#i got a box of em (in a little case that's divided with dividers so each shell is in its own space 😭) awhile ago bc i wanted Scupa to have

[bunnyb34r]

In other news, Gurkle is getting so big!!!! I'm gonna have to reevaluate the shell shack soon and boil him up some of the biiig boy shells I got a while ago. I have a feeling he's gonna take Scupa's coveted big blue shell and Scupa's gonna kill him for it shdhdhdhhd

[theladybarnes]

CHERRY BOMB: CHAPTER TWELVE

"As a wise man once said; we’ve got shared trauma. So what’s a little more, right?”

▸ summary: things come to a wild end ▸ characters: the party ft. the teens ▸ word count: 8.5k         ▸ warnings: angst, fluff,  ▸ series masterlist

The drive back to the mall was probably the fastest you’ve gone tonight. 

 But there was no time to waste to spend thoughts on the speed you guys had driven since the group had to immediately prepare for the attack. Just as Jonathan had pressed down on the brake, the group was able to peer out the window in time to see as the flayer had managed to enter back inside the mall.

 While the three of you staggered out of the back of the truck, Will and Lucas pulled out a cardboard box from the backseat. You had only just adjusted back to standing up straight when Will pushed the box into your arms. 

 You stared down at the items inside with wide eyes as the boy quickly divided up everything to fit into different cases. “We’re gonna have to split up.” you said handing over the remaining boxes to the others. “Byers and Sinclair, the two lovebirds, and Gilligan and Ginger with me.”

 “I can’t wait for the day you run out of sailor jokes.” Steve sighed as you passed him the box. 

 “I see myself as The Skipper more than Ginger..” Robin hummed as she fiddled with the lighter. 

 “Uh guys do remember seeing the Mind Flayer go in the mall, right?” Lucas chimed in, giving the three of you a look. 

 “He’s right. We don’t have much time or fireworks so we’re gonna have to make every spark count.” Jonathan said sternly before he glanced over at you. “Everyone try and stay safe.” With that he quickly turned around and led the others towards the mall.

 The three groups split off once the balcony came into view. The sight of the looming creature was enough to nearly cause you to stumble as you set up your attack point with Steve and Robin. All around the lights of the stores in the mall began to blink. The flayer was making the entire place go on the fritz as it peered down at something below it. 

 Bending down, you try to look underneath its legs. Far towards the front entrance of Scoops was El, looking up in fear at the creature. “It’s El!” you gasped, turning towards the other two. “Light em up!”

 The others seemed to come to that conclusion on their own as they readied their aim. The spark to start the attack was the moment Lucas threw the first hit.

 “Flay this, you ugly piece of shit!” you heard him yell. 

 All together on cue, the rest of you began to take your shots. Each group went after the other in a blitz attack that had the monster roaring in every direction. The three of you were perfectly working in tandem, with the other readying their shot right after the other.

 “Hey, asshole! Over here!” Steve grunted, throwing his firework perfectly into the mouth of the flayer. After the other groups went Robin went next, hitting the monster right at the side of its face. And at your turn, you managed to get it square in the face.

 Steve threw his next one, leaning over the balcony to watch it hit over his head. Another direct hit.

 “That’s for my girlfriend’s car, you bastard!”

 The two of you stopped instantaneously. Looking over each other in shock at the sudden choice of words. While Steve looked absolutely nervous, worried that he might have said the wrong thing, you couldn’t help but feel yourself become excited inside. Shock turning slowly into a wide grin.

 “Guys?!” Robin called out, passing you another firework and bringing you back to reality. “Big monster, remember?”

 “Right!” you laughed, taking the firework from her. “You heard my boyfriend, asshole!”

 Steve remembered to step back in, throwing his perfect shots with a mirroring grin on his face.

  The bombarding attack only worked for so long. The amount of throws given to the beast began to dwindle and to your dismay, you watched as Robin took the last firework. “Steve, we’re all out!” you cried.

 He rushed over towards the walkie, pressing on the talk as he watched over to Robin’s throw. “Dustin!” he yelled into the receiver. “We’re out of time!”

 There isn’t any response. The three could only stand there and watch as the others slowly started to cease their fire. Leaving the main floor of the mall in a fog. From the balcony, you could see past the fires towards the front of Scoops. El was pinned beneath Billy, but she didn’t look up to him in fear anymore. It actually looked like she had been touching the side of his face. 

 “What the hell is going on?” you muttered as your fingers gripped tightly onto the ledge. Steve came up from behind, hand brushing up your back as he followed your gaze. 

 “I don’t understand. Why haven’t they shut the damn gate down?!” he gritted, watching as the flayer began to straighten up. 

 Down below stood the large beast. Peering down menacingly at Billy and El. Fire surrounded its large mass, making it look like a monster straight out of hell. Your eyes followed down to its gaze, noting its interest in El. 

 Just then, the monster opened its mouth, ready to shoot out a limb towards the girl when Billy stepped up and held his hands out. Stopping the attack. 

 “No!” Cried out Billy.

 It all happened so fast. 

 Before any of you could even try and think of a plan to stop the creature, it suddenly shot out the rest of its limbs. Latching and biting all over Billy’s body. Patches of dark ooze formed over the white in Billy’s shirt. It was attacking its own pawn. 

 The creature roared down at Billy. Dragging his body up towards his mouth as if he were about to gobble him up whole.

 For a moment it seemed that whatever rage was filled within the boy could power against whatever the flayer had. Like at any moment he would break off from the grasp and fight back. The yells could be heard even up at the balcony with how strong they were.

 But any thought of his survival from the attacks were cut short the moment the flayer’s opened up his mouth again to shoot out its final blow. Direct to the middle of Billy’s chest. 

 That’s when you heard Max’s scream. 

 Just as sudden as its attack on Billy, the flayer began to cry out in pain. Flailing its large arms around as it thrashed against the main floor of the mall. You staggered back, feeling silent shock run through your body as you watched the chaos below. It was only a moment later that it finally stopped its movements, falling down to the ground as the connection to the gate had finally been closed off.

 Max slowly approached Billy on the floor, reaching down to shake the boy awake. But no matter how hard she cried out to him, or how hard she shook him up, there was no getting him awake.

 You turned your body away from the sight, burying your face into Steve’s chest to cover up the world around you. This was the man of your nightmares and you fell out of whatever sort of feelings you had with him long ago. Wishing him all sorts of terrible things for the pain and hurt he inflicted onto others. But something deep down still knew him from home. From a time when you weren’t a part of the horrors of the upside down and living in a blissfully unaware world of partying and school. 

 But just like that former life, Billy Hargrove was cold and dead.

  JULY 5TH (2:00AM) 

 It was hours later and you found yourself unable to sleep. After dealing with the mess of clearance from the Hawkins Lab security, and checked up by one of their doctors. The members of the party were pretty much sent home without further discussion.

 There were apparently casualties from both sides of the battle of StarCourt. Some you were aware of like the Russians and your former boyfriend. But one you were shocked to hear was Jim Hopper. Meaning that El was once again left without a family. 

 How could one win feel like such a heavy failure?

 It filled your chest with an aching pain that caused you to toss and turn for so long now. There was only one person that you wanted to see to fix that. And despite the fact that you saw him enter inside the safety of his home, you still needed to check him out on your own. 

 To know once and for all the exact amount of damage he had suffered since you were forced to listen to his interrogations. 

 Which is why you were finding yourself sneaking out through your front door. Dressed only in pajamas that covered up your bruised and tired body. The ride to Steve’s without a car was a lot longer than you’d have preferred, but thanks to the flayer, you’d be back to biking around a lot now. 

 Honestly, being out this late should have freaked you out, especially being alone. But your mind couldn’t focus on that. All you knew was that you needed to make sure Steve was okay. That no one would be sneaking into his room and taking him back underneath the town to torture him for answers. That no mind flayer would take over his mind. That nothing would be piercing his chest and kill–

 “Baby?” 

 You blinked hard. Noticing that you were no longer riding your bike through Loch Nora but actually at your destination. Your hand was raised up to Steve’s double doors and you were shaking. Either from the cold or from the running thoughts that kept plaguing your mind. 

 Steve, who was still standing in the doorway, looked over at you with concern evident on his face. Your eyes scanned over his body, noting that he wasn’t dressed for bed like you were. He was actually in jeans. Like he was getting ready to leave. “Baby?” he said again softly, reaching out to place his hands on your shoulders. The heat from his palms seeped through your shirt, snapping you back into focus.

 “I-I needed to see you. I needed to know you were safe.” you stuttered, letting him pull you into the house. “Why are you wearing jeans? Why aren’t you resting?”

 “I couldn’t sleep. Was going to see you, actually..” he said with a small smile. “Should’ve known my girl would be on the same page as me.” 

 You turned and made sure he locked up the doors to his house before pushing yourself into his arms. The warmth of his chest seeped through your shirt and you inhaled the scent of the cotton that always stuck onto his clothes. It was so weird how just this time last year you were so mad at Steve. Wanting nothing to do with him. But now? Now you were at a place in mind where you needed to have the comfort of just his touch in order to feel right again.

 Steve chuckled lightly at your affection, unaware of the severity of your need for it. Quietly, he ushered you towards the stairs. Leading the way over to the privacy, and safety, of his room. “Where are they?” you asked softly once he had closed up the door.

 “Well, note says Indianapolis. They’ll be back Monday.” 

 A small bit of anger filled within you. Of course they’d be gone for so long in a time like this. When you needed to know he was with people who were supposed to watch over him, and make sure he was okay when you couldn’t. What good were parents if they didn’t even stick around for their-

 “Baby, you’re gripping me pretty tight.” 

 “I’m sorry.” you said pulling back, watching as he gave you a small reassuring smile again. “My mind is just..all over the place right now.”

 He didn’t say anything, only moving you over to sit at the end of his bed before he joined you. “After everything, I wouldn’t expect you to be in any place normal.” His hand reached up to cup at the side of your cheek before he leaned in to place a kiss on your forehead. 

 “I’m just worried about you.” Looking back at him, you pushed him back a bit to place a hand on chest lightly. Feeling the subtle thump of his heartbeat.  

 “I’m fine, Trouble..”

 “Let me see your chest.” you said calmly. Hands reaching out to tug at the end of his shirt. But he quickly stopped you, tugging down the shirt before you could do anything. “Steve, I’m serious. I need to see.”

 “Honey, it’s fine. I’m fine. I just need to get some sleep.” he licked over his lips, eyes shifting quickly towards the pillows on the bed. “So do you.”

 “It’s not fine, Steve!” you said urgently, trying to reach for the hemline of his shirt again. “None of this is fine! I need to see you are okay. I need to know–”

 “Know what? I’ve been checked out!” he countered, hands gripping onto yours. “They cleared me to go home.”

 “Steve, let me just see for myself!” 

 “NO!”

 The two of you instantly pulled back from each other in shock. Neither knowing how to react to each other’s sudden outbursts. It’s not until the tears you were unaware of, slipped down your cheeks and onto your hands that you realized you were crying. 

 “I’m sorry.” you whispered, embarrassed for the neediness that came with your worry. You wrapped your hands around yourself, needing to hold onto something.  “I-I didn’t–”

 “No, no, no. I’m sorry. “ Steve said quickly, pulling you back into a hug. The back of his hand rubbed gently at your back and you couldn’t help but reveal in the hold before he pulled back to look at you again. “I get it. I’d be the same if the roles were reversed.” He reached down to the end of his shirt, looking slightly ashamed. “I just didn’t want you to have to see me like this.”

 Without waiting for a response from you, he sighed heavily before carefully tugging the shirt off of  his body. Grunting a bit in pain. It’s not until he leaned back and allowed the light from his bedside lamp to cast over him that you were able to take in the damage he had. 

 All around his chest and sides were various shades of red to purple bruises. The Russian guards having left no spot clear of their damage from their interrogations. There was a particular dark mark over his clavicle that looked painful. Making you raise a hand gently to try and brush the bruise away with your touch. 

 There was no holding back the sniffling that followed after that. And when the more tears came out, you let yourself finally react. These monsters had hurt him. They hurt him so much and you couldn’t stop them. “I’m so sorry, baby.” You sputtered, unable to hold back the intense sob that had built up in your throat. “If I hadn’t tripped..if I didn’t get caught. We could have gotten out faster.”

 Steve reached over to hold the sides of your face. Shushing you instantly as he pressed gentle kisses all over your face.

 “This was not you, baby.” He kept repeating. “This is on those evil bastards. No one else. We would have been taken regardless. Okay? How do you think Robin and I got caught? They were too strong for us.” 

 “But maybe I could have helped you two! And if I helped then you wouldn’t hav—“

 “Trust me. It would have ended the same.”

 There’s another rebuttal on your tongue but Steve stopped that by kissing you quickly. The emotions that were held within the two lips were strong enough to almost make you want to cry again. But it stopped your panicking long enough that you were back to being calm by the time Steve pulled away. 

 He kept his gaze down at your lips, reaching a hand up to lightly gaze at the line of your bottom lip. Like usual, you can’t help but place a gentle kiss against the finger tip. Making him smile again before he dropped his hands to his lap. You use that chance to go over his bruising again, trying to remind yourself that while he was in pain. He was still before you. 

 He was still here.

 It’s not until you're done checking over everything that he finally looked up at you. A little flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Be honest,” he said softly, lips curled up in a small smirk.. “Is it bad? Will I have to wear sweaters for the rest of my life?” 

 You want to chastise him for making light of the situation, but the words are too familiar. And while it took you too long of a minute to think about it, the small memory of him fixing you up the previous year in the Byers’ bathroom came into mind.  “It’s disgusting.” you replied finally, a small smile fighting its way onto your face. 

 The two of you laughed light heartedly, relaxing a bit from the bit of seriousness with the help of the memory. But once that died down, Steve leaned in, allowing the tips of his fingers to brush against the sides of your neck. 

 “Take off your shirt.” He said suddenly. 

 “Why do you always ask me that when I'm here?” You hummed softly, feeling a bit like yourself again. He gave you an amused look, cheeks hinted with a bit of pink before he nodded to your neck. 

 “Let me see it without the shirt in the way.”

 Complying with his request, you pull off the pajama shirt, folding your arms over your chest to cover up at your breasts before turning your head to the side. Letting him get a proper look of everything. He huffed out air through his nose. Frustrated with the sight of your bruised neck. It was dramatically still a dark purple. 

 “It’s worse than it looks.” you said quietly. “They said after two days it’ll lighten up. Just gotta ice it now and then, take pain relief if I feel anything.”

 “And do you feel anything?” he asked, face close to your neck now during his inspection. 

 “No.” you sighed. “Just you.”

 Your response brought out a hum from him and shifted his head a bit to press a kiss to your neck. Making you shiver from the feeling of his lips on your skin. He seemed to like that reaction and proceeded to press even more kisses, moving one of his hands to wrap around the side of your hip.

 “Steve..” you sighed, trying not to fall into the stirring sensation.

 “I’m making you feel better.” he said against your neck. Teeth grazed against the vein lightly while his other hand rubbed from your other side to the arm currently covering your chest. “Can’t a guy just make his girl feel good?”

 Smiling at the thought, you gently pushed his hands off from you so that you could cup the sides of his face. Bringing his gaze back to yours. Though that was a little bit difficult with your top off and arms no longer able to cover yourself.

 “A guy can make his girl feel good when he doesn’t have an entirely bruised chest.” He scoffed a bit before you nodded to him. “Tell me, just what exactly did they say when you were checked out?”

 “I told you, I’m fine. I’m clear to do any–”

 “Steve Harrington, you be honest with me right now.”

 The use of his full name made his eyes go wide before he smirked a bit. “Say my name that way again.”

 Shaking your head, you gently push him away and slide off from the bed. Reaching for your top on the floor. But before you could slip it on, he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you back towards the bed. “It’s a bruised rib, sprained clavicle, and bruised eye. Six weeks for them to heal up properly.” He pointed over to cut on his lip and pouted. “This thing will be around a lot longer if I don’t get some scar cream. Now can we go back to letting me do my work?” 

 Looking down at his lip, you gently cupped at his cheek and leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead. “You are not going back to work for six weeks.” Steve’s eyes widened again and you fought the smile that wanted to come out from his shock. “Listen, you’re not gonna feel good in any kind of way until you’re healed up. I’m not gonna risk you being in pain just so we can have sex.”

 “I’ll risk it! Allright? We’re finally together!” he tried, reaching out towards you. “We love each other. We gotta celebrate!”

 His desperation is only a little bit funny, but you’re trying to hold that laugh down to try and eb serious about this. “You think every time we defeat monsters from the upside down and throw in confessions we gotta celebrate with sex?” 

 “YES.”

 Shaking your head, you allowed yourself to laugh a bit before patting at his hand tenderly. “Okay, we’ll celebrate. Just when you’re not banged up and the color of a grape.” you reassured him. He parted his lips to fight back on it, but you’re quick to place your fingers against his lips to stop him. “I want to, trust me. I just don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

 Steve sighed disappointedly, bringing his hand up to grab yours. He pressed his lips to your fingers before nodding his head. “Okay,” he said, giving in. “Okay, you’re right.” Reaching for his shirt, he was about to slip it back on himself before he looked over at you. 

 “What?” you asked, confused. “Do you need he–”

 He slipped the shirt over your head, tugging it down your body. You pushed your arms through the sleeves and looked down at him questioningly. He adjusted the ends, making sure your bare chest was now perfectly covered before back at you. 

 “I want my girl warm.”

 “And my shirt wouldn’t have sufficed?”

 “That thin thing?” he huffed, pushing himself off the bed. “Barely covered your skin, let alone keep you warm.” 

 Rolling your eyes, you watched as he slowly took off his jeans, leaving him only in boxers. There’s thankfully no other major bruising to his body, but your casual check out doesn’t go unnoticed. 

 “Change your mind?” he teased.

 You ignore his words and pull at the blanket to his bed, climbing inside to get under the covers. Steve chuckled at that, moving to climb in after you. The two of you face each other instantly, getting in as close as you could. 

 Steve sobered up a bit from his previous emotions and reached out to push a stray hair away from your face. Leaning to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked softly. There’s no doubt you know what he’s referring to, but you decide to play dumb anyway.

 “I thought we were already talking?” 

 He pursed his lips a bit. “I’m being serious.”

 Sighing, you snuggled closer towards him. Letting your senses be engulfed in Steve before peering back up at him. The hum of his room’s air conditioning was enough background noise to lull you to sleep, but you knew he’d want some sort of answer about it.

 “I’m not sure” you said honestly. “There’s a part of me that’s sad for the loss of a life, for Max, for..the Billy I used to know. But that guy was long gone before the Flayer ever took control of him.” 

 “Doesn’t mean that you wanted him to die.”

 “I don’t want anyone to die.” 

 Steve nodded his head, moving to rub gently at the small of your back before he tugged you closer. “I learned a while ago that the upside down doesn’t care who dies and who doesn’t. It’s out of our hands..”

 You think about why Steve would feel that way until the memory of Barb Holland came into mind. Then Bob Newby, and lastly, Jim Hopper. People who were good as much as Billy was bad were killed because of everything with the upside down too. 

 “So this is just our new normal? Dealing with the death of someone we know every year?” 

 “No.” Steve said quickly. “The gate is shut down for good.”

 “That’s what we thought last time. How can you be so sure?” You asked, looking up to his face again. “What if there’s something new again? What if the next person I lose is you? What if you di—”

 Steve shushed your panic by pressing his lips against yours. Like before it instantly washed you in a comforting hold. “Nothing will happen to me or you.” He breathed against your lips. “The gate is closed and if anything or anyone tries to hurt you again, I’ll stop them.”

 “You’ll stop them?” you repeated, looking at him a little bit in disbelief. 

 “Yes,” he said firmly. “Because you’re my girl and no one is gonna look out for you better than me, okay?”

 The words hit differently this time and you can’t help but feel his emotions sweep you off your feet, metaphorically speaking. While there’s no certainty that Steve would always be there to protect you and even know if things with the upside down were done for good. The determination behind his voice is enough to settle you down for now.

 “I love you.” you said softly, pressing your lips quickly to his. He was quick to drag you back in when you began to pull away. Deepening the kiss as he too felt the emotions take over him. One of his hands moved to press you closer to his body, making you feel the front of his chest swell against yours. 

 “I love you, too.” he said hotly to your lips, mouth parting slightly to gain back some air. “So much.” 

 He tried to go for another deep kiss, but you cut it short. Choosing to press gentle pecks to his lips and face before you finally were able to pull back. “We should sleep. Tomorrow everyone’s gonna wanna talk about everything.” 

 Ignoring the pout on his face, you turned your body around, giving Steve the chance to drag you back to his front and hold you close in his arms. “What if I wanna spend the day in bed with you?”

 “You’ll have to plan that in the next six weeks.” you reminded him. 

 He muttered something under his breath before he leaned in to place gentle kisses against the nape of your neck. “I’ll be counting the days until then.” The pout was still very evident in his voice, making you smile a bit as you dragged his hand to drape over your waist. 

 “Okay, Sailor.” you chuckled, allowing your eyes to close as you relaxed in his hold.

 “Nuh uh.” he yawned, reaching over you a bit to turn off the lamp by his bed. “Can’t be a sailor anymore if there’s no Scoops.”

 “Shit, you’re right. I guess I better change it back to your highness.”

 “Nope, that’s too old.”

 “There’s literally nothing else I can call you.” You lied, feeling him tighten his arm teasingly. “If not that then..baby?”

 “I’m calling you that.” 

 “Oh come on, there’s only so many pet names I can call you. Honey?” 

 “Sorry, dibs on that too.” 

 “Steve!”

 “Goodnight, Baby.”

 TWO MONTHS LATER

 It would only take till the end of the summer for another big change to happen. After thinking it over, Joyce decided that she could no longer live in Hawkins. The pain and loss of both Bob and Jim took a heavy toll on her heart. The Byers family, and their newest member El, would be moving to California. 

 Something that you and Jonathan found very amusing.

 But just like that, the party, the teens, everyone, would be split apart. Making the summer feel like it was truly the end of things. 

 All of you tried to make due with the limited time you had left. Spending the last hot day at Steve’s house for swimming. Movie nights in the Wheeler basement to watch cheesy scary movies. And for the teens, one last cheap slice of pie from the local diner. 

 It was the day before the Byers house was to pack up and leave and you managed to reserve the day alone with your friend. There wasn’t anything special done, in fact, you took it upon yourself to help Jonathan organize his room enough for easy packing. But now, like usual, the two of you were outside his house. Sitting on the hood of his crappy car, talking. 

 “So you think this old thing can make it to California?”

 “It can hear your insults, you know.” Jonathan laughed as he gently rubbed down on the metal below him. “Besides, this old thing is a lot better than the balled up red mess of yours sitting in the junkyard.” 

 You feigned a shocked look. Still slightly bitter about your car’s demise from the Flayer’s rampant rage. 

 “That is literally too soon to joke about my baby like that.”

 “Sorry,” he snorted, trying not to fall for the pout that you’re throwing at him. “It’s a sad truth you have to face.”

 “Trust me, I do.” you sniffled. “If it weren’t for Steve’s lifts, I’d be a hot mess on my dumb bike.”

 Jonathan shook his head before he nodded towards the road. “Speaking of, where is he? Usually I only get you for an hour or two before he’s whisking you off.” There’s no real hate in his tone. Something you were worried about when you started to date Steve. It was genuine curiosity. 

 “He knew what today meant for us. Said he wanted to give me as much time with you and that he’d pick me up and take me out to dinner.”

 “How generous of him.” Jonathan said to his lap, picking at the end of his sweater. “Gave us the whole day.. to say goodbye.”

 “Hey, this isn’t goodbye.” you reminded him with a nudge to his shoulder. “This is us getting ready for your trip that will have you back by Christmas. At least that’s what I think I heard Joyce tell Mike the other day.”

 “It won’t be the same. You of all people would know.”

 “I know.” you muttered.

 There’s a beat of silence before you scoot over closer to Jonathan. Moving to rest your head onto his shoulder. He rests his head on top of yours, letting out a long sigh before he spoke up again. “Remember when we first met?”

 “You mean when you stared at me while Carol was yacking my ear off?”

 “Yes,” he laughed. “You caught me so fast and immediately called me out for it. Nearly gave me a heart attack when you chased me down the hall.”

 “What was I supposed to do? Cower away from the guy who was looking at me?”

 “You wouldn’t have been the first.”

 Pulling your head back, you glared over at your friend before giving him another nudge. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t. Got myself a good weirdo out of it.” You put your head down again and looked out towards the street. Watching as the street lights began to come to life down the block the closer the day began to end. 

 “I wish I could stay.” he sighed, looking down the same direction as you. “Finish out Senior year with you and Nance.”

 “Me too. It won’t be the same..it won’t be as fun.”

 “You’ll have fun. You got Nancy, Steve, and Robin.”

 There’s some sort of push to keep the tone positive. But oddly enough, it’s only making you sad. “But there won’t be you.” you said softly. “There won’t be anyone to make fun of the town with or listen to cheesy rock music with.”

 “My music is not cheesy.”

 “Or watch you live in denial with.” you went on, making Jonathan laugh.

 “I’ll be back. Soon enough.” he said after the laughter had died down. You picked your head up to look at him and found he was looking down at you. “We can go to the park and laugh at the cheesy couples trying to ice skate together.”

 “Oh God, that is so cheesy. I’m in. We can even take photos of the ones that fall.” you chirped, moving to slide off the car. Jonathan followed next, dusting off some of the dirt from his pants before he stood before you. There’s a bit of a watery look to his eyes and you found it making your own sting with tears.

 “You’re my best friend,” he said suddenly. “And as weird as it is to say to anyone other than my Mom or Nancy, I love you.”

 “I love you too, creep.” you smiled, feeling the waterworks trying to fight to come out now. “And you’re definitely not gonna be one of those friends who cry when they have to move away.”

 “Oh, definitely not.” he said, choking up a bit. “And you’re too cool to be crying for some guy you’ve been friends with for almost two years.”

 “Definitely not!” you said, already reaching up to wipe away the tears that rolled down your cheeks. It's another somber moment of you two keeping emotions under control before Jonathan gave up and pulled you in for a very needed hug. 

 “Wanna hear something funny?” you mumbled into his jacket. 

 “What?”

 “Steve said he wanted to take me ice skating this winter..”

 At that, the two of you turned your sniffling into laughter. Holding onto each other to steady yourself for a good few minutes. It’s not until the sound of a car approaching that the two of you shut up. 

 Pulling back, you watched as the familiar red hue of Steve’s BMW came into one of the street lights. A friendly face, with a sad reminder of what tomorrow would bring. Turning to face the driveway, you watched Steve’s face as he pulled up to park his car. 

 You couldn’t help but grin at Steve as you watched him climb out of the car. The look on his face is a little nervous, but once his eyes found yours, he sent you a grin back. “Hope I’m not too early.” he waved, stepping over towards you.

“You’re right on time. Let me go get my stuff inside.” The two boys looked slightly worried to be left alone, but you ditched them momentarily to quickly gather your things and say your goodbyes to the three inside. 

 Joyce was, of course, as emotional as you expected. She’s been through so much, but it was nice to know that she had a soft spot for you. You remembered to give her the contact information for your Father’s law firm. Reminding her that if there was ever a legal situation with El or Will that he would be able to help upon her request. She told you not to worry and reminded you to call often.

 Next stop was the kids. A weird sight to see all of them gathered under one roof. It wasn’t until late afternoon that they all showed up. The boys gathered in Will’s room to hang out once more, and the girls in El’s bedroom. With their friends around they put on brave faces, but once you pulled them out in the hallways, they let their composure crumble a bit. 

 Saying goodbye to them hurt you a lot more than you thought. They were just kids. Dustin’s little friends. But thinking about how you weren’t going to see them around the following week made you terribly sad. You were never good with goodbyes, and this time wasn’t any different. 

 Finally tearing yourself from the kids, you found your way back outside. Purse in hand as you made your way over towards the boys. The last bit of their conversation tickling into your ears.

 “..I get it. You take care of yourself, man.”

 “Thanks, uh, you take care too.” 

 Their gazes turned over at you as you stepped forward. A small hopeful smile on your face at the sound of their ending pleasantries. You’re about to make a joke about them hopefully turning into penpals when you notice something in Jonathan’s hands. “What is that?”

 “Oh,” he said, turning it over to show you. It was a thin dark green photo album. No bigger than a school binder. “I sort of..put this together for you.”

 “You’re leaving and decide to give me a going away present?” you scoffed, reaching over for it. “And here you were last week telling me if I spent a dime on you, you’d kick my ass.” 

 Jonathan rolled his eyes a bit before flipped the cover for you. “It was supposed to be a Christmas present, but I figured you’d like it now, smart ass.”

 Ignoring his playful jab, you watched as he turned to show you the following pages. The pictures are done in Jonathan’s familiar candid style, and you’re happy to see how many he’s taken since the last Christmas he got the camera. 

 There’s photos of you and Dustin in his house, the two of you at school, some with Nancy while the two of you talk on the hood of his car, and even to your surprise, a few with Steve. “I promise, these weren’t taken in a weird creepy way..I just thought you’d appreciate having some memories.”

 “I so want to kick your ass right now.” you sniffled, feeling more tears come out. Steve stepped closer, peering down at the photos with a small smile on his face.

 “That’s cool, but you should probably save it for Christmas.” he smiled. “I think I’ve kept you from Harrington long enough today.”

 Nodding your head, you hand over the album to Steve before wrapping Jonathan in one more hug. “I’m gonna miss you, Creep.” you said softly before pulling back. “Don’t go over there and become best friends with another bitchy Californian, okay? That’s my job.”

 “Cross my heart.” he chuckled, before patting your back. The two of you step back from each other and you feel the warmth of Steve’s hand engulf yours. Keeping you warm and steady as you moved towards his car.

 After he helped you inside, you watched as Jonathan moved back to the hood of his car. Sitting quietly as Steve made his way back to the driver’s seat. Bringing your hand up from your lap, you give your friend one last wave. Watching as he did the same. 

 You kept your gaze on your friend as Steve pulled out from the Byers’ driveway. Going at a slow pace to give you the most amount of time. But eventually the car is turning and your friend’s face is losing focus. And soon enough the two of you are driving off towards the familiar road back to town. 

 “You gonna be okay, baby?” Steve asked a couple of minutes later. Reaching to place his large palm on your thigh. It warmed up your skin through your tights and you can’t help but smile at the affection. While you were sad about so many changes that were about to happen, you almost forgot one of the best ones.

 “I will be.”

  THE NEXT DAY

 It had been ten minutes inside of Family Video that you found yourself silently raking through the aisles of movies available to rent. Most of them you’ve either seen or heard from tv. But there were a few that you found yourself having to turn the box over just to find out what it was about. 

 Keith, an upcoming Junior you knew from school, had been watching you since you stepped in. He greeted you with a sleazy smile, offering his recommendation services if you found yourself stuck on what to pick. After reassuring him that you’d be fine on your own, he returned his gaze back down to the comic on the counter. But now and then you’d catch him eyeballing you from across the room. 

 Robin and Steve were supposed to be here five minutes ago to try and get an interview. But they both seemed to be running late. Thankfully they weren’t on a scheduled time or else you’d have been panicking. It was only about two minutes later that you heard the pinging noise of the front door opening.

 The two, both out of breath, rushed inside with a skip in their step. On the way to Keith, Steve’s eyes found yours and you gave him a very subtle thumbs up from the aisle you were in. He gave you a quick wink before turning to join next to Robin. 

 From where you were, you couldn’t help but watch in anticipation for what the outcome of the interview might be. Keith had been looking down at both their resumes for a solid minute before Robin’s nerve began to come through.

 “Uh, just to be clear, we weren’t fired, you know. The mall burned down, and like, killed a bunch of people.”

 You were thankful Keith’s back was to you, as you stepped closer. Pretending to be interested in the candy as you listened on.

 “Thanks for sharing. Didn’t know.” he replied sarcastically. He lazily threw down the papers onto the counter before turning suddenly serious. “Three favorite movies. Go.” he snapped to Robin. The girl didn’t hesitate to list out her answers. Giving what you assumed to be a pretty good favorites list.

 Steve on the other hand looked visibly upset. Almost the same whenever Dustin would try and convince him to an impromptu trivia night. 

 “You, go.” he snapped to Steve next. His brown eyes widened and he suddenly looked like he was called up to answer questions on the chalkboard. 

 “Favorite movies?”

 “Did I stutter?”

 “Uh..Animal House, for sure.” 

 Robin audibly scoffed, trying not to look at her friend while Steve’s gaze wandered over the store. He looked over at you with a pleading look before Keith called out to him again. 

 “Eyes on me, Harrington.”

 “Yeah, uh..Star Wars.”

 You nearly dropped the candy jar in your hands. The entire winter break last year was spent watching those ridiculous Star Wars films with Dustin in your living room. Not once did he ever think to remember the names of at least one of them?

 “A New Hope?”

 “A new what-now?”

 “Which Star Wars?”

 “The one with the teddy bears. Duh.” he said, finishing with a little squealing noise. At that point you have to physically turn away, forcing your gaze onto another row of movies and not at your boyfriend currently tanking his interview.

 “No? Uh..Oh, the one that just came out! The movie that just came out. THe one with the DeLorean and Alex P. Keaton, and he’s trying to bang his mom.” Peeking over your shoulder, you catch him chuckling before he remembered who he was talking to. “Yeah, those are my top three. Classics.” 

 Keith was silent as he stared in horrid shock at Steve for a moment. Steve cast his gaze down and away from the people beside him. Most likely going through the whole thing in his mind.“You start Monday.” he finally said to Robin before he pointed over at Steve. “You start never.”

 The words seemed to hit Steve a little hard. Even from where you stood you could see the slight tint of red brush over his cheeks. This wasn’t how the interview was supposed to go at all. Robin leaned over and spoke softly to Steve. He looked annoyed as he talked back to her but she urged him gently again and soon he was dramatically taking his resume off the counter. 

