever the hell life wants to throw at us,” 

      “Paul and Emma Matthews, by the power rested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” 

      Emma beat Paul do it, dipping him and kissing like there was no tomorrow. 

      The rest of the reception was on the beach, and everyone had a wonderful time. Emma and Paul’s first dance was to Hozier’s Shrike, in honor of their first date. After that, a playlist of random 80s music and rave music blasted from the speakers, and everyone jumped and danced like there was no tomorrow. Even Emma’s biology teacher, Dr. Hidgens, was dancing. It went on for another three hours of so, until midnight hit, and everyone bid goodbye to the wedding. Now, all that was left was leftover cake, Emma and Paul, and the crashing waves. 

      “Emma Mathews?” Paul asked as he sat next to her. 

      “Yes, Paul Matthews?” 

      “Can we just fall asleep here? I want to remember this moment,” 

      “Of course,” Emma smiled, and they both laid down. Emma head on Paul chest, Paul holding Emma’s hand. “I love you, Em,” 

      “I love you too,” 

      They both drifted off to the sound of the waves and seagull cries. 

                                               ____________ 

      Beep, beep, beep. 

      The alarm clock woke Paul up. Which was strange, because unless he suddenly remembered to set an alarm, his alarm clock shouldn’t be ringing. He rolled himself out of bed, looking out the window. That was a hell of a storm last night- the power transformer almost blew out. Thank god he still had running water, because he hadn’t showered all weekend (not getting out of bed does that to a person). He walked over to the bathroom, and doused some water on his face. that’s when he noticed the ring. It was a wedding ring. The hell, Paul thought. He’d not married, he doesn’t even have a girlfriend. He took it off, and threw it into the trashcan. 

      He could hear his next door neighbor singing in the shower. He never sang. Odd. Who knows, maybe it was a good day for him- for what it was worth, Paul thought his voice was lovely. He turned on the radio to listen to while he made some toast. Today is March 24, 2018, Donna said. 

      Paul had a pang of deja vu. He felt like he was supposed to do something important today. He looked around his room, then shrugged. Everything seemed normal. Expect the wedding ring. After a moment of thought, he brushed the thought of. He was drunk last night, maybe he just got married it Bill by mistake.

Paul finished up his morning routine, and locked his apartment up. Maybe he’d stop but Beanie’s again- there was a cute barista there, and who knows, maybe he would ask her out.

[regular-lord-reckoner]

Alright so here’s what the fuck happened this time around 

First of all, the hospital itself sucks 

i really hate saying that because I know hospitals and everyone who works there gets shit, but I’ve had previous experience at this hospital and it was a Bad Time (aka the time they pulled a chest tube out of me without...giving me anything. No pain medicine, no nothin’. Not even a Tylenol or anything and it was...bad). 

But I figured hey, that was a few years ago and I’m sure things have probably changed since then but uh...nope! 

For starters, when I went in to registration they gave me my papers to take to Imaging and the lady told me where to go, but like...it’s a big hospital, it’s easy to get turned around and so when I was looking for where I needed to go one of the volunteers there offered to help, but when I handed them my papers all they saw was Quick Reg stamped on there so they took me over there and dropped my paper in this slot and told me to have a seat. (Mind you it said Quick Reg because it was the same paper from Friday when I came for pretesting, but that’s fine. I did say I was having lithotripsy so I figured they knew what they were doing.) 

But I’m sitting there thinking, “This isn’t right, they told me just to go to imaging...” but I thought someone would surely grab my papers and see the mistake and redirect us but we...sat there and sat there and sat there. 

Finally the volunteer came back around and went to check and was like, “This never happens, but there’s nobody back there, I’m not sure what’s going on,” so I tried to explain I didn’t even think I needed to be in quick registration but the volunteer insisted I wouldn’t be able to go any further until I did (plus my papers are now behind a locked door so I can’t just go get them) so I say okay and the volunteer manages to find someone and sure enough...guess who just needs to go to Imaging now!! 

So, I go there and hand my papers over and have a seat and a few minutes later someone comes to get me so they can do an X-Ray. 

They needed to see where the stone is so they know where to do the lithotripsy rather than just...aim blindly at my back or just shoot me all up and down my stent like...no thanks, so that’s fine.

But when I get finished with that they tell me to have a seat back out in the waiting room and then someone will come to get me so I’m like okay, cool. 

So we sit and sit and sit and finally my cell phone rings and I answer it and it’s...a nurse from surgery. Apparently they’ve been waiting on me. For like an hour by this point. So that’s cool. 

They get a volunteer to walk us down to where that’s at and so I get checked in there and get taken back pretty quickly. 

As soon as I get back there the nurse is handing me a cup to pee in so we can do a pregnancy test so I’m like okay cool, do that. 

But as soon as I come out the nurse is telling me there was something up with my urine when they last got a sample (on Friday) and I told her I was on my period then so maybe that was why? And she said maybe, so I go ahead and get my gown on and get in bed and shit but another nurse comes in and says my doctor wants to be sure it’s not something from the stone itself and in order to get a better sampling of my urine he wants them to do a catheter thing but like...they literally just let me go to the bathroom, I’m...empty. 

But I want this done so bad I say sure, let’s try, so both nurses take a turn sticking a catheter in me trying to get out any urine at all and there’s just...none 

(As a side note, one of these nurses when she was going over my history and whatnot sees that I’m taking Mestinon...I explain about having myasthenia... This lady asks me if it was just a “one time thing” and I’m like, “Well no...” ‘cause why would I still take medicine for it? I explain that I’ve had this since birth and she was like, “Oh, so you had all your vaccines and you get flu shots and everything? ‘Cause sometimes that can bring it about.” BITCH, WHAT???? SINCE FUCKING WHEN, SHOW ME ONE FUCKING ARTICLE THAT SAYS VACCINES CAUSE MYASTHENIA. SHOW ME. SHOW ME WHERE. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, YOU’RE A GODDAMN NURSE??? Yeah. Wild. I’m very polite and nice the whole time but at this point I’m screaming in my head.) 

Eventually the doctor comes in and talks to me. Looking at the X-Ray it looks like the stone has dropped down to where he can’t really do anything with it with lithotripsy anyway, but especially with my questionable urine he says we won’t do it today so I just...y’know, burst into tears. 

He writes me a prescription for antibiotics so we can try to clear up any potential bullshit so that whenever he does get rid of this thing it doesn’t just blast shit into my system and make me real bad sick which I get it, I get he’s being cautious, I get we’re trying to do the right thing here by me and I understand but like...I’m so goddamn frustrated by this point. So utterly fucking done and over it all. 

The only good thing about today was that they hadn’t started an IV on me just yet. If I’d had that done and had to have it immediately taken out I would have probably cried the entire time out. Instead they left me alone for a few minutes and gave me a wet washcloth to wipe my face with and I settled down, but I had to fight the urge to start sobbing again the whole way out. 

And of course, my poor dad, bless his heart, has so much trouble breathing and this is a big hospital that it’s easy to get lost in so when they let me put my clothes back on and send me on my way we get turned around and he had to do so much walking I feel bad having to have him do that, but I didn’t have anyone else to take me. 

So now I’m home, I’ve got my antibiotics and the nurse just called to set up my next procedure. He’s going to try to do what he did the time before this and go in to get it out and hopefully with having had a stent in for this fucking long it might be easier this time? Idk? If it didn’t work last time I’m not sure how it’ll work this time and I have zero faith by this point anything’s going to work, they’ll probably have to just go in through my back and get it out that way but like...fuckin’ fine, I don’t care anymore. I’m just done. I’m utterly, utterly fucking done. 

Oh, and naturally my mom’s off Monday and Tuesday and would have been free to take me but nooooo, the only thing they have for next week is Thursday!! Of course!!! Of course it’s fucking Thursday!! And I asked if I could at least go back to the other hospital because I like it better, but I guess the scopes at the shitty hospital are what the doctor prefers so like...fine. I’ll deal with their incompetent asses again if it’ll raise my chances of getting this fucking stone taken out of me. 

So yeah. That’s my luck, baby!! This shit kicked off back in March, really, and it’s fucking May now and not only did I get another fucking X-Ray today but I took time off work and I dunno what else I’ll be billed for today but probably something!! 

And naturally I came home to have another bill waiting on me, so that’s neat!! LOVE that for me!! 

And I hate to be so negative and put out because I’ve tried so fucking hard to pull myself out of this fucking rut I’ve been in for...months because I wanted this to work so bad and I was so optimistic and trying my best and this absolutely just slam dunked me into the floor, through the ground, and I really just want to cry some more. 

I know this is all in my best interest and I get it, I do, so I’m not trying to blame anyone or say anyone’s done anything wrong (although today was just...a cluster fuck because this hospital seriously has no idea what it’s doing at any given time) but at this point it just feels like I’m being punished for something on a cosmic level. Probably for being a bitch, Idk. 

And the really shitty part is literally all I want to do right now is just get high and relax but I’m still waiting to hear about this summer employment thing at my previous job and since I dunno if they’re gonna drug test me or not I probably shouldn’t throw away three weeks now of not having any of that good green stuff in my system so I’m just like...great. Super great. Love having to be fully present for how I feel right now. 

I guess I’ll just cry a little more, paint my nails, and maybe do a face mask and just try to distract myself with shit. I wish I had something positive to end this on because I hate just bitching and moaning about shit but I don’t really have it in me right now. 

I just hope if you’re reading this you’re having a better day than I am. <3

[sulevinblade]

(Talesfromthefade) things you said when you were drunk, for the DWC?

OH MY GOD this was a little idea that got away from me in a big big way but I’m still pretty happy with it. For this and for “cafune - the act of running your fingers through the hair of someone you love,” from @contreparry! For @dadrunkwriting!!

Alistair/Leohta Aeducan, T for language, dumb suggestive jokes, and alcohol use, 4k+ words (awaaaay from me, I wish I had time to edit it but uh I spent the entire time writing it instead). 

On the cusp of the party’s visit to Orzammar, Alistair learns what kind of drunk Leohta can be, and shares a little lesson of his own. Light angst, serious fluff.

He finds her standing on the rocky beach, well away from the dim glow provided by the Spoiled Princess’s small windows. It takes a moment for Alistair’s eyes to adjust to the complete dark–the night watch Templar doused all the torches at the dock, as clear an indication as anything that no one else would cross Lake Calenhad tonight–but even if he’d had to follow her blind he could’ve found her by the sound.

Bloop.

Normally finding Leohta by sound means the clank or grind of armour, the grunts or barks of Leon, or even her rare laughter at something Zevran said (it was always Zevran making her laugh), but tonight the sound is completely unfamiliar. It’s still enough to guide him, though.

Bloop.

Last he’d seen her, she was swapping some of the coin they’d made selling things to the Templar quartermaster for three large bottles of deep pink liquid. It seemed a bit of a racket to Alistair, that they should collect the mages’ items as they cleared the Tower only to sell them to the Templars who would then in turn sell them back to the Mages, but surely if that wasn’t how the economy of the Circle usually worked, Wynne would’ve said something. That was Alistair’s hope, anyway, as he’d watched Leohta count the coins before they left, then again at the tavern’s bar. She’d tossed the bag back to him before collecting the bottles and heading outside, and he in turn had left it with Zevran.

Bloop.

“You have known our illustrious leader the longest among any of us. Has this always been a habit of hers?” Alistair squinted across the table, trying to determine Zevran’s game, but succeeded only in giving up his own. “You think I see this as a weakness I can exploit, but I would think even you would see that if I were going to do so, I would have done it by now and certainly would not draw attention to my plans by involving you.” His eyes only narrowed further–how does Zevran make talking down to him still seem so seductive?–but Alistair did sit back in his chair.