 Moving past a couple of customers, you made your way over to him. Reaching out to grip onto his hand. “Anything good here?” you asked, looking over the movies he was currently fiddling with.

 “Don’t ask me, apparently my movie taste isn’t good enough for this place.” he sighed. You knew he was a little upset by the fact that he still hadn’t reached out for you. Choosing instead to keep his glare over at Keith from afar. “It’s not like I need to be God damn Roger Ebert. It’s just Family Video!” 

 You chuckled a bit, poking at his arm so that he’d finally look down at you. “Sometimes things don’t work out, Steve. It’s not the end of the world.”

 “I know that.” he pouted, finally calming a bit to reach out for your hand. “I just wanted this to be a win. Now I won’t get to work with Robin.”

 You glanced over towards Robin, watching as she pointed over to where you and Steve were while she leaned in closer to Keith. Her eyes caught yours, winking at you before she waved for you to come over.

 “You know, something tells me we’re cutting our losses a bit too soon.” you said softly letting go of Steve’s hand. He muttered out a confused noise as you walked over towards the counter. The two people straightened up a bit once you were close enough. Keith glanced over at Robin, getting a slow nod from the girl before he snapped his fingers to you.

 “Three favorite movies. Go!”

 A part of you was curious as to why you were suddenly being interviewed. But from the look on Robin’s face, you knew that whatever happened next was going to be based on your answers. Still, a part of you was annoyed with Keith and his efforts to humiliate your boyfriend. So you could only give what you saw fit.

 “Staying Alive, Xanadu, and..Star Wars.”

 Your words looked like it nearly stabbed Keith in the chest. His hands reached out to grip onto the counter. He looked as red as the neon sign behind him. “Which Star Wars?” he gritted out, beady eyes on you.

 “The one where the annoying talking green guy dies.”

 “This isn’t gonna work, Buckley!” he cried out, looking over to your friend shocked.  She let out a big fake laugh as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder. Pulling you close to her side. Though her face was friendly, she was secretly pinching at your arm, making you let out a nervous chuckle.

 “She’s so totally kidding! Aren’t you, Henderson?” she asked, looking at you with a small glare.

 “Totally.” you smirked, keeping your composure. “Just thought I’d make you laugh.” Keith narrowed his eyes at you for a moment before the sound of crashing happened to your right. The three of you watched as Steve fought to keep up a cardboard cut out of Phoebe Cates from falling onto the floor. He’s thankfully quick at setting back up in time and has a second to look over it up close. 

 “Oh!” he called out, a smile back on his face. “Fast Times! Fast Times. Ever heard of it? Top three for me, Keith.” You and Robin giggled at the comment. Very much amused by the boy before Keith brought back the focus with a groan.

 “All right, Buckley. You better be right.” Kneeling down, he seemed to reach for something behind the counter before coming back up. “Monday. The three of you come in for the Month’s schedule.” Keith he sighed before chucking green fabric into your hands. 

 The girl called out a thank you to the boy before leading you out the store. Steve is quick to follow behind you, coming up to your side to grab at one of the green clothes. “It’s a vest.” he frowned, looking at the fabric closely.

 “It’s an ugly green vest.” you scoffed, passing the other piece to Robin.

 “It’s ugly, but it is our new uniform guys!”

 “Wait, you’re serious? We go the job?”

 “We got the job.” she confirmed. The two broke out into happy little claps before turning to you. At first you could only raise a brow before you noticed the one in your hand. 

 “Oh shit, me too. We got the job!” you laughed, waving your vest like a little flag. Getting another job definitely wasn’t on the list of things you wanted to start the new year. But from the way the other two seemed to be excited, you couldn’t help but feel like it might be a good idea.

 Steve leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips, giving you a small smile. “We’ll get to spend more time together this way.”

 “And make a quick buck along the way.” Robin snorted, heading towards the backseat door. Steve made it a point to open up the passenger door for you, holding a hand out so that you could slide in easily.

 “Well work starts on Monday. But what should we do for the weekend?” you asked once buckled in. Steve adjusted the rearview mirror before an idea came into mind. 

 “Well the Hawk is still showing that Time movie.”

 “It’s Back to the Future, Steve.” you corrected. “And we technically saw it already.”

 “I can promise you I really don’t remember the majority of it.” he said honestly. “Plus, I remember you telling me you wanted to see it. I know you got a thing for that guy.”

 A part of you felt a little shy hearing him remember a detail so far back. But you supposed that was a perk of having him as your boyfriend. “You’d really want to try and see it again. You won’t get bored?”

 “If I’m seeing it with you then I promise I won’t be bored.” he smirked, leaning in close enough that he could brush a bit of hair off your face. 

 “And me!” Robin said, poking her head from the back seat. “You’d be seeing it with me too!”

 You laughed a bit at her eagerness, watching as Steve rolled his eyes. But from the smile that was curling up on his lips, you knew there was no real annoyance to the gesture. So without wasting anymore time, you leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek. Nodding for him to start the car. 

 “Looks like we’re going to the movies.”

 Steve smiled at that and started up the car. The engine hummed back to life, filling up the car with a soft noise as the three of you set off from the parking lot. You kept your gaze out the window, watching out towards the people while Steve and Robin began to discuss a sudden craving for popcorn. 

 Reaching for the radio, you quietly went through the different stations before settling on one that was in the middle of a song. One you hadn’t heard in quite some time, but it was enough to bring a smile onto your face. 

 Yeah (ba-da, da-da, da-da)

My, my, such a sweet thing (ba-da, da-da, da-da)

I wanna do everything (ba-da, da-da, da-da)

What a beautiful feelin' (ba-da, da-da, da-da)

Crimson and clover (ba-da, da-da, da-da)

Over and over

A/N: Okay! That took me quite a bit to finish! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. I made it a little long because a lot happens and I needed for her to say her goodbye to Jonathan in a way I hope fits their friendship. The next season is gonna be such a bitch to write but I’m excited! I also hope ppl get why I picked the song in the end. And also a hint for the next season. I’m probably gonna take a couple of days for a break and then get started on more things. Hope you guys like this. I know it’s a bit messy. :)

[beautifulterriblequeen]

omg, Sunfire background image

So we all got a look at the Wonderstorm end-of-year update, right? I love it, and it's so nice of them to keep in touch with the fandom! I love it here, so much.

And once again, they just dropped us a freebie image with zero context, so that we may play with it like the kindle of kittens we are.

Bless 'em. They know us so well. I'm gonna go at this thing with my hind claws like I just caught the zoomies during a full moon.

Here's the pic:

And here's my thoughts, enhanced by excited chatter in discord:

Sunfire, obviously

throne/receiving room

but not Khessa's

the throne isn't even the same. this one has three diamonds, two of which have dark holes in them for some reason. uhh matching primal stones a la the Arkenstone maybe, who knows?

diamonds again, a symbol that seems to be on leaders or their accoutrements

Okay here's the coolest part about this:

this is a tent set up in a ruin made of golden stone

see the broken walls in the background, that broken pillar, and there's some rubble on the near floor as well

it's not the same location as Khessa's throne room

but the stone is Lux Aurea-colored

another fact that seems important: the tent blocks out all the light from outside, so while we have no idea where this really is, the important part is, it blocks out all the light

because the Sunforge in Lux Aurea has been tainted by Aaravos, and according to the Cortex stream I watched recently, it's canon that the dark magic-tainted light of the Sunforge is twisting and poisoning everything it shines on

best guess: this is Janai's ad hoc throne room in Lux Aurea during and perhaps after the poisoning of the Sunforge

Further fun deets:

I don't know if this tent is perhaps very old, or perhaps bears one character's specific motif? Its patterns seem a little different than most Sunfire things we've seen so far, but it is gorgeous and I love its look

and also the sunlight lamps inside it, which are not tainted

I wonder if they're still magical light or if they're a more natural light, like from stones/insects/creatures smuggled into the city covered so they would not get tainted, or simply oil and fire with no magic at all, in case that is just the safest way to get light in Lux Aurea these days

I definitely wonder things about how much magic power the Sunfire elves and Sun-arcanum beings still have. Is their magic getting tainted by the existence of a poisoned Sunforge, or is their connection to the Sun separate from it? When the Sunforge apparently gets destroyed to remove the constant poisoning, does that affect the Sunfire elves and other Sun creatures negatively?

WILL BAIT BE OKAY??

this is a comfortable room where people are invited to sit and relax instead of standing on ceremony

sitting on pillows!! Sunfires sit on pillows!! I love this!!

the internal curtains that can divide the tent into sections are sheer and do not block the light

it's very pretty, but it also invites an openness that seems very Sunfire, as there could be somewhere to hide in here but they've deliberately decided not to create such a space, except for beneath the tent as a whole, for safety reasons

the patterns on the pillows and jars are interesting

the pattern of a gold circle with four points atop a purple pillow is sure in here a lot, and with that color scheme it seems deliberately royal while avoiding the pure unending gold color of Khessa's reign

also the darker colors in general - the purple, black sun shape, and deep red - are thematically linked to the poisoning of the Sunforge: the eclipse of the Sun Nexus, purple dark magic, and the creepy red magic tufts around the Sunforge

the plants and pillows and food and drink contribute to the comfort and homeyness in here, you're meant to feel at ease

if this really is a place where people take shelter, it's possible that these boxes around the edges of the room hold sleeping mats or bedrolls that are laid out at night and tucked away in the morning

the rug on the center has a sun in the middle and the swoopies around its edges are reminiscent of vining plants, living things. It reminds me of the Moonshadow brier patterns on Lujanne's blankets, but less stabby

there's an embroidered-looking symbol hanging in here as well

with the red and gold, it could be Janai's personal symbol, the symbol of the Sun Throne, a location symbol, a temporary event indicator, a war banner, someone else's banner - a character we haven't met yet, or a lot of other things. Since two of these are flanking the throne, though, I assume they represent the person or position of the one who sits on it.

to me it kind of reads like a cross between the Eye of Sauron and the Venus symbol, with a similarity to the giant symbol on the wall in the Moon Temple: big U shape with a staff-support bit under it. Which feels a little more "magic staff/mage" than "general", so

maybe it's Karim's symbol? as... a baby Sun mage ruler, left in charge when his big sister Janai leaves on her adventures? Idk that's a wild guess, but the Sunfires are short one Sun mage at the moment...

Anyway, that's what I see so far, with thanks once more to the keen eyes in discord, and I can't wait to see where this backdrop lands in the show itself. Will it be a frequently used location, or only in flashback, or just for one dramatic scene? Time will tell! Eventually.

[cherrydreamer]

My entry for Day 27 of the HarringroveApril challenge (This one is for @ihni and her own little green shoots! I’m keeping my fingers and toes crossed that you have as much luck with your plants as Billy does with his!) Growth

Steve comes home with a lot of strange things. 

Little plastic astronauts in his pockets. Sparkly ‘Roar-some Work’ dinosaur stickers stuck to the back of his pants. A whole box of peeping yellow chicks once, when the teacher in the next door class forgot to take them home for the weekend.

At least the sunflowers won’t shit all over the carpet.

“I always plant some extra,” Steve explains, looking out at Billy over a boxful of at least fifteen little brown pots and tall green stems, “Just in case any of them don't grow, or if one gets knocked over or something. But the kids have taken theirs home to plant now, so...got some leftovers.”

Billy’s confused expression turns into one of utter fondness. Pure love for Steve and how much he cares for his kids. Steve shrugs, jostling the box and tilting a couple of the flowers precariously,  “We can just throw ‘em out, I guess, but I wondered if you wanna…” he gestures out towards the garden.

When they first bought the house, ‘garden’ was an overly optimistic word for what was essentially a few square feet of patchy grass with a couple of broken plant pots containing mushy brown leaves and a thorny hedge growing all around the edge.  But Billy could see the potential in it. What it could be, given time. Given care and attention, and  he'd thrown himself into it with gusto, dividing the tiny plot into even tinier sections, noting down which bits got the sun and which bits tended to get waterlogged and which bits got the brunt of the winds, and then spending hours pouring over library books to find out the best types of plants for the conditions.  Planning it all out before he even had a spade in his hand.

He charmed Gloria next door; just poked his head over the fence to compliment her lilies and smile his beaming smile and, within a hour, he was sitting in her kitchen with a cat on his lap, a homemade brownie in hand and a head full of the kind of gardening tips you can't learn from books.

But even with all his knowledge, all his preparation, he was almost afraid to start. Worried he might somehow get it wrong. Might spoil it before it was even begun. Eventually, he got annoyed at his own hesitation and forced himself to start pulling at brambles and digging up things that might be weeds, might be prize winning rose-bushes.  Just to get it all clear.  Start it all afresh.

There was freedom in it. No one to yell and tell him he was getting it wrong. No one breathing down his neck, waiting for him to make a mistake. Just him and a set of pruning shears and a little slice of the world ready and waiting for him to shape it how he saw fit.

So he kept going. Kept on hacking away at years worth of overgrown weeds and gnarled bushes, pulling up chunks of rotten fences and broken shards of pottery. clearing it all out and leaving him dirty and sweaty and covered in tiny scratches from the most stubborn of the prickly bushes. And Billy loved it.

He relished the physical activity and the way it made his muscles ache pleasantly after a day of digging and planting, bulking up his arms and firming a tummy that had turned soft and squishy after months of rest, recuperation and Steve’s reliance on take-aways. But there was a deeper satisfaction too, something he could feel settling in his soul. A warm rush of pride that began with the very first seed he placed into a single plastic pot and which grew even more as the kitchen began to fill up with pots on every available surface. His plants didn’t ask for much, and Billy gave them everything they needed. He watered them and made sure they got enough sun, and he was rewarded by the sudden appearance of tiny green shoots. Life. Created by his care and his diligence and something to show for all of his nurturing. He doted on them, checking everyday on the little nubs which soon became spindly things that Billy carefully repotted into even bigger tubs, keeping them inside and warm until they grew big enough and strong enough to take their chances in the outside world. Keeping them safe until they were ready.

And then it was time for the big jobs. The proper planting. The part that Billy dreaded and looked forward to with equal measure.

Steve helped, of course, spending hours on his knees digging holes under Billy's instruction, or driving them both to the hardware store for twine and canes and huge bags of compost with different vitamins and PH balances and all sorts of clever things that Billy tried to explain before having to admit that he didn't quite understand, but that Gloria had recommended.  And sometimes Steve took over the watering. On the nights when Billy ached too much to walk, or when his fingers wouldn’t bend around the handle of the watering can, he would sit in the comfy lounger just by the door and watch with grateful eyes as Steve made sure every single plant got a sprinkle of water. Not a single one left wanting. 

But Billy had done most of the hard work.  And the effort paid off.

Already there were shoots appearing in the rudimentary raised bed, all promising a bountiful harvest of potatoes, carrots and beets, while a few of the tomato plants were starting to display small, green orbs which the birds had started to eye hungrily. Billy had been quick to shoo them off before they got too many ideas. Because he had plans. Plans for picking every single vegetable and using them in dinners cooked for him and Steve. Sauces, soups, salads. He was aching to do it, to see Steve take that first bite and let out that glorious, toe-tingling moan of his as Billy sat back with smug satisfaction, knowing that it was all the fruits of his labour. 

But it wasn’t just the vegetables. Billy had worked his green fingers to the bone on the rest of the garden and, bit by bit, pockets of it began to burst with colour; the first tiny white snowdrops heralding the start of spring and then bright yellow and purple crocuses popping up all over the borders. The actual prize rose bushes; all of which had survived Billy’s initial, inexperienced cull, were starting to bud, and the one hardy tree that had proved too much of a challenge for Billy’s cheap shears had shown its appreciation by erupting into a cloud of pastel blossoms which fell with even the slightest breeze, showering Billy in confetti whenever he paced the garden to check that all was as it should be.

There were more flowers popping up all over, adding colour and texture and scenting the air with a mix of perfumes; hibiscus and geraniums and lilacs and things with names that made Steve smile when Billy pointed them out, Dutchman’s Breeches and Little White Lady Slipper and Bastard Toadflax. 

All of a sudden, the scraggy, scrappy parcel of land had become something glorious. A haven formed by Billy's hands. And now he has the sunflowers.Only stems really, with the flowers just starting to bud on a few, but Billy can picture them already, standing proud and tall with bright yellow heads turning to face the sun. He heads through the kitchen and opens the door to the garden, knowing that Steve will follow. "They'd look good by the irises," he decides, already aware of the best spot, the one where they won’t have to fight with the tree for sunlight and where there are no bulbs still waiting to burst through.  And where he can see them from the kitchen window. Can watch them grow every morning, measuring their progress against the fence posts.  Steve’s barely listening, shuffling the heavy box in his arms as he gazes around, really taking in all the fruits of Billy’s labour, "It's looking amazing, Bills," he says, so much pride in his tone as he gazes out, “You’ve worked so damn hard.”

"Look even better when we get those in,” Billy huffs, but the tone does nothing to hide the smile flickering across his face, the flush of pink that he always gets when Steve pays him a compliment, “You’re gonna need some gloves for those hands, darlin’.”

And Steve just nods. Holds his hand out for the green pair that he knows Billy has stashed in his jacket pocket. Puts them on and kneels next to Billy, the two of them digging small holes in the earth. Making space for more life and colour. Shaping their world together.

[octalove]

VI: The Dotted Line

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Jason extends an offer. Part one, two, three, four, and five.

Note: someone said Batgirl and Jason mission, and i am but a humble servant of the people. also, i almost named this chapter “Carolyn Crawford”. Hope you like❤️

TW: Decription of sex work (barely), very light gore

Being back at Batman’s side was a peculiar thing these days. Soothing and suffocating all at once; like returning home after a long, liberating trip. It felt easy, and safe. I was reminded of the first time he brought me up to a towering building top. I clung to Nightwing like a life preserver.

Once I found my footing, the building tops were the only place I felt safe. The taller the skyscraper, the higher and farther from the grim city that raised me. I wondered what would happen when I outgrew the skyscrapers, too.

November was settling like an icy blanket over Gotham. My breath wreathed around me as my chest heaved from scaling the office building I was settled on, hoping to catch a glimpse of the gray dawn as 2am turned to 3am. I could see Robin’s breath too, as he crouched like a gargoyle on the balls of his feet. Even when I pushed his arm lightly, he glared, but didn’t move. The kid had incredible balance.

“I was beginning to enjoy your absence.” He muttered.

I smiled at him. “Are you kidding? Patrol is boring without me.”

“Patrol is boring without brainless plebeians to subdue. I can make due without you.”

“So you’re saying you don’t consider me a brainless plebeian?” I replied.

His lip twitched. He liked this game. It was the birthplace of many of his preferred insults.

“Closer to a bumbling fawn.”

“I like that one.”

Damian’s disinterest in all things regarding my thoughts and feelings was a good distraction. I’d been using him for the past week since my latest brush with Red Hood. Well, Jason. It was still hard to wrap my mind around.

I knew him. He knew me. I shouldn’t have been worried; he knew nothing about me. Nothing other than who I was, anyway. I wanted to ignore whatever residual feeling was left from fighting him on the docks, and I really wanted to say I hadn’t thought about the last thing he said to me. But in truth, I’d thought of little else. The large gaps of time between our meetings left time for that.

We were looking for him tonight. More specifically, Batman and Nightwing were. Robin and I were sent to the quiet apartment rows of Crest Hill, watching over nothing in particular. Sent to keep us away from the fray. Even Robin knew it. When Batman said we’d be patrolling here, he looked like he could rip the head off a puppy.

“Movement in Coventry.”

“On it. Thanks, Oracle.”

One of the better quirks of Damian Wayne was that in the case he was spurned by his favored allies (Bruce, Dick), he quickly formed new alliances (me, Tim). Bumbling fawn comment aside, I could tell I was in his good graces tonight by utter happenstance and Batman’s shortcomings. I was nothing if not opportunistic.

“We can get to Coventry before they can.” I said quickly, keeping the nervous excitement in my voice to a minimum. He eyed me cautiously.

“Batman may be trying not to take risks, but we can handle a couple of goons. Besides,” I added. “Red Hood will probably be gone by then. He always is.” I was overselling it; Robin was already standing, eyes roving over the city scape in search of the best route to Coventry. I stood with him, then let the free-fall adrenaline send exciting jolts through my stomach as we grappled toward our destination.

I could see him, in my mind. His face on the docks, bathed with the flame of his lighter. Hear his voice, full of purpose and noble fury as he promised revenge. I understood his cause, but didn’t understand him, and that was the mystery that poisoned my mind and stole my ability to sleep. Not Red Hood. Jason Todd.

*

Robin and I perched over a factory compound on the water’s edge, Sprang River’s lower fork rushing by at the end of the factory court. A handful of men moved like ants in the flooding white lights that lit the exterior. The wind distorted the sounds of their voices. Robin must have had the same thought because he moved soundlessly to a lower roof panel, advancing on the building. I followed. One man began shouting.

“I’m going to the Northern pylon.” Robin whispered. Divide and conquer. I wasn’t going to argue. I kept my eyes on his silhouetted form to ensure he didn’t encounter any resistance on his way, then worked by way around the court, hoping I could get a good idea of the place before he reached his vantage point. The sky was lightening, and we were losing time.

Just as I was about to check the lot on the opposite side of the factory, a metal door swung open, scraping against the metal parapet. Red Hood walked out, accompanied by a man in a factory jumpsuit. I couldn’t make out their conversation.

I crept along the high factory railing as they meandered across the court, deep in conversation. I kept it up for around six minutes before his companion departed, heading for the lot.

“Robin,” I whispered into my comms. “There’s a man heading toward the parking lot. Trail him.”

“I see him.”

With Robin in the Southern parking lot a safe distance away, I watched Red Hood slowly pull away from the lights and people, heading toward the darker exhaust plants East of the court. It became a struggle to keep and eye on him and my footing at the same time, but I did it. He stopped at a motorcycle parked behind an electric turbine about a klick from the factory. The sky was a pale gray now, ever-lightening with the dawn, and the shadows were burning away with it. I lowered by self behind an electrical box attached to one of the turbines.

“We’re en route- wait, Robin-“ The comms rang in my ear.

“I gave you a direct order.” Batman growled.

“It was a stupid order.” Robin clipped.

“Where’s Batgirl?”

Red was about to replace his red helm with a motorcycle helmet, but paused. He seemed to stall for a moment, before calling out.

“Come here, little bird.”

I was more annoyed than anything. I was ready to be a step ahead of him for once. But then, I couldn’t resent him for giving me what I wanted. I stood, and took in his empty hands before approaching. He’d leaned against the metal turbine, arms crossed as he regarded me with an unreadable expression.

“They’re here, you know.” I warned.

“Call ‘em, then. I won’t move. I know I’m good, but I’d be outnumbered. Bad odds.”

I scowled. “I’m not gonna do that.” I said it because he already knew it. We both did. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

“You thought about what I said.”

“Of course I did.”

He glanced around, then pulled himself up straight and moved toward me. I took a few steps back, prompting him to flash me his empty hands, raised in surrender.

“Relax, darlin’.” He said. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I don’t want you to be. I want you to understand.”

“How? How do I understand?” I’d been trying for a month. He pulled a small piece of paper from his jacket pocket, holding it out and letting me take it, keeping a safe, considerate distance. Inside, was a number.

“Come with me. One job. Nice and easy.” He said.

“I’m not killing anyone.” I said sternly, voice dropping.

“I’m not askin’ you to.”

“And I’m not standing by and letting you kill anyone.”

“You drive a hard bargain. Fine. We’ll do it clean.” I didn’t even know if I believed him. But I was tired of trying to understand him from a safe, considerate distance.

“We’re almost at location. Four minutes.” Nightwing’s voice almost made me jump. I lifted my eyes.

“You need to go.”

He was already turning on his heel.

*

It was two days before I texted him. I got a glorious three hours of sleep over the course of them, and I kept running down either respective fork in my road before turning around and running back. In the end, I subsided to the fact that I was raised by two business-women, and Jason’s offer was at worst an opportunity. If it all went to shit, and he tried to kill me, I’d at least have some information to present to Bruce, notwithstanding the lifetime of punishment that would get me.

Our rendezvous point was in Lower Gotham Proper. By the time I got there, it was midnight, and a rolling mist had blown in from the harbor, mixing with the smog that hugged the streets and making it nearly unsafe to drive. I silently hoped Batman and Robin were okay.

As I worked my way down a narrow street, the moisture in the air was choking; causing the fabric of my pants and jacket to cling to my skin. I’d almost prefer rain to the way the mist stood still, forcing me to muddle through it. It was dark. The lights and signs on surrounding buildings didn’t seem to be able to preserve through the fog.

I saw a figure pressed against a building that looked tall enough to be Jason. As I approached, we regarded each other’s forms apprehensively. When he tilted his head, I knew it was him. I drew close.

“Jesus.” I mumbled. “Could you have picked a spookier place?”

“Don’t tell me you scare easy.” He said through a cigarette. His helmet was in his hand, but it could’ve easily been mistaken for a motorcycle helmet. The whole get-up was kind of biker-esque. I didn’t answer. Just glanced around.

“Come on.” He said. “It’s not far.”

As we began walking, it struck me how much more relieved I felt to hear his footsteps alongside my own. I was capable; willing and able to fight just about anyone Gotham could conjure up. But still, walking with him was comforting. Like I had someone to watch my back.

We even eased into a bit of conversation. Small things- things we agreed upon. Rich society, and Gotham’s war on the poor. Politicians we wouldn’t mind going missing. If you had showed me his picture next his crime scenes, I wouldn’t have pinned him.

Jason wasn’t unpleasant; it was just that his disposition was highly aloof and somewhat irritable. He had rich bronze skin, and full lips that I was sure made for a charming smile when he decided to do so (not a grin, a smile). The composition of his face was very sharp and neatly symmetrical, but still held some gaunt exhaustion, revealed by the constant tense of his jaw. His attentive dark eyes were almost always narrowed in some fashion of distaste. He never once looked at peace.

It seemed to me that he was disinterested in most anything having to do with my life, other than that he wanted me with him. His entire being was an oxymoron; a juxtaposition of unexpectedly soft and startlingly sharp and there wasn’t a way to tell which it would be.

Finally, we approached a small, industrial building with a neon sign of red, blue, and green.

The Lion’s Den

Burlesque and Drag

I raised my eyebrows. A bit on the nose if you asked me. If the name didn’t give it away, the posters and marquees adorning the brick exterior did.

“We need to talk to someone here before we go.” Jason said, pulling on his helmet, and unzipping his brown leather jacket to showcase the bat.

“Lead on.” I said, pulling up my own mask.

The music was so loud, I could barely hear myself think. The led lights lining the ceiling were cycling warm colors; red, pink, orange, yellow, the glow burning through the smokescreen that was nearly as thick as the mist outside.

Women were dancing, in lace or topless, spinning on poles and otherwise moving gracefully to the heartbeat of the place. But that wasn’t the main event- a stage lit with marquee lights, the centerpiece of which was a table, where three women sat. Their outfits were something out of Marie Antoinette’s personal wardrobe. And that’s where Red Hood was headed.

We walked up onto the stage, and while it all sort of mingled with the dim neon in the rest of the building, I still felt oddly seen. I placed myself behind Red Hood, inserted between him and one of the women. They appeared to be playing cards.

“Well, well.” Said one of the queens, with blonde hair curled and blown out like something out of the 70’s. Her exaggerated, colorful makeup was a work of art- Picasso, perhaps. “Gonna stick around for the show this time, sugar?”

Red sat down, leaning so that his arm rested along the back of the chair, lights glinting off his helm. His relaxed composure made me nervous- but perhaps it was the lack of information.

“Not this time, Trixy.” He answered.

“Pity,” Said the broad redhead beside me, her voice a low, soothing timber. “You neva’ do.”

“Don’t be rude, Sasha.” The third woman scolded, throwing down an Ace of Spades, to the visible dismay of the others. “He’s a busy man.”

“Who’s your friend?” Trixy asked.

I glanced at Red Hood before answering. “Just a little bird.”

“How delightful. Let’s get down to the nitty gritty, shall we?” Trixy said. “Did Dominique get the message to ya?”

“Refresh my memory.” Red Hood said- for my sake, I’m sure.

���Bout a week ago, a bunch of girls from the Row went missin’. Ain’t unusual,” Trixy said darkly, “Most don’t got no family or nothin’. Just us lookin’ out for ‘em. When we run outta beds here, that’s when they go missin’. But it’s different this time. Buncha girls all at once- including one ‘a the queens.”

“Tiffany Spice.” Sasha said, a solemn look on her face. “She was just comin’ into herself. Lord, I’d be devastated if somethin’ happened.”

“Some a’ the row girls been talkin’ about this real shifty fella- Baron Haus. New guy. Used to pimp out girls from the Narrows.”

“And the girls disappeared when he showed up.” I said quietly.

“Bingo.”

“How many?” Red asked.

“About eight, Tiffany included.”

“And you know where he was working from?” I inquired.

“Sha’ do. China Town. Club there called the Moonlight.”

Red Hood nodded. “Anything else me and my little bird should know?”

Trixy thought for a moment. “Baron’s got some friends in GCPD. Had some uncles in the force, or somethin’ of that nature. He’ll be missed. More dead.” She spit the term bitterly.

“They always are.” He responded, getting up from his chair.

“And Hoodie, sugar!” She called after us. “You’re a doll for this.” He didn’t reply. As we worked our way back toward the front, he spoke quietly.

“I thought it’d be better if you met ‘em yourself. Always makes it more personal.”

Batman never did that.

“Do you always make it personal?” I asked.

“It’s not fun if it isn’t.”

The freezing moisture in the air bit fiercely as we pushed open the metal screen door.

“Right.” I said. “So, the Moonlight. How are we getting there?”

“How do you think?” He said, stopping short of a rusted yellow fire escape on the side of the building. He surveyed it, then looked at me.

“Race ya.”

With surprising speed and grace, he scaled the fire escape, no sound in his wake.

“Oh, it’s on.” I fired, rushing to the bars and climbing like they were monkey bars. He disappeared over the edge of the roof, and as I made my way up, I saw him several years away, already conquering another building. I raced toward him, leaping over exhaust pipes until we were high above the fog. The city below looked like an illuminated ocean, twinkling lights just below a pillowy white surface.

I felt like a child again, overwhelmed, nearly brought to giddiness with excitement. Was this how Bruce felt, scaling rooftops with Catwoman? The small, but sure thrill of consorting with the bad guy- knowing that they were consorting with you in return?

I wasn’t a sidekick. There was no line to fall into. No predecessors, no successors, no beginning and no end. I moved like Batgirl across the shingles and concrete and metal scaffolding, but I was weightless without the Bat legacy on my chest. There was something deeply, shamefully freeing about that.

*

We were greeted differently in the Moonlight; a stark contrast to the warm welcome by the queens in the Lion’s Den. It was set up more like a smoky, refined gentlemen’s club. We drew attention from every walk of life inhabiting the bar- men in suits, women in silk, and slimy looking characters that grated offensively against the debonair theme.

Most leered for a moment, then cast their eyes away, like they’d seen something they shouldn’t have. Maybe you could consider Red Hood one of those such things.

“Mr. Hood!” There came a voice, cutting above the orchestral music- Nessun Dorma, if my musical sensibilities were still honed from my piano lesson days. “Welcome, welcome. I can only hope,” The man gave gritting smile, wound tight with visible anxiety. “That you’re here on peaceful business tonight.” He cast his nervous, monolid eyes to me. He was handsome, no older than thirty and wore a tight black vest. I didn’t let my body language give anything away; frankly, I was as in the dark as he was.

“Oh, you know me, Baron Jun,” Red Hood drawled, slowing to a halt at the bar, and leaning on it. “I don’t decide whether things stay peaceful or not. That depends on you.” I stayed standing, near his back, studying the security. Two lumbering men at the entrance, one behind Baron Jun. I wouldn’t put it past curvaceous bartender in red to have a gun, too.

“Lookin’ for Baron Haus. I heard a little rumor he works outta this quaint establishment now.”

When I’d considered the Red Hood’s contacts before, I pictured something like Batman’s relationship with Commissioner Gordon- figuring he had to have some corrupt cops or lowlife sleuths packing him with all his vast information. I never would have guessed it would be three drag queens playing cards.

A conflict passed over Baron Jun’s face, seconds long. “You… heard correctly. Word does seem to travel fast.”

“I need to pay him a visit. Remind him about some of my rules.” He admonished. It was a dripping warning, like the salivating jaws of an animal, teeth bared and pointed.

Baron Jun swallowed. “I see. Well, he um- he’s not actually here, at the moment. Maybe I can tell him you dropped b-“

“You know, Jun,” Red continued, ignoring him. “I got this really funny feeling you know what rules I’m talkin’ about.”

The look on his face was something to behold. I’d seen fear, briefly, on the faces of criminals before I subdued them and went on my way. But this was different. Fear induced by nothing but a conversation. Call it hive-mind, a power trip perhaps, but I felt this pesky sense of camaraderie that prompted me to take a few steps forward, shoulder to shoulder with Red Hood. Who was this vile little shitstain who made his living off men getting laid to play games with us? I thought about eight women, scared and abused. It was Baron Jun’s fault. Baron Haus’ fault. Everyone in this stupid bar, decorated to the taste of the men who abused them.

Baron Jun’s eyes dashed back and forth. Deny or ask forgiveness? I could see him running down those cross roads.

“He… he’s been running some shit I didn’t know about until last night. I swear I didn’t fuckin’ know.” He broke at last.

“Where are they?” I piped up.

“Who the fuck are-“ He was cut off with a bang and a scream as Red shot his knee. I was startled by the noise, but no one seemed to notice. It rang in my ear.

Give a girl a warning next time.

“Be. Fucking. Polite.” Red snapped, now advancing on the Baron. Only one of the three security guards decided it was worth the risk and stepped forward. Electric with the building energy of the whole night, I bolted forward and swung my fist into his throat. He made a choked noise and stumbled to the ground.

“Answer the question, Jun.” Red continued, this time in a taunting, sing-song tone.

“Oh, fuck,” Jun whimpered, cradling his knee. “Jesus- you- you shot me.”