“I haven’t known her all that long, really, but I don’t think so. Why d'you ask?”

“My Antiva makes the finest wines in Thedas, so it is not uncommon to see those there who overindulge, but there are many types. Leohta, she is young and exploring her limits, yes, but she is also trying to drown things she does not want to feel. Her limits are low and the things she seeks to kill are very large. It is a dangerous combination.”

Alistair glanced again toward the door. Of course she hadn’t come back inside, that’d be too much to ask for, but what was he supposed to do?

“If it is too much for you, I will go after her, but she should not be alone.” Both of their chairs scraped back at the same time but Alistair was the first to stand, something that for some reason brought a sad smile to Zevran’s face. Alistair could only look at it for a moment before looking away.  "I know you do not think much of me, Alistair, and while that is entirely your loss, I do know that one thing we have in common is how much we care for her. Go see to her, my friend, before her sorrows are not all she drowns. It is probably for the best; I am not much of a swimmer myself.“

Bloop.

So now here he is, approaching carefully, pretending to be taking in the constellations while Leohta hurls rocks at the water like she’s trying to knock the waves down before they can reach the shore. The night is perfectly clear; Kinloch Hold is merely a dark space in the sky where the stars are missing, but everything else is black sky and white twinkles. He clears his throat in case she somehow hasn’t noticed since he doesn’t fancy getting one of those stones thrown at him, but she only pauses for a moment before bending to search the area around her feet for another suitable candidate. One bottle is already empty, stuffed mouth down among the pebbles and into the sand underneath them, and as Alistair finishes closing the distance Leohta gives up her search and instead tips to land on her backside, legs out in front of her and a second bottle in her hand. He knows they’re not small but her stature makes them seem even larger; it makes the sight of her lifting one to her lips almost comical but the effect is spoiled by how long it stays there. Maker’s breath, Zevran was right when he talked about drowning.

"You planning on coming up for air any time soon?”

There’s a pop as she breaks the vacuum she’s created, then a dry laugh. She still isn’t looking at him. It makes his chest hurt, how badly he wants her to turn her head. “Breathe through your nose and you can use your mouth for whatever you want.”

“You’re spending too much time with Zevran, saying things like that.” Sighing, Alistair drops down crosslegged at her side and extends a hand. “What are you even drinking? I’ve never seen anything that color in a tavern before.”

“One of the Templars told me about it. I guess–” there’s a pause and she bunches up her eyebrows, apparently trying to put the pieces back together, “I guess the mother started making it as a tribute to her daughter and now of course it’s all very sad but the owner still makes it as a specialty. Sweet mead made with roses.” She passes over the open bottle, not bothering to wipe the top, and the expression on her face, like she’s sharing a secret, distracts him so much he can’t be bothered either. She wasn’t kidding when she said it was sweet but the roses are strong too, floral and delicate. He passes the bottle back after just one mouthful.

“I’ve never had a mead like that before. It’s very… different.” Leohta seems to accept that answer, nodding before lifting the bottle to her lips again.

“There’s nothing like this in Orzammar. Not even in the palace. Not even to make it. No honey, no roses, and when there is if you said you wanted to make something like this with it, you’d be laughed out of the kitchen.” She holds the bottle in front of her contemplatively, swishing the contents back and forth gently and tilting her head in time with the motion. Alistair’d almost think it was a contented sort of gesture but then she sighs and drops her head back, hair falling over her shoulders as she lifts the bottle skyward. “Nothing like that, either. No stars, no sky. Some of the caverns are so high the ceilings are invisible, but you still know they’re up there.” Slowly, she lowers the bottle but keeps her gaze fixed upward.

“Do you miss that?” It’s not something he’s given a lot of thought to but it’s hard to imagine. Even within the walls of the Chantry there were windows. The sky was always there, or not-there maybe, when compared to a ceiling of stone. Trying to imagine life without it or everything it held–the sun, the moons, the clouds and stars and birds–was virtually impossible, but here was Leohta not just imagining the opposite but living it.

“Dunno. I still don’t understand all this. What keeps it up there?” Her hand waves up at the stars but only briefly; even sitting down she’s unsteady without both hands to support her. “With the stone, you know that even if you can’t see the ceiling, it’s still held there by the stone. Nothing floats, nothing rises or sets.” Watching her profile, he can see the way it hardens as her train of thought jumps the track. “Nothing changes.”

He shifts a little, the pebbles grinding softly underneath him as he leans to try to catch her eye. “You changed.”

This time when she looks over at him, it gives him a chill. The stone she’s been so contemplative about has found a home in her eyes, the set of her mouth. They seem cold and stiff and almost lifeless, soft evening blue turned to lapis lazuli. Still beautiful but hard. “I left, and not by choice. You wouldn’t know how much I’ve changed, Alistair. You have no idea what I was like before we met.”

“I suppose not, but I do know you’ve changed in the time I’ve known you.” He keeps his voice softer now, speaking carefully to avoid that stony shift becoming somehow permanent. He hasn’t seen her look like that since before Ostagar, and to lose all the little ways she’s softened since then would be the greatest waste. “Do you miss that? Or her, I guess. Do you miss who you were before?”

Her laugh is a single humorless sound that moves her entire body, shaking her shoulders and flexing her stomach. “What does that matter? She’s dead. Worse than dead.” There’s venom in her voice but Alistair doesn’t flinch since for once he’s certain it’s not directed at him. He watches as Leohta stands, a wobbly process that involves repeated planting of hands and feet before she can push herself vertical. There’s a powerful temptation to offer her help but the set of her jaw makes him stay his hand, even if whatever effect she might be going for is already ruined by her own unsteadiness. “Nobody mourned her, nobody misses her, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s dead. Bhelen killed her as sure as he killed Trian. The prince is dead, the princess is dead. Princess Aeducan is dead.” Her voice is raising, getting louder and more raw the longer she speaks, until finally she’s yelling out at the water. “Princess Leohta Aeducan, second born and best beloved daughter of House Aeducan, is dead!” She punctuates the last word by throwing the empty bottle into the water but it’s a bad throw, short and shallow. The bottle makes only a small splash then floats, reflecting the moonlight as it bobs its way back toward the shore.

Alistair rises, brushing at the back of his breeches, and makes his way up to stand beside her. He’s well within punching range, possibly a dangerous gamble, but if the way she’s carrying herself is any indication, it wouldn’t hurt very much right now. Plus, if she punched him, at least it’d prove she was feeling something. “I’d mourn her but like you said, I never did get to meet her. I’ve met Warden Aeducan, though, and I think she’s pretty great. Accomplished a lot, too.”

She’s bent back down and is sorting through the stones at her feet, tucking some in the bend of her other arm. Standing back up is a careful process but she’s shaking her head the entire time. “They’re not gonna think so.” Her voice is normal again but her profile is still stony.

Bloop.

Was this was he was like heading into Redcliffe? Of course, he hadn’t gotten drunk on sickly sweet mead to deal with it, but he’d had his turn as the prodigal royal-but-not-really. The main difference was he never wanted it, but she spoke so little of her life before the Grey Wardens. Was the crown of Orzammar what she’d really wanted? Not that it really mattered now. “Seems to me they had their chance to appreciate you and they blew it.”

“Oh, no. That’s the thing. Up until the end, they loved Princess Aeducan. That was the whole problem. She was too well-loved. Luckily, I’m not.” Leohta stares out at the ripples from her last throw but the fight’s going out of her. It ought to be a comfort, less risk of being punched, but instead it just hurts more. He curls his hands into fists at his sides to keep from reaching out, swallows the words that’d tell her just how deeply loved she is and not only by him, as much as he might wish it were so.

“We could go back to Denerim without going to Orzammar.” Aaaaaaaalistair, what’re you doooooooing? He ignores the voice in the back of his head, prepared to make an argument for mounting their assault without the help of the dwarves, but Leohta shakes her head. She’s drunk and she’s still got better sense than you.

“Just because I don’t want to go back doesn’t mean we don’t have to. Being a Grey Warden isn’t supposed to be fun, hasn’t been so far, why start now?” She seems to consider the matter closed as she turns her attention back to the rocks she’s holding, sorting through them as though looking for a particular one. They start to slip away and clack into the pebbles below and with a frustrated sigh she picks one, letting the remainder drop. “This is supposed to be, though. How the fuck do you do this?” Another windup, another bloop.

“Wait. What are you trying to do?”

“Make it…” She shakes her head, the word apparently lost, and instead makes a bouncing motion with her hand.

“You’re trying to skip stones… by heaving them at the surface of the water with all your might?” And there’s the punch he was waiting for, exactly as painless as expected. It’s not even hard enough to stop him laughing.

“I saw you and Zevran do it in Redcliffe before we left and it seemed to calm you down so I thought I’d try. You made it look easy, but if you’re just gonna laugh then forg–”

Alistair intercepts her before she can start to walk away. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just that I never would have guessed that’s what you were trying to do. I thought you were mad at the lake or something.” She’s looking up at him, wary, so he holds his hands up in innocence. “If you still want to try, I can show you.”

“No more laughing?”

“No more laughing. Warden’s honor.” When Leohta seems satisfied with his intentions, Alistair finally looks away from her, crouching down. “The first thing you need is the right kind of rock. It needs to be pretty flat and you want a triangle shape if you can find one, but flat will do for now.”

She’s crouching as well. “I thought it would be better with a round rock, like a ball.” She’s quiet, almost chastized, and Alistair has to duck his head and cough into his fist to hide the grin it conjures.

“No, that’ll break through the water and sink. A flat rock will bounce better. Something like these.” He shows her the three he’s found, all rounder still than he’d like but they should do the trick. She holds up a couple of her own and really, they’re no better, but they’re only for learning. “Yes, those will do. Now.” Alistair drops to his knees and crooks his fingers around one of the stones. “You have to hold it like this, because the important part is that you get it to spin. That’s what makes it skip.”

Leohta’s squinting at his hand, then she tries it out herself. Her hands are smaller so she can’t quite circle it the way he does, but Alistair hopes it’ll work out. “Like this?”

“Just like that. Now, the other trick is not to throw it up but to flick it. You want it to stay flat so you have to kind of–” He turns his arm out at the elbow and flicks the rock out onto the water. Four hops, not his best work but not bad.

When he looks back at Leohta, though, she’s entranced. She watches the ripples so long he has to clear his throat to get her attention back, but this time every trace of the stone is gone from her face. She looks eager, determined, but also a little embarrassed. Surprised to have been caught, probably, but it’s a charming expression nonetheless. She turns to face the water again, weighing the rock in her hand, then moves her arm and throws.

It splashes and sinks just like all her other attempts. Leohta curses softly and starts to turn away but Alistair catches her wrist.

“Hey, no way. You’re not giving up after one attempt. C'mon. We’ve got two more rocks, so two more tries, then I guess I can let you give up.” He starts to move before she can start to argue.

“It’s not giving up, Alistair, it’s accepting the inedible. Inedibibble. Ined… remind me to compliment the tavernkeeper tomorrow. His stuff is good.” Her voice gradually gets softer, a delayed reaction to where Alistair has taken up a position just behind her. It’s extremely convenient for him: she can’t see how his face is burning up from the presumptuousness of being so close to her, but it’s also the best position to show her how to move her arm. He wraps his hand around hers and lifts her arm into position.

“From here, you have to flick your hand out. Try to imagine the rock spinning out from the inside of your thumb and taking all that energy with it. The harder you can flick it, the more it’ll bounce and the more hops you’ll–all right, that’s it, you and Zevran are officially being separated because that’s not even dirty and now you’ve made it dirty. I hope you’re happy.” The woman in front of him is struggling to contain her laughter, he can tell, and as much as he wants to keep her focus on him, it’s hard to be genuinely upset. She doesn’t laugh nearly enough and especially not around him. The fact that whatever is so funny is lost on him is a far distant concern.

Alistair waits for her to compose herself then takes a moment to compose himself in turn when she settles back into a proper posture that puts her in contact with him from shoulder to hip. She’s nearly as tall as he is when he’s on his knees like this, a fact he’s thought about many times but never quite in this situation. Leohta gives herself a little shake, tossing her hair in his face as she does. He tries to blow it out of the way but there’s just too much. All right then, one thing at a time.

“Now. Just remember, angle your hand back and then flick. That word is ruined for me now, I think. You’ve ruined flicking.” In front of him Leohta snorts and Alistair make a private vow to forbid Zevran from using that word. He wants it to be their joke even if he doesn’t understand it. “Do you think you can manage?”

“To flick? I’ve done all right for the last few years anyway.” She giggles and clears her throat. “All right. Angle my hand back,” and her hand is moving inside of his so he loosens his grip, “then forward and flick!”

Alistair peers over her shoulder and sure enough. Blip, blip. One hop, but it’s one more than she’d managed before. He puts his hands on her shoulders and squeezes. “There you go! Well done, Warden Aeducan.” She lifts one hand to pat his but he can tell she’s still looking at the ripples.

After a moment, he releases her shoulders and, feeling a little bolder by the fact that she hasn’t elbowed him away yet, reaches forward to comb his fingers through her hair. It’s a practical gesture–even as he’s speaking, her hair is getting in his mouth–but hardly exclusively practical. Her hair is thick and her scalp surprisingly warm underneath it. In front of him she’s gone very still; he thinks she might even be holding her breath but then again, so is he. He focuses on his own hands until he’s gathered her hair at the back of her neck, but then the tension in it changes and oh.

Alistair looks up and she’s right there, her head turned to look at him. Maker’s breath but she’s close, her mouth gently open and her eyes searching his face. Her breath smells like honey and roses and his hand is still in her hair, it’d be so easy and it might be perfect but she’s been drinking and that’s not right. Or might it be OK, with her looking at him like that? The motion of her lips is so mesmerizing that it takes him a moment to realize she’s speaking to him.

“Alistair.” And like that, the moment is over, or at least set aside. “Would you do that again?”

“Of course.” She could ask him to fetch the moons from the sky right now and he’d say yes, but… “Wait, do what?” He didn’t do anything other than have a whole lot of thoughts in a very short span of time.

“Touch my hair. That was nice.” She’s leaning more of her weight against him now and it’s nice but also just starting to make him concerned. Still, he already said yes, so Alistair releases her hair from where he’s holding it and threads his fingers through it again, starting at her temple, mindful of and parallel to the little braid she’s so meticulous about. As he does it, her eyes drift closed but her face is relaxed. It’s not quite a smile but he’ll take it. “Again,” she murmurs as his hand comes to rest on the back of her neck.

Alistair laughs softly but he complies with her request, stroking his fingers through her hair again. And again, and once more, until she leans forward completely and drops her head onto his shoulder. Her breath is warm on his neck as he gives her one last stroke, then stops to reach out away from her. She grumbles softly in protest but he hushes her. “I’m just getting your other bottle. It’s bought and paid for, no sense leaving it here.”

“Why, where’re we going?”

“I don’t know yet about myself but you are doing to bed. Sleeping standing up is only good for horses and probably Sten, and sleeping on your knees is good for no one. Now, come on, up you get.” He hooks the hand holding the unopened bottle of rhodomel under Leohta’s knees, his other arm coming up behind her shoulders. She grumbles again as he starts to stand and he pauses before beginning to walk.

“You’re carrying me like a princess.” The humor in her voice warms him but now he feels a little more confident about deflecting it.

“I’m a Warden carrying another Warden like a Warden. No princesses here. Well, except for the tavern but I’m certainly not trying to pick that up. I could throw you over my shoulder if you wanted, but you have to promise not to throw up on my back.”

“No promises.” She slumps against his shoulder as he starts to walk. It’s only a few steps from the beach to the door but he takes his time. Who knows what Orzammar will do to her, or what she might do to Orzammar? The answer is liable to be complicated but this, for as unexpected as it is, feels strangely simple. She might not even remember it in the morning, but it’s not a feeling Alistair’s going to forget any time soon. “Alistair.”

“I don’t have a free hand to pet you, but if you can stay awake until we get inside, maybe I’ll give you scritches once I get you upstairs.” He’s trying to figure out how he’s going to open the door when she shakes her head and answers.

“Thank you for coming out tonight. I’m sorry I’m–”

“None of that now. You have nothing to be sorry for, and if anything I should say thank you for having me.” Alistair manages to hook the latch with his pinkie then wedge his foot into the gap, kicking the door open as he maneuvers her inside. “You may not have found it so, but I think being a Warden can be a little bit fun, if you’re with the right person. Or people,” he continues, scrambling to cover for himself while trying to ease the door’s closing with his foot. Once he’s got both feet back on the ground, he looks down at the woman in his arms. Fast asleep, looking as young as he’s ever seen her and more peaceful than she has possibly the entire time he’s known her. The inn’s main room is empty, the fire doused, and he’s almost loathe to speak again and interrupt the silence, but he does.

“Or person. Just the right person.”

[atlaslain]

five times kissed, do hades verse

five times kissed.     /     @flamereign

i.       neverland.   lea brings him here a lot. before they began their travels, he asked zack what kinds of worlds he wanted to see and zack said bright places. places with light and warmth and sunshine. he never wants to see the underworld’s cavernous jaws again, lit only by the sickly glow of the river of the dead. neverland is paradise by day: halos of sunlight glittering on an endless ocean, laughter echoing through seas of trees, life and vibrancy as far as the eye can see. by night, it’s a starlit expanse: constellations coiling through velvety skies, mermaids’ tails glinting in the moonlight painting their lagoons silver. zack can breathe easily here. he often catches lea smiling at his delight with the world. 

zack’s begun playfully referring to their outings here as dates just to watch lea’s reaction. it appears to give him pause; he tends to flick his gaze carefully to zack’s face, read his expression, and then seem to decide against whatever he was going to say. it’s frustrating, this slow attempt at luring him into displaying some inkling of his feelings. zack’s never been particularly skilled at subtlety — he’s going to run out of ways to hint about his crush soon, and then what will he do? he has no idea how to go about this dating business! ( self-consciousness nags that this is why lea doesn’t want him: zack’s got none of the experience he’d expected to have by this age, thanks to hades. surviving brainwashing instead of learning to kiss has put him at a minor disadvantage. )they’re watching the mermaids today, and zack’s thrilled because at least they seem to want to flirt with him! they tell him how pretty his blue eyes are and coax him nearer to the water so they can braid tiny seashells into his hair. when they leave, zack’s still grinning broadly.“they said i was pretty.” he hasn’t had a compliment like that in years. since … before. it’s nice. fluffs his ailing ego up. “you are,” lea tells him without hesitation. and, oh. that makes zack’s heart flip. he’s horrified to feel his cheeks heat. pull it together, fair. his crush says one nice thing to him and he falls apart. “think so?” zack asks, mouth dry, throat tight with nerves. that’s it; he’s doing this. he pulls in a deep breath and takes hold of lea’s shirt, uses it to reel him close. he can hardly breathe. is a first kiss supposed to be this exhilarating? gods, what if he’s awful at it? he’s zack fair; he’s supposed to be amazing at everything — he’ll lose his reputation! lea watches him steadily, seems to be considering pulling away — as if he’s afraid zack’s not ready to be doing this. that settles it. defiant, zack yanks him in for that damn kiss. turns out pretty good, if he does say so himself.

ii.       halloween town.   they haven’t kissed again. aside from that one chaste — if slightly rough — kiss, they’ve continued on as they were. zack understands better now that lea feels he’s experienced entirely too much trauma, and wants him to heal before they become physically entangled. he seems to have some idea he’ll ruin what they have, or push zack too far, if he follows what he wants. zack finds the whole thing ridiculous and would much rather be kissed on every available surface to rid him of his pesky inexperience. lea’s too protective of him. ( it’s rather annoying that zack can’t help but be endeared by that. if lea could stop providing reasons to fall more in love with him, that’d be appreciated. ) though halloween town isn’t quite one of those bright, warm places he’s wanted to see, zack loves it the instant he lays eyes on it. it’s healing, in its own way, to find enjoyment in a place so grim. his outfit helps: zack’s a vampire here, complete with very real fangs and a revealing outfit in dark leather and strategically placed rips. lea’s a scarecrow. he manages to make it look incredible. zack makes a flirtatious comment about how he’s never found a scarecrow hot before. they watch a show by the fountain: the world’s ghoulish residents perform a vaguely horrifying song about monsters, backed up with some gleefully violent dance moves and a sparkling array of disco lights. afterward, the whole thing devolves into a party — music thrums through the streets and the graveyards, coffins expel their skeletal residents to join the dance, and zack grins at lea and insists they partake. “when else are we gonna get to dance with werewolves and ghosts?” he reasons, but only ends up dancing with lea. he gets bolder as they dance, grabbing lea’s hands and positioning them where his outfit slits open at the sides. warm hands against skin feels indescribably good. zack, touch-starved and a little too eager, presses as close as he can get. lea gives him a look like, i know exactly what you’re trying to do.zack grins, unapologetic, and waits to be kissed. he wants it to be lea’s choice this time. he’s not disappointed. lea gives him this impossibly fond look, even as his eyes darken with want and he leans in to press their mouths together. zack meets him greedily, forgetting altogether about the fangs this world has given him until he just about cuts lea’s lip open with them. “oh — oh, fuck. fuck. i’m sorry!” he backs up, but lea’s laughing and leaning in for a far more careful kiss and he really doesn’t mind that it tastes a little like blood. 

iii.       wonderland.   the flowers are real chatty here. the roses wave their leaves and threaten to stick zack and lea full of thorns if they don’t stop staring — but the daffodils gently offer them directions to ‘what they’re looking for’. they wind up more lost than they’d been originally, but zack gets the sense the flowers’ logic is a little skewed anyway. they stumble into a maze of constantly shifting hedges, and only realise they’re too small for their current location when they happen across a dainty little table set with ‘eat me’ cakes and ‘drink me’ vials.they play musical sizes ‘til they’re right. zack’s never had so much fun. he grabs lea’s hand as they explore, winding their fingers together, and now it feels like a real date. he almost can’t believe he gets to see places like this. there are still days he wakes up swallowing screams, certain he’s going to be staring up at the underworld’s vast ceiling — and instead here he is, safe and learning not to be constantly on edge. seeing all the star-scattered worlds lea can show him. he promptly leads them into one of the maze’s dead ends, despite earlier assurances his sense of direction is great. lea makes a comment to that effect, mouth curled into an amused smile. “maybe i meant to lead us here,” zack suggests, playful. “just wanted to get you alone.”he’s teasing, but it does seem too good an opportunity to pass up. zack backs lea into the hedges, careful not to press him too close to the brambles winding there, and maps languid kisses over his cheeks. he’s getting more confident with this. it’s easier, now, to sink into the enjoyment and find lea’s lips, kissing slow and sweet. arms wrap about zack’s waist to draw him nearer and he smiles into the kiss. lea’s stopped treating him quite so carefully. it’s thrilling to watch him lose himself in this.zack only stops when he hears card guards approaching. he drags lea off, insisting he wants to see the mad hatter’s tea party before they go home. 