“Always were a sharp one. I got a couple more bullets, and you’ve got another knee. So why don’t you sing before I get really impatient.”

“Christ.. they- they’re in the back. R-room fourteen.” His breath was labored with pain. I didn’t feel bad. Trusting that Red would handle the front and keep his promise of not killing anyone, I went to the back hallway, counting the doorways before reaching room 14. I made short work of the lock.

Some scuffling noises could be heard from the front room- but no further gunfire. I opened the door to reveal a velvet lounge, with red settees and satin curtains, along with fearful eyes looking back at me. I counted eight heads, including Tiffany Spice, who’d since abandoned his wig and gaudy attire. His make-up was streaked with long-dried tears.

“Tiffany Spice?” I asked, subservient to standard protocol despite my evening of rebellion.

“What’s going on out there?”

“Trixy sent us. You’re safe now.”

“Are the Barons gone?”

“They’re being dealt with.” I answered.

After finding them, the rest fell into place quickly. Red had indulged in some property destruction, and Baron Jun now reckoned with what appeared to be a shattered hand and some extra facial bruising.

I nodded briskly to Red and he, in turn, nodded to the bartender, who ushered the girls around.

Before departure, he knelt down in front of the Baron.

“You’re alive,” He said lowly. “Cause I’m doin’ someone a favor. If someone breaks the rules again,” He reached over and patted Jun’s pained face. “You be a good boy and come right to me. Okay?” Jun didn’t respond, nor take his bloodshot eyes off of his mangled hand, but Red straightened anyway and ushered me to the door.

Outside, we withdrew safely and quietly to a rooftop.

“Why did we leave them?” I asked.

“Trixy’s not my only contact. The bartender’s mine. She’ll get ‘em where they need to be.”

A beat.

“You knew Baron Haus wasn’t gonna be there.” I said quietly.

“Yeah.”

“That’s the only reason you promised me you wouldn’t kill anyone.”

Hesitation. “Yeah, it is.”

“Are you gonna track him down?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “Seriously.” I tried again. He sighed, then looked at me. I was seeing his eyes clearly for maybe the first time all night. It was sobering, and he held my gaze.

“Yes. Yes, I’m going to kill him.” He said firmly. I looked away.

“He’s got a track record.” He explained. “Does shit like this, gets caught, and then uses his friends in blue to get a lighter sentence. Three months, maybe. Then, he’s back. I’m not the first one to catch him. But I promise you, I’ll be the fuckin’ last.” His vitriol was oil on concrete, and I decided it was better not to light any matches. The rest of the walk was quiet, neither of us making the catalytic initiative to part ways, coming down from the adrenaline the way we’d built it; in each other’s uncertain company.

*

We settled on top of St. Luke’s Hospital, towering defiantly amidst the smaller, crowded inner city neighborhoods below. It was 4am, but I wasn’t tired. Quite the opposite; I was awash with energy, by grace of the night’s feat and the biting cold. Jason had pulled his helmet off, and was leaning against the steel exhaust pipe, myself nestled at his side.

“I have another place I need to go. Three days- Mafia business in Little Italy.” He said.

“And you want me to come?” I asked. He tipped his head.

“What can I say, doll? You’re good at this.”

I looked over the city, brow furrowing.

“Unless,” He added in a low voice, wry and challenging. “You think it’s wrong. I am the bad guy, aren’t I?”

I didn’t look at him, because I knew he was wearing a darkly arrogant expression, and I didn’t want to see it. No, there was nothing wrong about what we did tonight. Even if there was; I’d do it all again for the relief on Tiffany’s tear-streaked face.

“I’ll go.” I said. “But you have to tell me something. Honestly.” I said firmly, bringing my eyes to meet his. He cocked an eyebrow.

“Ask away.”

“Why me? Why don’t you hate me like you hate them?” Them. My family. Our family. Hate seemed a harsh word, but only after I supplied it, was I reminded of its truth. Jason studied me for a few agonizing moments, allowing only the sound of wind and distant, crying sirens.

“Carolyn Crawford.” He finally said.

“What?”

Carolyn Crawford.

I’d forgotten all about her. My life was sort of divided by this giant, barbed wire fence between before adoption and after adoption. Evidently, my brain decided that anything before adoption would be better of folded up, sealed with wax, and filed away. Traumatic memory suppression, the shrink Bruce sent me to called it- even though the only traumatic thing was the night my parents died, not everything that came before.

Nonetheless, Carolyn Crawford was somebody I hadn’t given any particular thought to in a long time. She was a woman of forty (at the time I was thirteen), and she had that snooty, Diamond District disposition that you only find in women who marry into wealth, but aren’t born with it. She was beautiful; pale skin, thin, with an air of 1950’s suave, accentuated by the auburn bob of artificial curls she always wore. Her husband was an investor in Wayne Enterprises, and she was sleeping with Bruce.

I had no reason to know, or care about this. But Jason did. When he found out, he was uncharacteristically devastated. I could imagine, in retrospect, that when you’re a boy of fifteen and you find out the man who adopted you- a man who was a holyfigure in your eyes, the good guy- was sleeping with a married woman ten years his senior, you may experience a bit of devastation. He had something, some virtuous perception of Bruce, ripped away from him, and he was given a concept that his father, too, had vices. His one vice; women.

Jason was angry. He wanted the world’s perception of Bruce to crumble alongside his own, and so he took all the valor in his teenage body and enacted his own justice.

An anonymous email was sent to just about every company partner or investor, including Carolyn’s husband, and my parents, disclosing a picture of Bruce in some secluded room at a gala, with his arm around Carolyn’s waist, leaning intimately into her ear. She had a wry smile on her face. Above the photo was a single tag line.

“Carolyn Crawford is fucking Bruce Wayne.”

My parents gossiped about the email, of course, when they thought I wasn’t leaning against the office door. But that was all I ever knew about it. Apparently Carolyn’s husband didn’t divorce her, but he did cut her off financially, which may as well have been the same loss.

That was all I heard of it, up until a charity event on a particularly cold January night. The January before Jason’s death. I was waltzing around as per usual, a cup of punch in my hand. Waiting for the clock to tick its way to eleven o’clock- when I knew my mothers would want to depart so they could get up for work the next morning. The music was lovely; fluttering strings.

“You!” It was a harsh sound, like a shrieking banshee, or the whining note of a violin when all the bow hairs are frayed.

Carolyn Crawford was marching right toward Jason, fury on her beautiful face. I didn’t catch the beginning of the conversation as I tried to make my way through the bodies, of which a few were also alarmed by the sound.

“...you’re the only one who could’ve done it, you little- don’t lie to me!”

Jason was defiant there, with his arms crossed and his lip slightly raised, but I could tell by the nervous look in his eye that she was pointing her bony finger at the right suspect. I’m certain it was Bruce who figured it out.

“What the hell are you talking about, lady?” He said.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I know you sent that email. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“You’re outta your mind.”

“You’re going to regret this, I promise. I’m going to make sure that this follows you-“

“He didn’t send the email!” I said, pushing past a man who was eagerly watching, like it was the best thing he’d seen all night. I’m not even sure what possessed me to offer up the statement- maybe the way she was throwing her venom in his face and jabbing her finger at his chest.

“I did it.” I said. I didn’t look at Jason, but from the corner of my eye, I could see his mouth fall open. Carolyn Crawford turned on me.

“What?”

“I sent the email.” I said. We’d drawn more observers now, a small, hushed crowd of people too polite to intervene, but too curious to look away.

“Who the hell are you? And why would you do that?” Up close, I could see that she looked like she hadn’t slept. Other little things too; a pearl out place, stray hairs. She’d probably been through hell since Jason sent that email.

I leveled my gaze on her. “You really need to ask? What kind of wife-“

Slap.

Her open palm swung across my cheek so hard that I nearly stumbled into a donation table. There was a pressure in my ear, and then a stinging sensation. I put my hand to my cheek, and when I looked back up at her, she was eyeing the shocked crowd. Then, she turned, and walked briskly toward the exit, heels clicking on the marble.

Everyone stood there, looking at me. I flushed, shrinking under the weight of their eyes, feeling like an animal in a zoo. My mothers were nowhere to be found, and neither was Bruce.

In a swift movement, Jason grabbed my hand, shooting angry glares like daggers toward anyone who was looking, and ushered me into a secluded corner.

“Why did you do that? What the hell is wrong with you?” He whispered frantically, obviously battling whether he should touch my face or not. He decided not.

I gave him an insulted look. “I was helping you, jackass!”

“Well, you didn’t help!” He said, before adding, more exasperatedly. “You just got hurt.”

I shrugged, taking my hand off my cheek, probably to show him some modicum of strength, or defiance. “It’s not that bad.”

It was that bad. It was the first time I had ever been hit, by anybody. I actually wanted to cry. But I was dedicated to my tough girl role, so I didn’t.

“I’m sorry.” He said, surprising me with the fearful apologeticism in his voice. “I’m really sorry- you shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve said something. I just fuckin’ stood there like-“

“Hey! It’s okay. I did it because I wanted to. Besides, it really doesn’t matter who did what. She’s just mad she ruined her own marriage.”

He shook his head and slunk down beside me on the cold marble. The AC was offensively imposing for the middle of January, and I hugged my knees to my chest as we watched the guests disperse, dragging back the events of the night to gossip about later, like foxes carry prized rabbits.

*

“Carolyn Crawford?” I repeated. “That’s what this is about?”

Jason gave me a wiry look, a lopsided smile, then threw his head back and laughed, contagiously so. I let out a disbelieving chuckle.

“I mean,” He added, “Not all of it. A little.” There was residual laughter in his tone, and it made me want to lean into him.

“A ‘little’. Okay. Should I be getting in touch with Carolyn Crawford and thanking her for rekindling this little partnership?”

“Yeah.” He said. “Send her an email.”

I laughed again. “Seriously, Jason, what the fuck are you talking about?”

His grin lingered, and his eyes fell over the city. I could see the gears turning as he considered his response. Then he just shrugged.

“You covered for me.”

“Yeah.”

“And...” He leaned back, not taking his eyes from the sprawling lights. “Somethin’ tells me you still are.”

I looked at him for a while, trying to wait him out and make him elaborate. But he didn’t. I resigned with a sigh.

“Yeah, well.” I mumbled. “Carolyn Crawford was a giant bitch.” His lips fought a losing battle against another smile.

“Personally, I’m still a little impressed she had the gall to slap you.”

“Haha. Hey- did you actually take that picture?”

He shook his head, hesitating before adding. “Dick did.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” He chuckled.

“So I took the fall for both of you.”

“Yeah, you did, Princess.”

He had this familiar, juvenile grin stuck to his face. And for the first time in a long, long time, he was Jason Todd.

[hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis]

Caught In Between 18. Lost In Thought

Summary: Athena Dumont has finally found a place to call home after many years of foster homes and traveling. She had finally tamed her supernatural side and just wanted to live a normal teenage life. She quickly discovers that there is nothing normal about her hometown, Mystic Falls and gets sucked right back into the supernatural world.

Post Date: 09.15.20

Word count: 2.6k

Based off: 03x15 “All My Children”

Masterlist

CIB Masterlist

The next morning I come out of my room to find Rebekah and Damon leaving his room, “Well surprise, surprise. Ah not really,” I say as they pass my bedroom.

“I thought you’d be with Nik last night, seeing as you two have been getting closer and closer by the minute, guess I was wrong,” Rebekah taunts.

I scoff and roll my eyes at her comment, “And why are you so worried about Klaus and me? Thought you didn’t like me very much,” I question crossing my arms.

“I just think that--” Rebekah starts.

“Let’s not get into this ladies,” Damon interrupts pushing Rebekah passed my room. I follow them downstairs as Damon escorts her to the front door. As Damon opens the door a very confused Elena is found behind it.

“Did you stop taking your vervain?” Elena asks after making her way into the house.

“You think Rebekah had to compel me?” Damon questions back while putting a shirt on.

“What’s wrong with you? She tried to kill me less than 48 hours ago,” Elena explains.

“Can’t we just move past that, Elena?” Damon asks making his way across the room.

“So is that how it’s gonna be now? I hurt your feelings, and this is how you lash out at me?” Elena asks as I settle myself on the couch.

“Well, maybe, for once. Something I did had nothing to do with you. Plus I don’t see you grilling Athena for her and Klaus’ little affair thing,” Damon states pointing over at me.

“Don’t put this on me,” I respond.

“She’s not actively sleeping with an original,” Elena defends me. “You should know…that Esther’s planning on killing her entire family. She’s linked them all together with a spell. Whatever happens to one happens to all of them,” Elena explains as I hop up from the couch as quickly as I could.

“That’s great. Klaus’ll finally be dead. We win,” Damon states happily. “Why do you two look like someone just shot a panda bear?” Damon asks noticing the upset looks on both Elena and I’s faces.

“Because to kill Klaus, she has to kill all of them, including Elijah,” Elena states.

“And he doesn’t deserve that,” I quickly state after.

“Exactly,” Elena agrees.

“What about Klaus, Athena? Don’t you have something say about killing him?” Damon questions.

“Just because I’m sired to him doesn’t mean I don’t think he deserves to die. He hurt me worse than anyone else has in my life,” I state.

“Sure. And I’m supposed to care about Elijah?” Damon asks.

“Shouldn’t you at least care about Rebekah?” Elena asks as I look at Damon raising my eyebrows.

“Two seconds ago, you were pissed that she attacked you. It’s a win-win,” Damon states. Elena tries to walk away but Damon quickly stops her. “Don’t do anything to screw this up, Elena.” Damon threatens.

“Why are you doing this?” Elena asks.

“He’s right, you know. Klaus has to die. They all do,” Stefan states coming from the hallway.

“See? Democracy in action,” Damon states before Elena leaves bumping him, spilling his drink.

“Look I know they’ve all hurt us one way or another but we all know Elijah doesn’t deserve to die. He’s done the least to us,” I state to the brothers.

“I think you’re outnumbered on this one sweetheart,” Damon responds. I don’t respond and decide to head upstairs not feeling up for dealing with the brothers anymore.

Once I made it to my room I found another box on my bed. Knowing who it was from, I moved it into my closet, out of sight out of mind. Except after a few minutes, I let my curiosity get the best of me...again. 

Once I opened the box, on top was a note that said, “I hope this inspires you, Klaus.” On the flip side was a small sketch of me in a field of sunflowers. What remained in the box was an array of art supplies, a sketchbook, and a few canvases. As much as I wanted to toss the supplies away, I missed sketching and painting as I hadn’t had time since moving to Mystic Falls. 

I spent most of the day sketching and just disappearing in my own world. A few hours had passed until I heard a knock on my door. I open it to find Damon, “Yes?” I question.

“You seem to be in a much better mood,” Damon states hearing the softness in my voice. “Have you heard from Eleana? She’s not answering her phone calls and Ric hasn’t seen her since this morning,” Damon explains.

“Uhhh… no, I haven’t talked to her since this morning,” I respond.

“Well, let me know if you do. Stefan is out looking for her right now,” Damon says.

“Oh for sure. Hope she’s alright,” I respond.

I spent a few more hours sketching and soon enough it ended up being dark. I forgot how lost I could get while drawing. Realizing that I needed to eat something I decide to head downstairs. Once I made it down, I saw Stefan make his way into the house.

“Can’t find her anywhere,” He says frustrated.

“Hello, Stefan,” I hear Elijah’s voice from the great room. Curious of what’s happening I make my way over and find the Salvatores by the door and Elijah in a chair by the fireplace.

“He has Elena,” Stefan states.

“Elijah,” I say disappointed.

“Actually she’s with Rebekah,” Elijah says disregarding my disapproval for what he’s done. “As you can imagine. My sisters just dying to tear her throat out. So if you want to save Elena’s life, I need you to help me stop my mother,” Elijah explains.

“I’m a little embarrassed to admit, but when it comes to killing thousand-year-old resurrected witches, I’m a little rusty,” Damon responds.

“Yes, unfortunately even when killed, my mother doesn’t seem to want to stay dead, not with the spirits of nature at her side,” Elijah says.

“So what are we supposed to do?” Stefan asks stepping forwards.

“The witches that released my mother, she’s drawing her power from their bloodline. That bloodline needs to be broken,” Elijah explains.

“Broken?” I question.

“Yeah, he means…” Damon says and puts a finger to his throat meaning killed.

“You want us to kill them,” Stefan says.

“You know I’d do it myself, but I’ve absolutely no idea where they are. Besides, seeing me, they’d immediately know my intent. They won’t expect to be harmed by the likes of you.” Elijah explains getting up from this seat. “In any case, you have until 6 minutes after 9:00 to find them,” Elijah says.

“Oh, how superspecific of you,” Damon says annoyed.

“By 9:07 the moon’ll be full, my mother will have the power she needs to kill me and my family. If you do not stop her before then, Rebekah will kill Elena. So we all have our timeline. I suggest you get started,” Elijah says before letting himself out.

“And you were saying about Elijah being undeserving of dying?” Damon questions at me. I just scoff and head back up to my room, not wanting to talk about this.

A few minutes pass by before I once again hear a knock on my door, “Here to give me a lecture?” I ask knowing it was Damon.

“No, you, me, and Stefan need to come up with a plan come on,” Damon says walking back down the hall.

“And what makes you think I want to be a part of this, he clearly wanted it to be you two,” I state not shifting from my position.

“Because Elena is in trouble and I know you want to save her,” Damon says from down the hall.

“You really know how to push my buttons,” I state making my way out of my room. We head down to the basement where Stefan is debating on drinking from a blood bag.

“Clock’s ticking. You gonna help us brainstorm a plan, or you too busy fixing a snack?” Damon questions his brother.

“We need to call Bonnie. There’s gotta be a way for her to stop Esther from channeling all that power.” Stefan states closing the fridge lid.

“‘A’ what if shes with Esther? ‘B’ what is she can’t cut her off? ‘C’ I don’t know how any of this stuff works, and ‘D’ neither do you,” Damon states.

“You got a better plan?” Stefan asks.

“Wore-case scenario simple mechanics. Can’t draw power from a dead battery,” Damon states.

“Kill ‘em,” Stefan says knowing that’s where Damon was getting out.

“If it comes to that,” Damon says. He then takes the bag from Stefan’s hands and drinks from it.

“There’s gotta be another way,” I say.

“Well, what if I told you two I had a less diabolical plan?” Damon asks and holds up a dagger.

“You wanna dagger Elijah,” Stefan says taking notice of the dagger.

“Well, they’re all linked. One goes down, they all go down. The witches live. Elena’s safe. Problem solved,” Damon states.

“We don’t know how that’ll affect Klaus,” I state.

“Ironically, Klaus isn’t our current problem,” Damon states.

“Dagger’s lethal to any vampire who uses one,” Stefan says.

“Well, I just so happen to know someone crazy enough to give it a shot,” Damon says before making a call. The call was to Alaric to confirm if Klaus and Kol were still at the Mystic Grill.

“What’s the plan?” I hear Alaric ask over the phone.

“Divide and conquer. First, we’ll need a little brunette distraction,” Damon says eyeing me. I roll my eyes knowing that means I have to talk to Klaus. Damon explains the rest of the plan and then hangs up.

“Do I really have to?” I ask a bit whiny.

“If we want to take them down, without killing them. Keeping everyone safe. Then yes,” Damon states.

“You are so lucky I care too much about you all,” I sigh.

“Then it’s settled. Get to the Grill,” Damon says.

I quickly get myself ready from my little interaction with Klaus, hoping it wouldn’t go south on my end or the others. I make my way into the Grill and head on the way to Klaus and his brother. I take notice of Alaric and let him know I���m the distraction by a slight look over.

~At the Bar~

“I remember her from last night. She looks like a tasty little thing,” Kol says to his brother.

“Say another word, and I’ll tear out your liver,” Klaus threatens taking notice of Athena from across the room.

~Athena’s POV~

“Athena,” Klaus says gaining my attention, as needed.

“What do you want?” I ask crossing my arms.

“Join us for a drink?” Klaus asks as Kol raises his glass.

“I’m not in the mood for chit chat, but thanks,” I say before heading back to the door.

~Klaus and Kol at the Bar~

“Isn’t she stunning?” Klaus asks Kol.

“She certainly looks good walking away from you,” Kol responds.

“I’ll take that as a challenge,” Klaus says before heading to Athena.

~Athena’s POV~

I head towards the town square across the street, “Athena,” I hear Klaus from behind me, as I was hoping, for the sake of Damon’s plan but not my own wishes.

“What?” I ask stopping in my tracks turning towards him. “I’m not in the mood to talk with you,” I turn back around and continue to walk.

“Don’t be angry, love. We had a little spat. I’m over it already, I’m willing to fight,” Klaus states.

“I’m not and I don’t see you fighting,” I state still walking.

“Well, how can I acquit myself? You weren’t very clear on the instructions,” Klaus asks.

I stop in my tracks, “You know what you have to do. And I’m not really in the mood to talk about this,” I state.

“Take a chance, Athena. At least talk to me, no fights,” Klaus says sitting down on the bench beside us. I look at him almost like he was crazy. “Come on. Let’s catch up,” Klaus says seeming happy that he was even able to get my attention. “I dare you,” He smiles.

“Fine,” I respond after a few moments of making Klaus think I was debating it and sit next to him. Klaus continues to look at me intently, with that soft look he gave me the night before. “So, what do you want to talk about? Catch up on?” I ask.

“Well, for starters, did you get my gift?” He asks. “Then your hopes. Your-your dreams. Everything you want in life. The things you never told me when we first met. You were very secretive you know,” Klaus states.

“Well, being a teenager alone in the world, you learn to be,”  I laugh. “And you mean the art supplies, huh?” I ask.

“Yeh, did you like them? Did you draw or--or paint anything?” He asks.

“Uh yeah. Lost track of time today actually,” I state.

“What did you draw?” He asks. 

“Just some flowers,” I say. As much as I hated to admit to myself, but I missed the little talks like this with Klaus. I missed...him, being there for me, looking out for me. I almost felt at peace, like there was no one else in the world but us. 

“You know I miss you, I truly do,” Klaus says. “I miss our moments like this, where it feels like it’s just us,” Klaus takes a hold of my hands and stares into my eyes.

“Klaus--I,” I start but before I could finish my un-thought out sentence, Klaus  stands up and starts to breathe a bit heavy, “What is it?” I question pretending to not know what was going on.

“What did you do?” He questions me.

“Nothing,” I state, hoping the tone of my voice was believable.

“What did you do?” Klaus asks once more with urgency grasping the sides of my arms.

“I didn’t do anything. Stop it,” I say once more. 

Klaus lets go of me and looks back to the grill, “Kol,” He says before rushing off, leaving me by myself.

I quickly make my way back to the Salvatore house in hopes that they completed their mission. Unfortunately, it was just me, leaving me with just my thoughts. At this moment, not a great idea. I don’t know how to feel about Klaus and my friends. Part of me wants to be with him, part of me feels like it’s just the sire bond and part of me wants to stick with my friends. It doesn’t help much that I had a small heart to heart with Klaus and Elena is in danger. I feel like I’m fighting with my self.

An hour or so later I hear the front door shut, alarming me to the fact that someone is home. I make my way out of my room to see who it was. I notice Damon making his way to his room. 

“Did it work? Is Elena safe?” I ask. 

“Uh, I think so but Stefan would know better. We at least know we stopped Esther, so assuming Elijah keeps his word, Elena should be ok. Are you ok?” He asks me.

“Yeh, I’m fine. Just trying to sort my thoughts. But I’m glad you’re ok,” I respond.

“Have another quarrel?” Damon asks.

“No,” I respond not really wanting to give any details of Klaus and I’s conversation.

“Well, I’m just glad you’re not hurt either,” Damon says before continuing to head to his room.

“Night,” I say seeing as he’s not in the mood to talk. 

A/N: More reveals for Klaus and Athena’s relationship and feelings. I hope you guys enjoyed this little filler. BTW I’m skipping the next two eps because I can’t find a place for Athena to fit in and I want to get further in the show. So sorry in advance if some of the stuff seems weirdly placed (I guess?).

🏷: @tristanacarry​ | @commentaryfanfic​ | @april-14-blog​ |  @simonsbluee​ | @awkwardspontaneity​ | @keiko0​

[vanchlo]

The Firsts / #2 “The First Time Bringing Him Home”

*not my gif*

---> NEXT BLURB: I hope that I can put it out on October 19th, following the every other week rule, but I’m not sure with my busy schedule. Keep an eye out for updates on the series masterlist!

---> READ BLURB #1

READ THE ASSISTANT, AKA WHAT CAME FIRST

SERIES MASTERLIST          

READ ON WATTPAD

-> SHOULD I CREATE A TAGLIST FOR THIS SERIES? IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE ADDED, LET ME KNOW! :)

LEGEND:

+ : a break in the story; a time jump.

italicized words : a flashback.

WARNINGS: None

WORD COUNT: 10.7k words (!!!)

SONG:  And I Love Her by The Beatles  (CLICK TO LISTEN)

                          * SNEAK PEEK, DUH BC ALWAYS *

“A tear collects at the corner of my eye, reminding me that at times like these, I expect to blink and it’ll all be gone. I wait for myself to wake up from the dream, and to have him ripped away from me, just like all of those other times he was. But it doesn’t, because how could my dreams beckon for me when my life was finally better than anything I could dream about?“

“She thinks that there’s one soul out there, just for her. One that will stay by her side forever and that someday, she’ll find it.”

- Kazuya Kujō, GOSICK -ゴシック-

*

“Are you kidding me?” 

Groaning, I drop my purse in the doorway where it falls with a thud, and my quick steps echo down the hallway. “Harry Edward, I swear to God,” I mutter under my breath, narrowing my eyes at his laughing figure at the other end, but the happy sound only grows further and further away. 

“What would you ever do without me?” I ask nobody aloud, coming to a stop in a patch of sunlight dancing through the tall window. Rounding his desk, I find his brown messenger bag that I still smile at every time, and begin to pack his stuff up.

Pulling open a drawer, I find his Macbook charger that I may or may not be stealing for the tenth or twelfth time. After the last of the unwrapped cord comes out, something pink flutters to the marbled floor. Huffing, I shove the charger into his bag and bend down to pick it up, smoothing down the end of my skirt against my bottom. The thought of standing back up comes to my mind, but as a hint of his recent Sage and Citrus candle trickles through the air, I stop at the words I see. 

“Huh,” I sigh, my lips curling into my cheek as the writing on the Post-It clears before my eyes. A certain somebody’s handwriting that I could recognize instantly, but my noggin takes a moment to rouse the reason for this very note. 

I hope your case went well today, Harry, and I’m sure it did because you’re so good at what you do. I just wanted to let you know that I really like working with you, and I’m so glad that I found this job, and more importantly, you. You’re one of my best friends, Harry, so thank you a lot for that. 

Your Becks xxx

The space between my eyebrows softens when the jigsaw pieces click inside my head, but then it’s followed by the smallest of tears in my chest when I notice that my name is smudged. The paper all over has smudge marks, and looks almost crinkled, as if somebody spilled something on it . . or shed tears onto it. 

“Oh, Harry. I hate to think what you did do without me,” I whisper, brushing my thumb over the note I wrote so many years ago, and yet, he still clung onto it. Standing back up, I clear my itchy throat and tuck the note back into the drawer where it sat in the little divider surrounded by coins and pink erasers. 

“Can I help you with sumthin’?” a voice teases from the doorway. I almost jump when I hear it, the sleek wooden drawer closing without a sound. 

“Yeah, you can stop making us late.” 

“What, we’re not gonna be late, Becks.” 

“We will if you don’t stop it with your Minnesota goodbyes,” I quip, draping the cloth strap over my shoulder and stepping forward. 

“Whatever tha hell that means,” he titters with knitted brows, that breathy laugh escaping his lips to grace the air. He closes the distance between us and I feel zings of electricity on my forehead where his lips touch. “Here, gimme. I was jus’ sayin’ me goodbyes t’ My’ t’ make sure we’re all set with bein’ gone t’morrow and Monday, and you as well.” 

“If you say so,” I exhale, letting him take the bag from me. Somehow, it only makes him all the more attractive, clutching onto it across his chest, clad in a teal and black paisley suit with a button up the color of raven feathers beneath. 

“C’mon, brat. Let’s get this show on tha road then,” he complains ever so annoyingly, making me roll my eyes. 

“Hey! Watch it, you’re on thin ice, bud!” I exclaim, whipping around to find him giggling after pinching my ass. 

“Oooo, ‘m so scared!” 

+

“Harry, hurry up already! I don’t want to hit rush hour traffic! What more do you need to bring? It’s only a three-four day trip,” I call up the staircase, my hands slapping against my thighs in impatience. 

“‘m comin’! Would ya chill yer tits, woman? My God,” Harry chuckles, appearing around the corner of the staircase a moment later. Shaking my head, I catch sight of the large box wrapped in floral paper. “Don’t smile now, Becks. Dontchu’ smile, babe.” 

Stifling a giggle, I turn around fast and thread my fingers through the cloth handle, “Dammit, Harry, what do you have in this bag? It weighs a ton.” 

“‘s yer birthday presents, bug.” 

“It is?” I ask excitedly after an intake of air. His steps stop in front of me, but I ignore him and push aside the fabric of the large reusable cloth bag. 

“They’re wrapped, silly. Hey, you were gonna cheat and take a peek, weren’t you?!” Harry exclaims. Looking up slowly, I press my lying lips into a line and shake my head. His own pair rise to pinch his cheeks and now, it’s his turn to shake his head. “Naughty, naughty, Becks. Hmm, maybe I should jus’ leave ‘em here and you can open ‘em when we get back on Monday. Fo’get ‘bout openin’ ‘em up t’morrow mornin’ on yer birthday.” 

“Harry, no!” I almost shout, but his stern look dissolves into a giggle. A spark ignites on my cheek when his thumb brushes along it, hooking his fingers into my hair. 

“Don’t worry, sweets. I can hardly wait t’ give ‘em t’ you, let alone anotha few days,” he winks, and I feel my shoulders relax when I breathe out. “Now, let’s go put this in tha boot, and get goin’. Yer dad’s expectin’ us soon,” he hums, bending forward to sponge a kiss under my eye. I can’t remember when he had started doing that, but I smile at the feeling of his warm lips on my birthmark. 

“Hey, what’d I say earlier?!” I argue a moment later, almost jumping into the air after he pinched my bum. 

“I don’t care. Yer gonna be tha one makin’ us late now, if ya don’t hurry that cute bum o’ yers along.” 

Giggling, I open his glossy, black front door to step onto the front stoop. Humming a tune, Harry helps me to get the heavy bag into the boot of his Rover, fitting it and his large box amongst his suitcase and my own. Things are shoved to the side, including his windshield scraper, a jumper or two, and his bag of workout clothes with his highlighter yellow Nikes spilling out. 

“Becks, I get t’ pick this time!” 

“No, you don’t. I don’t even remember who picked last time, but I got to your phone first. That’s the rule,” I return with a mischievous grin pointed towards him. Huffing, he adjusts himself in the driver’s seat before pulling the seat belt across his chest. 

“Pick sumthin’ good please, and would ya plug me phone in then?”

“Sure, and wait, what do you mean? I always pick good music!” I say, turning to look at him as he presses the button to start the car. 

“I love ‘Dancing Queen’ and ‘Bohemian Rhapsody,’ babe, but please, can we have sumthin’ different t’day? ‘s a three hour drive, I don’t wanna be listenin’ t’ those songs or bloody ‘Hannah Montana’ tha whole way.” 

“You’re no fun,” I groan, finding the words I had just said feeling heavy in my throat when I see his lock screen. A giggly picture of us from the other night fills it, the first time I’ve seen it. Smiling, I unlock it regrettably, and find his Music Library. 

“Alright, Ms. GPS, where am I goin’ exactly? ‘s been awhile since ‘ve been up this way, y’know,” Harry says, adjusting the air conditioner until it flows softly. 

“Thanks for driving,” I tell him first, squeezing his hand and watching his eyes scan over to me. They instantly fill with the smile that follows on his face. 

“Welcome, babe. Take all tha time ya need with gettin’ back t’ it. But, y’know, ya should start lookin’ fer a new car.” 

“I don’t wanna talk about this right now, Harry-,” I begin in an upset tone, scrolling through one of his playlists. 

“Ya, but I do. I don’t see why you won’t lemme help you pay-.” 

“Harry, I can afford it, I’ll be fine. The settlement money will be enough for a used one,” I disagree, settling on a Haim song just to have something to listen to already. 

I just hope it’ll help me tune out this impending argument. 

“Ya, a shitty used one, Becks. ‘m not gonna let you drive ‘round an unreliable car, I-.” 

“Well, I don’t remember needing to have your permission before I did something,” I retort, setting his phone down above the radio on the little mat, noticing his fingers darting around on the touch screen. 

“That’s not what I said, Becks, y’know that . . Ya don’t ever need me permission t’ do sumthin’, I can’t believe ya’d think that ‘bout me,” Harry sighs, stabbing at the screen one last time before backing away from his closed garage. 

Closing my eyes, I let my head fall against the window, regret pooling inside of me darkly. I try to swallow, but the words I want to say sit there, unsaid. 

“I don’t think that about you, Harry, I-.” 

“Then why fookin’ say that, Becks?” he spits back, harshly switching gears before zooming along as the directions are spoken to him. 

“Because I’m upset and people say things they don’t mean when they’re upset, and I’m tired of-.” 

“Doesn’t fricken ‘scuse what ya said, actin’ like ‘m controllin’ when ‘m not like that. You know ‘m not,” Harry grumbles under his breath, stopping suddenly in front of a changing stoplight. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Ya well, what have you said t’ me befo’, huh? ‘Sorry doesn’t always cut it,’ ‘cuz y’know, it doesn’t mean a whole lot when it gets overused all o’ tha time,” he continues, a bite in his voice. I soon taste blood in my mouth and release my tongue, unaware I was taking out my frustration on it, as well. 

“I don’t want your help buying a car, Harry, why can’t you just accept that already?” I almost explode, wishing I wasn’t, but the words were shoved up and away before I could stop them. 