iv.       port royal.   zack’s perhaps not destined to be a captain, but he enjoys sailing lea’s ship nonetheless. this world may be his favourite yet. it’s all vast stretches of dazzling ocean, baking sun and a thousand islands to explore. the towns are tightly-packed and well-populated, but full of fascinating locals and tales of piracy. zack requests this world often. they lay down anchor in port royal as the sun begins to dip low on the horizon. zack’s wearing the captain’s hat, the hair beneath it bound in a loose bandana. lea, dressed in his pirate finest, looks roguish and entirely too appealing. his clothes are wet and clinging to him from the swim they took. they kissed surrounded by ocean and the froth of waves, and zack’s been aching to be touched again ever since. he wants … he wants. more. lea doesn’t treat him so gently anymore, sure, but he doesn’t fling him to the ground and ravage him either. zack’s not entirely certain what it’d take to warrant that kind of behaviour but he plans to find out. he’s yet to figure out how to say ‘i want you to bone me ‘til i can’t think straight’, what with lea’s protective need to shield zack from his own fucking horniness. zack takes matters into his own hands and suggests they spend the night in the ship’s cabin. lea agrees, puzzled but willing, clearly affected in his own way be the sheer amount of kissing and touching they’ve done today. he’s still holding himself back. it’s easily remedied. zack tosses him to the bed in a display of strength designed to remind the man just how far from weak he is, and straddles his hips. “hey, so i dunno how to approach this tactfully,” he murmurs. “i really want you to fuck me. or … let me fuck you. either way. i’m not picky. and i know — i haven’t … before. and you’re worried about pushing me too far. but i want to with you.” a pause. “like, you could shove me onto all fours and ram me whenever you wanted and i still wouldn’t think you were pushing me too far. okay?”he’s maybe a little too casual about it, but lea seems to get the point. he goes this strange contrast of soft in the eyes and decidedly hard lower down. maybe zack’s got a knack for this dirty talk thing after all! zack kisses him hard, rocks his hips with need. he’s waited so long for this feeling. he should — show lea some appreciation first. he kisses his way lower, yanks lea’s shirt off as he goes, and tugs at his pants. “teach me how to…” he begins, but impatiently pulls the clothing out of the way and gets his mouth down there before lea can say a word. zack pulls back a few moments later, slightly breathless, to complete his sentence. “teach me what you like.” 

v.       thebes.   he had to come back here. it’s almost rebuilt now. zack’s recollection of its destruction is blurry at best, largely dominated by his encounter with lea and his subsequent salvation. he vaguely recalls sending statues splintering into dust — but there are new ones in their place now, most of them depicting hercules. that’s good. the place isn’t ruined. the people seem happy again, busy. the colosseum is up and running again. zack insisted on dropping by the second he heard.lea respected his choice, but seems to understand he needs comfort. he holds zack’s hand, lingers close by his side as they make their way through the city. they’ve spoken, at length, about lea’s time as a nobody and how the actions of his past self hurt him. it’s similar for zack, though he didn’t lose his heart; he lost his free will instead. “wanna enter the tournament together? you’n’me could win it,” he suggests, wanting to paint over the rough memories with something good. possibly also wanting to watch lea fight, because he greatly enjoys that. lea hums an affirmative, and the playful glint in his eye suggests he knows precisely why zack wants to do this. he leans in for a kiss. zack holds him close even after they’re done.thebes is healed. zack thinks he’s well on the way there, too. 

[rockinthebeastmode]

Bad Apple VII

A/N: I wasn’t expecting to write another chapter before work tonight but here we are--might be a couple days til the next one while I put some things together. Hope you enjoy!

Bad Apple I   Bad Apple II     Bad Apple III     Bad Apple IV     Bad Apple V     Bad Apple VI

You can find the rest of my fics here.

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Bad Apple VII

Rae opened her eyes to Finn’s room, bright with sunlight coming in the window and his watch alarm beeping incessantly on the table. Finn remained dead to the world, mouth wide open and his arm thrown across her hip. She rubbed her eyes and reached for the watch for the time.

“Shit!”

Finn jerked awake, grabbing her waist. She broke away, searching the floor for clothes. She tugged on his shirt and the boxers he’d given her and turned back to the bed. He blinked at her blearily.

“C’mon, Finn, we’re late for school,” she stressed before grimacing, “God, that’s so weird…”

“We’re skipping,” Finn almost slurred, waving her back to bed. She smacked at his chest, Finn grunting and glaring at her.

“I’m a teacher, Finn!” He rolled his eyes, sitting up and fluffing his pillow.

“Just bunk off for the day,” he picked up his watch, snorting at the time, “It’s already 10.”

“No, I can’t do th--” His arm shot out, grabbing her hand and pulling her to the bed and down to his level. He kissed her roughly, his hand cupping her neck. She melted against him when his thumb ran across the bottom of her throat.

“Call. Off.”

***

“Thank you so much for understanding, Principal Dixon…” Rae faked a cough and behind her Finn stifled a laugh, his hands going to her waist, “I’m sorry again about the short notice…” Rae smacked at his hands when one started travelling up her side, “Yes, I will see you tomorrow,” his hand snuck below the waistband of her boxers and she repressed a whimper, “Thank you again, bye!”

Rae hastily hung up the phone just as Finn’s fingers entered her, his lips on her neck. She gasped, biting her lip.

“You’re such a bad influence,” she breathed, Finn’s laughter tickling her neck. He smirked against her skin.

“Sure it’s not the other way around? How old are you again? 27, 28?”

Rae whipped around, Finn grinning as she faced him. He leaned in to kiss her and Rae turned her face away with a huff. He laid exaggerated kisses over her cheek and she wrinkled her nose but smiled, facing him again.

“Cheeky,” she murmured, nipping at his lip. He took her hands, entwining their fingers, and dragged her towards the kitchen. He released her and went to the fridge, pulling out several things and balancing them in his arms. Rae leant against the counter, watching him drop everything to the side of the stove before grabbing a pan from the cabinet.

“Scrambled okay?” he asked, without turning. She went next to him and took an apple from a bowl next to the sink.

“That’s fine. Want help?” she asked, before taking a bite, Finn glancing at her with a smile.

“Naw, I got this. Go sit,” he stated, bussing her cheek. She took a seat at the table, glancing around the room. Now that it was daytime and she was sober, she could properly look around.

Finn’s kitchen wasn’t quite as cluttered as hers at home, but still had traces of him throughout. She noticed an ashtray on the window sill by the sink and empty beer cans piled in the bin. There was a few takeout containers on the counter but most of the mess was in the sink, a few pots and pans and several dishes soaking in soapy water.

“Who taught you to cook?” Finn glanced over from cracking eggs, a smile appearing.

“I watched my nan cook all the time growing up...kinda picked it up from there.” Rae nodded and went to ask another question but surprisingly, he continued, his smile widening, “My folks weren’t the best when it came to that. Dad can barely boil water.” Rae laughed, trailing off when Finn’s smile wavered.

“My mum was better with baking. I was always begging her for sweets and finally she threw an apron at me and told me to shut my gob and listen,” he finished with a shaky laugh. He cleared his throat lightly and started to stir the egg mixture, a little rougher than needed.

Rae tried to think of something to change the subject but Finn reached for a remote next to the fridge and turned on a stereo across the room, Movin’ On Up coming through the speakers. He then poured the egg mixture in a pan and slid a loaf of bread along the counter.

“Put some toast on, yeah?”

***

They’d just about finished eating when the phone rang, Rae and Finn jumping at the sound. His brow furrowed and he put down his fork, going to the foyer and answering it.

“Nelson residence… No, I can’t…” Rae bit her lip when Finn’s voice took on an edge, “Because I’m fucking busy…” she stood under the guise of clearing their dishes and stepped closer to the door, “No...Why?...” Finn sighed, a hand going through his hair, “Look, I’ll meet you later…Later, Simmy....Yea, up yours, mate...Cheers,” Finn hung up roughly, cursing under his breath. He stiffened when Rae stepped behind him and rubbed his arm.

“Everything okay?” she asked quietly, watching as his expression cleared and he gave her a reassuring smile.

“Yea, ‘course,” he said hastily, looking to the side when she raised her brows, “Simmy was just asking about football later. It’s nothing.” Rae opened her mouth to argue and he kissed her, cutting her off. She hummed when his tongue touched hers.

“C’mere,” he murmured, pulling her towards the stairs.

***

Rae collapsed to Finn’s side, her breath short and heart pounding. He reached blindly from his prone position for a rollie and lit it, closing his eyes with it between his lips. She shook her head at him with a smile and stood from the bed, stretching before throwing a shirt on. Finn watched her as she walked over to his desk and flipped through his notes.

“Are you all caught up?” she asked, running a finger over his handwriting in the margins. He groaned and sat up, giving her a withering look.

“Are you really asking me about homework when we just shagged?” Rae narrowed her eyes at him.

“Finn.” He rolled his eyes, got up and slid on his pants before going over to her.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said seriously before taking a drag. Rae crossed her arms with a frown.

“It’s important, Finn! If you’re going to uni--”

“Who said I was going to uni?” he scoffed, raising a brow.

“Well, what were you planning on doing?” Rae asked pointedly, Finn huffing and sucking on his cigarette irritably.

“I dunno, Rae. Work, I guess.”

“Work, you guess. Where?” Rae laughed, a bit incredulously.

“I. Don’t. Know.” he punctuated, stubbing the rollie out hard enough to rip the paper. Rae shook her head at him slightly.

“You don’t have any plans?” she stated more than asked and Finn’s eyes flashed.

“Fuck’s sake, Rae, leave off!”

Rae’s lips flattened and she mumbled an apology, kicking herself for badgering him. Finn sighed, reaching out for her. Rae stepped closer, looking his face over.

“I’m sorry,” he offered, his fingers running up and down her sides, “I haven’t thought about it, alright?”

“Alright,” she said with a nod, “Even if you don’t go...I think we should continue the tutoring.” Finn grinned, his eyes dancing.

“Oh, yea?” he teased, moving to kiss her. Rae smacked at his shoulder with a smirk.

“Not for that.” Finn glanced to the side and his lips quirked in confusion.

“I told you I didn’t need help,” he reminded her, Rae cocking her head.

“Your essay answers need work. And we should review Ozymandias for the test next week. I don’t think you--” Finn’s neck snapped back and his hands fell from her waist.

“Wow, Rae, tell me how you really feel,” he jeered, looking a bit insulted. Rae quickly backtracked.

“Hey, I’m just trying to help,” she said softly, meeting his eyes, “School’s important, even if you don’t go to uni.”

Finn looked to the side, grimacing. Rae’s hands went to his cheeks and her thumbs forced his mouth into a smile. He rolled his eyes and grabbed her wrists, the corners of his mouth lifting reluctantly.

“Fine. We’ll do it.”

Rae grinned winningly and pecked his lips.

“Good boy,” she teased, Finn’s brows raising.

“I’ll show you ‘good boy’,” he warned, Rae biting her lip and backing away. She squealed when he grabbed her around the waist, his fingers fluttering along her sides.

“Stop! Finn!”

***

Early afternoon found them in the living room, dozing on the couch watching TV. Rae’s eyes fluttered as she ran her fingers through Finn’s hair, his head on her lap. She heard his breath starting to deepen when the doorbell rang and he groaned, rubbing his face into her thigh before sitting up and shaking his fringe out of his eyes.

“Probably Simmy trying to drag me out,” he grumbled before stretching through a yawn. Rae sat up straighter and made sure she wasn’t visible from the front door.

“I’ll stay here,” she said unnecessarily, Finn standing with a grunt and heading for the door. She heard it open and then quiet indiscernible voices. He came back a moment later, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh...It’s for you.”