His sigh is automatic and unavoidable, as is the click of his tongue, “‘Cuz we’ve argued ‘bout this how many times, and ya still won’t tell me why not.” 

“Fine, because I don’t want to take your help- your money. I-It’s just how I was raised, I don’t know. It’d be so embarrassing, Harry . . ,” I trail off, my voice growing small and choked. 

“Oh, Becks,” Harry says in an exhale, lacing his hand with mine and pressing a kiss to it. “Ya don’t hafta be embarrassed, love . . I know that you’d pay me back, and however long it takes ‘s fine.” 

“Thanks, but . . I don’t know. I don’t like ‘talking money’ with you, no offense or anything. It’s just . . weird with you being my boss and signing my checks, like you say. You know how much I make, and I know you pay me a little more than an associate because you like me.” 

“‘m sorry I give you shit ‘bout tha check thing, but y’know that other part’s a bit o’ an understatement,” he wheezes, squeezing my hand in his. Breathing in, I move my head to look at him and watch his eyes turn to me and soften. “It ‘s. I liked you afta a few weeks o’ knowin’ you at tha firm, then I really liked you, and then I loved you.” 

“Harry,” I say with a sigh, looking away and finding our laced hands sitting on his thigh, right where he always places them. 

“What, ya aren’t gonna reciprocate me love?” he giggles, and I remain quiet. “‘s okay, love, ya don’t always hafta.” 

“I love you too, but-,” I start, but cut myself off, just in time. Or, so I think.

“But what?” he asks, his indicator making a ticking noise while he switches lanes. It takes me a few moments to notice the absence of the music. I think that he’s lowered the volume, but then, I gather that he’s turned it off altogether. “Becks, what’re you thinkin’ bout?”

“Bug? Yer scarin’ me, what’s tha matter?” he says, hurrying through his words. My lips are dry when I swipe my tongue over them, but the landscape outside my window is anything but that. It’s green in between the buildings and the hot sun shines high in the sky. 

“I feel like a burden to everybody . . the last few months . . ,” I admit in a small voice, focused on the sensation of him twirling a ring around my finger. An old one I had found in a drawer the other day, from my uni days with Skye. “What are you doing?” I ask hurriedly when I notice he pulls off the road onto the shoulder, and parks. 

“Becks,” Harry says firmly, pressing his thumb into my hand, but it doesn’t wake me up quite yet. “Rebecca Holte, listen to me. No, I need you t’ look at me too,” he continues, cupping the side of my face and pressing on it until I look into his eyes overwhelmed with something. “You are not a burden t’ anybody, let alone t’ me. I love you, Becks, mo’ than I thought I could ever love somebody. Hell, mo’ than ‘ve loved anyone. Yer never a burden t’ me, ‘ve told you this fer years, and I wish you’d believe it, love. I really don’t mind givin’ you lifts t’ work, and I know Skye doesn’t either. How else would I know that you secretly love Miley Cyrus’ music, or ya still jam t’ High School Musical or The Lion King? I love ridin’ t’ work and home with you ev’ry day, I honestly cherish gettin’ that extra time with you. Sure, ya drive me nuts sumtimes with yer odd music tastes, but I love you fer that. I love you for yer stubbornness, even with this bloody car issue, ‘cuz I dunno if we’d be t’getha if it weren’t fer yer stubbornness. I love you fer how good you are with yer money, tha effort you make fer those you love, like spendin’ tha weekend at yer Dad’s fer yer birthday with Robbie. I love you fer yer dedication t’ anythin’ and anybody that you love - throwing Asher a surprise birthday party tha other week, or organizing that baby shower fer Rose next week. Yer amazing, you blow me off me feet ev’ry day with sumthin’ new ya did. You could never be a burden t’ me, yer tha complete opposite, bug. You make tha world spin ‘round fer me, always done that, you have. Ya make me excited t’ get up in tha mornin’, t’ be a lawyer, hell . . t’ be a person, and mo’ importantly, yer boyfriend and best friend. I never wantcha t’ think yer a burden, ‘specially t’ me, ‘cuz that’s tha last thing you are t’ me. I love you mo’ than I could ever begin t’ tell you,” Harry divulges and not for the last time do I feel like The Grinch, because it feels as if my heart has grown another size, or two. 

His warm laugh dances across my head when I fall into his arms and pull him against me for once. 

“Dontchu’ cry on yer birthday weekend now, bug,” he jokes against my temple, his lips making a smacking noise against my flushed skin. 

My favorite song in the world fills my ears as his words from before drunken my mind with their never ending meanings. I never thought I could love somebody this much, either. Sorry, Skye. 

Sniffling, I brush my hand against my itchy nose and peer up. His greens brighter than the grass outside my window peer down at me, softer than can be. 

“I love you too, Harry, so much. I don’t know what more I can say after that,” I croon with happiness plastered across my face. “But, thank you.”

“Ya don’t hafta say anymo’, that’s mo’ than enough fer me, sweets,” he assures me, pressing his lips to mine. “‘m sorry ya didn’t get mo’ settlement money, ya would have if it was me who fought yer case.” 

“How many times do I have to tell you that it’s okay?” I giggle and he nods with those dimples on full display for me. He nibbles at his bottom lip, leaving short white imprints amongst the rosy color. I sometimes still amaze myself at getting to run my fingers through his hair whenever I want to, like now. The clean, citrus smell of his new shampoo wafts over me as he smiles down at me, making me think all of my dreams have come true. Almost all of them. 

“I know, bug, but it was disappointin’, tha settlement.”

“Your friend at Williams and Knox did great, Harry, and you couldn’t have argued it with your connection to me. Nobody at the firm could, seeing as how I work with them,” I explain to him, my thoughts brushing over the redundancy of it all. 

“‘ll tell ya what, I have an ol’ mate who works with cars, and I bet he could knock off a few grand fer me-.” 

“Harry!” I begin to protest, but it’s soon whisked away by the softness of his lips against mine. Our giggles tickle the others, and his hand is cold against my hip when he slides up my shirt. “I don’t want you to-,” I start again after he pulled away, but he dives back in for another kiss. Now, I don’t really care if we happen to be late. 

“Ya gonna stop arguin’?” he wheezes after ending the kiss, brushing the tip of his nose against mine. My lips part and he raises his eyebrows in response, making me nod moments later. “Good. Now, as I was sayin’, he owes me a favor so ‘ll see what I can do ‘bout gettin’ you a new car. Actually, I think a lease would be best fer you.” 

“But, Harry, new cars are too expensive and the insurance as well, and-.” 

“Hush,” he whispers against my lips, soon letting me taste his coconut chapstick for the third time in the last minute. Then again, time has seemingly gone out the window these last few minutes, and I couldn’t care if I tried. “I really do think ‘d be best. Ya, insurance would be higher, but then ya have a new car, guaranteein’ no problems, and if there are, tha dealer place fixes ‘em free o’ charge. Inna few years, ya can buy it, or trade it in and sign another lease.” 

“Okay, Mr. Convincing Lawyer, you do have a few good points,” I at last agree, watching his sixty-watt smile only grow brighter at my surrender. 

“Yer music t’ me ears, y’know that?” 

“Ditto,” I say, smiling up at him.

“Maybe if ya continue t’ be good  and give a li’l less lip at work, ya jus’ might get a raise when it comes t’ yer six month review next week,” he jests with a lift of an eyebrow, a shit-eating grin plastering his lips. “Reckon that’d help with tha car, bug.”

“Is that so, Mr. Styles?”

“Mmmhmm, it ‘s indeed, Ms. Holte,” Harry answers, but I ignore him and choose to get lost in his lips, and the baby curls on the back of his neck. 

+

A Paul McCartney song hums around us, the soft twang of acoustic guitar filling the holes as buildings pass on by. Yawning, I shuffle my feet in front of me and tip my head against the window. The song comes to a gentle end before a Bowie song follows, and I find my thigh warmed by his touch. I lose myself in the lyrics as his thumb leaves circles through my jeans first above my knee, then higher, and higher. Turning away from the window, I peek a look at him to find him biting at his nails while focused on the road. 

“Stop biting your nails,” I whisper, my hand falling onto his and dragging it back towards my knee. It’s difficult, but I hold back the grin begging at my lips when I watch him blink with emphasis. 

“Stop movin’ me hand. Y’know what, it took me tha last ten minutes t’ get that high,” he retorts without moving his eyes from the traffic in front of us. 

“Why are you trying to get so high, huh, Mr. Styles?”

“Yer not helpin’ things by callin’ me that. Y’know how I feel ‘bout you callin’ me it,” Harry sighs, his thumb falling from his lips, and he turns on his indicator. After switching lanes, he reaches into the middle compartment and offers me a stick of gum before shoving a piece into his mouth. 

“And how do you feel about me calling you that?”

“Stop,” he says, turning his head to look me straight in the eyes when a light has turned red. “Playin’ dumb, Becks.” 

I avoid his eyes with a giggle and peer out at the landscape where buildings soon become far and in between, knowing how it gets to him and in a good way. His tsking tickles my ears and I shove his hand away, sure I’ve only made matters worse. The next few songs tick Queen off the list, as well as The Stones, and Simon and Garfunkel before a Beatles song follows. 

“Penny Lane is in my ears, and in my eyes,” the radio sings back to us while Harry cruises at a steady 68 miles per hour. His distracted humming along eggs me on, and without a thought more, I slide my hand across the divider and onto his thigh. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything, and when I glance over, he’s blowing bubbles between singing along. “And in his pocket is a portrait of the Queen. He likes to keep his fire engine clean . . ,” he nods to the words, and smacks loudly on his gum. I take the chance and slowly lift my hand from the warmth of his leg, and find another spot a little higher up. 

“Yer cheatin’,” is all he says while sitting back further and adjusting his hand on the wheel. 

Huffing, I look away guiltily and try my darnedest to hide the smile blooming on my lips, “I am not.” 

“Yes, you are. Only slidin’, no liftin’, Ms. Holte. Start over, then.” 

“Fine,” I groan, replacing my hand to above his knee where I had begun in the first place. His chuckle irritates me, but when he picks up my hand to press a kiss to, I find it hard not to melt next to him. 

Throughout the next few songs featuring Jagger, Backstreet Boys, and McFly, I don’t get very far. I hardly beat my record when he picks up my hand and places it back at the starting point. 

“Harry!” I exclaim in annoyance, turning to face him. His dimpled cheeks round out with a pink smile. “No fair, I almost won!” 

“Ya, and ya were gettin’ a li’l too close t’ me junk, y’know.” 

“That’s the point of the game, silly!” I argue but it only collapses into a laugh that he reluctantly echoes. “We don’t actually . . touch each other, you know that.” 

“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout? You did jus’ tha other day!” 

“Stop it!” I whine, crossing my arms over my chest and facing the window once more with hot cheeks. With my face smushed into a line, I find only a few bits of relief when my forehead meets the cool glass of the window, wishing I hadn’t heard those words. “Don’t,” I mutter when he pries at my stubborn arms that coax me back together. 

“Babe, I was jus’ jokin’ with you. It was only an accident, ya don’t still hafta feel bad ‘bout that, Becks,” Harry insists, but the harmless giggle feels anything but that when it interrupts the new Busted song. 

“I would if you’d stop bringing it up! You know that I’m never going to hear the end of it from Skye, and now, you too!” 

“Bug, it was funny. We all agreed it was, ‘s nuthin’ t’ be ashamed of still, I promise you.” 

“Oh, hush,” I say through gritted teeth, shaking off his hand only to hear his depressed sigh. 

His voice grows low, and somehow, I let his hand remain when it graces the round of my knee, “I didn’t mind y’know, ‘s rather flatterin’ actually-.” 

“Would you shut up about it, please? I touched your crotch the other day, I know because I was there, and it was in front of Skye. I almost died from embarrassment when it happened, and if you don’t stop bringing it up, I actually will die from embarrassment and it’ll be all of your fault.” 

“Becks, chill out, babe,” he titters, the emphasis held in his hand that tries to rub the worries away, but I remain pouting. “Stop it with tha poutin’, love, ‘s not lost on me. It was an accident that ‘m sorry I keep givin’ ya grief fer. I like our li’l game, and I know ‘s harmless. Maybe one o’ these times ‘ll make it up t’ you and let ya win.” 

“Stop talking already, you know I hate it when you let me win.” 

“Young lady, ya better stop it with tha whining, cuz yer stuck with me for tha next three-four days, and ya best bet ‘m stealin’ all o’ tha covers,” he gripes, and I at last look at him with my body too. 

“Harry Edward, you will not!” 

“I will too, ‘specially if ya keep on poutin’ ‘bout that thing, ‘s not worth it,” he insists, pulling free one of my hands to lace with his one, and smatter the skin of with kisses. “I jus’ hope ya like what ya felt, but ya should know, ‘s mo’ impressive when ‘s hard.” 

“Harry, would you stop it?!” I shout, yanking my hand away from him and shrinking against the window with a shiver. “You’re gross.” 

“What, like ya haven’t thought ‘bout me dick befo’?” he wheezes with that breathy laugh I’m trying not to love right this moment. Sighing, I close my eyes and try to focus on the song, but it’s becoming too difficult as his words spring a leak in my mind. 

This little ‘game’ of ours had started shy of a few weeks ago, and I can’t even remember why really. One of us had started laying our hands on the other’s thigh and as a joke one night, I think after some drinks, I got a little handsy and tried to see how far I could slide my hand without him noticing. It’s become a competition ever since and harmlessly, given the fact that a few steamy makeout sessions as of late hadn’t progressed to anything besides that. Running across some old photos the other night with Skye when backing up my phone made me realize again just how lucky I’ve gotten with him. The man I never thought I’d be able to love, and here I am, embarrassed because my boyfriend is talking about his dick that may or may not occupy my thoughts at times.

God, if I could tell Past Becky that sometime in the near future sh-we may get to see Harry naked, she wouldn’t believe me, or the fact I probably get to sleep beside him the next few nights with him wearing nothing but shorts. I can’t decide which outweighs the other, the excitement, or the fear of the f- that kind of future. 

+

“No,” I whine, continuing to comb through the contents, despite the fact that I already know that it’s not there. 

“Yer bedroom ‘s cute, y’know. Look at all these posters, I love ‘em. Bloody hell, ‘s that a Scooby Doo stuffie? Powerpuff Girls too?” he giggles from across the hallway, and I hear things being moved around. “Becks?”

“I know I packed it, what the heck?”

“What’s tha matter?” Harry coos, coming up from behind me and circling his arms around my waist. 

“I forgot to pack a razor.” 

Apparently, he finds that very funny, because within seconds he’s laughing, “Why ya frettin’ over a razor, bug? We’re only here three nights.” 

“Because . . I didn’t want my legs to be prickly when we sleep together,” I reveal softly, and that sweet sound of his returns, soon muffled against my hair. 

“I honestly don’t care if yer legs are hairy t’night, or t’morrow, or tha night afta that. I never have, love. But, if it really matters t’ ya, ya can borrow me razor. Lemme find it.” Facing him, I watch as he picks up his small, black toiletries bag and plucks a silver handled razor from it. “Here.” 

“Uh, no thanks. Forget I asked,” I rush, occupying myself by grabbing my toothbrush and toothpaste from the bag to set on the counter beside his gray one. 

“What, why ya look scared, Becks? Ya never used a safety razor befo’ or summat?”

“No,” I reveal slowly, untwisting the cap of the white tube, and squeezing a dollop of the blue gel onto my toothbrush. 

“‘s really not that bad, I promise you. I like it better, doesn’t gimme razor burn and goofy bumps, or ingrown hairs as much.” 

“I’m fine, no thanks,” I mumble with the toothbrush in my mouth as I move it around, scrubbing my teeth. 

“Becks, c’mon. Really, ‘s not that bad. Hey, why dontchu’ help me shave t’night, and that way you’ll learn how t’ use it. Reckon ‘s easier t’ use on yer legs, not havin’ all tha contours o’ yer face and jaw t’ nick.” 

“Really?” I ask, placing a hand against the cool countertop, and facing him. “Wait, but I like your stubble and it was just coming back after you had shaved.” 

“I leave the upper lip area and chin, but tha cheeks get patchy, so I shave those. I guess yer gonna hafta put up with tha stache again.” 

“That’s okay, you know I like it. You’d really trust me to shave your face?” I respond, turning on the sink and filling a cup with water. 

He nods, and with an eager smile, fishes out the large tube of shaving gel from his bag. 

“What if I cut you?” I almost whine moments later, with the heavy handle in my hands. 

“Babe, ya won’t, and if ya do, I won’t be mad. Rememba, like I showed you - forty-five degree angle, short strokes, and tha lightest pressure. Rinse every few strokes under tha tap. You’ll be fine,” Harry insists with the emphasis placed in his rising eyebrows. “Promise you that I trust you.” 

“Okay, I’ll try it a few times, but that’s it. If I don’t like it, I don’t want to continue. I don’t want to hurt you, Harry.” 

“Ya won’t, bug. This ‘s how ya learn, anyways. Now, c’mon, give it a go,” he coos, pulling me closer to him by his hands pressed to my hips. 

Exhaling, I lift my hand and leave a gap of air in between the safety razor and his cheek covered in the white foam. Tilting it like he had said to do, I wait for him to open his mouth to pull the skin taut. I go with the grain and pull the razor along with short strokes, listening to his encouragements as his cheeks slowly reappears before my eyes. 

“God, you look like a baby like this. I’ve always wondered what you looked like as a teenager, I want to see more pictures.” 

“Noted, ‘ll hafta have me mum bring some over next time,” he replies  and I nod, being careful when his face slopes with his cheekbones, but I save the jawline for him to do. 

Goodness, Becky, you’re shaving your boyfriend’s face. Sometimes, I still catch myself when I call him that, Harry.

+

“Bloody hell, ‘s yer dad good at cribbage. I thought I had that last game 'til tha end there,” Harry chortles from across the hallway. Nodding to myself, I flick off the bathroom light, and stop in the doorway to find him snuggled under the covers of my childhood bed. Talk about a sight for sore eyes. 

“I told you that I learned from the best,” I reply, closing my door softly and then getting the light. Dashing across the room, I almost jump onto my bed. 

“Come warm me up, bug, ‘m freezin’ with that fan on,” Harry says, his teeth chattering, but I wonder if it’s only for the comical effect. “And then, God, what he said when we brought our suitcases in.” 

“What’d he say again?” I ask, burying myself underneath the plain, gray comforter, and draping the rainbow colored quilt on top. 

“How could ya forget, Becks?” he chuckles from beside me, the sound surrounding me when I place my head on his chest. His laughs continue and grow deeper over the next several seconds whilst I get comfortable under the blankets and his arms find their way around me. “Hey, Dad, where should Harry sleep? Have him sleep with you in yer old bed, I’m not getting any younger y’know, I want some grandkids soon, and Robbie isn’t looking too promisin’.” 

“I can’t believe he said that either, I could have died from embarrassment right then and there,” I comment, my laugh joining his to echo around the room. His chest and belly shake and then squeeze beneath me as I nuzzle my head into the middle of his chest.

Little old me had nearly all of her dreams granted after I kissed this fellow, including getting to feel his toned body any time I want to, or lay my head between his solid pecs. Christ Almighty. 

“Once again, ev’rybody, but us, thinks we’re havin’ sex,” Harry says, his laugh seemingly not going anywhere. My cheeks warm at his words and I wish that I could bury my head deeper into him, but I only feel the lukewarm metal of his cross necklace against my cheek. 

“Hey, that’s not too bad of a deal. We didn’t have to do anything, and people think we are.” 

“You have a silly mind, li’l one. I mean, I don’t care what people think, but I wish our parents would stop askin’ fer grandchildren, seein’ as we’ve only been t’getha four months,” Harry giggles, and I nod, remembering my dad missing vague and going straight to obvious when he said he was traditionally named after his father. His elbow into my side didn’t help his case, either. 

Suddenly, a disturbing thought whisks my laugh away and I don’t find the joke very funny, anymore. 

“Why aren’t you laughin’, hmm? Here, then - it was funny when he hinted he wants a grandson named afta him. Our parents really are obvious, aren’t they?” Harry chirps, and I nod silently, only now noticing the callused tips of his fingers dancing along my arm. “‘m sorry, I overplayed tha joke, didn’t I? ‘s not too funny afta a few goes, ‘s it?”

“No, you’re fine,” I say, but the thoughts kicking up dust in my head don’t feel very fine. No, they don’t make me feel ‘fine’ at all. 

Why is it that she always has to ruin everything, ever since I was little? Even now, with her well out of my life, she’s still there despite the fact she’s not . . here. 

“What ‘s it, Becks? Did I say sumthin’ wrong, love?”

“No, it’s not you, Harry. I don’t know, just overthinking things,” I reveal, letting my hand rest on the curve of his bicep, wishing I could see his tattoos in the dark to trace them. I know that that wouldn’t make them go away, though. 

“Wanna talk ‘bout it, or jus’ go t’ bed?”

“I dunno,” I almost laugh, wishing this was ironic and that it was still funny. But, it’s not. “It’s hard to think about being a mum and mine not being there for it. I know that’s how I’d want it to be, though. It’s just . . hard, knowing how much other mums rely on that and enjoy getting to share the experience with theirs.”

“Oh, love, ‘m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” he pipes up, resting his head against mine, and I welcome the closeness. 

“I know you didn’t, it was just my thoughts stirring up ‘what if’s.” 

“Hey, ‘m sure when ya get t’ know me mum betta and Gemma, that me mum would be happy t’ step in fer that role, and me sister too. I already know with Gem that me mum would be all over my babies, and she’s a wonderful grandmother. I only wish she lived closer, but she’s always joked if I had kids, that that’s what would take her t’ move t’ London,” he says into my hair, and I nod into his smooth skin, my cheek tickled by his chest hair. 

“Gemma must have been annoyed with that,” I titter and he agrees. 

“‘ve thought ‘bout it too, y’know. Me dad‘s ‘round fer Harper and Ollie, but I dunno if ‘d ever want him ‘round my kids. He fooked up things with me, so why would I let him do tha same with me kids? I don’t want them wonderin’ why their granddad doesn’t come t’ their birthday party this time but did tha last, or t’ see us have a row . . It makes me sad, but y’know, ‘m glad we can relate t’ each other on this stuff, whatta load o’ rubbish it all ‘s.” 

“Me too, Harry,” I breathe, tracing the shape of his necklace as his heartbeat thuds in my ear. “I can’t ever see things changing with my mum, but maybe it could with your dad someday . . It’s a good thing we’re not having kids anytime soon, huh?”

“Ya, reckon so, but ‘m already thirty, Becks. Time’s a tickin’ fer me in that father department,” he shares gently, and I wish I could see his eyes and lose myself in them, and maybe drag him along for the ride too. It’s all that I can think of to get rid of the sour remnants of this conversation, one that’s all of my fault. 

“Oh, hush. My dad was thirty-four when he had Robbie and I, so you’ll be fine.” 

“Ya, but I dunno, rather sure ‘d want kids soon afta gettin’ married,” he hums happily, a longing for the future in his voice. Boy, is it contagious. “Prolly within tha year.”

“Okay, would you chill it with the future talk? As you just said, it’s only been four months, Harry,” I laugh, nervously. A similar sound rumbles through his chest as he hugs me in his arms, smattering kisses along my head. 

“Well, maybe four months will turn into forever one day, ya never know, bug,” he says with a lilt in his voice, teasing dripping from it. “C’mon, ya don’t know yet whether or not ya wanna be my Mrs. Styles one day?”

“I can tell what your answer to that question is,” my answer comes out in between apprehensive laughs, my cheeks surely scarlet against his skin. 

“I never reveal me secrets, Becks,” he whispers, as if I don’t know it by now. “So, will ya marry me one day?”

“I’ll have to think about it . . ask again in a few months, weirdo.” 

+

The streams of sunlight tease at my eyes while a sensation tickles my neck. Groaning, I shuffle my legs under the covers but they don’t get very far, knocking against another hairy pair. 

“Wake up,” somebody coos softly into my ear, followed by a stream of gentle kisses down my face. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to pull the covers higher, but they don’t budge. “Becks,” they say, dragging out the sound of my name as they rub circles into my stomach. 

I lay there for a little while longer, dipping in and out of sleep, amongst the sound of my name and indiscernible humming. The next time I open them, the sun is beating through the window and the standing fan whirs along. A pair of arms is secure around my waist, and although used to it, I feel somebody’s prickly stubble against my cheek. I smile into the soft kisses pressed along my face and then a last one to my nose. “Wake up, Boops, ‘s yer birthday. ‘s my baby Becks’ birthday t’day,” Harry croons and I feel his cheeks rounding out from a smile against mine. 

“Mmmmm, my twenty-seventh birthday,” I reply, stifling a yawn. They reply with an ‘mmmhmm’ before they hide their face in my neck. “And I get to spend it all with you,” I hum, my thoughts waking me quickly. It’s black and white from my birthday last year, pining away for him as he loved somebody else and ignoring his presents. 

No matter how hard I could try, I wouldn’t be able to remember how long it’s been since I’ve had a birthday as good as this one already is, and undoubtedly will be. 

“‘m so glad I get t’, bug, ‘s ‘bout time,” he yawns from behind me, stirring under the covers. I whine when his leg moves away from mine and takes its warmth with him. “I didn’t imagine ‘d be wakin’ you up in yer childhood bed, but here we are,” he giggles. “Tha first o’ many birthdays spent t’getha, babe.” 

“Yeah,” I reply distractedly, propelled back to this day last year and how robbed I felt of a day that was supposed to be all about me and being happy. That was the last thing I was, it seemed, and it’s like a different life to think about that while Harry kisses the hollow below my ear. My boyfriend, who kicks off a blanket with a groan, a laugh rising from my lips as he complains about being hot.

“‘ve taken off all tha clothes I can and ‘m still bloody boilin.’ God, Becks, could ya be any mo’ o’ a heater, love?” he sighs and I only reply with a loud laugh that grows when his hands roam my body to tickle me. I find his sleepy face painted with a smile when I turn around to face his naked upper half, and it makes me wonder how he could ever be any more perfect than he already is. “What? ‘m sweatin’ over here,” he wheezes, carding a hand through his mess of curls while his eyes shine back at me. 

“Nothing, I just . . “

“You jus’ what, love?” he murmurs, threading his fingers into my hair and stroking it away from my face. 

“I just, really love you,” I confess, watching the contentment blossom on his face to almost embarrassment. 

“I love you too, Rebecca Ann,” Harry beams with that contagious smile again, dipping forward to peck me. “More.” 

“No, I do!” I protest, fingering his gold cross necklace that’s warm in my fingers. “I love you most! There!” 

“Okay, okay,” he titters, batting a hand at me before pulling me into his chest. “‘ll let you have it, but only cuz ‘s yer birthday, my love,” he coos, surrounding me with his arms and covering my head in kisses. 

I silently roll my eyes but I know he hears my huff, “Don’t be a pout on yer birthday, jus’ be happy ‘m lettin’ you get yer way with e’rythin’,” he remarks, muffled against my cheek where his warm breath wafts over me. 

“Everything, you say?” I tease, and his intake of air eggs me on. 

“Oh, what d’ya want now?”

“Hey, it’s my birthday. I get whatever I want on my birthday, isn’t that what I told you on yours?”

“I don’t rememba those exact words, but yes, my girl can have whatever her heart desires on her birthday,” Harry responds softly, his eyelashes leaving butterfly kisses against me. “What ‘s that li’l brain o’ yers cookin’ up now, huh?”

A laugh peeks out from my lips and he groans in response as I ready my proposal, sure he’s falling back asleep in my arms. 

“A baby,” I divulge, and begin to count the seconds after the words have met the air. 1 . . 2 . . 3. 

“‘Scuse me?” Harry exclaims, pulling away from me and looking at me with a wild pair of eyes. I find it so hard to hold it back when his green eyes widen further, accompanied by a sudden pallor to his face. “Rebecca Ann-,” he begins adamantly, but the moment the chuckle pours from my lips, he stops. “Woman, I swear- Jesus Christ, ya really are gonna gimme a heart attack one o’ these days.” 

“The look on your face, Harry! I wish you could’ve seen it,” I giggle profusely, only fed by the crimson appearance of his cheeks as he shakes his head. 

“You li’l smart ass, you,” he tuts, swiftly flipping onto his back and pulling me on top of him. “Y’know, ya kinda hafta be havin’ sex in order t’ have a baby, love, sumthin’ that doesn’t quite exist fer us yet,” Harry remarks with the cutest double chin from below me. I adjust myself lying on top of him so I’m not crushing his lungs, or well, his baby making junk. 

“Not yet, anyways,” I murmur with a smirk, enjoying the squirming he does at my words. He giggles and covers his face with both of his arms, exposing as well as hiding some of his tattoos. 

Propping my chin on my hand, my elbow finds a place on the mattress as my finger finds its way to his chest. I trace the numbers in my handwriting above his heart, so entirely grateful for this year and mostly all that it’s brought along with it. 

“Maybe one day I’ll have a baby with you.” 

I hear his wheezy laugh and the happy sigh, because they live inside of me too. His greens are stuck on me from between his peeking hands when I look over and my smile brightens. 

“If we’re havin’ kids, ‘s gonna be mo’ than one, ‘ll tell ya that right now, missy.” 

Somehow, my lips spread even wider, “How many then, Mr. Styles?” I pose aloud with a raise of my eyebrows at him. 

“Five.” 

“Harry!” I exclaim and he giggles from behind his hands that his eyes peek out from. At last, he drops them and peers across at me, making me believe in the cuteness that is triple chins. “Five children? Five mouths to feed, lunches to pack, activities to put them in, bedrooms, pairs of shoes, car seats, bums to change, new school clothes and well, new everything every year, and five babies for me to push out of my crotch?”

That really gets him going and soon, a deep chuckle rumbles through his chest and from his lips, but I really couldn’t be complaining. It sparks one from mine too, and only makes me think of what it would be like to do this with him every morning. One day, with a swaddled baby lying to the side, or on his chest. What have I started now? 

“Yes, five . . Five kids t’ cuddle, make memories with, take on adventures, introduce Harry Potter t’, bake and cook with, watch grow and do great things, have mosey into our bed at night, maybe teach guitar or piano t’ one or two, teach ‘em so many things, and I hope they all have yer eyes and yer laugh . . Can you imagine all that love, Becks?” Harry says, dreaming aloud with an effervescent look in his eye that I’ve only seen a few times before. “Hey, don’t you do that on yer birthday,” he tuts, but I’ve already started and go to sniffle into the crook of his neck. “Did I say sumthin’ wrong? ‘m sorry if ‘s too soon and-.” 

“No, you said everything . . right,” I whisper against his neck, the absence of words letting me feel how it moves with every tick of his pulse. Gulping, I wait for him to answer, but I get it when he begins to hum our song amidst running races up and down my back with his hand. 

“Maybe one day- Wait, no. Not ‘maybe,’ hopefully one day,” Harry coos as I stare into the darkness, but this time I’m not afraid or fleeing. I could never feel anything but safe in his arms, and I know our children would too. “Mmmm, ‘m lovin’ tha cuddlin’, but holy shit, am I warm!” he continues, our skin sticking together as he separates from me between our laughs.

+

After a few trips to the bathroom between us, Harry plops onto the bed and pulls me onto his lap. His lips sponge kisses along my cheek and his arms surround me, almost swallowing me with their span. 

“Well, are ya jus’ gonna stare at ‘em or go and open ‘em, bug?” he coos, the hairs on the back of my neck lifting at his words tickling my neck. Turning my head, my excited eyes connect with his, and he nods. “Go already,” he says, kissing me before I leave his arms. 

“Which one first?” I ask, crossing the bedroom to kneel in front of the line of gifts set before my dresser and our suitcases. 

“Whichever yer li’l heart desires,” he answers. I grab one of the smaller ones and look over to him. “Savin’ tha biggest one fer last, I see.” He folds his hands together, his long arms already turning golden this early in the summer, and so are his legs that his arms drape across. 

Giggling, I stand up and make a few trips to bring the presents to the bed. 

“Openin’ ‘em up here, are we?” Harry asks with dumbfounded astonishment gracing his tired features. 

“Mmmhmm,” is all I say as I settle onto his lap again, and relax when he wraps me up inside of his embrace. Tipping my head to rest on his shoulder, I stare down at the pink and purple flowers that branch across the crisp wrapping paper, and suddenly, it’s like for the second time. 

I’m not going to let it happen again. No, not sitting on the floor with his presents before me, and him so far away, if only a few steps. His chest rises and falls with rhythmic breaths and I remain there, moving my ear until I hear the song his heart plays, needing this to feel all the more real. A tear collects at the corner of my eye, reminding me that at times like these, I expect to blink and it’ll all be gone. I wait for myself to wake up from the dream, and to have him ripped away from me, just like all of those other times he was. 

But it doesn’t. 

I blink and the tear falls, and his lips rest in my hair, waiting for me. His large hand leaves waves and blossoms against my back, and hopes and promises. I make them too, just as silently against him. I promise myself that I’ll never give up on him, and although he doesn’t know, I promise that to him too. 

“Open it up, bug, what’re you waitin’ fer? ‘m dyin’ with anticipation here!” 

Smiling, I lift my head and don’t waste any time finding his lips with my own, just because I can. He moans a sound against mine and holds onto me, and I know that he would never let me go, either.

No, not again. 

“What was that fer?” he breathes half a minute later, staring deep into me. 

“Just ‘cause,” I respond and he only smiles back at me, but then he tips his head to meet mine, resting his forehead on mine. He winks and brushes his nose against mine a few times in a different kind of kiss. 

“I hope I get anotha one o’ those afta ya open yer presents.” 

“We’ll have to see about that, Mr. Styles,” I grin and he amplifies it with a snort, bumping his shoulder against mine to remind me of the present I hold, and his affable impatience.

+

Wrapping paper still litters the floor, so do purple bows, and Amazon boxes. The shadows of our mingled laughs pepper the air as his hair falls through my fingers, and his slow breaths are whispers against my skin. I let my head fall and my hair dance across his skin before my lips do, ever so gently. 