Rae’s eyes widened and she hesitated standing until Finn ushered her forward, smiling reassuringly.

She entered the foyer with Finn trailing behind before he went into the kitchen.

“Chloe! Shit, I completely forgot to call you!”

Chloe only looked disappointed, shaking her head and crossing her arms.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed, glancing at the kitchen archway. Rae shrugged sheepishly.

“I’m still trying to figure that out,” she admitted, biting her lip. Chloe rolled her eyes and Rae continued, “How’d you find me?”

“Went down to the school, didn’t I? Told them I was his probation officer and needed his address. They believed me well enough.”

Rae’s eyes widened and she stepped closer.

“Oh my god, Chlo, what the fuck--”

“Jesus, I’m only joking,” she sighed, uncrossing her arms and putting her hands on her hips, “My bag ripped when I was walking home, I turned around to get my stuff and spotted you getting in his car.” Rae nodded, her brow furrowing.

“You had his street name scribbled on a receipt in that mess you call a desk,” she added, Rae shaking her head.

“Should be in detective work instead of business,” Rae snarked, Chloe frowning and opening her mouth to retort.

“Everything okay in here, ladies?”

Rae and Chloe’s heads snapped to the kitchen archway, Finn standing there with a smirk. He stepped forward, offering a hand to Chloe.

“You must be the best mate,” he ventured, smiling at Chloe and shooting a wink at Rae, “Finn Nelson.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Chloe replied monotonously before turning to Rae, “We really should be going, Rae.”

“Chloe--”

“Rae.” She rolled her eyes, waving Chloe off.

“I’ll meet you outside. Give me a minute.” Chloe raised her brows at her before nodding at Finn and going out the front door. Rae dropped her head to her hands and she heard Finn suppressing a laugh.

“What’s so funny, Nelson,” Rae mumbled, glaring at him. Finn shook his head with a smirk, taking Rae in his arms.

“Guess I have to go,” she whined against his chest, her arms circling his waist. Finn chuckled, kissing her neck softly.

“Want me to kidnap you later?” he asked, burying his face in her hair. Rae sighed and pulled away, shaking her head.

“Tempting...but I should get home,” she admitted, kissing him quickly and getting her bag from the side, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Finley,” she finished, a warning in her voice.

“Yes, ma’am,” he conceded, walking her to the door. She stepped outside and started towards Chloe’s car, glancing around the street.

“Laters, Ms. Earl,” Finn called out, grinning when she turned and walked backward, flipping him off. He turned and went inside just as Chloe laid on the horn.

[infiltraitor-n7]

After Alchera, herons and hamsters

I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | VIV | X | XI |  ao3

Here is a sliver of time, snicked from the shockingly small amount they had been given, that he could never shake the feeling that he hadn’t hoarded properly, that he had wasted, seconds spilling over the edges as he carelessly assumed seconds would turn into minutes into hours into months into years into the rest of their lives, as if time were a rifle with an endless clip—

Watching a vid, blue light flickering across the white walls, under a blanket even though they were both sweating, slick skin sticky where they pressed into each other. The sharp planes of her shoulder were hard under his cheek, but she absently ran her fingers through his hair and he didn’t want to move in case she came back to herself and stopped. The hamster, toted around with Shepard anytime she knew she’d be on shore leave, huddled in its wheel, framed by the window.

The marines on the screen encountered the enemy on foot and one performed a particularly graceful move that broke her opponent’s neck, the snap vivid through the speakers. Shepard made a happy, satisfied sound.

They had worked out a deal: for every action vid Shepard wanted to watch, they watched one of Kaidan’s soap operas. He never understood why someone whose job it was to kill would want to watch actors pretend to do it in their downtime.

“It’s soothing to see the fake,” she had said.

“The fake?”

“Yeah, when they do something impossible, that would never actually work in life, but the music is swelling and everyone is good looking and the good guys win.”

“So good guys winning is fake?”

“Oh yeah.”

“We’re the good guys, Shepard,” he had said, and she had looked at him with that expression he could never read.

“You’re a good guy,” she had finally said, curling her palm around the back of his neck.

“So I’m not gonna win, huh?”

“S’why I’m here. To make sure you do anyway.”

He had stared at her, but she had just turned back to watching, making pleased noises every time the bullets found their mark.

He had worried that she would be bored watching his soaps, but she seemed to take as much satisfaction from watching the characters break each other with words as she did when they used weapons.

“That was fucking clever,” she had said, after a particularly well-played villain machination that ended with the love interest turning their back on their true love.

“I thought you liked seeing the good guys win?” he had asked.

“Yeah but it’s a soap, right? There will be a happily-ever-after, but it doesn’t mean shit unless our couple goes through some shit.”

He had snorted, and the music had swelled.

Now, in this remembered sliver of time, she suddenly jerked, as if she had seen something in her periphery (even when she was resting, she was watching), and she sat up, neck stretching as her eyes searched for the movement. He made a little sound, a hitched breath of complaint, and he reached for her but she said, “Look,” and he looked.

A heron sat perched on the balcony railing on the other side of the window.

They watched in silence, the vid paused, as the large bird tilted its head, as its wings shifted, as the moon’s reflection from the water dappled across its hunched form.

“I’ve never seen one in real life,” she whispered.

“There are a lot around here. The orchard is in the middle of a wild bird refuge,” he murmured back.

“That fucker is majestic.”

“You think that until you hear it squawk. Their calls are not exactly pretty.”

“Don’t ruin the illusion, Alenko.”

The hamster in the window must have finally seen the bird then, because it started running frantically, the clattering of the wheel spinning shattering the silence. The heron lifted, flapped, and sailed out into the dark.

“Good job, Captain Ham. If that had been a frag grenade, you’d be dead,” she informed the hamster.

“At least you get to keep your illusions for a while longer,” he said.

She reached out and picked up her beer bottle, offering him a swig. “Let’s drink to that.” She smiled, and pulled him down onto her shoulder again, rough fingers dragging through his wild hair as gunfire filled the room again.

Now, standing in her apartment on Arcturus, Kaidan wonders if the hamster’s frantic, futile running hadn’t been some kind of metaphor, as his heart thuds in the silence. In his mind he fingers that sliver of time, bracing for the inevitable cut as he traces the moment’s contours. He steps cautiously, as if the place is rigged with trip mines, but then jerks to a halt as he notices that the small space doesn’t smell like her— but why would it, when she hadn’t been in this apartment in months, in over a year maybe. The air filtration system had probably sucked all scent of her from the confined space and been pumping in neutral, recycled oxygen through all those seconds minutes hours days he had spent with her across the galaxy.

He had gone to her attorney, and he had learned that she had left him everything, somewhere between their gunfights and careening across distant planets, Wrex blowing chunks in the back of the Mako, between their frenzied fucking in the downtimes and their laughter in the canteen as Ash and Garrus arm-wrestled and Tali recorded for posterity and credits changed hands as bets were won and lost. Somewhere in between she had written a will and he knows now that her betting wasn’t just for laughs— when she scored at the casinos, she’d set aside sums for investment, and she had a fat pile of financial assets that she had never touched because she was busy saving the galaxy instead of spending credits.

He stands now, in her private space that doesn’t smell like her, hands loose at his sides, wondering about all the things he’ll never know about her. He knew that she had grown up poor on Mindoir. Maybe that’s why she had been so careful with all of her careless winnings— that reckless compulsion to win, tempered with the fear-propelled need to save the results.

He shakes his head. He doesn’t know why he has come here. He has no plans to empty the apartment, and he has no plans to live in it. The attorney had given him the access codes per Shep’s will, and he had avoided even thinking about them. But today he woke up and found himself standing in front of the door, his arm lifted so that his omni-tool could do its thing. He had stopped, chest shuddering as terror began to garrote him. People swept past, going about their normal unfucked lives, and he struggled to look normal while his throat choked itself. He called Ishida.

“Kaidan.” His shrink squinted at him through the vidscreen.

“Hiya.”

“You look like shit, what happened?” He tilted his head, and Kaidan knew he was looking at what was behind him, his clever mind ticking through possibilities.

“I’m at Shep’s apartment.”

Ishida just waited.

“I’m scared,” Kaidan cleared his throat.

“Of what?”

“Dunno.”

“I’ll wait.”

“Yeah.” Kaidan rubbed the back of his neck. He watched Ishida watching him, and felt the terror slowly bleed out of him. After a few minutes, he could think straight. “I guess I was afraid of how much it’s going to hurt to step inside there and see all of her things, and,” he paused, breathed. He made a little flailing gesture, but of course Ishida couldn’t see it— the movement  just waved the vidscreen around. He continued. “See all these bits of her that I never knew about while she was alive. See her things when she hadn’t prepared for me to see them, you know? Like I’m trespassing, or something.”

“But it’s not her apartment anymore. It’s yours,” Ishida said.

“Yeah, but—”

“She must have wanted you to see what was in there. She wouldn’t have left it to you if she hadn’t.”

Kaidan didn’t respond. He thought about Shepard saying that she was always prepared to— he blinked. That she was always prepared to die. At any moment. That it was just her job.

“Okay.”

“Do you want me to meet you there? I know your ass is all alone out here, so if you need someone to be with you, I can take the time out of my exceedingly busy schedule to hold your hand,” Ishida said evenly. Kaidan snorted. Somehow he had gotten used to how his therapist said the rudest things in the most genteel tone of voice.

“No. It’s fine.” He took a deep breath. “I can do this. Thanks, Doc.”

“I know you can,” Ishida said, and then promptly disconnected.

Kaidan squared his shoulders, and entered the apartment.

Now, he shakes his head again. He inhales deeply, but it just smells like Arcturus always smells. He is surprised to see the place is filled with plants. Vines and ferns and cacti and some little bushes with delicate little flowers blooming. She must have some sort of automatic hydration system, because he knows no one has been in here since before her death. He had no idea she had any interest in botany. He drifts further into the apartment, notices how the plants are pretty much the only decoration so far. No art. No personal knick knacks. Just a riot of green, and dishes strewn across the kitchen counter. The lack of Shepardness after all that fear of falling apart in her personal space is almost like a punch to his solar plexus. He sags and moves towards the bedroom.

As he turns, he spots a pile of clothing stacked sloppily in the corner. He blinks, then almost breaks his knee against the coffee table in his frantic scramble to reach it.

“Fuck,” he chokes, hopping a little as he grabs the first garment his hands touch and shoves his face in it.

He gasps and hears himself laughing, shrilly. The hoodie stinks. Like cigarettes . He pauses. Sniffs again. Like cigarettes and… tequila? But also, underneath, like her. She never smelled like flowers, or fruit. She just smelled like her. Skin and sweat and gun oil and coffee. He is laughing because of course her dirty clothes reek of some shitty bar and of course they’re piled in the corner and thank the universe or the Goddess or whoever else that she was such a reckless slob sometimes because now he is pulling the hoodie over his head and it is stretching painfully across his broad shoulders but he’s surrounded by Shepard’s smell and he can almost feel her lying beside him on the floor, hungover as hell, both their mouths dry and horrible with morning breath, and her laughing in his face anyway, throwing an arm around his waist and saying, “Fuck it’s too early.”

“Really, if you think about it, time as we measure it planetside has no meaning in space,” he would say. “No early, no late.”

“Bullshit. It’s too fucking early for you to be philosophical. I have a headache that makes me sympathize with your biotic ass headaches and I don’t like sympathizing,” she groaned.

“Uh, the proper term is migraines, and no matter how crazy you’ve partied in the past, you have no idea how bad they are,” he placed his index finger on her nose and tapped. “No. Idea.”

“Not. Helping,” she bit out, tapping his belly with her knuckles before sloppily kissing him.

Now, he knows he would probably look unhinged if anyone were watching, but he drags the rest of the clothing back into the living area and spreads the pieces around himself. He bunches up a pair of her cargo pants and lays his head on them, curls in on himself right there on floor, arms around his knees, and he breathes, and breathes, and breathes.

He slips into sleep.

He dreams he is watching a flock of herons in space from the Normandy’s deck, wings eclipsing swathes of stars. He is confused because he has never seen herons fly together; they are always alone, perched gracefully at the edge of the water, their grating calls wrecking the peaceful view. Shepard is there, but for some reason her hair is shorn, her neck exposed, and he wants to run his fingers up the soft down on the back of her head—he reaches to fist his hand in the longer tufts on top and pull her back to kiss her, but she twists away and begins to unbolt the window, one bolt at a time, each chunk of metal hitting the deck like seconds ticking on an antique clock. He realizes she’s going to detach the window and dive in among the birds out there in the vacuum, and there is nothing he can do to stop her but he doesn’t know why. All he can hear is a hamster wheel spinning and the bolts striking the floor, one after another.

He jerks awake, and his back hurts, because he is on the floor. He is crying again, arms and legs flung out, his shoulders aching from the stretch and reminding him how hunched over he has held his body for months. He clutches at the sweatshirt and yanks it up to his nose and inhales, and the reasons behind the bar stench soaking the fabric make him cry harder, because he wonders now, even if she hadn’t died over Alchera, maybe he would have lost her in another way— to red sand, to the bottom of a glass, to her own twitchy fingers and filthy mouth and fragile neck and reckless disregard for her own safety. He can’t believe himself, how many seconds minutes hours days months he wasted believing that the time they had was an infinity clip, that he had all the time in the universe to learn all the things he didn’t know about her, instead of exploiting each ticking moment like the digits counting down on a time bomb. He hates every nanosecond he spent not looking, not asking, not demanding, not licking, not inhaling. The regret is crushing the meat of his heart, the self-loathing drenching him like an oil spill. His shrink said to just feel it. So he feels it. He keeps the hoodie’s neckline pulled up over his nose, like an oxygen mask, as his breaths come hard and ragged, and he lets his body throb with the missing of Shepard.

Eventually, in time, the time he burns through so carelessly, he stops crying—the inside of the sweatshirt is slick with his snot and tears. He sits up. He gathers the clothes he had spread all around himself and takes them to the little washing unit and puts them inside and hits the button before he can change his mind. He keeps the damp and now truly disgusting hoodie on as he turns to face the empty apartment, to begin sifting through the layers of Shepard’s life, a clumsy archaeologist amidst the ruins of her abandoned things.

[big-blue-beast-blog]

[SOLO] // All-Nighter

//characters: Lance, Hank //notes: Takes place directly after "Growth Spurt” thread. //warnings: trigger warning: needles  

He greatly appreciated Tess and Caleb's assistance, but this was where his work truly began. There were at least five different emergency procedures to do, and only one Mutant to do them all. Lance wasn't going to get better on his own. Luckily, the boy was already unconscious by the time Hank got him out of his clothes and onto a bed. Even though the logical part of his mind was working away and going through the process of putting in an IV and administering anesthetic, his emotions were still storming around in his mind.

He knew he'd never get used to this; seeing children on his gurneys. As tall and big as Lance was, he was still only eighteen, barely starting to live his own life, and here he was, laying in a hospital bed, having to be given air through a tube. How many other children would he have to see like this? He didn't even want to think about it. It wasn't needed right now, anyway. While finishing securing the intubation to Lance's face, his eye was drawn to a strange looking mark on the nape of Lance's neck.

Curious, he gently examined it. It was a light scar. Recent. It stood apart from the other scars that dotted Lance's body. It was darkened skin, and appeared like a needle had been ripped from the skin after injection. He knew the appearance from his experiences with addicts in his residency years. Odd, though, that it wasn't anywhere near the usual places to inject. On top of that, Lance had no other injection sights.

Hank carefully administered medication to lower intracranial pressure through the IV now leading into Lance's bloodstream. By his dosages, Hank guessed lance would be stuck like this for the next ten hours.

Well, he wasn't going to be like this alone. Hank sent a text message to Caleb using the speech-to-text on his phone, reading: “Pulling an all-nighter, so I'll have to skip dinner tonight. Let the others know where I am. I'm sure Tess has already informed the faculty. Thank you for helping with the kids. See you tomorrow.”

He pulled up a chair next to the bed, sitting down with a cup of coffee and a book. It was one of his favorites, a book he'd loved since childhood. Contact, by Carl Sagan. He took a healthy sip of coffee, then set the cup aside and parted the book open.

Hours passed without so much as a sound besides the equipment surrounding Lance's bed. The teen was still as a statue on the bed the whole time, as would be expected. Hank still occasionally looked over to check and make sure his hair hadn't fallen in an awkward way over his face.

It was probably five in the morning when Lance first moved on his own again. Hank caught sight of his hand slowly and sluggishly lifting up, and gently took hold o fit before Lance could reach his face. “Oh, hold on there, Lance.” He stood up, placing his book on the table behind him. When he turned to face Lance again, he saw the teen's brown eyes staring at him in dazed discomfort. “I know it's not comfortable, but you needed it. You came to us in a pretty bad state.” Before he could properly examine Lance, he had to remove the tube, which was in and of itself an uncomfortable process.

Lance discovered that for himself when Hank instructed him to 'pretend to cough', then pulled the tube out once he did. Well, he wasn't pretending to cough now. He winced and hacked, which did nothing to help the still lingering soreness in his head. Hank offered a gentle pat on his shoulder and a cup of water as comfort. “Do you know where you are?” Hank asked, far more as examination than actual conversation.

He nodded and swallowed some water back. Once his throat was clear enough, he mumbled out, “Institute...” Hank nodded, satisfied. As he jotted down some notes on a clipboard, Lance took a better look around. It was dimmed in the underground room, which was nice, seeing as Lance felt like he had a hangover.

“What's the last thing you remember?” Hank asked next.

Lance wasn't sure how to feel about how calm and chill Hank was. It wasn't in a detached way, but it was... oddly collected. He never did like that doctor-tone. Still, he thought on the answer, trying to recall. “... Screaming. There was... screaming.” Lance began, brows tensely furrowed with mixed emotion. “Everything was too loud. I... got dizzy. Kitty was there...” He paused and mouthed 'Why', speaking to himself as he looked away. He looked as if he was piecing the story together backwards. “She was there with Kurt... We were... arguing, and... I tried to leave... That's when I got dizzy...” He moved onto the next chunk of memory. “She... She helped me, and then...” He drew a blank, slowly shaking his head. “I dunno... Next thing I remember is... Some lady... She was helping you carry me.”

Hank nodded. “That was Sage. She's one of our staff, here.” He put the story together in a proper order in his mind. He decided to fill in the gap in Lance's memory. “You had a seizure after Kurt teleported you all back here. We think you might have had a sudden growth in power.” Lance stared at him for a while, confused as to what it meant. He got more powerful? Sure as hell didn't feel like it. And then, a more knowing look came out in Hank's features. “It usually happens a lot more gradually than this, but it can end up this bad if you repress your powers. It's not safe.”

Lance furrowed his brow silently, looking at his feet and nowhere else. “... So?”

Hank let out a little sigh, smiling gently. “How long have you been having trouble with your powers, Lance?”

Lance looked around the room, anywhere but Hank's face. “... I dunno. A while, I guess...”

“Did anything happen before your powers began to get out of control?” Hank leaned into Lance's line of sight. And then Hank was faced with what very well could have been a brick wall, put up by Lance's emotions.

Lance looked away very pointedly, crossing his arms tiredly over his stomach. “Th'fuck you want me to say..?” He shrugged. “It just started happening. That's all.” he stated firmly.

Hank knew there was far more to it than that. He figured it had to be something big, given how Lance insisted on shutting the conversation down. “Okay.” he conceded politely, jotting down some more notes on his clip board as he walked away and to a near by counter.

“Where are my clothes...?” Lance asked, still not making eye contact.

“Hm?” Hank glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, planning to leave as soon as you can, right?”

Lance finally looked over, eyes tired, but grumpy. “Considering it.”

“You'll be here for a little while longer. I had to cut your clothes off to properly care for you.”

“W-what...?” Lance's face changed from grumpy to resigned. His shoulders slumped noticeably. “Those... Those were my only clothes.”

Hank turned around fully, face a little surprised. His only clothes? They were the same clothes he'd always seen him wearing, come to think of it. The poor kid had nothing to wear... “Well, in that case, I'll send someone out to go pick you up some new clothes as soon as you're not on bed rest.”

Lance blushed a little, the realization that his only remaining piece of clothing was a pair of old boxers. “When will that be...?” he questioned.

“Tomorrow afternoon.” Hank tapped the edge of his clipboard with his pen. “You're stuck in that bed until your head's not on the verge of literally bursting.” Lance sighed out slowly, rubbing his head. “Don't worry. We have TV in here.”

[e n d.]

[gulescamisade]

New York:  Day 2

JOHN: - ASSUMING they ended up sleeping in an alley, John probably cuddled up with Kankri. However, he miserably wakes up over and over to vomit, straying farther away from the group during these excursions for courtesys sake. He gets more sweaty, stumbly and shaky the more this goes on-

ROSE: -She looks up from her typing to watch John. At some point he feels her hand on his back, rubbing in little circles.- Good morning. ROSE: It is a punctual wake up call, if I were pressed to say one good thing about this place.

JOHN: - he is NOT having a good morning but he wheezes and smiles anyway. He's chewing some peppermint gum, and still slathering on the Vicks which is helping somewhat- yeah, no kidding. bright and early in flavor town.

ROSE: As far as I can tell, based on the feed, no one else is in any danger. ROSE: Immediate danger, I should say. But we're not sure where Roxy, Jake, your father or the cherubs are.

ROSE: It could be a good sign that they're off the grid like that.

JOHN: - Thank you for providing a positive option he'll be choosing that one- yeah. i mean... my dad is with them. i'm not worried. he probably has things on lock down. - oh how ironic this statement is-

JOHN: d'ya want some water? the only food i have is cake but i have lots of water bottles. - also the sort of shock blankets EMTs carry. there were likely three that they all had to share. -

ROSE: Wherever it is, I presume it's better than what you'd get if Banksy were commissioned to construct a parody of a city.

ROSE: ...Yeah. that would actually help a lot.

JOHN: - passes her one-

JOHN: - SIGHS because he already really hates this place. - this is beyond banksy this is like what michael bay would've done if youd asked him for a dystopian flick. pretty on the nose, betty. just sayin...

ROSE: Nothing is on fire except for our reliable steel trash fire, John, and I would never insult our most stalwart ally that way.

ROSE: Although if I see one single depiction of Ronald McDonald anywhere, I am extraordinarily liable to flip a tit.

JOHN: well i hate to say it, Rose but in all likelihood your tit is getting flipped.

ROSE: I said a tit, John, not necessarily any of mine. Ronald -- can I call him Ronald? Is that deemed appropriate?-- likely has at least one under that puffy yellow garment.

ROSE: All I am saying is that it is likely to be golden brown on both sides.

ROSE: Not unlike the McGriddle.

JOHN: - laughs helplessly even tho he doesn't want to. STAHP-

ROSE: -She twists open the water bottle-- grateful that they've got something-- taking a sip. Her head still hurts, but it's normal style headache, not migraine getting nuked by all the lights of times square, so she can deal a lot better.- ROSE: I mostly have some of Baldur's baby food I prepared. ROSE: I doubt that will last terribly long, but I'd like to avoid any of the food here if we can help it.