“Sweet dreams, love,” I barely whisper, careful to leave the bed without waking him. At the last second, I turn back and pull the comforter and quilt up his thighs covered in gray shorts, and past his bare shoulders. He’ll need it with his personal heater gone from his side, I think. 

Tip toeing across the room, I take careful steps around the pile of presents still sat by our suitcases. The elation and disbelief comes over me in another wave when I see them one by one, starting with the lilac colored Kitchenaid mixer. 

“Ya need it fer yer bakin’, love. I know tha kneadin’ part o’ recipes ‘s a bore, and yer handheld one was almost shot. We both know that. Maybe ‘m tellin’ you t’ bake fer me mo,’ I dunno,” he had laughed after my jaw had fallen to my chest, and his faced turned a proud crimson. 

“We’re already halfway in, might as well make sure we have tha whole boxset fer when we wanna rewatch it,” Harry told me after I had opened the large box with the five Friends’ faces on it, assuring me that it was just as much a present for him as it was for me. He had kept making it known that that was the theme, so I would stop complaining about him spoiling me too much. 

“I can’t take any credit fer that one, which ‘m quite sorry ‘bout, but mum wanted t’ knit ya sumthin’. Told her ya loved blankets, and here we are. Reckon I might have ya keep it at mine so I can steal it too,” runs through my head as I once again rub the chenille type yarn between my fingers at the end of the bed where the knit blanket lies. With a proud grin, I grab two corners and drape it over the sleeping man in my childhood, twin-sized bed, a dated McFly poster hanging over his head. 

“This one’s jus’ as much fer me as it ‘s fer you, too,” he kept saying, then for Paul McCartney’s second show at the O2, and then for another pair of tickets to his daughter Stella’s fashion show in just a few weeks.

The same phrase, give or take a few words, flowed from his lips when the bag of candles graced my hands. He explained that we nick so many candles from each other’s offices that it was only natural that he bought me some, seeing as how he’d be stealing some here soon, especially the Tobacco Vanilla, Whiskey Cedar, Sage and Lemon, and the highly coveted Cinnamon Roll one.

The cribbage board was just a bonus, him claiming that he could finally bring his office one home and keep mine at work for us to play on. 

What he couldn’t claim his rightful ownership to as well was the card full of unintelligible scribbles from Harper and Ollie, that thank the Gods, Gemma helped them write. The tears in my eyes since the first present grew and grew, and didn’t waver at the message of how Harper wanted to have a sleepover at Harry’s soon with me - nail painting, baking cookies, and all.

But, when I met his eyes with my sad, puppy dog pair, he melted right then and there.

“Harry, this is too much. I can’t accept all of this,” I had told him and he shook his head, lifting my own with his thumb to look in his eyes.

“Please, Becks. I-I hate t’ say it, but I have too much money than I know what t’ do with, and ‘ve been so excited to give you all of these. Don’t worry ‘bout tha money. Alright, my love?”

I gave in, and with the kisses he smothered me with, there was no way in hell I could say no to that face.

He stirs underneath the covers behind me, and so do my thoughts, but with a huff, Harry returns to snoring softly. I carefully open my suitcase and fish out my last clean outfit, and without a sound, walk across the hall and into the shower. 

I thought I had made out like a bandit, but when I slip back into my room in search of Post-Its and a pen, I find that somebody else is awake. 

“Where are you goin’, Becks?” they rasp, pulling themselves up to sit and the covers pool on his lap. Rubbing at his eyes, Harry cards a hand through his tousled curls, quickly yawning. 

“Oh, just to run an errand quick. Go back to bed, I won’t be gone long.” 

“Mmmm,” he groans, knuckling at his left eye. “Can’t it wait ‘til we leave this afternoon, bug? Y’know I can’t sleep without you, I get too cold, and miss havin’ you in me arms.” 

“No, it can’t. I’m sorry . . You’ll fall right back asleep, Harry, I promise,” I shush him, stepping forward and pressing on his shoulder, but he doesn’t fall back in any of the ways that I’d hoped. 

“I’ll come with, then. We can grab some pastries from that bakery you love fer brekky with yer dad.” 

“It’s okay, I will if you want. Please, Harry, go back to sleep. You were up late, you must have a headache from all of those drinks with Robbie. I dunno why you pair had to have a shots competition,” I insist, and my distraction makes a raspy laugh fall from his mouth. 

“I like yer brotha, y’know, he’s a funny git,” he drawls, rubbing his hands down his face once before pulling back the covers. “Can I come? ‘ll be mo’ awake after I have a shower.” 

“I dunno,” I nervously laugh, tucking a wet lock of hair behind my ear. Huffing, I smooth down the floral skirt of my dress and sit on the edge of my bed. Thoughts whizz around in my head, flying to that destination and the next, but this one isn’t sure where to go. 

“If ya really don’t want me t’, ‘s okay. ‘m sorry t’ pressure ya, babe.” 

“It’s okay, Harry. I’d like you to come, but . . I dunno,” I reveal, toying with the ring and starting at the corner of my eye, I watch his hands still my pair that wring each other. 

“Don’t hafta tell me if ya don’t wanna, I trust you y’know.” 

Nodding, I wonder how I had ever gotten so damn lucky with this one. A split second giggle tickles at my lips, and then the toying turns into twirling, and then, telling. 

“She would’ve been eighty-five today, I think,” the whisper fights to make itself known, and I can’t meet his eyes, but I think I hear it in his breathing when he connects the dots. The spinning of the ring, and the tracing of the flower, frozen in time. “I bring her flowers every year, just wildflowers I find on the side of the road. I’ve wanted to bring a cupcake and sing before blowing it out, but it seemed odd to eat it sitting there, when she can’t,” I continue, the frog jumping into my throat at the end there. 

His words are absent, but they’re the least bit of that and so is my surprise when my head meets his shoulder, and his fingers trickle through my hair. 

“You don’t have to come with, if you don’t want to,” I pipe up, grabbing hold of the smooth chain around his neck. The swallows beckon for me, and I trace their wings slowly, wondering how silky they’d feel if they were alive on his chest. 

“I’d like t’ come with, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, it’s more than okay,” I respond, my thumb and finger holding onto the cross when my arms go around his neck, and he lifts me onto his lap. 

“I wish I coulda met her, yer Grandma Ann . . but bringin’ flowers t’ her grave sounds rather special too. Yer tha sweetest, Becks, y’know that?” 

“So do I, she would’ve loved you,” I say, watching the tear glide down the slope of his back, and past the golden hairs lit by the sunrise behind the curtains. 

“Does yer dad go with you?”

“Sometimes, maybe he will today.” 

“‘d like that,” Harry coos, drawing the letters of my name, one by one, along my spine. I only know that because he’d told me last night when I couldn’t fall asleep, and he was happily buzzed.

I think that’s why I couldn’t, because how could my dreams beckon for me when my life was finally better than anything I could dream about?

+

“Ya mean it, tha best ever? In tha whole, entire history o’ birthdays, ever and ever?” they titter and its feeling against my cheek brings one forth onto my lips. 

“You’re so silly, but yes. I had an amazing birthday, Harry. One to remember.” 

“Good, bug. ‘m glad t’ hear. Only tha best fer me favourite girl,” he coos, dragging his nose along my cheek. 

“Maybe next year for my birthday you can grow your hair out again for my birthday present.” 

“Oh, really? That’s whatcha want? Hmm, I was thinkin’ o’ givin’ you a baby fer yer twenty-eighth,” he giggles, the rich smell of coffee hinting on his breath. Now, it’s my turn to giggle and I share it into his neck, our chests bumping when he pulls me closer. I steal a kiss from his swallow and nuzzle in deeper as he drapes the blanket his mum knitted for me over us, sinking further into his sofa. 

“Stop it with the baby talk, marriage comes first, dumbo.” 

“Fine then, ‘ll getchu a ring fer yer birthday,” he continues and I hide my reddening cheeks in the place between his shoulder and neck. Monica laughs at something on the TV behind us, but my focus darts to the melodic kisses he sponges along my neck, and his nose nudging at my shirt. 

“Shush it, I’m not going anywhere,” I insist, revealing my scarlet cheeks to his smiling eyes. 

“Better not, I dunno what ‘d do if ya did.” 

“It’s a good thing neither of us have to worry about that, huh?” I return, tapping my finger on his nose. He nods and brushes his thumb under my eye where he often traces the imperfection that lives there. 

“‘m lookin’ forward t’ mo’ weekends at yer Dad’s. It was loads o’ fun gettin’ t’ see where ya grew up, tha house ya grew up in, yer old schools, tha park at tha pond, and bloody hell, that night out back by tha bonfire,” he says, words falling into a sound of happiness. “I can’t remember tha last time I had so much Tequila. Fook, can that brotha o’ yers drink, and yer dad too. And that pizza yer dad made, ugh, ‘m gonna need anotha one o’ those soon. I miss playin’ board games so much like that, I see where ya get tha love o’ it from. I ‘specially loved playin’ on yer family piano with you, reckon we might make a good pair if we practice some mo’.” 

Giggling, I agree with him as my fingers mingle with his necklace, “Yeah, it was a birthday to remember, that’s for sure.” 

“Reckon so, and I couldn’t be gladder to hear that, bug. Remember last year’s wasn’t tha best, you’ve said. I hope they only get betta and betta, my love,” Harry croons, and I nod, sure that they will. 

It all seems to be a hill that I get to climb by his side, but it’s the least bit tiring, and all the more exhilarating with every step that I take. 

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #26)

(cw: drugs/addiction, themes of depression, very brief reference to sex) ----------

01/13/88   12:40 AM

Hey.

The trip got more solid after that. Sort of. Also sort of the opposite. 

After that last flash, I found myself still sitting at the table, still across from Fix-it, still not quite eating the destroyed pie in front of me. My hand was completely intact.

My finger slipped in a slow, idle circle of cold red syrup. I had my knees pulled up to my chest and my heels on my seat. I’d draped the blanket over my head like a hood and cocooned the rest of it around myself, only exposing my arm to touch the plate. I was too hot, less from the blanket and more from what felt like a fever.

Fix-it’s voice was just finishing a sentence. “--can hear me, just nod your head. If you can hear me.”

I gave one small nod, more entranced with the feeling on the tip of my finger than anything else.

He asked tentatively, “What’s your name?”

My voice was muffled against my knees. “Mavis.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Fix-it Felix Jr.”

He sighed in relief. “Mavy… I need you to listen to me. This might be hard to understand right now, but… a lot of things you’ve seen or experienced tonight… that you’re experiencing right now… are not real. You’re safe, okay? You’re very safe. But you’re not in your right mind. You’re on buffs,” he swallowed. “You’re on… on Game-- Game Changers.”

I blinked without looking up. “No, I’m not.” 

“Mav--” he paused to contain himself. “Mavy, honey, listen. Let me tell you what really happened tonight, okay?”

Pain in my head flared, scratching blue lines in my vision. I tried to listen, but buff-fueled stimuli did its best to drown him out. 

As the stripes on the wallpaper lifted and arched like a hissing cat, he said, “You broke through ---------- second floor. You ---------- bed frame and ---------- like you were being attacked. You even ----------- when I ---------- understand what I was saying…” his voice and eyes lowered. “You… didn’t even know who I was…”

The windows shattered into jagged teeth in yawning mouths that stretched so wide, the curtain rods crumbled off. Tiny, pink, hairless bats flowed from the holes in the walls and flew in circles above our heads. Niceland itself seemed to break from the earth and float on rolling waves like a pirate ship, and he continued, “You went on about ‘a dog in the hive’ and ---------- saw Gene and chased ---------- had him backed into a corner ---------- in time to stop you from -----------”

“Wait,” I said, watching the table leg divide itself into pieces, “Gene? No, it was a dog!”

“It was definitely Gene, Mavy. You scared the daylights out of him.”

“I almost bludgeoned Gene to death with a bat?”

I could hear resigned disapproval in his voice. “Leg of a bedframe, actually, but, yes.”

Pretty sure I laughed an unwholesome, violent, and spiteful laugh, but it played from my throat like a rolling xylophone. Fix-it was less amused.

“Mavis.”

Suddenly, I felt a bit pissed. “Why did you stop me? He would have respawned! That little sausage roll had it coming!”

“This isn’t funny, Mavis! This couldn’t be farther from funny!”

I forgot what we were talking about. “What happens next?”

He explained insistently, “I had to stop you, of course. I knew you wouldn’t like it when I touched you, but ---------- scratching holes in your arms ---------- blood all down your arm, but you wouldn’t let me ---------- out the window to the dump.”

While he spoke, I pushed my finger into a cold, mushy cherry and took way too long to pop it in my mouth. It tasted… in a word, obscene. My feet were yanked to the floor, my knees pried apart, and when I peeked down into the dark of the blanket, binary-blue glowing eyes leered up at me from between my legs. They winked.

It suddenly became way harder to listen, even as I stared intently at the speaker.

“Ralph actually brought you back up here when he found ---------- heal ---------- shouting about being a bird ---------- slow ---------- started to even out ---------- were very chatty, but still couldn’t understand me ---------- on my couch for two hours ---------- talking to me, but ----------- get through to you ---------- with that pie for an hour and a half…”

The wallpaper peeled down like banana skins, and suddenly, we were surrounded by an aquarium. Rather, we seemed to be in a glass box in the ocean, with a panorama view of the life around us. Rainbows of shimmering fish rippled over a coral reef blooming with funny, fingery flowers. Silhouettes of dolphins twirled in the distance. Pink jellyfish floated around like half-filled party balloons. I felt my little hood fall back as I took it all in, spellbound. Part of me wanted to break out and swim away. Would being a fish be so bad?

“Your eyes are still so blue…” he told me then.

I turned my head, and screamed as I felt a wall of icicles shoot through my body.

A dog was in the water. The one that got away. Looking like a deathly thin shark, it floated limply and stared at me with those dead, black eyes.

“THERE!”

I grabbed the nearest object and hurled it with all my strength. When the plate smashed against the wall, the illusion broke. All of them did. The apartment was just an apartment. I sat back in my chair and tried to steady my breathing, tried to level out my heart’s tantrum. Once I settled, I settled hard. I fell into an eerie sense of calm. A peaceful numbness.

When I saw the pie splattered over the wall and the plate shards on the floor, I said, “Aw. The pie.”

Then I heard a sniff.

I looked at Fix-it. He was crying. He covered his mouth and leaned on his elbows, quietly watching me through watery blinks. I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t.

“I can…” I said slowly, “cut another slice… or get another plate, you know… There’s no need to, uh…”

He didn’t answer.

Finally, I asked, “Why are you crying?”

For a moment, he only shook his head. Then he said, through his hand, “I just… I look at your face, and I just--” he shook, “-- I’m so afraid that this’ll be the last time I see it.”

I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t even sure what he was talking about. My knowledge of my high state was unsteady.

“Why? Are you sick?”

“Make-it Mavis,” he said forcefully, “you’re going to corrupt yourself.”

I took a moment to contemplate that, long enough for him to ask if I still understood him.

“I hear you,” I nodded.

“I-- I thought,” he shook so hard, he could barely speak. “I watched you lying there on-- on my couch, and-- and your eyes were so bright, they cast beams on the ceiling, and-- and you were twitching and kicking and your--” he choked on his words, “-- I thought I could see a blue tint over your sprite-- it might have been my imagination but-- but I didn’t know what to do, because I was so-- so scared that you were-- were gonna corrupt right then and there, right in my living room, right-- right before my eyes!”

I felt around inside my cheek with my tongue. “If that’s the case, why would you worry about never seeing my face again? You’d see my face every day,” I shrugged. “Y’know, just in pieces.”

“Mav--” he broke right into sobbing. I was hopelessly confused.

I asked, “What’s the matter?”

After a period of collecting himself, he said, “Mavy, this isn’t a joke. If you take enough GC, and you get addicted, it’s-- it’s all over. The--” he seemed to go green, “-- the other sprites that have been found corrupted, they-- they all--... None of them had a code deficiency, Mavis. Do you know how long it took for a GC addiction to kill them?”

“Two weeks.”

He fell silent. As if he were afraid to ask, he breathed, “How many have you taken?”

I answered, even though I felt like I didn’t know, “Just two.”

“...Over how long?”

“I… don’t know. A couple days?”

Tears poured from his eyes. “Mavy… Mavy, do you want to corrupt?”

“What? No. I don’t even want to die, much less… y’know, that.”

“Then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you--...” he made vague, upset gestures. “You’re hurting so bad, Mavy. Why do you medicate with-- with this? None of this fixes anything. There are sprites who are able and willing to help you. Just let them. You don’t have to do this alone -- please, please realize that. None of us can undo… the past, but we can make the present and future better. Things can and will get better, Mavy, you just need to--”

“It can only get so much better, though, can’t it?”

He froze. I just blinked and sat in my chair comfortably, as if we were having a quaint conversation over tea. I didn’t even know where my words were coming from -- I just opened my mouth and let them flutter out like moths.

I continued, “It can only get so good. I think I almost found what ‘good’ really felt like to me, but… it’s over now. I don’t know if I have it in me to look for ‘good’ again, not when losing it hurts this much. I don’t know how to carry on, knowing what I do. I don’t want to die -- I just want to forget. I don’t want to corrupt, and I’m not trying to. I haven’t lost my will to live or anything, it’s just that… I’ve been looking for ways to be happy here my whole life, and… that search has never been more daunting than it is now. I’m tired. I want to rest my head for a while. I just want little vacations from life. That’s what GC is to me.”

We were both quiet for a moment. I spoke before I realized I’d opened my mouth.

“I’m too big for the life I was made for, Fix-it. I can only cut off so many pieces of myself to fit into it.”

He seemed stunned. With good reason, too. I’d never opened up to him quite like that before. He was lucky I was so high.

He muttered, “You… You mean being an Easter Egg?”

“Yeah. Everything that goes with it,” I thought for a second. “I probably have the smallest code out of any playable character in the arcade, and I’m still too big for this place. I don’t belong here. I’ve known that my whole life.”

I thought for a second. “I’m not sure I belong anywhere.”

“Mavis,” Fix-it said, suddenly firm, even with red eyes. “That is, if you’ll forgive my potty-mouth, a whole lotta hooey.”

“Hooey?”

“I know it’s hard for you to feel at home… anywhere, Mavy. I know the Devs served you the short end of the stick. And if I meet ‘em after I delete one day, you can bet I’ll give ‘em a good talkin’ to for treating my cousin like that -- but good golly, Mavis. You know this, you must know this,” he leaned on the table. “You are more than just an Easter Egg.”

I just looked at him, waiting. I expected him to tell me a bunch of stuff I already knew and that never helped me before. I was… mostly right.

“Mavis, I have not seen a single sprite less defined by their coded role than you. Most of the time, you don’t even show up for work! And, you know what? That’s okay! Because… I know these words hurt you real bad before, but…” he swallowed, determined. “This game… doesn���t need an Easter Egg.”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I could hear a distant echo of Gene’s voice saying that, even after all these years. I didn’t have the emotional presence to be upset by Fix-it bringing it up. I just waited for him to finish his point.

“But this arcade,” he slapped the table, “needs a Make-it Mavis.”

I’ll admit it. That was a nice thing to hear.

I can’t tell if I was in a good or bad state to be receptive to it.

“Well…” I said, eyes wandering. “I’d like to believe you. Maybe it did. But it sure doesn’t want me right now.”

He considered that. “Times are really tough right now, but… they won’t always be. Someday soon, it’ll be okay. Once it’s all died down. And until then, you still have sprites who care about you.”

“Like who?”

“Me. Tapper. I-- I think Ralph… maybe? Uh…” he trailed off. I could see panic in his eyes.

I looked at him quietly. I could hear the effort in his voice, the genuine desire to help. More than that, I heard the fear. He was desperate to help me, but lost as to how, and afraid that he wouldn’t figure it out in time. I know I’m not easy to help. I know that. It’s kind of hard to put into words the reasons why. I just need to be able to know that I’m in charge of my own life, whether that lands me in good or bad places. I have a lot of reasons to fly solo. But as Fix-it threw himself so wholeheartedly into some kind of verbal rescue effort, I recognized that there was no way he could understand any of them. If the worst happened to me, I bet he would blame himself. 

I knew all too well what that feels like.

I may not exactly be Fix-it’s biggest fan, but I don’t strive to be cruel. If I really was boarding a one-way train to corruption, attempting to dig up the seeds of guilt before they could take root would be the least I could do.

I wouldn’t have been good at that while sober. I don’t think being high made it any easier.

I asked, “Do you really love me?”

Fix-it froze as if I’d punched him in the chest. I just watched him.

“Of course,” he said quietly. “Of course I love you. Don’t you know that?”

“Sometimes. I think. There’s just something I need to tell you. I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out on your own, but, y’know...”

I looked at him. He was waiting on bated breath, already overflowing with tears. I’m sure he was expecting something better than what I said.

“You’re wasting your time.”

I genuinely took no joy in the stricken look that broke over his face. “What..? No, I’m not.”

“You’re wasting your time and your pain. You can’t keep wasting your love on me.”

“It’s not…” he shook. “I’m not wasting my love. How can you say that?”

“I…” I suddenly felt my shoulders getting heavy. “I… can’t... accept it.”

“Why, Mavy..?”

“I can’t,” I said a bit more forcefully. “No matter how much love you offer, I’m not built to receive it. You’re going through all the trouble of worrying about me all the time, and for what? Doesn’t it hurt you when you get nothing back? Loving me isn’t kind, it’s stupid.”

“Mav--”

“I have nothing to offer you. I can’t give you anything for your trouble. There’s no way for us to have…” I gestured, “a real, functioning relationship. I know it’s very hard to understand why, but trust me. The best thing you could possibly do for yourself is to stop caring so much about me. It’s just going to keep hurting you. Especially right now. If I really do get addicted to GC, and I corrupt myself, you’re going to feel like the entire Devs-forsaken world is ending. You’re going to think it was your fault for not doing more. You’re going to hate yourself every day for not protecting me, but you couldn’t have protected me. If I’m going to be corrupted, it’s going to have everything to do with me, and nothing to do with you. But if you love me so much, you won’t be able to understand that. You have so many reasons to hate me already. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll use them.”

He took a second to breathe, clearly dwarfed by the massive plate of emotions I was serving him. I could see in his eyes things that I didn’t quite understand, but they felt so invasive. I’d laid myself just open enough for him to peer inside, and even in my numb state, I felt horrendously naked. After a period of silence, my eyes fell, and my voice lowered.

“You can’t help me,” I said, and fell into barely a whisper. “I… don’t know how to let you.”

We were both quiet for a minute. I was hesitant to look up, but when I did, I was thrown for a loop.

He was smiling. Through tears, but still. There was a quivering, wavering smile on his face.

“Why…” I said cautiously, “...are you smiling?”

A short, single-note laugh burst wetly from his mouth, and he shook his head. “Mavy, don’t you see what you’re doing?”

“...No?”

“You’re giving back. You’re trying to protect me,” he nodded. “You do care about me.”

Yeah. Gross. But at the time, I was just stunned. I couldn’t fathom how I could have broken such hard truths over his head and still have him smiling. “You… wait, what?!”

“If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t even try. This is just one of the things that makes you so wonderful, Mavy -- you’re so full of surprises. You think you don’t know how to be loved, but you do. It just… might not be in the way everyone else does. You give back in ways you don’t see,” he said. “Like right now.”

I stared, agape.

“And, you know…” his smile weakened a bit, “I’m sorry that accepting help is so hard for you. And… yes, it is frustrating a lot of the time. It does hurt. But, no matter what you think you can or can’t accept…” he shrugged a bit, “I still love you. I don’t need your help with that. And you can’t protect me from it, either.”

“You…” I muttered, “ought to have higher standards for yourself. Don’t you want more?”

“Mavy…” he looked at me earnestly, tears flowing, “please listen to me. I don’t care about you just to get something in return. I care about you because I love you. I don’t care if you change or not. I just care that you’re safe.”

I said nothing. I don’t know what my face read.

He continued, “So please, please, Mavy. If I can’t protect you, please protect yourself for me. No more Game Changers, please. Please don’t take my cousin away.”

I blinked slowly and swallowed. “I’ll… try. I just don’t understand how you could care so much when I so clearly... don’t... want you to. Suppose I survive. Just how long do you think you could keep this up?”

Without a single thought, he answered, “Forever.”

The word was barely out of his mouth before I felt it quite physically slap me hard across the face. I reeled and pressed my palm into my cheek, sucking my teeth. I asked, “What in the eight bits was that..?” as pain in my head began to climb.

Fix-it straightened up. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I guess, but…” I pulled my hand from my cheek and saw a bright red streak over the palm of my glove. “What…”

Looking at it shot blinding pain through my head and tore holes in the oddly calm veil I’d been hiding behind. Clutching my head with my other hand, I asked, “Fix-it, am I bleeding?”

“No, Mavy. Not for a while, now.”

“Then what’s…” I stared at the stain, and my heart began to pound. I showed him my hand. “What is this?”

“That’s… your hand.”

“No,” I insisted. “The stain. On my glove.”

He put his hands up in a deescalating way. “Mavy…”

“I’ve seen it before. Why do I keep seeing it?!”

“Mavy, listen. You’re not wearing your gloves.”

It was still there when I turned my palm towards me. “Yes I am! It’s right here! What is it!?”

The sight of my hand became so sharp, so crisp and defined, the scarlet streak so vivid that it bore into my eyes, while the world around me began to wobble and distort at the edges. A hundred jackhammers in my head threatened to split my skull open. Wires of binary scratched, hissed, and sparked across my vision. I felt myself hit the floor.

Squinting through the stinging blue, I didn’t recognize the apartment anymore. I felt like I was looking at it through waves of warped glass. Patches of greyscale cut through the shifting colors. The lines on the wallpaper swelled and shrunk like a ribcage, and with each breath, the lights flared and dimmed. I heard a voice, far away and muffled as if underwater, and a mess of blurry pixels bent over me.

I was suddenly hit with an overwhelming panic. I was dropped into another mental timeline entirely. I was suddenly lost, unprepared -- I felt like I should have known what to do, but I didn’t. I had to act quickly, but I didn’t know on what. I had no idea where any of this was coming from.

I screamed almost involuntarily, and heard glass shatter.

I dodged the blurry figure with a roll, hit my already throbbing head on what I quickly recognized as a table leg. Almost on instinct, I dove for cover under said table, and folded myself up tight. I hid my face in my knees and pulled angrily at my hair, as if I could rip a hole in my scalp to vent out the pain. The crashing and smashing grew louder and more frequent. 

When I dared to peek up from my knees, I saw the walls beginning to push inward with a groan, but not in a comforting way, this time. The drywall began to split and crumble with the pressure, and the room’s light started to struggle and flicker frantically, each frame of darkness seeming to plunge me into a completely different room. The shattering glass rang out like deafening warfare. I couldn’t take it. It was ravaging my brain in ways I didn’t understand. I had so many phantom emotions running my thoughts in circles, it just left me reeling.

“Stop,” I said into my knees, “Stop, stop, stop --” and I screamed, “STOP, STOP IT, YOU’RE GONNA PASS OUT!”

A hand made of dense, metallic code touched my arm.

I shrieked and scrambled backwards. Fix-it knelt in front of me, perfectly tangible, his hand still lifted. When I saw his worried face, I noticed that the rest of the room had snapped back into place, too. My heart wanted to break out of my chest, my head was still killing, and my throat was parched, but everything seemed intact and steady again. My arm still tingled in a sharp and gross way where he touched me. Apparently, the shock of his code was enough to snap me out of it. I wanted to be pissed at him for touching me, but I was too stunned. I took in the sight of him completely, crouching there in full work clothes sans hat, looking ready to collapse from exhaustion, yet still going through all the effort of trying to help me.

I was floored by the fact that he succeeded. 

As I clutched my chest, trying to catch my breath, he sat down very gently. “Easy, easy,” he whispered, “it’s okay.”

I swallowed.

He asked carefully, “What’s your name?”

I breathed, “Mavy.”

His eyes widened a bit, and he held his breath for a second. He asked, “Do you know who I am?”

I stared at him. The bare bones of it, at that point, seemed obvious.

“My cousin.”

I swear I heard his heart thump. 

He slowly brought up his knee to rest his cheek on it, and he took deep breaths. That episode clearly stressed him out, too -- hardly a fair comparison, but still. A weak smile appeared on his face. “Your eyes are starting to dim.”

For a moment, I tried to remember how much time had passed. Then, a pressing thought occurred to me.

“Wait. What time is it?”

“Uh,” his eyes shifted. “Around 3:30?”

“AM?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, crit--” I hit my head on the underside of the table. “Ow-- Okay, I gotta go,” I said as I climbed out and stood. “I’m so cussin’ late. Even for me.”

Fix-it got to his feet, too, and looked more than a little confused. “You had to be somewhere?”

I pulled my gloves on. “Yeah, I was supposed to meet Turbo in Paperboy like, five hours ago,” I grabbed my conveniently materialized leather jacket from the chair and shrugged into it. “He’s probably gone home by now to anger-sleep. You’d never believe that’s possible ‘til you’ve seen it.”

Fix-it just turned white. 

I strode to the door in a place it hadn’t been before. “Toodles,” I said, before grabbing air and walking into the wall.

There was no door. There were no windows. 

I was very late, and there was no way out.

Flash.

My game’s screen loomed in front of me.

I sat cross-legged, wrapped in the blanket, on the grass in front of Niceland, staring up at our inverted title screen with dry eyes. My body felt hot and riddled with aches that would only get worse as my high continued to fade, and my brain felt fizzled to a crisp. I was so tired, I couldn’t even recognize that I wanted to sleep.

Someone next to me didn’t have the same problem. I heard the honks of Fix-it’s cartoonish snoring. He was just barely upright, his face smushed against his bent knee, a bit of drool staining his pants. I wondered how long he’d been there. I wondered how we came to be there at all, but not enough to wake him. Maybe if I had been sober, I would have painted an airhorn. But, being hazy and braindead and with a faulty brush, I just idly flicked colors onto different parts of his sprite. Red hat, orange shirt, yellow shoes. Red hair, orange skin, yellow pants. Red, orange, yellow.

Past my sleeping canvas, I saw movement. Wreck-it was climbing onto his kingdom of bricks, presumably coming home after a particularly long night at Tapper’s. He came to the little peak behind which sat his stump, and paused. His head turned, and he saw me.

I looked at him blankly.

He held my gaze for a minute. It was hard to tell just what expression he was making, but even from my distance, I could see him sigh. He shook his head slowly and stepped out of view.

I couldn’t manage any thoughts on that.

Red, orange, yellow. Red, orange, yellow.

[a-table-of-fics]

Cull to Adventure, Chapter 5, Draft 1

[[As Tumblr increased the size limits for posts, I can finally put this chapter draft all together.]]

Marie was already in a sour mood, having woken up far earlier than preferred. But it got worse as she realized she might as well have slept in; hardly anyone was around today. The heat wave, combined with the fact that all games were postponed until the respawn points have power again, meant that no one was around. Marie knew she couldn’t move too far from where the Outpost was without drawing unwanted attention, but it was a bit demoralizing. She was glad she had the parasol for the scant shade it provided in the midday sun, but she still tugged at her kimono every so often.

Well, if she wanted to find her cousin and the stolen Zapfish, she would have to do it herself. She didn’t want a second celebrity disappearance to cause more chaos, but she didn’t have much choice. Agent 2 would have to complete the rescue mission alone.

As she looked in the Outpost for her Charger, she debated whether Gramps should be alerted at this point. She decided against it, still; he was probably stressed enough about his mission with Agent 3, and she didn’t want him throwing himself in danger trying to find Callie. That was her job, darn it!

She opened a drawer and found her charger waiting, but…where was her uniform? The armored hoodie, the short, the boots, even the headset were all missing. She rustled around; maybe a bit of disorganized Callie rubbed off on her…but no, they were gone! Someone was in here! They took the Splattershot and one of the Ink Tanks, too!

A flash of panic came over Marie; someone had come in, and the outpost was breached! But… wait, why wasn’t her charger taken? Or any other supplies? Just the Agent getup and weapons—Oh.

Oh no.

She ran out of the shack, stumbling over her kimono a few times as she went for the manhole to Inkopolis. She had to get to Ammo Knights, and fast. It was lucky there wasn’t really anyone in the Square; while Marie took care to make sure she wasn’t immediately recognized by the adoring public, she didn’t care as much in the rush she was in.

The doors to the Ammo Knights store burst open the moment she unlocked them. Sheldon barely had time to look up in shock before the idol was in the back, frantically booting the computer up. Several monitors came up, each showing different angles of a new part of Octarian territory. None of the cameras could see anything, but when Marie put the headset on and heard panting and slight whimpering, her suspicions were confirmed.

Cull had gone into Octo Canyon alone.

Marie took a deep breath, turned the mic on, and coughed politely.

“Eh—” started Cull’s yelp, before he remembered where he was and clammed up.

“Oh good, you remembered the headset,” Marie said, keeping her voice level. “Okay, I think we can get you through this, but… I’m not sure where you are…”

“C-came in a-and made it to ch-checkpoint…”

Marie checked. The simulated sunny beach area in Octopolia did have a trail of green, including some inflated sponges. And it led right to a smaller respawner, directly in front of a massive road of pink ink. From where the camera was situated, Marie could see a Balloon Fish, but there were a few things behind it that were too blurry to see.

“They got some- some kinda robot b-bombs!”

“Octopods?” Marie asked. “Shouldn’t be a big deal, right? They just run at you.”

“…B-but that one at the start was so fast…C-can I really take more than one in a f-fight…?”

Marie leaned back in her chair, noting where the blurs were.

“You don’t have to, ex-Agent 4! If you can take that Balloon Fish, the Octopods should all pop with it!”

“B-but if I go up there, w-won’t they pop it and…?”

“Nah, they’ll run up to try to blast you. The Balloon Fish’ll be fine!”

Bad time for a joke, Marie realized, as she saw something shake in the respawner.

“Look, look,” she said, frantically trying to clear Cull’s head of some of the anxiety. “All you gotta do is keep your distance! Pop that balloon before the Octopods get to you.”

Cull finally surfaced, out of the respawner, and swallowed. He looked at the expanse of Octarian pink before him; it was going to take a lot of ink to even get to the Octo-bombs. He started firing, and Marie saw that his attention was divided between his path-making and the upcoming encounter.

“Hey, eyes on the prize, kid, not the road!”

Well, now the kid’s movement was slower, but at least he seemed more alert.

A thought came to Marie.

“…Ignore that when you start driving, ok?”

The Octopods started to rush in, but it was too late. Cull had already hit the Balloon Fish, taking the bombs and their weird red balloons with them. Octarians had the strangest ways of holding Power Eggs.

“Nice.”

That just left a layout of crates in a flattened “u” shape against the wall, a wall which had two Balloon Fish attached to it. As Cull looked up and around, Marie took a moment to swap through the cameras, finding a launchpad at the top, and the next camera showed a checkpoint. Thankfully, nothing between there and their current position Cull would have to worry about.

“All right, so just pop those balloons and swim up there. Nothing to worry about.”

Cull looked, hesitantly, but nodded. The Balloon Fish made short work of those boxes and covered the wall in green. But… he hesitated, rubbing the back of his head. Marie could hear sheepish mutters of “uh” and “oh boy” over her headset. She was about to ask what the holdup was, maybe throw in a joke about enjoying his handiwork, but all that came out was “wh” before she realized the problem – he was a slow swimmer when it wasn’t a vertical slope.

And she had seen the kid climb, too. This looked like a tougher thing to scale, sure, but his grip back then was impressive, and she was sure he could have figured something out. At the very least, it would probably be better than him struggling to swim up like he would have to now.

“Okay kid,” she said, attempting to hide her haste in correcting this, “I don’t usually recommend this, but you might want to try a running jump here.”

“O-okay…”

Marie watched as the ex-Agent stepped back, steeled himself, and sprinted to the wall. He jumped, and Marie thought he was going to slam into the wall, his squidforming was so close. However, it wasn’t close enough to conceal the fact his tentacles were… well, half-gone. He disappeared in the ink in a flash, but Marie could still tell, especially as he splashed and struggled to get the vertical movement.

Marie couldn’t do much more than watch; explaining how to swim to a fellow Inkling would just be dumb, and she wasn’t good at motivational platitudes. Still, she could try to encourage.

“Almost halfway there. Just keep breathing.”

“Just got past the second Balloon Fish; you’re almost there!”

Cull finally slipped over the edge onto wooden floor again. He couldn’t even kidform, and Marie could hear him panting and fully view his squid form.

His fins were much more disk-shaped than most, making his silhouette look less like an arrow and more like a mushroom with a point on top where his mantle ended. His skin had a spotted texture, as if someone had lightly sprayed him with darker green paint. More prominent, however, were his eight arms, all irregular stumps of what was expected, clearly from an injury long ago. His two tentacles, while about as long as most Inklings’, were notably thinner, and showed the same signs of being cut off at the end.

And Marie had sent him headfirst into danger. Worse yet, he refused to leave.

Cull wasn’t panting for too long; he soon kidformed, and was silent on his walk to the launchpad. Marie wasn’t sure what to say; she may like snarking, but humiliating someone was something else entirely.

A few quick key presses, and Marie could watch him land on the next section, where there didn’t seem to be much going on. There was a single sponge floating in the middle of a gap in the road, but not much else to see other than a few pillars. As Cull tentatively clambered down in case there was something, Marie switched to the next available camera. She could see Cull fill the sponge with ink to make a bridge in the distance, but more importantly, there were patrolling Octarians moving in a synchronous circle on some grates that were jutting out of one of the pillars.

“Octotroopers above you,” Marie called out, as Cull walked forward. She could see him step back onto the sponge, looking up and spotting the enemies. He tentatively moved forward, but never so much that he committed to a plan before stepping back. Thankfully, neither Octo seemed to have seen him, their gaze focused squarely on what was in front of them rather than what was below.

“C’mon,” Marie said, after about fifteen seconds of this, “You gotta do something if you wanna get outta here!”

“Uhm…”

“Oh for— just go! Take ‘em out and find a way up!”

Well, at least he was moving forward. The bad news was, the Octarians saw him, and began firing shots through the grate. At least the ex-Agent 4 was aware of this, and trying to zig-zag a little bit. He made it under the grate, with only a few spatters of pink on him for it. When he shot straight up and splatted one of the Octotroopers, however, his reflexive ducking was not enough to stop himself from being coated in green ink.

Despite herself, Marie had to stifle a snicker. Maybe it was just a needed release from stress, but there was something adorable about that pratfall. It reminded her of something that happened when she herself was younger, when she played one-on-one with Callie. The exact same thing happened to her, except she completely missed Callie…

“Y-you there?”

Marie took a breath, composing herself. Cull didn’t need the idea that she was laughing at him, nor did he need to hear her worrying about the other Squid Sister.

“Yeah, um… look for a way up the pillar. Looks like the grating goes to another floor… Just watch for that Octoslob and you’ll be fine…”

But Cull wasn’t looking up now. His attention was caught by something out of range of the cameras. He fired ink offscreen, slowly and carefully. Marie didn’t hear any return fire or Octarian shouts from his microphone, but all the same, this was concerning.

“Uh, I said ‘up’ the pillar…”

“Th-there was a lot of pink ink over here…J-just want to be sure…”

“I understand that,” Marie said, quietly kicking herself for not thinking of the possibility of an ambush, “but they’d have a hard time chasing you up. You might be better off—”

She heard the sound of wood breaking, and hoped to the Crane that Cull was alone; she’d be hard pressed to help him if she couldn’t see.

“Huh…Is that…?” he said, after a pregnant pause.

“Hmm? What was that?”

“N-nevermind, I must be mistaken…”

Marie heard some paper rustling, and then some grunting and splashing before Cull emerged from behind the pillar, now on the second floor. He took a few breaths, leaning against the column, before finally heading to the wall.

After making a break through a few more Octarians and some kind of wall-cleaning robot, he made it to a dead end. Behind a bunch of crates destroyed by a nearby Balloon Fish, there was nothing but a sheer drop to the facilities miles below. To his left, he could just see a large wooden wall, with the launchpad there. He groaned.

All Marie could say was “Sorry, kid, but you gotta make it through this.”

Cull stepped back to look, but he didn’t know if he could make another climb like that so soon. Instead, he looked to the re-inflated Balloon Fish, and then at the wall; not even at the launchpad!

Marie was at a loss for words when she saw the kid start clambering onto the enormous ink bomb, and rather quickly at that. Sure, Cull slipped once or twice, but he never once lost his grip. Within fifteen seconds, he was wobbling on top of it, looking almost like an eight-year-old bouncing on a waterbed. He sat down and started rocking, as if he was trying to get comfortable.

“Okay, look,” Marie finally said, “I get it may be tiring, but that’s no excuse for lazing around and…”

She stopped when he stood up, the Balloon Fish rolling back so far that Marie stood up, shocked at how far over the ledge Cull was. Cull, for his part, had an expression like he swallowed a sunfish whole, but kept his eyes to the wall he had to climb. He took one step forward, waiting for the Fish to roll enough…

And then he jumped. His hands reached out, and he was able to grab onto the ledge. By all accounts, he shouldn’t have been able to keep his grip, but it was dawning on Marie that he was a whip-lash squid.

He hoisted himself up, finding another piece of Sardinium, then looked over the edge to see about that launchpad. It was a simple swing down, and Cull was on his rapid way to the next area.

Marie was there to witness each remaining step. The ambush from above, where Cull leapt screaming into his first Splashdown. The attack immediately after, where he managed to actually take one or two of the Troopers before they even landed. Cull getting splatted again by the remaining Octarians, though he didn’t gasp as frantically when he respawned this time. He was able to finish off the other Octotroopers and make it to some more sponge-scaling situations and an easy battle.

After a bridge made from sponges filled with Balloon Fish ink, Marie’s eyes widened. Up ahead, a bulbous flying thing she knew all too well, and she was about to cry out a warning, but stopped herself. She was already dealing with a bit of a nervous wreck; no sense in giving him a heart attack in all three of his.

Instead, she said, as plainly as she could, “An Octobomber. Gross.”

“What—” Cull started, before yelping. He just saw a Splat Bomb land by him, and it wasn’t his.

Marie sighed as he respawned. Even if she didn’t want to scare the kid, that warning may have been less than helpful.

“Sorry, squid,” she said, apologetically. “Didn’t want to scare you…”

Cull walked back over to where he was, far more slowly this time. Shooting gobs of purple at him was one thing, but now they were hurling bombs at him!

“Ugh… how close is the Zapfish?”

Marie blinked. She hadn’t even been looking for the Zapfish; she was just making sure this kid got out alive.

“Um…”

She could see Cull looking around, mostly up and at the corners of platforms. She assumed he was looking for the camera, but he was nowhere close. At least it kept him safe while she re-calibrated the ZapSeek program that Sheldon wrote.

“Let’s see… the Zapfish is… uh…”

“Ye—?” was all Marie heard in response, before the computer suddenly went black. Her eyes widened, and she frantically mashed the power button, but all she heard was the equally frantic clicking of the button.

Sheldon opened the door behind her, frantically pulling out a set of keys. He dashed to a caged area behind the computer, where he kept the generator.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, trying each key in turn as fast as he could, “Without Zapfish, we gotta rely on this generator, and as you know, this is an old thing, and the fact is, it’ll take a bit to refuel it and start it up again, not to mention the computer booting time—”

“Sheldon!” Marie said, sharply. “Just tell me what I can do to help get it back! There’s a kid lost in Octopia here!”

“Right, right,” Sheldon’s capped silhouette nodded. “Sorry. So, I need you to take the rip cord here and wait to give it a good yank! There’s a coupla things I gotta keep in place over here while you do that…”

Marie walked over, but saw multiple cords that looked pull-worthy.

“Um…”

“You got the rip cord?”

“No…”

“All right, hold on…”

The sound of Sheldon pouring whatever the generator needed slowed to a halt, and he patiently walked over, instantly finding the correct cord and handing it to her.

“I’ll let you know when to pull. It might take a few tries for it to start, but keep at it.”

Marie nodded, not understanding when she heard a variety of switches being flicked, as well as some clatters.

“All right, you ready?”

She pulled the rip cord. A rumble, but nothing else.

“Okay, try again.”

It took a few more pulls, but the generator eventually roared to life.

“Now, lemme take care of getting you started, and I’ll be out of here…”

Marie didn’t dispute that. She was a lot of things, but she was no computer squid. She waited for the slow booting, the password entry, the appropriate programs written by Sheldon…

It felt like hours, but everything Marie was used to was back up. Sheldon saluted, then went back to working on his weapons.

Right, so she could flip through the cameras again, and find Cull who was… still standing at that checkpoint. Her audio wasn’t working, but she could tell he was just calling out, trying to get a response.

It took a minute for Marie to find the volume and fix it, but she was greeted with a quiet, almost fearful “…hello?...Yes?...Is the Z-Zapfish close…?”

“Yeah, hang on,” Marie said, putting on a practiced smile. “It was just a technical thing, sorry.”

“O-okay…”

“Just keep moving forward, m’kay? That Octoslob might have bombs, but he’s pretty slow, so just keep on your guard, okay?”

Cull gulped, but still started taking steps forward. It was slow and halting, with him looking around as if he was expecting the Octobomber to have flown to where he was.

Marie wasn’t going to spur him too far forward; the camera systems for other areas were still loading, and she didn’t want Cull dying down there, especially if it would be from something super avoidable.

Suddenly, after some tentative advancement, Cull ducked into the ink. Marie switched from the loading screen back to him the moment she heard a splash. He was nearing the Octobomber.

“Remember, kid: those Splat Bombs have timers on ‘em. Keep moving, and don’t let ‘em catch you! That’s a rule of the battlefield!”

Cull wasn’t moving.

“Come on, this is no time for hide and splat! You gotta move forward! Once you get to the Zapfish, you can get out of there!”

“But…” Cull whispered, still not so much as swimming an inch, “I-I don’t know…”

“Look, kid,” Marie sighed. “If you want to find your way home, you need to get past this guy. I already told you; keep moving and you’ll be a harder target for him!”

After a second (presumably waiting for the fat flying octopus to look away, which Marie had to admit would be a decent strategy), Cull emerged and started running, firing wildly as he did so. The Octobomber flinched as ink hit them, and they spun around, quickly lobbing a bomb at the Inkling intruder. Cull kept running forward, barely out of the blast’s range. He kept shooting, somehow missing half his shots as he did so.

It gave the Octobomber enough time to fire another bomb. Marie would have congratulated Cull on his plan of circling to avoid the explosives, but she was too busy gasping as he inattentively moved towards the edge.

“Kid, watch it—”

“Yeah, just keep movin’! Works great!”

He cheered as he splatted the enemy, but the cheer was short lived as he fell off the ledge.

Marie didn’t see his ghost swim up. She waited, desperately scanning every pixel, rotating every camera, but she saw nothing.

She started breathing again when she saw his hands inch onto solid ground, followed by the rest of him.

“Oh, thank Cod,” Marie said, more under her breath than anything. “Right, so….”

The hacks into the next area of security cameras finally loaded. Marie wasn’t sure what the delay was. Something about cache? She’d have to ask Sheldon later, but for now she looked into the next set of cameras, and…

“Hey, good news!” she said. “You’re almost to the Zapfish and outta there!”

“Uh, y-yeah…” Cull said, sounding like Marie did when she first learned how to fake smiles. “Uh, al-almost might be a strong word…”

“What are you talking abou—oh.”

A quick pan of one of the cams showed the problem. A series of dry sponges formed a line from the floor Cull was on to the floating island the Zapfish was on. Even if he used the Balloon Fish lined across the sides to fill them up, this would be a struggle for him to swim up what most Inklings could with just a bit of effort.

“Er… yeah, this might be tough…” Marie trailed off. “I’m sure you can make it up there, though…”

“Nnn…”

She saw him standing there, craning his neck to see the sun-shaped wall far above him. She couldn’t see his expression, but she could tell he wasn’t exactly readying up for the climb. Heck, he was walking back to a ledge (thankfully, a part with a railing this time). He looked around a little, but he didn’t see anywhere else he could try to go.

The blue skies made from blue monitor light surrounded him on all sides, illuminating a sparkling blue sea under him. Looking out on the wooden platform into the distant waters like this was filling him with nostalgia, back when he could only be halfway between squid and kid at most. He remembered having to brush his tentacles off his eyes a lot, to see a cloudless sky like this, with rocky beaches and wooden docks. The false sun was still a good one, adding to the illusion pretty well. Even if the air was still the stale air you’d find in caves, it didn’t matter; the atmosphere was so much like that of a beach, giving a very surreal vibe of familiarity along with the floating platforms, debris, and screens. This was inspiring.

“You okay, kid?”

“Hmm? O-oh, yeah, j-just needed a moment…”

He pulled himself away from the view, having calmed himself a bit. He took a breath, and looked at the challenge before him.

He fired at the first sponge until it was dripping with ink. He took a breath, and climbed up to the top of it. It was easier to just climb up the one, and he still had a dry, shrunken sponge in front of him.

He stepped onto the dry sponge, and was about to fire to inflate it as well, but he realized he’d have to do still more climbing with the other pair up ahead. He wasn’t sure if he’d be up to that; even that one small swim took effort. He still wanted to get the Zapfish in something resembling a timely manner, so he looked either way. It’d be a tricky thing, but he’d done crazier tagging a spot on Moray Towers the one time.

Standing on the tinier platform, he looked at the Balloon Fish on either side, and popped one.

Marie’s jaw dropped. She just saw Cull get flung like a ragdoll as the sponge exploded out to its full size under him. He flailed and hollered, but not as intensely as she thought it warranted. Heck, it almost seemed planned, as he landed flat on his back on top of the next set of filled sponges. He grunted, but he quickly got up and leapt at the final wall between himself and the Zapfish’s platform. A couple of grunts and kicks against the wall, and he could move from dangling by his fingers to actually getting onto the platform.

From there, Marie could view him freeing and petting the Zapfish. He sat down as the platform moved to the exit, the Zapfish on his lap. It was kind of adorable, honestly.

[claiirvoyants]

𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒘𝒏𝒆𝒚, 𝐒𝐘𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋.

        ❝   yesterday,   you   were   an   OLD   MAN   spitting   cherry   pits   into   the   weeds.   today   you   are   a   fisherman’s   daughter,   dragging   small   minnow-nets   through   the   𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒔.   tomorrow   you   could   be   a   DOE-EYED   dancer,   an   ash-stained   chimney   sweep,   a   beggar   singing   psalms,   anyone.   when   you   lean   over   the   side   of   the   lake,   the    𝐫𝐞𝐝   𝐥𝐢𝐥𝐲   𝐩𝐞𝐭���𝐥𝐬   whisper,   be   free.   taste   the   air.   do   you   feel   the   echoes   of   ancient   energies   moving   into   new   bodies?   they   learn   of   suffering   and   beauty,   again,   again.   𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑   𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒   𝐀𝐑𝐄   𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘   𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐒.   ❞ 

         hey,   isn’t   that   SYBILL   PATRICIA   TRELAWNEY?   i   read   a   daily   prophet   article   on   them,   once   ;   the   forty   eight   year   old   halfblood   WITCH   is   a   ravenclaw   alumnus   who   has   gone   on   to   be   the   professor   of   divination   at   hogwarts   school.   i’ve   heard   they   can   be   quite   ECCENTRIC   &   VIVACIOUS,   but   i   don’t   know...   they   came   off   very   RUMINATIVE   &   HAUGHTY   in   that   interview.   it   really   is   hard   to   know   what   to   believe   these   days   though,   isn’t   it?   click   𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄   for   statistics   and    𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄   for   her   pinterest.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘.

buckle up ! i’m abt to show u guys i can write a short or at least SNAPPY intro.

sybill was born in the seaside town of port isaac in 1972, the product of an affair between her pure blood mommy ( cressida trelawney ) and a muggle daddy ( edwin teague ). 

cressida knew abt edwin’s muggle wife. edwin’s muggle wife ( and his daughter eugenia, sybill’s half sibling ) did NOT know about his witchy gf. what happens in btwn the lines of the wizarding world stays within the lines of the wizarding world, ig.

sybill’s dad died p suddenly when she was six, and he didn’t leave anything to either her or her mum, cause... men ain’t shit ! learn it. anyway, sybill’s mum begged her slightly estranged family for like, something, and prob would have got NOTHING if she hadn’t said ‘hey, my daughter is totally the next cassandra ( and also DEFINITELY a pureblood )-’

this changed things a bit, even tho at the time... sybill had not shown any actual prophetic talent, lmao. she was a six yr old playing like, dolls, and trying to bring fishies home from the seashore in glass bottles, u know? 

the fam took them back under their wings, and sybill was told to keep her little mouth shut ( in like, a kind of nice way ) about both the fact she was a halfblood ( she prob didn’t conceptualize this one very well at six ) and the fact she was not a seer. she also prob didn’t conceptualize this very well. but playing pretend is something kids LIKE to do, so when cressida told sybill to say some mysterious things and play this role, she took to it immediately ! it was fun ! 

it stopped being fun PRETTY quickly, but as sybill got older and understood things a bit more, she clued in to the fact that her grandparents and extended trelawney family were quite... uh, to put it mildly, strict. her mum had gone out into the world on her own because she didn’t fit in the box that the trelawney’s had expected her to ( like a lot of pureblood fams ), and sybill was a lot more like cressida than she was the rest of her fam, and she was also, like. way more attached to her than she was them, so while it stopped being a fun game, she still kept to it for her mummy.

got her hogwarts letter. headed off. breathed an actual sigh of RELIEF when she was on the train, cause... she didn’t have to pretend to be something she was pretty sure she wasn’t anymore, and at hogwarts, she wouldn’t have to go through the ‘training’ and ‘lessons’ for her future as a famed seer that her fam were prepping her for. she got sorted into ravenclaw, which tracked ( most of the fam were ), and she just... went abt her life.

i know this is gonna sound wild. but at hogwarts, sybill was... exceedingly ordinary. she was a well behaved young lady who was assumed to be of quality breeding, and though her grandparents spoke highly of their little seer granddaughter to their friends, the kids and grandkids of those people didn’t really ... know much about this. sybill flew pretty far under the radar, and that was how she liked it. she graduated with top marks, turned of age, and started working for her grandparents on a full time basis in the little fortune teller shop they had at this point in time at the divide between knockturn alley and diagon alley - she’d already spent summers with them, so it was just one more step. still, no discernible seer talent.

very appropriately, it all started with death omens. sybill had always faked what she was seeing cause she sort of had to, so she’d always made the future sound pretty bleak - but there’s bleak and then there’s seeing grims wherever she went. a month later, her grandmother ( a woman who sybill could never decide was either a talented seer in her own right or a talented liar also ) was dead. it was sudden, and things seemed to escalate exponentially from here. within a year, her grandfather, an aunt and her own mother had passed on ; and sybill had started to notice. changes.

kinda hard not to notice the fact she was beginning to go to sleep in a very warm and cosy bed and wake up barefoot and naked in the middle of the creek at the bottom of the garden, arms raised to the sky, images seered to the back of her eyelids. sybill consulted dozens of healers. she was given dozens of different potions to aid her sleeping, she was told that she had been through a lot of loss in a short amount of time, it was natural to begin having sleeping issues and the images she saw were only NIGHTMARES, or dreams, or the echo of something normal from her subconscious. the potions didn’t work tho ! the spells, the advice, the grief counselling they sent her to... over the next while, sybill’s life really began to unravel, and she couldn’t understand it, so she definitely couldn’t explain it. 

throw everything together and mix some severe money issues in as sybill was never very good at actually running the store and was now dealing with a whole lot of confusing shit - she loses the shop, then the house, and this is what eventually brought her to albus dumbledore, where - haha ! - she made her first ever actual prophecy. fun ! sucks she doesn’t rmbr it <3 

sybill got the job based on that, but figured it was cause he liked her a lot ( he didn’t ). life straightens out somewhat, she moves into hogwarts ( did eventually buy a cottage in hogsmeade since she got married and w/e, but is back living in hogwarts now they’re divorced ), she terrifies students for many years over, blah blah blah. makes a second prophecy to harry potter ( doesn’t rmbr that one either ), fights in the battle of the astronomy tower, fights in the battle of hogwarts, yada yada yada.

i won’t say whether she ever thought herself a legitimate seer, or ever learned to think of herself as one, or ever figured that was maybe what her ( still persistent ) sleep walking was. got my thoughts ! think its fun to just leave it at : maybe ! maybe she’s a seer, maybe she’s half of one, maybe she’s a real good liar. she had plenty of practice ! either way, she really embraced her weirdness ( shoutout to mama cressida for teaching her to b weird and love every second of it ) and has spent the past couple decades just straight vibing. 

can’t think of anything else to add. come to syb if u want some wizard pot ?

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

SYBILL TRELAWNEY ( sandra oh ) is looking for their EX WIFE / PARTNER who resembles SARAH SHAHI, RENEE ELISE GOLDSBERRY, CARLA GUGINO, SARAH RAFFERTY / ANY FC and should be 45+. applicants do have to contact RACHEL / PETRIICHVRS or DISCORD to talk over the details before applying.   (   i’m really open ! mostly because i'm entirely erasing the mr higglebottom thing, so we have so much freedom here in terms of… how they met, when they fell in love, how long they were married, how they’re dealing with the co-parenting thing, etc. sybill really did love them, that much i do know - but the marriage fell apart in my mind, sometime before the battle of hogwarts. maybe during her disastrous fifth year, when professor umbridge was, you know, attempting to ruin her life. i imagine they were a bit more maternal than sybill, and probably entertained / were even quite fond of how eccentric she was for years, but just eventually… got tired of it, or of how she wasn’t really putting their homelife above hogwarts, etc, and love just… was not enough to save ‘em. i think it’d be neat if they were a professor at hogwarts, too - maybe even a canonical one, like aurora sinistra ! - and their cute little staff room moments turned into total awkwardness for everyone else at the school < / 3   )

SYBILL TRELAWNEY ( sandra oh ) is looking for their ADOPTIVE CHILD who resembles TATI GABRIELLE, ASA BUTTERFIELD, KAYLEE BRYANT, VERNON CHWE / ANY FC and should be 18 - 22. applicants do have to contact RACHEL / PETRIICHVRS or DISCORD to talk over the details before applying.   (   you have some choices ! i don’t mind whether they’re biologically her ex wifes, for example, or whether they were adopted, and if so, they absolutely could have been adopted at a later age - in fact, i think it’d be really interesting if they were. they were raised by sybill and her now ex wife, anyway, and would have attended hogwarts - unless… honestly, if u wanted to go a route of them being a squib or something i would be HERE for it - but, really, i don’t think that sybill has been the best of mothers, especially since she’s always been the sort of woman to put her ‘career’ [ which in her case is just, her being a seer ] above all else. she never would have intended to be the absent parent, and i guarantee she’s tried to be the ‘fun one’ moreso than that, but i gotta say. huge believer in acknowledging the faults of my chars. honestly, i feel like kids just aren’t her thing, and the likelihood is she decided to make them her thing for her ex wife - but she relates better to like, fully formed people, and only in more recent years has probably started to try be more of the sort of person they need. whether they’re here for that or no is absolutely up to you !   )

[honeylikewords]

You'll write for Catfish? Yay! I need me some of that. First date with Catfish, but oop, something goes wrong? Or just first date.

Frankie deserves so much love, and I’m happy to write the good, sweet Frankie we need in the world!

I think Frankie is the kind of guy for whom first dates are mostly about the getting to know the gal process, showing her his dry sense of humor, getting into banter. He’s more of a conversationalist, so he’d aim for something like dinner and talking than a big, splashy, eventful date. He’s really matured into himself and his dating style, so he’s not looking to cause a stir, just learn more about this girl and see if they fit together well.

So, the first date is dinner at a quiet, mid-range restaurant. It’s not a fast food joint or an Olive Garden, but it’s nowhere too fancy, either. The restaurant itself is just mostly background noise, a location to serve as the set for their tete-a-tete, so Frankie doesn’t want it to be such a dump that it makes her feel offput and pulled out of the moment, nor does he want it to be so fancy that it makes her feel intimidated and like she needs to worry more about the environment than talking to him. 

Frankie stands at the door of the restaurant, outside, waiting for her. He’d never sit down before his date arrives. He’s got this unspoken, personal set of manners about these things, and he wants to be the first person she talks to, the person she walks with. He’d normally go and pick her up, himself, but scheduling had meant she’d have to meet him there. So he stands there under the restaurant awning, rocking back and forth on his heels, holding his hands in the pockets of his black dress slacks.

He looks nice; a blue button-up with the first few buttons undone, a nice, dark grey sport coat, his black pants, and his nice, shiny shoes. He’s even brushed his hair out of his face and trimmed his ‘stache so it looks a little less wispy and more like a carefully cultivated and curated patch. Every now and then, he pulls at his jacket sleeve and checks his wristwatch, making sure he’s not painfully early or mistaken about the time of their date.

She’s not late or anything– he came about half an hour early to make sure their reservation was still upheld– but he always gets antsy about these sorts of things. Call it the pilot in him, but when he is told to be at a certain place at a certain time, he never fudges it by even a few minutes. He’s been taught to count the seconds because those seconds are the razor’s edge between life and death, and he can’t shake the punctual habit, even in civilian life.

When she rounds the corner and flags him down with a wave and a smile, jogging as best as her heels will allow on the city sidewalks, Frankie’s heart lifts up in his chest and he feels himself, without any thought or intention, begin to smile wide. He walks to meet her mid-way (it’d be rude to just let her run to him, after all) and offers her his arm, joking as they walk about having “cased the joint”.

“I figure we can lie and tell ‘em it’s both of our birthdays,” he chuckles, shaking his head, “And after they bring out the cake, we book it in the confusion of the song they’ll sing. Everyone hates singing waiters, so they’ll all be looking away, and no one will see us slip out without paying the bill.”

She laughs and pats his arm.

“Frankie, if you screw these poor, minimum wage waiters out of their due pay, I’ll drag you back here by your ear, make you pay them double, and make you do every dish in that kitchen your own self.”

“Right, right. Noble lady, sticking up for the little guy. Love a gal who respects the worker,” he says, smiling wide as the server guides them from the front desk to their table.

As they sit down and peruse the menu, Frankie takes a second to look over the edge of his unfolded menu and admire her outfit. She looks absolutely lovely, he thinks to himself, admiring the shape of her face in the soft lighting of the restaurant. 

She glances up from her menu and meets his eyes, each of them smiling shyly but excitedly at the other in the moment. When she’s pored over the options enough, she folds up her menu and sets it aside, linking her hands together under her chin, leaning on the table.

“So,” she asks, her tone making Frankie laugh a little to himself. “You gonna ask me some first date questions?”

“First date questions?,” Frankie probes.

“You know, like, ‘do you have any siblings’, ‘where’d you go to college’, ‘do you like “The Office”’, ‘do you like to travel’, stuff like that.”

“I could ask you if you want me to ask you,” he offers.

She shakes her head teasingly.

“I mean, you could, but usually those kinds of questions are so boring. And I can tell that you, Mister Francisco Morales, do not like boring things.”

“You’re right,” he teases, “Which is why I’m going out with you and not…”

He looks around the restaurant, then finds what he’s looking for.

“That painting.”

Frankie points at a generic-looking piece of restaurant art– the kind that’s all vague watercolors in some yellow-orange sepia, with a little green tossed in for ‘contrast’– and grins when she turns to look at it, then lets out a little snort.

“I just hate that kinda shit,” he whispers, using his menu as a divider between their conversation and the rest of the restaurant. “I mean, it’s like restaurants order these things in bulk from some distant, far-off warehouse where they keep an artist locked in the basement with just a box of Crayola paints and a vague memory of sixth-grade art class color wheel assignments.”

She snorts and covers her mouth as she laughs, which makes Frankie feel incredibly successful. He loves, loves, loves making people laugh, but especially when he has a particular interest in someone. Making someone you care about laugh is a wonderful feeling, and Frankie is riding the high of it. 

“Do you think every Starbucks in the world orders from that same warehouse?”

“Without a doubt,” Frankie grins. “It’s one big Illuminati-like web of companies buying from this poor, imprisoned artist. I bet if you looked really close, you could see tiny messages written in each of the paintings.” He makes his voice more desperate and panicked sounding, as if a whisper from a prison inmate. “Help me! I’m being kept in the basement of the Peet’s Coffee headquarters and they’re forcing me to keep painting pictures of bicycles!”

When their mutual giggling dies down, a waiter approaches and asks them for their order. Frankie orders a pair of glasses of wine, one for each of them, and asks his date what she’d like to eat. When she answers, he orders something entirely different, promising her that if what she got turns out to be dreadful, she can have some of his food.

The night progresses well– lots of smiling, laughing, joking– and leads into the two of them lacing fingers on the top of the table, Frankie coaxing his thumb over the hill of her knuckles, softly rubbing as they talk.

She talks about her family. He talks about his. She talks about her job. He doesn’t. She makes a joke about rich people and their weird obsession with eating things raw. Frankie refrains from making a distasteful joke in their current setting, promising to tell her it later when they’re somewhere that more bawdy humor will fly without being noticed. 

Dinner slows down and ends, and Frankie picks up the bill, politely declining her offers to pay. “Call me old-fashioned,” he says, a wry smile on his lips, “But I think the hotter one should pay.”

She slaps him in the arm playfully and rolls her eyes as he lifts her hand off the table and kisses it, using his eyes to tell her that, of course, he’s kidding and that she is, to him, the most beautiful person there. She knows.

They head out into the night and Frankie takes his jacket off, popping it on her shoulders. When she looks up at him, about to thank him, he cuts her off.

“I’ve seen that move in the movies a billion times. Apparently, it guarantees that the girl will be kissing the guy by the end of the night.”

“Oh, don’t get cocky,” she rebuts. “Cocky men don’t get kissed.”

“But do humble, very cute, very sorry men?” Frankie makes exaggerated puppy-eyes about pouts his lip, cooing through his nose like a whiny puppy dog. “Please?”

Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, wandering through a park, they stop and take a look at each other. She huffs out a breath of a laugh at his ridiculous expression and Frankie eases, able to laugh at himself, too. Their hands gravitate together and she squeezes at his palm, her cheeks round and warm with her smile as Frankie watches her.

“You’re very beautiful,” he says, his voice suddenly sincere, soft. “And you don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to. Just thought you should know.”

“Know what? That I’m beautiful, or that I don’t have to kiss you?”

“Both.”

“Both are very sweet of you, Francisco.”

“Please,” he snorts, putting up a hand dismissively. “Francisco was my father. Call me Mister Morales.”

She, again, laughs lightly, shaking the hand of his that she’s holding. 

“Nice to meet you, Mister Morales.” Then, she stands on the balls of her feet and presses her lips to his cheek. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

For a moment, Frankie loses mastery of his words. He’s slightly flustered by the kiss, as if he’s a schoolboy receiving his first kiss, juvenile and brand-new to the sensation. He’s been kissed before, he knows, but something about that kiss felt electric, warming his blood with the same excitement he gets as he clicks the engine on in his plane, revving on the runway. 

He gives her a wobbly, enthusiastic smile and bends down to kiss her cheek in return, holding his lips there a heartbeat longer just so he can feel her skin on his. He feels something: something he’s felt before in small doses, something entirely new to him. He wants to keep finding out what that something is, kiss by kiss, day by day. 

Recovering quickly, he continues walking with her, the two of them feeling a little lighter and bubblier as they carry on. It’s just the first date, but each of them knows there will surely, surely be more to come.

Send Me Asks While I’m On My Roadtrip!

[sundaynightbombers-blog]

TONIGHT WE DINE IN THE BASEMENT; OR, IF A CGI WOLF IS KILLED WITH A REAL SPEAR, IS IT MURDER?