ROSE: So, we have banana and peanut butter mush, and cake.

JOHN: maybe the others have some more stuff. - he doesn't wanna wake them up yet tho. let them rest... -

ROSE: Well, it could be a lot worse.

JOHN: hey I'm not knocking banana peanut butter mush. sounds good honestly. - except he's not interested in any food rn, he's too nauseated. the only reason he stopped vomiting is because is tum is empty except for water-

ROSE: It is. Protein and at least one kind of potassium. The possibilities are endless.

MEULIN: -She's slept pretty restlessly -- post-traumatic stress and dangerous locations will do that to you -- and only manages to sleep soundly once she sees familiar words scrolling over her sunglasses, knowing that at least someone else was awake to watch out in her stead. It was difficult having only so many senses, being unable to tell if any noise should alert them. Now, though, she stirs again, squinting in whatever haze of light manages to permeate the neon signs.-

http://www.guyfieri.com/wp-content/themes/guyfieri/images/xshow-header-bigbite.jpg.pagespeed.ic.2DQMNZ--Hj.jpg

[ GOOD MORNING MEULIN ]

MEULIN: -SQUINTS LOUDER AT THIS SIGN.- (GUY CAN TAKE A BIG BITE OF MY BOOTY.)

JOEY: =rubs at her eyes, sitting up= ...what guy?

[HE MIGHT]

ROSE: Fieri, comma.

ROSE: Morning.

JOEY: oh....

JOEY: he's still a thing?

ROSE: I took the liberty to scout by air a bit. I can confirm two things.

ROSE: One is that this city is hopelessly large, and most of the buildings are equipped with searchlights on the highest floors.

ROSE: The other is that he is very much still a thing.

ROSE: He's plastered all over the place.

JOEY: sorry ive been out of the loop in this universe for quite some time now

JOEY: i can tell you in some of them he is but a distant memory

JOEY: although it might be to give the world a false sense of security, waiting to rise again

MEULIN: UGGHH...

MEULIN: I'M SO MAD THAT MY BODY IS EVEN LETTING ME F33L HUNGRY RIGHT NOW.

ROSE: Let's start a fair clip back, actually.

ROSE: Should I be horrified by him? more so than everything else about this place, I mean?

[He's only the high chaplain of interstellar war. The key architect of the hilarocaust itself. Pay no mind to the fact that he ruthlessly murdered and cooked every supreme court justice in his rise to power]

JOEY: your guess is as good as mine =shrugs= i dunno what this version of him is supposed to be like

JOEY: hes either a harmless cook with his own tv show using way too much grease or not many really know about him

JOEY: here its obviously not the case

ROSE: Right.

ROSE: It's fine. We should eat, anyhow. Keep our strength up without succumbing to the Big Bite. Do any of you have food on you?

JOEY: oh shit! =rummages through her sylladex= i have a bag of milky ways!

ROSE: I wonder how long we can last on candy and baby food.

MEULIN: I HAVE. UM.

MEULIN: ...

MEULIN: ...EDIBLES...

JOEY: =places a milky way fun size bar on her sleeping brother's head=

ROSE: Edible what, exactly?

MEULIN: ...RR...

JOEY: boogers are edible, yet....im not feeling that

MEULIN: PRETZELS. AND... RICE KRISPIES...

MEULIN: BUT THEY'RE. YOU KNOW.

JOEY: ???

ROSE: I really don't. Although I should disclose I was working under the assumption you were talking about edible panties or body chocolate.

ROSE: So they're probably not worse than that.

JOEY: =LAUGHS=

MEULIN: HAHAHA!

MEULIN: UH... WELL THEY'RE. YOU S33... THEY ARE NIP INFUSED.

MEULIN: SO.........

ROSE: Oh.

ROSE: Well, that'll at least help us cope.

MEULIN: YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT, AND ALSO. WE PURROBABLY SHOULDN'T EAT TOO MANY IN ONE SITTING.

ROSE: We'll ration.

JOEY: hehehehehe

JOEY: we get high or get cavities

JOEY: it's a race to either

MEULIN: -casually pulls out Rice Krispies on that note... TIME TO GET FUCKING BLAZED. She offers one each to Joey and Rose.-

ROSE: ...Thank you. -TIME TO DO A WEED BREAKFAST. she might reconsider but she's sick of her head hurting, and she hasn't had a thing in her stomach since they arrived.-

JOEY: thanks

JOEY: =she wipes her hands on her pants before taking it. Does it help? Who knows?=

JOEY: =nibbles the krispie=

MEULIN: -They're pretty tasty and definitely Rice Krispie treats. They don't seem to taste any different than a normal one, but in about five to ten minutes they should feel a nice buzzy body high and a bit more floaty than before... depending on how high or low their tolerance is. They might be a lot floaty and a lot buzzy.-

JOEY: =she's a lusus vet. the occasion never called for drug use!=

JAMISON: =slowly lifts a manhole cover then jumps out of it. Where has this old man been?? Puts the cover back and scurries to the group= Oh fantastic you're eating! Here I've got some clean water. =thunks down a gallon jug, yes he's still shirtless... AND ARMED=

ROSE: -She's just starting to relax and let that buzzing feeling take over when JAMISON THE SUDDEN.-

ROSE: Fuck!

MEULIN: !! -IT'S THE RESPONSIBLE ADULT PARTY, EVERYONE SCATTER. But no she just smiles at Jamison.- HI! THANKS.

JOEY: =Nearly jumps out of her skin and fumbles with the rice krispie, almost dropping it. It's like when your parent catches you smoking! It's...almost like that, actually.=

ROSE: That was sudden. I figured you'd gone somewhere, but... It seems you went... There. This is good to have.

ROSE: Hello. Also.

JOEY: hiiii dad! um...where did you get the water?

JAMISON: Oh... didn't mean to give you all a start! Good morning! I'll go hunting down normal appearing meat later! No worries on the water I staked out a source and purified it myself with something I whipped up! :D

JOEY: =I knew it, it IS sewer water=

JAMISON: =LISTEN. SURVIVAL.=

ROSE: That's a relief. ROSE: We were just taking supply of what we've got. Suppose we'll be able to manage for long enough to figure which way is... out.

JAMISON: Any way can be out, missy! Haw! Simply pick a direction!

JOLENE: -waddles over after disappearing herself. this is a bad habit this family has.- agreed! and if it requires blowing holes into any of the buildings then i have explosives. :)

ROSE: Well. Shit. 

ROSE: Alright. I'd first want... a car. Because it seems kind of desperate if we're going to be making our getaway from acts of explosives on foot.

ROSE: I was thinking we could try and tail one of those freight trucks.

JOLENE: that's probably a good idea........ -she just wants to level this whole place-

JAMISON: =beams at Jojo= Like the old days!

ROSE: The old truck hijacking days.

JOLENE: it really takes me back...

JOEY: ive never heard this story =chinhands, munching on this riceweedie=

JAMISON: Oh! There's tons of stories we can tell!! =proudly beams=

ROSE: I'm sure there's... plenty of time.

JOHN: - HE GAVE MEULIN A LOOK LIKE... so it's you... you're the supplier. but given they're in a crisis situation he lets it slide. And takes a bite of a rice krispy hoping it will help with the nausea. -

JOLENE: yes, true. for now let's focus on getting out of here. -peeps the rice krispies- what have you got there?

ROSE: Breakfast. 

ROSE: Laced with a relaxant to dull the overwhelming stimulus of our environment.

ROSE: -WOW she's starting to think she's really good at being high-

JAMISON: They've scrounged up some-- oh? Hm........ 

JAMISON: So long as your reflexes are kept sharp!

JOHN: - How elegantly she puts it-

ROSE: :)

ROSE: :)

JOLENE: ... -squints-

JOLENE: are those weed rice krispies????????????????

ROSE: ...There is a mite touch of THC.

JAMISON: Awww come now Jojo! The youngsters aren't used to such dastardly dangers as we are!

JOHN: - please body digest these faster so he can feel not sick-

JOHN: - pleading with your body is a common medical practice don't you know-

JAMISON: Also it's a bit hard to find something that seems safe to consume out here.... I've even got looking for meat but I apparently haven't gone far enough on my last search!

JOHN: well i have lots of cakes

JOHN: they're safe... my dad made them.

JAMISON: Oh! Well that'll do finely! Good job old boy!

JOHN: it's not the most nutritious thing but...

JAMISON: Mustn't be picky about what you get to feast on in the wild, it could be the last meal you pass up! Haw!

MEULIN: CAKE IS GOOD. -thankfully being high makes you also want to eat just about anything... unless it's made by Guy, because fuck him.-

JOHN: - he breaks two out right now. months old but they're kept fresh although they might taste like they've been in hammer space for a little too long-

JOLENE: -frowns thinking about the cakes because she knows james is missing...- i'll have some cake. thank you, john.

JOHN: - he's frowning for the same reason-

JAMISON: I'll take one as well! Need to keep my wits sharp!! =THEY'LL FIND EVERYONE AND FIX JADE, BUCK UP EVERYONE!!!=

JAMISON: =HE BELIEVES!!=

JAMISON: Now then! I'll take that to go and SCOUT! :D

JOHN: -there's yellow cake that says HAPPY LATE DECEMBER and another one, chocolate that says HAPPY EARLY JANUARY

ROSE: Be careful. Try to avoid shooting anything.

ROSE: -EYES the cakes. REALLY, EGBERT FAMILY...-

JOLENE: .... -james............-

JAMISON: =DIBS ON THE YELLOW CAKE, pistol-winks at Rose= No promises but I will gather a route for us so get your rears in gear!!

JAMISON: And drink some water!

ROSE: -She is interrupted by a STOMACH GROWL. She levitates over a pretty large slice with her majyyks.-

JOLENE: -grabs a slice of chocolate cake and gobbles it down. YUM.-

JOHN: - HE makes sure everyone gets a large slice except himself because he's waiting for the cannabis to kick in-

JAMISON: =Bends down to touch his toes, stretches this way and that. If they're in the alley still he takes a running start at the wall and hardcore parkours his way up to the roof of one of the buildings= TALLY-HO!!!! =There he goes....=

JOHN: - bemused amazement at Jamison-

JOLENE: ... there he goes.

MEULIN: ...-shimmery eyes.- I WOULD TOTALLY DO THAT IF HE INVITED ME.

JOEY: so now we have dessert, candy, and happy times to fuel our energy =giggles=

ROSE: I... You know, that sort of reminds me. 

ROSE: Obviously you are not beholden to stay, but I haven't seen any other trolls, outside of our group. Right? Just humans and... Less... Healthy looking humans.

JOHN: that is weird now that you mention it...

JOEY: if the troll to human ratio is low here, theres a chance of another group out there with one human surrounded by trolls 

JOEY: =presses meulin's nose= boop

JOHN: hehehehe... boop! - does it too-

MEULIN: -IS BOOP!!!- (=ﾟ･ﾟ=) 

MEULIN: PRRP! -bunts at their hands. Pet her.-

JOHN: - It's good luck! he gladly gives her head scratches. -

MEULIN: MAYBE THERE'S A FLEASON. PRRRRR.

JOHN: i kind of imagined... more trolls?

ROSE: Yeah...

JOEY: =Pats Meulin's hair floof, shrugging=

JOEY: maybe were meant to be here

JOEY: if youre saying this isn't a coincidence

JOHN: -...THAT IS NOT A COMFORTING THOUGHT-

JOEY: =sorry! it's not a lullaby to her either=

ROSE: I don't doubt there was intent in the decision.

ROSE: What I would like to find is the purpose behind this place.