            Have you ever watched/read/listened to something you knew was bad, but did so purely because of how popular it is or was at some point? Ever gone on a disco bender to try and travel back to the seventies, mostly because you can afford only used records and not cocaine? Hosted a French new wave marathon because you keep hearing how wonderful Jean-Luc Godard is, despite him only having maybe three good movies? Gone to one of those hip small art galleries to see what’s new in modern art, except you don’t why that woman is birthing raw eggs?

            In this article, I’d like to detail my findings from a recent excursion into a cultural phenomenon years after the fact: I watched Zack Snyder’s 300.

            Background: 300 is based on a 1998 graphic novel by controversial-and-not-in-a-fun-way cartoonist Frank Miller (see Sin City and The Dark Knight Returns). The film, released in 2006, directed by Snyder, and starring Gerard Butler (who is not a terrible actor, let’s be real here), was in fact stupidly successful at the box office with an international gross of $456 million against its $60 million budget. However, critics were completely divided, and this days the film is considered not very good.

            Total disclosure, it is a bloated, tan-coloured, man sweat-flavoured lemon of a movie.

            But why was it such a big deal? Well, I think we can blame the 80s. Specifically, 1982’s Conan the Barbarian. See, Conan was also a massive success upon release, especially among young adult males, similar to 300. Both films were adaptations of successful works within geek culture at their respective times, both made by well-regarded creators, and the fan hype machine obviously had a role in both films being hits. But I think there might be something else, something more… sociological, going on.

            Consider: Both films feature a main character who embodies absolute masculinity. They both contain things like honour and respect, all amongst manly men, as emotional cores for the audience. These are films that explicitly tell male-orientated stories, something I’d argue rarely happens. A lot of films that’re made for male audiences are less blatant about it; there’ll sometimes be female love interests, themes and ideas that aren’t absolute in how they addressed from a men’s perspective, and are typically trying to appeal to wider audiences (usually). Movies are about making money at the end of the day, so they need to throw a wide net. These movies? Their net is shaped like a scrotum and carries enough testosterone to power a brigade of Interceptors down a highway.

            Now, it’s extremely easy to say that most films cater to male audiences, and I will not deny that. There is truth to it, but in the case of Conan the Barbarian and 300, these films are so grossly direct in who they’re trying to get to see them, it’s kind of amazing. Neither film came out at a time when their genre- swords and sandals- was popular, they were not Oscar bait or major blockbusters, and frankly should’ve seen minor success, let alone become flops. But no, these films soldiered on (literally) and ended up being cultural touchstones for their respective generations of men. They presented male-oriented stories in a way that appealed directly to them. They gave them characters that personified a sense of masculinity that, I would argue, young males secretly desired. They wanted father figures that, in their mind, could treat them like a real man treats his son. It gave them something they didn’t get.

            But is any of this a good thing? I dunno. I know some will say it isn’t, some will say (not quite as loudly) that it does, but frankly, I don’t think it really matters. Check it, Conan is now a mere cult film that only appeals to fans of Robert E. Howard or Arnold Schwarzenegger. 300 is basically a joke these days. A too-little-too-late sequel in 2014 confirmed that it had absolutely no staying power, Snyder’s career has gone on to achieve rather abysmal depths (side note: I feel Justice League is somewhat forgivable; he understandably and rightfully left due to a personal tragedy, and I think the film was doomed regardless of his involvement or not), and Frank Miller is seen as a senile old man who had a pretty racist/batshit-insane phase in the 2000s that completely ruined his winning streak. Hell, the graphic novel 300 has become his last masterwork. All that is left in the film’s wake are countless hours of ‘this is Sparta’ memes buried deep in the recesses of the internet, as well as a mediocre and forgotten PlayStation Portable beat-em-up.

            I want to end on a few small notes. Firstly, as much as I disliked 300 (no, really, it’s pretty godawful), I did get sucked into it at the end. When the 300 Spartans are dying on the battlefield, and Michael Fassbender grabs Gerard Butler’s hand, and they have an exchange expressing their mutual respect for each other, it kinda got me. The climax is effective, not gonna lie. Also, the blue screen work is sooooo fucking bad, it’s actually distracting.

            Finally, what about the book 300? Well, it’s not bad. I kinda dig it. The real kicker is that, Snyder recreated the graphic novel shot-for-shot, and in the process diminished the effectiveness of those scenes. You also see Frank Miller do what he does best one last time, which is made more sad as it makes you remember why Miller was so highly-regarded as an artist; 300 came right before the abysmal The Dark Knight Strikes Back, but it wouldn’t be until the immensely offensive Holy Terror that his reign would ultimately end. Basically, everything after this has never reached those heights in the 80s and 90s. This is his last masterwork, and it’s kind of a fitting one to end on. Didn’t give me much insight, but as a fan of comics it was not without merit.

            Too bad we got a shit movie out of it.

 ~M.C.

[idreamofhazeleyes]

Ties in Blood -- Chapter 25

I know this is about a week late, but I had picked up a couple days at work which set this back a week. I still plan on getting a drabble based on the 300th and maybe another done and maybe the beginnings of Aaliyah’s hunting journal at least written up. I hope y’all like this since I feel like here and on AO3 people are losing interest due to low kudos/comments. Anyway ... There is a drabble tie-in at the end of the chapter. If I’ve tagged you here and not others, it’s just me being forgetful.

@mrswhozeewhatsis @winchestergirl-13 @percussiongirl2017 @impala-dreamer @optimisticpeacecollector5 @arazialotis @malinq-ashida

Chapter 25

Aaliyah stood a few feet behind the person at the pharmacy counter; an index finger tapping away at her thigh. She told Dean that she’d meet him and Sam at their motel room while she grabbed a few things. The person at the counter seemed to be taking a little too long for Aaliyah’s taste before they finally stepped away. She took a deep breath and stepped up to the open spot.

“Hi,” Aaliyah said. “I need Plan B, please.”

“Do you have a prescription for it?”

“I … uh … I didn’t know I needed one.” Her stomach started to twist from the seed of panic that took root. “Is there a way I can get it without a prescription?”

“Planned Parenthood. But … Let me talk with my manager for a minute.”

Aaliyah watched the pharmacy tech disappear around a corner. She glossed over the several shelves behind the counter in her turn to look out into the large store. Christmas music played over the PA system. The holiday was yet another reminder of what she missed growing up.

“Miss,” the pharmacy tech said, startling Aaliyah a little.

Aaliyah turned to see the tech sliding a box across the counter top.

“It’s fifty dollars,” the tech told her.

Aaliyah sighed with relief as she fished out the money to pay for it. She slid the box into a coat pocket in her path to the door. Her mind started running through excuses in the off chance one of the boys would find it. The second she stepped out the door, she shivered against the cold and zipped up her coat for the few minutes it took to reach her car.

She climbed into the car and managed to not completely rip open the box and freed one of the pills to dry swallow. Guilt started to eat away at her as Aaliyah pulled out of the parking spot. It was gonna be a hard few days.

***

Aliyah walked into the room with the bag of food and smiled at Sam. He responded with a quick wave while listening to whoever was on the other end of the call. She glared at Dean in his efforts to take the bag from her but didn’t really fight him on it. She draped her coat over the back of a chair as Sam hung up.

“Well, we’re not dealing with the anti-Clause,” he said.

“The what, now?” Aaliyah asked. “Isn’t that Krampus?”

“Who?” Dean shot her a confused look.

“It’s a what,” she countered. “In pagan tradition, it’s a horned half goat, half demonic creature that went around and punished children that misbehaved around this time. The legend has ties in Middle Europe and Northern Italy.”

“How’d you know that?” Dean asked.

“It was in one of those odd lore books I read while laid up after the car accident.”

“Uh huh.” Dean blinked, bringing himself back around. “What’d Bobby say?”

“That we’re morons,” Sam answered.

Aaliyah gave an amused huff, gaining a stare from Sam. “What? He’s probably right? What else did he say?”

“And that there’s meadowsweet in the wreaths.”

“What the hell is meadowsweet?” Aaliyah asked before rifling through the food bag.

“A rare and powerful pagan plant.”

“How’d you not know that from that lore book?” Dean asked, a bite of food cheeked.

“It was pagan creatures, not herbs and its uses,” Aaliyah chided. “What’s meadowsweet to these gods you’re after?”

“Human sacrifice,” Sam said, reading off his laptop. “Kinda like … chum for their gods. They’re drawn to it and stop by and chow down on the nearest human.”

“Sounds lovely,” Aaliyah said.

“Why would anyone use it for Christmas wreaths?” Dean asked.

“It’s not as crazy as it sounds,” Sam said. “Pretty much every Christmas tradition is pagan.”

“It’s Jesus’s birthday,” Dean argued.

“Not really,” Aaliyah chimed in, sitting down in the other chair. “His birthday was probably in the fall. It was the winter solstice that was taken by the Catholic church and renamed Christmas. The trees, the Yule log, even Santa’s suit, all remnants of pagan tradition.” She caught the mild surprise on Dean’s face and gave him a shrug. “I took a few classes on religions around the world.”

“Next you’re gonna tell me that the Easter Bunny’s Jewish,” Dean said.

Aaliyah shrugged and took another bite while Sam took over the conversation. She half listened while he talked about this Hold Nickar and that he would give mild weather in return for human sacrifices. “Any idea how to kill him?”

“No, but Bobby’s working on it,” Sam answered. “We can use your help on who’s selling those wreaths.”

***

Aaliyah walked into the shop that was decked out in Christmas floral arrangements as the bell above the door chimed. She repressed a shutter from the overload of seasonal joy and the memories of waking up Christmas day to nothing.

“Can I help you?” the shop keeper asked, coming into view.

“Uh, yeah. I was over at the Walshes’ the other night, playing a mean game of … um …Uno,” Aaliyah started, stammering for a second. “They had this wreath that I just gotta get for my own place, yah know? Made with mistletoe and … what was it? Meadowsweet. That’s it.”

“I know the one,” the show keeper said. “But I’m all out.”

Aaliyah made a confused look. “From what I heard, the stuff’s rare and expensive. Why put it in wreaths?”

The shop keeper gave a shrug. “Beats me. I didn’t make ‘em.”

Aaliyah tilted her head. “Who did?”

“A local woman. Madge Carrigan’s her name. Said the wreaths were so special, she’d gave ‘em to me free.”

“And you sold ‘em?” Aaliyah came to the conclusion.

“That’s right. People pay a crap ton for this stuff.”

“Thank you, sir,” Aaliyah said before seeing herself out.

She stuffed her hands into the pockets of the zip up hoodie for the few feet to the Impala and climbed it. “Got ‘em from some woman named Madge Carrigan,” she told the brothers. “And she’s a local who just gave the wreaths away for free to the guy.”

“Nut job,” Dean commented as he started the engine and backed out of the parking spot.

“Yeah, you’re telling me.”

Aaliyah looked out the window as they drove down the streets back to the motel while the brothers talked the case over between themselves. She climbed out of the backseat once they pulled into a spot at the motel and followed the boys into the room. Their talk shifted from the case to a wreath that John had gotten years ago. She half listened to them as she rifled through her bag and worked out the pill box.

“Aaliyah, tell me you had a decent Christmas growing up,” Sam said.

She dry swallowed the pill in her turn to face the younger Winchester. “What’s a decent Christmas? Xander and I grew up half starved thanks to our father dividing his time between work and hunting. Those two weeks off from school were tough until high school.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said.

“I got used to not getting anything.” Aaliyah turned back to her back and hid the box. “You two want me come with you to the Carrigans tomorrow? Or I can dig around for another case.”

“Nah, you stay here,” Dean told her. “Relax for a day or two.”

Aaliyah swore she heard worry in his voice. Like there was something there he wanted to make sure of.

“Besides,” he continued. “We’re just going to scope out the place. You’ll be the first we call for help.”

A sigh escaped Aaliyah’s lips. “There’s gotta be something I can do to help. What’d Bobby say that’ll kill the suckers?”

“Evergreen stakes.”

“Where am I gonna get evergreen branches at this time of day?”

***

Aaliyah shivered as she glanced over the sparse selection of trees. The attendant for the pop up farm had the air of wanting to retreat back into their camper and spend Christmas alone. She chose a small one that appeared to be able to yield a few stakes and the attendant went about wrapping it and helping her put it on the car roof. The drive back to the motel was a bit nerve wracking, but she made it. Aaliyah declined the help to get the tree off the car and into the room by another person there and managed to do the work alone.

With the television on for a source of noise, Aaliyah managed to get the tree free of it’s wrapping and a decent sized branch for a stake. She worked at it with a knife and had just started getting a point when her cell buzzed with an incoming text.

911 Carrigan House

Aaliyah jumped from the chair and armed herself with the same knife and the partially made stake. With the two weapons in one hand and the cell and keys in the other, she darted out the room and was on the room racing down the street.

She killed the headlights on her approach to the house before putting the car into park. Her heart raced with adrenaline coursing through her body as she stalked toward the house, darting from shadow to shadow. A peak through a window showed Aaliyah Sam tied up in a chair. She watched as his hand was cut and was about to barge in with what she had when she heard voices approaching the house from the path. Aaliyah moved around to the back of the house and used the distraction of the neighbors to get inside the house.

Leave it to disgruntled pagan gods to be the ones to be the picturesque of the middle class living. The back room was disgustingly clean. Aaliyah cracked the door open and peered out. It gave her a view of the kitchen and dining area where Dean and Sam were tied up. Aaliyah could hear voices at the front door while Dean gestured her into the area. She kept herself low on her hunches, nearly sitting on the floor, and moved for Dean first. With one hand she unsheathed her knife and started sawing at the rope that tied him down.

“Next time we have a wild night…” Dean started.

“Save it for when we’re not…” The knife went through the last of the rope. Aaliyah looked up to match Dean’s gaze. “Facing down pagan gods.”

Aaliyah worked her way under the table and worked at freeing Sam the same way while Dean freed himself. She went from under the table to the threshold between the dining room and living room to keep watch on the Carrigans while the brothers freed themselves. Two quiet knocks on the trimming alerted the brothers that the distraction was gone. Aaliyah pulled herself from the threshold and followed after them into the kitchen then back out when the Carrigans enter.

“Didn’t expect you to get here so quick,” Sam said, holding his door closed.

“Always the trust worthy backup, that’s what I am.” She pulled at the cabinet and barely moved it. She sensed Sam move beside her and help with it.

“What now?” Dean asked as he came around. “The stakes are in the basement.”

Aaliyah rolled her own stake in her hand even as she scanned the house. She nudged the boys and gestured with her head toward the displayed tree. There was a second or two, the brothers sharing a look and holding an entire conversation with that look, before they moved for the tree. She stepped into the living room just as the door blocked by a drawer opened. In a spin, she brought up her spike just to have it knocked out of her hand.

“Oh dear,” Madge spoke. “Don’t wanna be ruining our clothes, do we?”

“Who said anything about ruining clothes?” Aaliyah’s body tensed when a hand behind her grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

The one who pulled her back took her place and plunged their stake into Madge.

Aaliyah panicked in her search for her stake and dove for it. The small hairs on her body stood on end, the sensation of someone right behind her. She rolled and brought the stake out in front of her just as Mr. Carrigan came down toward her. There was a look of surprise on his face, like he hadn’t expected her to actually kill him. She guided him onto the floor where he landed with a thud. Her chest heaved slightly before her breathing returned to normal.

“Aaliyah?” Sam called out. “Aaliyah?”

She lifted a hand and waved it. “Over here.” Her hand grabbed hold of the hand that grabbed her before pulling herself up. “Thanks, Sammy.”

He gave an amused noise. “Merry Christmas, you two.”

“Some Christmas. See you two back at the motel? I’ll make a food and beer run?”

***

Aaliyah used her foot to close the motel door behind her as she was greeted with Eliza Fitzgerald’s version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” and a small, but intact, tree being decorated by Sam.

“Car fresheners?” she questioned, putting the couple bags and couple cases of beer on the table.

“Best choice from the station,” Sam answered. He turned from putting the last air freshener on the tree. “Are you okay staying with us tonight? I know what happened with Amanda…”

Aaliyah waved off what would had been a touching speech. “I’m working through it. Am I better than a week ago? Not really. Part of me still wants to go all self-destructive over it. But I don’t wanna go and spend this time alone and …”

She was interrupted by the door opening behind her and Dean walking in with the pizza.

“What’s all this?” he asked.

“Uh …” Sam trailed off. “It’s Christmas.”

Aaliyah grabbed a beer and moved out of the way between the brothers.

“What made you change your mind?” Dean asked.

Aaliyah listened as Sam offered up the eggnog and pulled out her cell. She thumbed through the contacts and started at Nissa’s number, her mind warring on to call or not. Hitting the call button, Aaliyah put the cell to her ear and listened to the ringing.

“You got bad timing,” Nissa greeted. “I’m about to kick Leo’s ass in Scrabble.”

“So not true,” Leo shouted.

Aaliyah chuckled to herself at the bickering between her half siblings.

“Where are you?” Nissa asked, her attention back to Aaliyah. “Last I heard you were off in Texas chasing down a Chupacabra.”

“Ypsilanti.” Aaliyah casted a glance over her shoulder to the boys, who had sat down and were exchanging gifts. “The guys needed some help with some pagan gods and I was in the area.”

“We told mom about you,” Nissa said. “Surprised the both of us saying she wanted to meet you one day. You should come by tomorrow. Maybe have a family dinner.”

Aaliyah shifted her weight. “I need to check on Xander. It’s been too long since I’ve done that. Not sure he’s … stable after that vampire hunt of his went sideways a few months ago.”

“Tell Liyra that if she’s not coming to us tomorrow,” Leo said, his voice still distant from wherever he sat at the table. “We’re coming to her.”

“It does sound better than you running around on your own,” Nissa agreed. “We’ll see you tomorrow around noon.” She hung up before Aaliyah could argue.

“Hey, Aaliyah,” Dean called to her. “You got stuff, too.”

She turned to see them looking at her. “Alright, hang on.” She walked over and grabbed the couple bags off the table and handed one bag to each brother before sitting on the couch.

“You didn’t have too,” Dean half protested as he dug into the bag.

Aaliyah half shrugged and held up the bags that he and Sam had handed her. “Same here. Now, lets see here …” She dug into one bag and pulled out a pack of gum, a few bottles of Faygo in a few different flavors, and a candy bar. “Thanks, Dean.”

“How’d you know?”

She held up the skin mag. “Who else woulda slipped this in there? Not that I mind. I like looking at hot chicks.” Her eye caught Dean’s jaw drop a little and laughed. “Nothing wrong with looking. And from Sam we got … some first aid supplies, a box of ammo, and a fantasy book. Thanks guys. I mean it.”

A hand came to rest on her shoulder, bringing her attention over to Sam.

“You’re family,” he told her. “We’ll do anything for you.”

“Sammy’s right,” Dean added. “Anything at all, you call us.”

Aaliyah gave a small smile. “Thanks. Now, how about that game?”

She turned her attention to the tv as the game was turned on. She toed off her shoes and settled back into the couch, crossing her legs in front of her. It was another Christmas motel, something that happened during college. But there was something about this year that was different. Aaliyah wasn’t spending it alone or at a friend’s place for two weeks. This one had the bond shared with two brothers that had grown up in a broken family, not quite that different from her own, and grew up as hunters. Part of her wasn’t sure how to process the whole mix of the day.

Her body shifted throughout the game until she was stretched out and taking up her seat and the space between her and Sam; her head resting on the arm rest. At one point the motel door opened and closed a few times before she startled at the weight of a blanket being placed on her and a pillow under her head. Aaliyah caught some of a conversation between Sam and Dean before she passed out for the night.

“Liyra, sweetheart.”

The voice was calm and quiet, as if the speaker honestly didn’t want to wake her up. She moaned in protest of being woken.

“I know. But I wanna talk with you about something.”

Aaliyah’s eyes opened in a snap to see Dean sitting on the floor next to her. His face had softened to a point where it seemed like it took him hours trying to figure out how to start the conversation and bring it up to her. She saw her Plan B box come up into view and her heart sank.

“If I had known…” Dean started before Aaliyah shook her head.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Her voice was a little raspy from the night’s sleep. “Not entirely. Some of the blame’s on me for not asking you to … cover up. And I think you might agree our life isn’t one to bring a kid into.”

“I do agree. Promise me this, though. Once I go downstairs and roast on a spike, you get yourself outta this life. Get back into nursing and have a normal life. Have a few boyfriends. Hell, a girlfriend even.” Dean reached out and put the box on the couch. “Just … get out of scaring yourself with things you can’t fix.”

Aaliyah nodded before Dean leaned over and gave her forehead a gentle kiss.

“Now, don’t you have a family thing to do today?”

“I’ll give Nissa a call in a few.” Aaliyah tossed the blanket off her and onto the back of the couch. “But first, nature calls.” She grabbed the box in her motion of sitting up. “And I gotta get one of these little things in my system.”

***

“Hey, sis,” Leo called to Aaliyah as she emerged from the motel room, her bags in hand. “Ready to roll?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Aaliyah replied. “Just follow me. The assisted living home’s not that far from here.” She tossed her bags into the backseat of her car and climbed into the driver’s seat.

With the radio on one of the few stations not playing Christmas music, she pulled out of the motel lot and started off down the road. Her mind raced with scenarios on how Xander would react to his siblings showing up after all this time. And with each one that popped up she shot back down with the reminder that she didn’t know how he would react and to stop torturing herself.

Aaliyah found a parking spot at the assisted living building and climbed out as her half siblings found another parking spot. She half expected there to be more vehicles than the dozen or so that probably belonged to the employees.

“Apparently other people are too bothered to visit family here,” Leo spoke what Aaliyah was thinking.

“We have reasons that keep us away,” Nissa added. “What do they have? Gotta get to the gym for the weekly run on the treadmill?”

“Racquetball?” Leo tossed in as they started for the door.

Aaliyah ignored them as the two tossed gym activities back and forth. There was something odd about what little she was able to see in the lobby before they stepped through the doors. Sure, there were residents up and moving about. Nurses making their rounds. Everything seemed to be on pace for a normal day. But there was still something that screamed supernatural to her.

“Guys, shut it,” she snapped under her breath. “Something’s wrong here.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Leo commented. “You must be feeling off. Excuse me, nurse?” He started for the nearest nurse.

“I’m getting the feeling, too,” Nissa said, coming up beside Aaliyah. “Whatcha think it is?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t like that. Maybe Leo’s right and I’m just off. The holiday season’s a bad time anyway and there’s …”

“Come on, you two,” Leo called to them. “Xander’s this way.”

“I’ll tell you later.” Aaliyah followed after her brother, who was half way to a hallway. There was some yelling and shouting coming from one of the rooms down that way.

“Hey, Xander,” Leo’s voice drifted from a room he had ducked into. Right before there was the sound of glass shattering and Leo jumping out from the room. “Nice to see you, too,” he muttered. “Careful, Liyra. He’s gone wild.”

Aaliyah pushed past Leo and eased her head into Xander’s room to see him fighting three nurses and a doctor.

“I don’t want any meds,” Xander shouted in his struggles against the medical staff there.

Aaliyah moved further into the room and over to the bed. “Xander.” It was quiet enough she wasn’t sure he would actually hear her. “Xander.”

“Sedative,” the doctor said.

One of the nurses pulled herself from Xander and came face to face with Aaliyah. “You can’t be here.”

“I’m his sister,” Aaliyah argued.

“Don’t let ‘em drug me,” Xander called out.

Aaliyah wasn’t sure if he called out to her or to anyone who would help. She pulled the nurse into the hallway and saw her expression change when Nissa and Leo came in close. “Is he refusing medication?”

“Has been,” the nurse shifted nervously. “Kept saying that there was something here and had to deal with it. I’m not supposed to tell you this …” She glanced back to the room. “But we’ve had several people slip into comas and die in the past three months. And two more entered comas a few days ago.”

“I’m Aaliyah,” she told the nurse. “I believe I’m on the paperwork …”

“You are,” the nurse confirmed. “But what do you know…”

“I went to nursing school, I know the rights of the patient,” Aaliyah interrupted. “And if my brother’s of sound mind, he’s able to make any medical choice he wants. No drugs, period. Now, do we need to go in there and pull off your co-workers?” Aaliyah stared down the nurse before moving for the room.

“Alright, all of you, out,” Aaliyah raised her voice. “Now.” She stood her ground as the remaining two nurses and doctor moved from the bed and out of the room. “Nissa, Leo. I think we all need a talk.”

[notsofly]

Ties in Blood Chapter 25

@mrswhozeewhatsis @impala-dreamer @idreamofplaid @percussiongirl2017 @squirrelnotsam @winchestergirl-13

Chapter 25

Aaliyah stood a few feet behind the person at the pharmacy counter; an index finger tapping away at her thigh. She told Dean that she’d meet him and Sam at their motel room while she grabbed a few things. The person at the counter seemed to be taking a little too long for Aaliyah’s taste before they finally stepped away. She took a deep breath and stepped up to the open spot.

“Hi,” Aaliyah said. “I need Plan B, please.”

“Do you have a prescription for it?”

“I … uh … I didn’t know I needed one.” Her stomach started to twist from the seed of panic that took root. “Is there a way I can get it without a prescription?”

“Planned Parenthood. But … Let me talk with my manager for a minute.”

Aaliyah watched the pharmacy tech disappear around a corner. She glossed over the several shelves behind the counter in her turn to look out into the large store. Christmas music played over the PA system. The holiday was yet another reminder of what she missed growing up.

“Miss,” the pharmacy tech said, startling Aaliyah a little.

Aaliyah turned to see the tech sliding a box across the counter top.

“It’s fifty dollars,” the tech told her.

Aaliyah sighed with relief as she fished out the money to pay for it. She slid the box into a coat pocket in her path to the door. Her mind started running through excuses in the off chance one of the boys would find it. The second she stepped out the door, she shivered against the cold and zipped up her coat for the few minutes it took to reach her car.

She climbed into the car and managed to not completely rip open the box and freed one of the pills to dry swallow. Guilt started to eat away at her as Aaliyah pulled out of the parking spot. It was gonna be a hard few days.

***

Aliyah walked into the room with the bag of food and smiled at Sam. He responded with a quick wave while listening to whoever was on the other end of the call. She glared at Dean in his efforts to take the bag from her but didn’t really fight him on it. She draped her coat over the back of a chair as Sam hung up.

“Well, we’re not dealing with the anti-Clause,” he said.

“The what, now?” Aaliyah asked. “Isn’t that Krampus?”

“Who?” Dean shot her a confused look.

“It’s a what,” she countered. “In pagan tradition, it’s a horned half goat, half demonic creature that went around and punished children that misbehaved around this time. The legend has ties in Middle Europe and Northern Italy.”

“How’d you know that?” Dean asked.

“It was in one of those odd lore books I read while laid up after the car accident.”

“Uh huh.” Dean blinked, bringing himself back around. “What’d Bobby say?”

“That we’re morons,” Sam answered.

Aaliyah gave an amused huff, gaining a stare from Sam. “What? He’s probably right? What else did he say?”

“And that there’s meadowsweet in the wreaths.”

“What the hell is meadowsweet?” Aaliyah asked before rifling through the food bag.

“A rare and powerful pagan plant.”

“How’d you not know that from that lore book?” Dean asked, a bite of food cheeked.

“It was pagan creatures, not herbs and its uses,” Aaliyah chided. “What’s meadowsweet to these gods you’re after?”

“Human sacrifice,” Sam said, reading off his laptop. “Kinda like … chum for their gods. They’re drawn to it and stop by and chow down on the nearest human.”

“Sounds lovely,” Aaliyah said.

“Why would anyone use it for Christmas wreaths?” Dean asked.

“It’s not as crazy as it sounds,” Sam said. “Pretty much every Christmas tradition is pagan.”

“It’s Jesus’s birthday,” Dean argued.

“Not really,” Aaliyah chimed in, sitting down in the other chair. “His birthday was probably in the fall. It was the winter solstice that was taken by the Catholic church and renamed Christmas. The trees, the Yule log, even Santa’s suit, all remnants of pagan tradition.” She caught the mild surprise on Dean’s face and gave him a shrug. “I took a few classes on religions around the world.”

“Next you’re gonna tell me that the Easter Bunny’s Jewish,” Dean said.

Aaliyah shrugged and took another bite while Sam took over the conversation. She half listened while he talked about this Hold Nickar and that he would give mild weather in return for human sacrifices. “Any idea how to kill him?”

“No, but Bobby’s working on it,” Sam answered. “We can use your help on who’s selling those wreaths.”

***

Aaliyah walked into the shop that was decked out in Christmas floral arrangements as the bell above the door chimed. She repressed a shutter from the overload of seasonal joy and the memories of waking up Christmas day to nothing.

“Can I help you?” the shop keeper asked, coming into view.

“Uh, yeah. I was over at the Walshes’ the other night, playing a mean game of … um …Uno,” Aaliyah started, stammering for a second. “They had this wreath that I just gotta get for my own place, yah know? Made with mistletoe and … what was it? Meadowsweet. That’s it.”

“I know the one,” the show keeper said. “But I’m all out.”

Aaliyah made a confused look. “From what I heard, the stuff’s rare and expensive. Why put it in wreaths?”

The shop keeper gave a shrug. “Beats me. I didn’t make ‘em.”

Aaliyah tilted her head. “Who did?”

“A local woman. Madge Carrigan’s her name. Said the wreaths were so special, she’d gave ‘em to me free.”

“And you sold ‘em?” Aaliyah came to the conclusion.

“That’s right. People pay a crap ton for this stuff.”

“Thank you, sir,” Aaliyah said before seeing herself out.

She stuffed her hands into the pockets of the zip up hoodie for the few feet to the Impala and climbed it. “Got ‘em from some woman named Madge Carrigan,” she told the brothers. “And she’s a local who just gave the wreaths away for free to the guy.”

“Nut job,” Dean commented as he started the engine and backed out of the parking spot.

“Yeah, you’re telling me.”

Aaliyah looked out the window as they drove down the streets back to the motel while the brothers talked the case over between themselves. She climbed out of the backseat once they pulled into a spot at the motel and followed the boys into the room. Their talk shifted from the case to a wreath that John had gotten years ago. She half listened to them as she rifled through her bag and worked out the pill box.

“Aaliyah, tell me you had a decent Christmas growing up,” Sam said.

She dry swallowed the pill in her turn to face the younger Winchester. “What’s a decent Christmas? Xander and I grew up half starved thanks to our father dividing his time between work and hunting. Those two weeks off from school were tough until high school.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said.

“I got used to not getting anything.” Aaliyah turned back to her back and hid the box. “You two want me come with you to the Carrigans tomorrow? Or I can dig around for another case.”

“Nah, you stay here,” Dean told her. “Relax for a day or two.”

Aaliyah swore she heard worry in his voice. Like there was something there he wanted to make sure of.

“Besides,” he continued. “We’re just going to scope out the place. You’ll be the first we call for help.”

A sigh escaped Aaliyah’s lips. “There’s gotta be something I can do to help. What’d Bobby say that’ll kill the suckers?”

“Evergreen stakes.”

“Where am I gonna get evergreen branches at this time of day?”

***

Aaliyah shivered as she glanced over the sparse selection of trees. The attendant for the pop up farm had the air of wanting to retreat back into their camper and spend Christmas alone. She chose a small one that appeared to be able to yield a few stakes and the attendant went about wrapping it and helping her put it on the car roof. The drive back to the motel was a bit nerve wracking, but she made it. Aaliyah declined the help to get the tree off the car and into the room by another person there and managed to do the work alone.

With the television on for a source of noise, Aaliyah managed to get the tree free of it’s wrapping and a decent sized branch for a stake. She worked at it with a knife and had just started getting a point when her cell buzzed with an incoming text.

911 Carrigan House

Aaliyah jumped from the chair and armed herself with the same knife and the partially made stake. With the two weapons in one hand and the cell and keys in the other, she darted out the room and was on the room racing down the street.

She killed the headlights on her approach to the house before putting the car into park. Her heart raced with adrenaline coursing through her body as she stalked toward the house, darting from shadow to shadow. A peak through a window showed Aaliyah Sam tied up in a chair. She watched as his hand was cut and was about to barge in with what she had when she heard voices approaching the house from the path. Aaliyah moved around to the back of the house and used the distraction of the neighbors to get inside the house.

Leave it to disgruntled pagan gods to be the ones to be the picturesque of the middle class living. The back room was disgustingly clean. Aaliyah cracked the door open and peered out. It gave her a view of the kitchen and dining area where Dean and Sam were tied up. Aaliyah could hear voices at the front door while Dean gestured her into the area. She kept herself low on her hunches, nearly sitting on the floor, and moved for Dean first. With one hand she unsheathed her knife and started sawing at the rope that tied him down.

“Next time we have a wild night…” Dean started.

“Save it for when we’re not…” The knife went through the last of the rope. Aaliyah looked up to match Dean’s gaze. “Facing down pagan gods.”

Aaliyah worked her way under the table and worked at freeing Sam the same way while Dean freed himself. She went from under the table to the threshold between the dining room and living room to keep watch on the Carrigans while the brothers freed themselves. Two quiet knocks on the trimming alerted the brothers that the distraction was gone. Aaliyah pulled herself from the threshold and followed after them into the kitchen then back out when the Carrigans enter.

“Didn’t expect you to get here so quick,” Sam said, holding his door closed.

“Always the trust worthy backup, that’s what I am.” She pulled at the cabinet and barely moved it. She sensed Sam move beside her and help with it.

“What now?” Dean asked as he came around. “The stakes are in the basement.”

Aaliyah rolled her own stake in her hand even as she scanned the house. She nudged the boys and gestured with her head toward the displayed tree. There was a second or two, the brothers sharing a look and holding an entire conversation with that look, before they moved for the tree. She stepped into the living room just as the door blocked by a drawer opened. In a spin, she brought up her spike just to have it knocked out of her hand.

“Oh dear,” Madge spoke. “Don’t wanna be ruining our clothes, do we?”

“Who said anything about ruining clothes?” Aaliyah’s body tensed when a hand behind her grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

The one who pulled her back took her place and plunged their stake into Madge.