ROSE: What these glamorous banalities mask.

ROSE: You know, that shit.

MEULIN: PRRR PRRR... 

MEULIN: NOT GOOD STUFF. WHY WOULD THE EMPURR WANT TO F33D PEOPLE?

ROSE: Chemicals, probably. Fuck it.

JAMISON: =APPEARS again= Mind-control! Well.. it's a theory. Also if you have the necessities then you control the land. 

JAMISON: A typical tactic done with water mostly but food isn't any different!

ROSE: Chemicals. -nods-

JOHN: maybe the food is... - dramatic pause- PEOPLE

JOHN: nah just kiddin

JOHN: or not..???

ROSE: Let's not rule anything out.

JAMISON: True, we should keep open minds so to not be surprised! JAMISON: Whatever these devils are eating isn't good for them and I can't say cannibalism does a body good!

MEULIN: .....

MEULIN: UMM...

MEULIN: WELL...

JUDE: -he's in the bg here just perpetually going hhhhhhh-

MEULIN: I'M PURRETTY SURE THAT'S STILL A THING ALTERNIA DOES...

JAMISON: =Peeps Jude.......=

JAMISON: Well yes, for you troll lot it is fine you're biology is capable of handling it. The same can't be said with our own digestive system. =Do you need a hug Jude? A sweaty, shirtless, hairy dadhug?=

MEULIN: BLEH. MEULIN: BUT WASN'T THERE A SIGN ABOUT D33P FRYING BABIES?

MEULIN: -stares off into the neon distance...-

JAMISON: Then it's quite possible that cannibalism has been introduced or even forced upon locals!

JUDE: -nO NOT REALLY DAD BUT THANKS...-

JUDE: okay but haven't you noticed the traits the humans around here are taking on?

JUDE: ashen skin... they've got growths on their heads??

JUDE: it'd make sense if they're being forced to eat their own

JUDE: if the condesce is trying to convert humanity to troll customs-- no, worse

JUDE: convert them into trolls themselves

[No? Maybe. Look, it's a decent proposal. However, no, there aren't any signs EXPLICITLY advertising frying babies, or any other humans for that matter.]

MEULIN: -SHE COULD SWEAR SHE SAW ONE LAST NIGHT-

JAMISON: Why that's a silly thing to do EVEN FOR Fish Hitler...... =squints= so she might just be doing it..... JAMISON: Confound it the seabeast is no genius when it comes to biology!.... Perhaps capturing one for testing is necessary....

JAMISON: I'm sure I would whip up a DNA analyzer!

MEULIN: OH... -geck face- THAT'S SO SUPURR GROSS?? WHY WOULD ANYBODY DO THAT???

JOEY: its a motivation if the fish queen wants an army of mindless followers

JOEY: rebuilding her race to the extent that all choice or doubt in her reign has been taken from them

MEULIN: MAYBE SHE SHOULD CLAWNSIDER REBUILDING HER BUTT WHEN I PUT MY FOOT IN IT. -grumpy growls. This cat does not like this town.-

JAMISON: Well said! There's ample space for my fists of fury along with your boot old girl!

MEULIN: OH MY GOD I ONLY JUST REALIZED YOU CAME BACK.

ROSE: Haha. Fuck.

MEULIN: WE JUST HAD A CONFURSATION AND EVERYTHING.

JAMISON: Right-o! Never stray for long when there's work to be done!

JAMISON: So, seeing how shooting is against the group consensus what about capturing?

ROSE: I could justify that, yes.

ROSE: We want to avoid a ruckus until we're certain they cannot corner us.

MEULIN: (ฅ•ω•ฅ) MEULIN: I'M GOOD AT POUNCING. I'VE B33N PRACTICING MY WHOLE LIFE.

JOEY: .....(adorable...)

JAMISON: Meulin! Would you like to capture a zombie with me? :D

MEULIN: -SNRKS and nudges bashfully at Joey. She heard that!!!-

JAMISON: =Holds up a net he made=

MEULIN: OH HELLS YES.

[ LOOK AT THIS NET THAT I JUST FOUND ]

JOHN: i think we should establish a base first that isn't an alley out in the open :0

JOHN: what about hijacking one of those trailers

ROSE: Was there room in those sewers?

JAMISON: Do we plan on being here for long? JAMISON: We could appropriate a building!

JOHN: - scratches under beard as he considers all these options-

ROSE: No, we need to catch up with the others. And despite her enthusiasm, I don't think Jolene has enough bombs to demolish this whole place.

JAMISON: Oh, well that's just a matter of creating more.

JOEY: we should keep a low profile before coming up with a solid game plan

JOEY: THEN we can make things blow up

JAMISON: Hm.... actually I would like to meet this "Guy" and take all his files.

ROSE: Well. Ideally, we would have a bomb on the side of town opposite we're going to escape from.

JOHN: hmm we're more than 20 hours from minnesota... if we somehow scored a trailer we could get out of town quickly if we need to and then take turns sleeping on the way there...

JAMISON: That is my near-end game to see what the devil is going on!

ROSE: Establish some sort of distraction.

JOEY: or direction

JOEY: if were going to sightsee, lets make an itinerary

JOEY: =smiles blissfully=

JOHN: - takes a deep breath. his stomach feels better and his nausea is gone. - those were really bomb ass rice krispies, meulin.

JOHN:... you still have that pb and banana...

ROSE: -SNORTS and laughs uncontrollably-

JOHN: @Rose

ROSE: -slides a lil plastic baby food container towards JOHN-

JOHN: - here he is, a grown ass man with a child eating baby food-

MEULIN: YOU ARE FURRY WELCOME.

JOHN: - incredible-

JOHN: - also he feels all tingly-

MEULIN: -she hasn't kept up with the conversation too terribly, thanks to the fact that she doesn't have to listen and can read it instead.- I THINK THE SEWERS MIGHT BE GOOD. THEY HAVE LITTLE AREAS DOWN THERE RIGHT?

MEULIN: IT WON'T SMELL GREAT BUT I THINK IT MIGHT BE BETTER THAN ICKY BUFFALO RANCH NOOK HELL.

JOHN: alright well... we have a lot of different ideas. and i honestly don't know what's the best choice.

JOHN: should we vote?

JOEY: =her eyes get spherical=

JOEY: theres such a place as buffalo ranch nook hell?

ROSE: Let's steal the zepplin.

JAMISON: I would like to have a base of operations and the sewers weren't so terrible for tha- oh a zepplin would be grand!

JOHN: is that a serious option because if so i like it.

JOHN: - HAS WIND POWERS-

ROSE: Yes. Fuck it. Fuck the sky. Let's steal it.

JOHN: yeah! - fist pump-

MEULIN: -leans toward Joey- WE'RE IN IT. WE ARE IN BUFFALO RANCH NOOK HELL.

JOEY: does anyone know how to actually fly one of those? it's hard from what i have heard :\

JOHN: oh, I have wind powers

JOHN: plus they probably do... - points at jo jo and jamison-

MEULIN: HE SAYS, SUPURR CATSUALLY.

JOHN: - he just takes for granted that the old people know everything-

JOHN: - floats as an example for joey-

ROSE: I, too, have powers, but I'd also think that hauling everyone up into the sky will attract a measure of attention we're not prepared for.

ROSE: Which is second to my previously stated stance, fuck the sky.

JAMISON: Oh! Yes you have been floating as of late I recall... =strokes mustache=

MEULIN: FUCK THE SKY!!

JOHN: ohhhh thats true. - considers this-

JOEY: ... =glances down at the rice krispie- aight, how strong is this stuff?

ROSE: Thank you.

MEULIN: I MEAN... IT'S A WHOLE KRISPIE...

MEULIN: (ฅ•ᆺ•ฅ)

JOHN: - only took a bite of his and put the rest wrapped up in his pocket-

JOEY: since when can people fly??

JOHN: it's not such a weird thing where we come from.

MEULIN: OH YEAH, PEOPLE FLY AROUND ALL THE TIME.

JOEY: i come from earth. this earth! everything is weird to me!

MEULIN: ARADIA HAS THESE TOTALLY BALLER WINGS, AND SO DOES MY BOSS ANGER STARE.

JOEY: anger....stare....

ROSE: Redglare.

JOHN: but like... if we had somewhere to land it, i could use wind currents to bring down the zep. maybe rose's psiionics could steady the landing.

MEULIN: (●ↀωↀ●)

ROSE: I am a psionic, of sorts. -Little finger sparks to demonstrate...-

MEULIN: BUT THEN WE WILL ALSO HAVE TO KILL WHOEVER IS ON BOARD! PURRBABLY.

MEULIN: RIGHT?

JAMISON: Probably!

JOEY: =whispers to meulin= (why is redstare so mad?)

JOHN: wow haha... settle down there.

JAMISON: Or capture them HAW!

JOHN: we don't have to kill anyone.

JOEY: =JUST....WATCHING THE SPARKS....LIKE ITS A NORMAL OCCURRENCE!=

MEULIN. -fails to whisper back- I THINK SHE HAS A BAD DAY, BUT LIKE, EFURRY DAY. WE SHOULD DO SOMETHING NICE FOR HER LATER.

MEULIN: -considers giving her boss weed... hmm-

JOEY: =gasps= does she like desserts? what about one of your riceweedies?

MEULIN: YES. I AM UPVOTING THIS PLAN.

JOHN: ok all in favor of trying to steal the zep say aye.

MEULIN: AYYYY ELL EM AY OH!

JOHN: that works.

JAMISON: AYE AYE!

JOEY: okay if you know what youre doing! :D

JOHN:... but we're not going to kill anyone unless they try to kill us first. - STERN GLANCING. -

MEULIN: OKAY CAPTAIN JOHN!

JOHN: - makes a face. don't even joke about that. he wants to hide behind rose. -

ROSE: And we should kidnap a... are we really going with Zombie? As a name?

MEULIN: -what?? IS HE NOT THE ZEPPELIN CAPTAIN AND/OR TEAM CAPTAIN?? JEEEEEZ-

JAMISON: I haven't the slightest what the devil else to call them.

MEULIN: I AM ALSO VOTING FOR "SQU33BS."

JOHN: hey we can knock out two birds with one stone. there has to be a pilot, right?

ROSE: Yes, but I doubt the people down here are running anything of importance.

ROSE: I mean, look at them.

MEULIN: CATCH ONE SQU33B, HOP ON BLIMP, NYOOM OFF INTO THE SUNSET.

JOHN: maybe the pilot will know more. - head scratcher-

JAMISON: By the time you all have the zeppy down Meulin and I should have one secure.

MEULIN: YUP!!

JOHN: alright. that works too!

JOEY: =starts singing, clapping john on the back= 

JOEY: she says that my life is over 

JOEY: "boy you don't know what you got till it's gone 

JOEY: come put your head upon my shoulder" 

JOEY: she gave me her hand but i ignored her 

JOEY: oh dr. john 

JOEY: what am i doing 

JOEY: what am i doing i wrong? 

JOEY: cuz i keep on trying 

JOEY: something ain't going 

JOEY: something ain't going on 

JOEY: oh dr. john

JOHN:... - THIS CHILD. he loves her already-

MEULIN: -she would sway but she has no idea this is a song-

JOHN: - pushes her playfully- get back jojo!

JOEY: =im 37 my dude=

JOHN: - he has no idea-

JOHN: - you're like 10+ years older than him-

JOEY: =theres probably something in grubloaf tbh=

JAMISON: =PLUS GOOD GENES=

JOEY: =aww you say that cuz im your kid=

JAMISON: =Also he and Jojo have THE BEST GENES. Spry old folks=

JOEY: =that she wont deny=