Aaliyah panicked in her search for her stake and dove for it. The small hairs on her body stood on end, the sensation of someone right behind her. She rolled and brought the stake out in front of her just as Mr. Carrigan came down toward her. There was a look of surprise on his face, like he hadn’t expected her to actually kill him. She guided him onto the floor where he landed with a thud. Her chest heaved slightly before her breathing returned to normal.

“Aaliyah?” Sam called out. “Aaliyah?”

She lifted a hand and waved it. “Over here.” Her hand grabbed hold of the hand that grabbed her before pulling herself up. “Thanks, Sammy.”

He gave an amused noise. “Merry Christmas, you two.”

“Some Christmas. See you two back at the motel? I’ll make a food and beer run?”

***

Aaliyah used her foot to close the motel door behind her as she was greeted with Eliza Fitzgerald’s version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” and a small, but intact, tree being decorated by Sam.

“Car fresheners?” she questioned, putting the couple bags and couple cases of beer on the table.

“Best choice from the station,” Sam answered. He turned from putting the last air freshener on the tree. “Are you okay staying with us tonight? I know what happened with Amanda…”

Aaliyah waved off what would had been a touching speech. “I’m working through it. Am I better than a week ago? Not really. Part of me still wants to go all self-destructive over it. But I don’t wanna go and spend this time alone and …”

She was interrupted by the door opening behind her and Dean walking in with the pizza.

“What’s all this?” he asked.

“Uh …” Sam trailed off. “It’s Christmas.”

Aaliyah grabbed a beer and moved out of the way between the brothers.

“What made you change your mind?” Dean asked.

Aaliyah listened as Sam offered up the eggnog and pulled out her cell. She thumbed through the contacts and started at Nissa’s number, her mind warring on to call or not. Hitting the call button, Aaliyah put the cell to her ear and listened to the ringing.

“You got bad timing,” Nissa greeted. “I’m about to kick Leo’s ass in Scrabble.”

“So not true,” Leo shouted.

Aaliyah chuckled to herself at the bickering between her half siblings.

“Where are you?” Nissa asked, her attention back to Aaliyah. “Last I heard you were off in Texas chasing down a Chupacabra.”

“Ypsilanti.” Aaliyah casted a glance over her shoulder to the boys, who had sat down and were exchanging gifts. “The guys needed some help with some pagan gods and I was in the area.”

“We told mom about you,” Nissa said. “Surprised the both of us saying she wanted to meet you one day. You should come by tomorrow. Maybe have a family dinner.”

Aaliyah shifted her weight. “I need to check on Xander. It’s been too long since I’ve done that. Not sure he’s … stable after that vampire hunt of his went sideways a few months ago.”

“Tell Liyra that if she’s not coming to us tomorrow,” Leo said, his voice still distant from wherever he sat at the table. “We’re coming to her.”

“It does sound better than you running around on your own,” Nissa agreed. “We’ll see you tomorrow around noon.” She hung up before Aaliyah could argue.

“Hey, Aaliyah,” Dean called to her. “You got stuff, too.”

She turned to see them looking at her. “Alright, hang on.” She walked over and grabbed the couple bags off the table and handed one bag to each brother before sitting on the couch.

“You didn’t have too,” Dean half protested as he dug into the bag.

Aaliyah half shrugged and held up the bags that he and Sam had handed her. “Same here. Now, lets see here …” She dug into one bag and pulled out a pack of gum, a few bottles of Faygo in a few different flavors, and a candy bar. “Thanks, Dean.”

“How’d you know?”

She held up the skin mag. “Who else woulda slipped this in there? Not that I mind. I like looking at hot chicks.” Her eye caught Dean’s jaw drop a little and laughed. “Nothing wrong with looking. And from Sam we got … some first aid supplies, a box of ammo, and a fantasy book. Thanks guys. I mean it.”

A hand came to rest on her shoulder, bringing her attention over to Sam.

“You’re family,” he told her. “We’ll do anything for you.”

“Sammy’s right,” Dean added. “Anything at all, you call us.”

Aaliyah gave a small smile. “Thanks. Now, how about that game?”

She turned her attention to the tv as the game was turned on. She toed off her shoes and settled back into the couch, crossing her legs in front of her. It was another Christmas motel, something that happened during college. But there was something about this year that was different. Aaliyah wasn’t spending it alone or at a friend’s place for two weeks. This one had the bond shared with two brothers that had grown up in a broken family, not quite that different from her own, and grew up as hunters. Part of her wasn’t sure how to process the whole mix of the day.

Her body shifted throughout the game until she was stretched out and taking up her seat and the space between her and Sam; her head resting on the arm rest. At one point the motel door opened and closed a few times before she startled at the weight of a blanket being placed on her and a pillow under her head. Aaliyah caught some of a conversation between Sam and Dean before she passed out for the night.

“Liyra, sweetheart.”

The voice was calm and quiet, as if the speaker honestly didn’t want to wake her up. She moaned in protest of being woken.

“I know. But I wanna talk with you about something.”

Aaliyah’s eyes opened in a snap to see Dean sitting on the floor next to her. His face had softened to a point where it seemed like it took him hours trying to figure out how to start the conversation and bring it up to her. She saw her Plan B box come up into view and her heart sank.

“If I had known…” Dean started before Aaliyah shook her head.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Her voice was a little raspy from the night’s sleep. “Not entirely. Some of the blame’s on me for not asking you to … cover up. And I think you might agree our life isn’t one to bring a kid into.”

“I do agree. Promise me this, though. Once I go downstairs and roast on a spike, you get yourself outta this life. Get back into nursing and have a normal life. Have a few boyfriends. Hell, a girlfriend even.” Dean reached out and put the box on the couch. “Just … get out of scaring yourself with things you can’t fix.”

Aaliyah nodded before Dean leaned over and gave her forehead a gentle kiss.

“Now, don’t you have a family thing to do today?”

“I’ll give Nissa a call in a few.” Aaliyah tossed the blanket off her and onto the back of the couch. “But first, nature calls.” She grabbed the box in her motion of sitting up. “And I gotta get one of these little things in my system.”

***

“Hey, sis,” Leo called to Aaliyah as she emerged from the motel room, her bags in hand. “Ready to roll?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Aaliyah replied. “Just follow me. The assisted living home’s not that far from here.” She tossed her bags into the backseat of her car and climbed into the driver’s seat.

With the radio on one of the few stations not playing Christmas music, she pulled out of the motel lot and started off down the road. Her mind raced with scenarios on how Xander would react to his siblings showing up after all this time. And with each one that popped up she shot back down with the reminder that she didn’t know how he would react and to stop torturing herself.

Aaliyah found a parking spot at the assisted living building and climbed out as her half siblings found another parking spot. She half expected there to be more vehicles than the dozen or so that probably belonged to the employees.

“Apparently other people are too bothered to visit family here,” Leo spoke what Aaliyah was thinking.

“We have reasons that keep us away,” Nissa added. “What do they have? Gotta get to the gym for the weekly run on the treadmill?”

“Racquetball?” Leo tossed in as they started for the door.

Aaliyah ignored them as the two tossed gym activities back and forth. There was something odd about what little she was able to see in the lobby before they stepped through the doors. Sure, there were residents up and moving about. Nurses making their rounds. Everything seemed to be on pace for a normal day. But there was still something that screamed supernatural to her.

“Guys, shut it,” she snapped under her breath. “Something’s wrong here.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Leo commented. “You must be feeling off. Excuse me, nurse?” He started for the nearest nurse.

“I’m getting the feeling, too,” Nissa said, coming up beside Aaliyah. “Whatcha think it is?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t like that. Maybe Leo’s right and I’m just off. The holiday season’s a bad time anyway and there’s …”

“Come on, you two,” Leo called to them. “Xander’s this way.”

“I’ll tell you later.” Aaliyah followed after her brother, who was half way to a hallway. There was some yelling and shouting coming from one of the rooms down that way.

“Hey, Xander,” Leo’s voice drifted from a room he had ducked into. Right before there was the sound of glass shattering and Leo jumping out from the room. “Nice to see you, too,” he muttered. “Careful, Liyra. He’s gone wild.”

Aaliyah pushed past Leo and eased her head into Xander’s room to see him fighting three nurses and a doctor.

“I don’t want any meds,” Xander shouted in his struggles against the medical staff there.

Aaliyah moved further into the room and over to the bed. “Xander.” It was quiet enough she wasn’t sure he would actually hear her. “Xander.”

“Sedative,” the doctor said.

One of the nurses pulled herself from Xander and came face to face with Aaliyah. “You can’t be here.”

“I’m his sister,” Aaliyah argued.

“Don’t let ‘em drug me,” Xander called out.

Aaliyah wasn’t sure if he called out to her or to anyone who would help. She pulled the nurse into the hallway and saw her expression change when Nissa and Leo came in close. “Is he refusing medication?”

“Has been,” the nurse shifted nervously. “Kept saying that there was something here and had to deal with it. I’m not supposed to tell you this …” She glanced back to the room. “But we’ve had several people slip into comas and die in the past three months. And two more entered comas a few days ago.”

“I’m Aaliyah,” she told the nurse. “I believe I’m on the paperwork …”

“You are,” the nurse confirmed. “But what do you know…”

“I went to nursing school, I know the rights of the patient,” Aaliyah interrupted. “And if my brother’s of sound mind, he’s able to make any medical choice he wants. No drugs, period. Now, do we need to go in there and pull off your co-workers?” Aaliyah stared down the nurse before moving for the room.

“Alright, all of you, out,” Aaliyah raised her voice. “Now.” She stood her ground as the remaining two nurses and doctor moved from the bed and out of the room. “Nissa, Leo. I think we all need a talk.”

[nom-the-skel]

[vore] The Bunny Trap, chapter 8

Fun with healing vore :3

2k words - no cronch, just talk about cronch, no vore, just aftermath of vore

[chapter 1][chapter 7][read on AO3][chapter 9]

Razz went light on Blue in their training, concerned that it would have some effect on Edge, even though the other wolf insisted it wouldn’t. He checked on Red before he went about his other duties, and again when he got back to make dinner for the household. The bunny was curled up in a corner of the box in Razz’s room and didn’t seem to have moved at all the whole time he was gone.

He should say something, he thought. It would be dreadful for Edge if anything happened to Red while he was gone, and although he didn’t seem like he was Falling Down … Razz could imagine it getting to that point. But he had no idea what to say that would be comforting. He tried to make his voice gentle. “Hey, Red. Hang in there until your brother gets back, okay? I’ll bring you some food.” Well, it was better than nothing, he hoped. The bunny didn’t respond, even when Razz reached in and stroked his ears.

Red refused to eat that day and barely ate the next day, after a lot of cajoling and reminders that his brother would want him to take care of himself. On the third day when Razz looked into the box at lunchtime, it was empty—well, there were the pillows, dishes and tiny cups he’d provided for the rabbits, but no sign of Red. He immediately feared the worst. At least there was no dust in the box—and Razz was certain Slim wouldn’t have eaten the bunny after Razz’s emphasis on how incredibly forbidden that was. But he would feel a lot better after he found Red.

“Slim, have you seen—oh.” He got his answer as Slim, stretched out on his back on the couch, turned his skull to look at him, revealing a glimpse of Red tucked away inside the fluffy collar of his jacket. “Huh. I guess he likes you all right.”

“I like him too—”

“You better not say ‘as a snack’ or anything dumb like that.”

“No, of course not. For one thing I’d come up with a good pun for something like that—maybe, he’d go good with fries. After all, you can’t make a proper burger without a bun, right?”

Razz seethed.

“But I was gonna say, he gives me a good excuse to lie around. Gotta take care of the bunny. I’m his emotional support wolf.”

Razz turned away with an irritable growl and went back to being an actual productive wolf.

***

After a week, Blue announced it was time to check on Edge. Razz led him into the house.

“Red? Come over here if you wanna see your brother!” he called, then had second thoughts. If, in the worst case scenario, something had happened to Edge, he would rather be able to break the news to Red gently than have him there to see it first-hand. But it was too late now. Slim popped into existence in the living room, holding the bunny clasped to his chest. Red immediately squirmed loose and ran up to Blue.

“where is he?” he demanded, folding his arms impatiently.

“Settle down, bunny! It takes a bit of concentration to bring him back up.” Blue turned his back to the assembled skeletons for a moment to spare them the worst of the sight, and when he turned back around he had a rather sodden Edge draped limply across his hands. Razz was relieved to see the bunny was basically in one piece.

“boss!” Red reached out to touch Blue’s leg, as if he were thinking of climbing up it.

“Here you go, settle down.” Blue lowered Edge to the carpet. Red ran to his side and hovered uncertainly. Blue poked Edge with one finger. “Wake up, bunny! Your brother’s worried about you!”

Edge stirred and Red fell on him in a hug, taking no heed of the blue slime still coating him. Razz moved around to get a better look at Edge’s leg and frowned. “It didn’t work.”

Blue tried to pick Edge up again to examine his leg, but Red growled and wouldn’t let go of him. So Blue just pulled on the leg in question to stretch it out where everyone could see. “Huh. It’s healed over again, but I don’t know if I managed to make the bones any longer. Bunny? You probably know best what it looked like before. Take a peek and tell us if you see any improvement.”

“Let go of me, Red.” Edge stopped returning the hug and glared, but there was no anger in his voice. Red didn’t let go, but loosened his grip enough that Edge could sit up and evaluate his leg, with Red draped down his back like a very heavy, affectionate cape. After a long moment, he said, “It is a little better, but not much.”

“I guess my magic had to heal the damage I did reopening it and just didn’t have enough to do very much more,” said Blue with a defeated shrug. “But if we repeat it a bunch more times, it should still work.” He picked up the bunnies. “Wanna go again, Edge?”

Edge’s ears folded back, though his face was only tense. He didn’t say anything to either consent or object.

“no!” shouted Red, but it was pretty muffled because his face was buried in Edge’s scarf.

“Wait a minute, Blue,” said Razz, ready to physically restrain his arm. “Let’s talk about this. Maybe we can figure out a way to speed it up. And even if Edge wants to keep going, you should eat some real food first.”

“maybe even wait until tomorrow,” suggested Slim, who had sat down to watch from the couch.

“That’s a good idea,” Razz agreed. “Slim, can you handle heating up some leftovers for Blue? I wanna brainstorm solutions to speed up Edge’s healing.”

Slim’s ear twitched at the request, but he rose obediently and disappeared into the kitchen.

“So do you have any ideas, Blue? You’re the one with expe—” He remembered the both rabbits had some experience on the receiving side of the procedure. “With the most experience,” he finished.

“Hmm, well.” Blue sat down to think, letting Edge hop back out of his hands, Red still clinging to him. “Like I was saying, it’s possible I just need some raw materials, bone matter, to reconstruct the missing bones out of.”

“But what are you gonna do to get it, bite off some other bunny’s arm?” Razz laughed a little at the absurdity.

“That would work.” Blue was completely serious.

Razz stared at him a moment, trying to find the words to say he’d just been joking without calling the other wolf an idiot or a psychopath.

“i’ll do it,” said Red. He finally let go of Edge and stood on his own feet, rolling up his right sleeve. “here, take it.”

“Okay,” said Blue.

“Red, no,” said Razz.

“Brother, I forbid it!” said Edge.

Razz placed a restraining hand on Blue’s chest. “Even if you were gonna—remember, you’re gonna eat some real food first? You shouldn’t starve yourself for weeks on end just to get some bunny magic in ya.”

“it’s not like i need it to walk,” argued Red. “heck, i don’t even really need to walk.”

“If it’s not really being used as raw materials and more straight-up reattached, a leg would be way better,” said Blue. “Otherwise Edge could end up with a hand where his foot should be.” The wolf laughed, showing his fangs.

“sure, take it,” said Red, leaning over to look at his left foot.

“Absolutely not,” said Edge, getting to his knees to bodily pull Red farther away from Blue. “Red, you will not sacrifice yourself for me like that.”

“Especially since you don’t even know if it’ll work,” added Razz.

“It would be a neat experiment!” Blue remarked. “I’m curious whether it would work with bone from a different bunny or not. We could try the arm first—”

“Blue, are you going to bite off Red’s arm—again—to satisfy your curiosity?”

Blue’s enthusiastic expression faded as he looked back at Razz. “Y-nnnnno?”

“No,” Razz confirmed the correct answer.

“Okay, no. I can try it on some other bunnies.” Blue brightened again.

Razz was stern. “Blue. D’you think some bunnies are gonna volunteer for this kinda—macabre experiment?”

“Sure! I mean, it beats getting digested, right?” Blue was undaunted.

“You’re not gonna digest them anyway,” Razz pointed out.

“They’d be fine. If it didn’t work with the mismatched limbs, I could just put ‘em back in with their own limbs.” He paused, thoughtful. “Unless the limbs dusted or something.”

“Blue. Don’t.” Razz asked himself since when he cared this much about the welfare of random hypothetical bunnies he hadn’t even met. “Let’s just focus on Edge for now, please?”

“Well. I mean, I could crunch up another part of him and hope that the bits of bone divide themselves between that and the missing foot, but I’m not sure it would work. I kinda think he’d lose bone mass overall.”

“no,” said Red, clinging onto Edge again. “you can—crunch me—and put me in there with him. what about that?”

“No!” Edge bapped him on the skull.

“but worst case scenario, i just heal up like i did before. and best case, i get pretty much healed and so does your leg.”

“I told you no!” Edge yanked on Red’s arm to break his balance and then pushed him onto the carpet. “So stop volunteering!”

“If we can’t get rabbit bone, all we can do is repeat the treatment and hope it doesn’t take like fifty times,” Blue shrugged. “Although—I wonder if it has to be rabbit bone.”

Razz didn’t like the way Blue was looking at him. “I suppose I wouldn’t miss a distal phalange—if it was certain to work, but it’s not. So maybe we can work out a schedule—one week on, one week off, something like that. So everyone has time to recover between treatments.” He looked down at the bunnies. Edge had stopped pinning Red to the carpet, and Red had sat up in order to cling to him again.

“I’ll have to reopen the wound every time,” said Blue, “but maybe with the right tools I can make it a smoother break. Less damage to heal before I even get to the rebuilding part.”

“Yeah, we should try that. First have something to eat, we’ll do your training, and we can talk about it more tomorrow.”

Red didn’t let go of Edge, but looked up at him hopefully. Edge seemed a little more relaxed now that the prospect of being eaten again immediately seemed to be off the table.

Slim came back with some tupperware, a fork sticking out of it, and Razz rolled his eye lights. Couldn’t his brother at least put it on a plate when serving a guest? The lanky wolf held it out to Blue wordlessly.

“Thank you!” Blue said and dug in, ravenous after not eating any real food for a week. The bunnies watched somewhat nervously.

Razz thought about getting Edge cleaned off—and Red, too, now that he’d been rubbing up against his brother—while Blue was eating, but it didn’t look like he’d have time. “Slim, can you take care of washing up the bunnies? Blue and I need to start our training.”

“Of course.” Slim gathered up the bunnies and left the room again.

“Wow, they’re not afraid of him at all,” Blue observed. “Want me to wash off this container?” It was now empty.

“No, of course not. Let’s get started.” Razz took it from him and left it in the kitchen. “I won’t go easy on you today, now that you’re not starving and you don’t have any bunnies to take care of!”

[romancevsreality-blog]

the bachelorette, season fourteen, episode one: i have opinions on greek yogurt

So they had to go and start this season by salting the wound of Becca and Arby’s breakup, didn’t they?

Welcome back to Romance vs. Reality, I’m your lead and only blogger, Amanda. Kill me now, we’re here for the fourteenth go-around of La Bachelorette, a carousel made up of social media participants and erectile dysfunction specialists. Our princess this season is Becca Kufrin, a last name I struggle with for no specific reason other than I just feel like I’m emphasizing the wrong syllable. Coming after Rachel, The First Black Bachelorette and Resident Queen Regnant of this blog1, and her, well, disaster of a season, I’m terrified.

I’m going to do a full analysis of our Mantestants later on, but I’ll put it frankly: I am not excited. I am newly single, and man. Pickings are slim out there. It’s dangerous waters, y’all. And I live in a city of like, seven million people. I can understand now why people find the first person they can in high school and piss on their legs for forty years2. Becca, however, dodged a bullet in this case, because Arby remains and always will be human trash. Oscar the Grouch literally lives in a trash can and is looking to get rehomed because of the association, maybe somewhere not on Sesame Street.

Arby’s legacy has impacted Sesame Street. And Oscar the Grouch is notorious for loving trash. I mean... same? But I do not love Arby. Arby is the human embodiment of Garbage Island, the island that is floating in the Pacific Ocean, collecting all of our plastic bottles and general other garbage and polluting our waters. Honestly to call Arby garbage isn’t ruthless enough. It doesn’t get the point across. Even calling him Arby, a restaurant that probably doesn’t deserve such a harsh association, feels cruel.

Arby is rubbish.

I mean, I know a lot of things about myself, but:

And Arby is the Standard of Trash To Which I Now Hold All Men. I will be ranking the men this season on the Rubbish Arby Scale.

Note: I am not even a full minute into the episodea, and I have a lot of feelings.

We have to relive the torturous final moments of Becca and Rubbish Arby’s relationship again, because ABC is basically going to milk this moment for everything it’s worth. We see Becca walking through some snow, searching for her future or whatever metaphor the powers that be are going after this season. She thought she had found her future, but nope! That future is off getting married to the human embodiment of an unflavored Fage Yogurt3. Becca is ready to find love because her parents were in love until her dad’s untimely death and guess what? It’s her turn now.

My favorite part of every season is the girls who are like, “I can’t believe I’m The Bachelorette? All I had to do was unleash a ton of my personal trauma on national television and ABC will pay me to wear sequin dresses and shank dudes’ hearts now!” I do love that Arby is actually banned from Minnesota, though. I mean, I don’t think he’s running to go to Minnesota any time soon, but the fewer options Arby has to spread his rubbish sludge, the better. We see Becca go through her Bachelorette Photoshoot4 and show how she’s a Strong Woman in both demeanor and physical strength at a acrobatic silks class.

I’m tentative.

Becca arrives at The Bachelor Mansion, where our three past Bachelorettes, all engaged but none married, are waiting for her with mimosas. Honestly, I would like to hang out with these three girls. Rachel and I could just... you know, be black together and I would ask Joelle about home design and Kaitlyn and I could dance. Tag me in, Becca. TAG ME IN. Rachel tells Arby to go fuck himself and basically is a queen the entire time. They all rave about the experience and how great it was for all of them - take away the fantasy and really consider real life. Rachel and Joelle talk about the fact that the women have a better track record on The Bachelorette (true) because they approach the situation with more nuance than the men do. And that’s true. To me, the men of The Bachelor are looking for someone to project their dreams onto, and the women are approaching it with a real sense of opportunity.

Rachel proceeds to sage the entire mansion, Becca’s ring finger, her vagina, and they’re never going to get rid of the stench of toxic masculinity, Axe body spray, and desperation. That’ll be there forever. That's in the fibers of the couches.

Okay, let’s talk about Becca’s first night dress. I know people are divided on it, but I think it’s a banger, okay? I mean, I wish it wasn’t ivory, but the all overbeadwork and the art-deco style is gorgeous. I also love the neckline, because Becca has great shoulders. The pairing of that with those dramatic teardrop earrings was stunning. It sparkles in the light, it’s a dress meant to be on television, not caught in a still shot.

LET’S MEET THE MEAT, SHALL WE?

First up is Clay, who is 30, and is a pro football player. Great, because now I have to worry about you getting CTE and argue with you about standing for the national anthem? Oh, Clay played for Detroit, though. I can’t be mad at him. Also, CLAY IS A DREAMBOAT. We see him at dinner with his family and his cute grandma. Clay is there For Becca, for sure.

We met Garrett, who starts with a Chris Farley impression. In 2018. A Chris. Farley. Impression. Chris Farley’s corpse is turning over and over and over in his grave. Oh my god, of course Garrett is from Reno. Reno gives me such Second City vibes. Not like the improv group, but like, the city you go to when you don’t have anywhere else to go, like Cincinnati or Tallahassee. Garrett is active because of course, but he wants a companion to do outsidey things with.

Oh god, we meet Jordan, who is 26, and a professional model. I already am going to safely call him this season’s Robb(ie). Jordan is the kind of guy who’s hot in certain lights but then other times you’re like “man, give some chin to other people!” He has a lot of chin, and his meticuliously carved “scruff” isn’t helping matters much. Oh god. Jordan starts out talking about his Brand, a phrase I only say ironically. I am literally shaking with rage. Jordan’s an unironic Derek Zoolander. He considers having to be tan and using salt spray to be “taxing”. He’s excited for once to finally be focusing on someone else for a change, and all he wants to do is sit on a couch with a box of chocolates with Becca in sweatpants and watch a chick flick. Jordan claims a lot of models don’t do that.

Someone want to notify Jordan that a good number of male models are gay men who would definitely do that? Anyone?

Next up is Lincoln, who we’ve already met on After The Final Rose. Lincoln is from Nigeria and he’s #blessed to be in the United States. He’s ready to get married and ready to settle down. That’s all. Boring. Joe From Chicago owns a grocery store, and as soon as this comes out of his mouth I’m in love with him. My full on Type is Man from Chicago Who Owns A Grocery Store. Joe’s ready to settle down and knows when he finds the right one, he’ll know.

Jean-Blanc comes on screen and I can hear my mom yelling “THIS IS YOUR HUSBAND AMANDA” from the six-hundred-something miles away that she is. Jean-Blanc collects “accoutrements”, and oh my god, my mom might be right. Jean-Blanc likes stuff. Watches, ties, cologne, all the extra shit no one really needs but it’s nice to have. I mean, I hate wearing perfume, but if a man can find a blend that works for him and isn’t overpowering? Great. Dope. Totally down. We see him opening Viktor & Rolf’s Spice Bomb, a Curve cologne??? And others from the Checkout Aisle From Marshalls and TJMaxx Collection. He’s going to “blow her nose away”, a phrase I’m shocked Jordan didn’t use because you knnnnnnoooow Jordan loves a little nose candy. Sorry, it’s true.

Colton is another football player so this season is full of men with experience getting concussions. Also, can we stop making men named Colton football players? Colton got injured in his last season, so he decided to give up football forever and now runs a charity to change the lives of cystic fibrosis sufferers. Okay, I can’t even talk shit. Damn charity.

Becca heads in the limo to meet Chris Harrison and the 29 other garbage men that will create the Advent Calendar of Regret that is The Bachelorette. Chris Harrison is on screen for the perfect amunt of time - like, thirty seconds, before our first limo full of mediocrity arrives. First out? Charitable Colton, who is firmly placed in the top two, officially. He wants to celebrate Becca being bachelorette and brought confetti poppers, which is actually not the worst initial interaction for these two people to have. It’s actually... cute?

God, help me.

We meet Grant, who both tells Becca he respects her for what she’s gone through but also wants her to forget all of it - way to help with THAT, Grrrrrant. Clay comes out and talks about football and makes a football pun and is cute and everything. Jean Blanc has a French name and teaches Becca some French, which is a mess. Of course, he has her translate “Let’s do the damn thing”, and god I hope it’s the last time we hear that this season, but that’s not true. Connor is a fitness coach and gets down on one knee in front of Becca. Don’t retrigger the girl.

Oh god, not even two mintes after I said I never wanted to hear “let’s do the damn thing”, here comes Connor with it all over again. God damn this show.

Another limo arrives and out comes Joe From Chicago Who Owns A Grocery. He immediately forgets what he has to say as soon as he sees Becca and JOE I WILL TAKE YOU. John walks the wrong way into the house, and Leo arrives looking like he was trying to do a Miss Geist from Clueless costume and forgot to do his hair before leaving the house. It is not a good look, I literally slid to the ground and cackled when he came out5. He proceeds to take his hair down and swish it around like he’s fucking Fabio.

Jordan comes out of the limo and Becca says hi, and he doesn’t respond. Because that is the kind of person Jordan is. He’s the kind of man who wants to say hello first. Jordan wasn’t expecting Becca to be wearing ivory, which is just a weird thing to say. His shoes are loud as fuck, too. Jordan spent six hours on his outfit and is like, “I’m wearing a grey suit, it’s daring.”

No, Obama wearing a khaki suit is daring. Klein Epstein and & Parker Suits are daring. A heather grey suit with a blue tie is like putting a jalapeno in your guacamole. You’re not exactly living on the edge.

Nick arrives dressed like a racecar driver because only assholes wear outfits like that. Nick is... god, I can’t figure out if Nick is hot or not. I do appreciate Leo being ike, “yeah, reminding this girl of her ex? NOT A GOOD LOOK.”

So of course Mike, the other long-haired dude with a fucking man bun in god damn 2018, comes in with a cardboard cut-out of Becca’s ex. STOP TRIGGERING THIS WOMAN. That isn’t charming, that’s weird. I didn’t look up my ex-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriends until like, a solid year into our relationship. I mean, it wasn’t the same way on his end6 but I think if I were to lead this show I’d specifically ask them NOT to mention my ex, if possible. Like, at all.

Garrett arrives in a minivan, and it’s full of soccer balls and a baby bag and he’s just trying to set the correct tone. I literally sat grimacing the entire time he was on screen. I hate Garrett already.

My second favorite part of the season premiere is the men being like “wow, there’s a lot of dudes here”. What did y’all expect?

Blake arrives on an... ox? After already meeting Becca with a horse at After The Final Rose? Becca’s right in wondering where he’s getting all of these animals from. I feel bad for the poor intern that needs to take care of Blake’s animals. Lincoln, the other guy who met Becca at After the Final Rose, and he brought Becca cake. Lincoln and Blake are both feeling confident because they’ve already met her before. We see a bunch of other dudes we’ve met before - Darius, Chase, Banjoist Ryan. The 24 other guys are intimidated because clearly they have some sort of leg up in the competition because they’ve been with her for ten seconds four months ago. I’m sure Darva Conger would agree with them that this is a solid grounding to form bonds over. It ended so well for her.

They basically show all the black guys back to back and a bunch of other nonfactors meeting Becca.

And then there’s Kamil, who is wearing sneakers with his suit and his job is “social media participant” which is effectively like putting “Air Breather” as your job in 2018. He only walks halfway to Becca and makes her come the other half to meet him, and then moves back further and is like “yeah, what about 60/40?” And honestly, this is the best depiction of heterosexual dating in 2018 I’ve ever seen and Kamil is literally telling Becca Who He Is in their initial interaction. 60/40, my ass. Becca is unamused by this and tries to turn it around on him, and he won’t engage.

Ya donzo, Social Media Participant.

Jake shows up, and Becca knows who he is. He’s an acquaintance and she’s confused because... Oh, okay? That’s super weird. I totally get why that’s weird. Production comes in with morbid music as a hearse drives up. Trent pops out and says he literally died when he found out Becca was Bachelorette, and I cackled. I can’t help it. It’s one of the worst things I’ve ever witnessed.

Jordan is here to show off his sartorial choices and doesn’t understand the other shlubs who showed up. I hate that I kind of agree with him? But then again, I intend my wedding attire to be Elevated Black Tie. I want the men to show up in basically butler’s uniforms and the women to look like Lady Gaga. Just put a little more effort in - Becca’s standing there in a backless beaded gown, the least you can do is put on a god damn tie.

Oh, of course someone comes in in a chicken suit. David is both a chicken and a venture capitalist, which is my least favorite thing. He has to wear that suit all night long. Jordan is #unamused, which is hilarious. I do appreciate the “bekaw/Becca” wordplay. Chris arrives with a fucking choir who sings about getting a rose, and I’m just... Okay. This would be teeeeewwwww much for me.

Okay, we’ve got twenty-eight men. And none of them are winners. Good LUCK, Becca. Becca makes her first toast, and immediately Connor is the first one to whisk her away. The guys are genuinely shocked but y’all, that’s how the game is PLAYED. He opens a bottle of champagne with a kitchen knife, and it’s impressive, but not a saber like is to be expected or standard. Color me unimpressed, Connor.7 Clay and Becca play with Clay, and I love that. I mean, who doesn’t love adults playing with play-doh? Clay is from a small town and talks about his values and how they grew from growing up where he did. He talks about how excited he was to meet her, and I smile. Clay is too good for this show.

ONE OF THE DUDES MADE THE APP FOR VENMO AND WHAT IS HE DOING HERE? DAMN, ABC.

Chris uses the fact that his grandparents got married after two months and have been together almost 60 years to get Becca to believe that Chris is all about this. Chris looks far too much like Perez Hilton for my liking and just for that, I hate him with a firey passion.8 Christon is a former Harlem Globetrotter and so he’s gonna show her how he can dunk a ball from her own hands. He DUNKED Becca, jumping OVER her head, and it...

It’s actually marvelous. Like, damn. I mean, he’s a Harlem Globetrotter. He better be able to dunk on command.

Blake and Becca are on the same page, which is shocking because Blake is basically dressed like Hugh Hefner. Chris Harrison comes in, drops off the First Impression Rose, and walks out to go put his pajamas back on. All the guys are immediately shooketh by it.

Lincoln brought Becca a bracelet from Nigeria, and we get a montage of the stunts these guys are pulling to impress Becca. David the Chicken Venture Capitalist leads Becca in the chicken dance and we’re supposed to be impressed by him becuase he’s literally in a chicken suit but he has a Serious Career.

We get to watch the Anxiety Set In for the men who haven’t had a chance to talk to Becca yet, especially Jordan. He pretends like it doesn’t bother him, he’s just playing it cool, but come on. Garrett shows Becca how to fish, and if a dude did this to me, I’d yawn. Garrett reminds Becca of home, of her dad, and she thinks he’d totally fit in with her family. Oh no.

Chris / Perez Hilton / Ben Stiller in Dodgeball has realized someone is There For the Wrong Reasons. Chase, who met Becca on After the Final Rose, is suspected by Chris. I’m suspicious of both of them simply because they’re both from Orlando, Florida unapologetically. Chris knows Chase’s ex-girlfriend and apparently she told Chris that he’s just there for publicity. They all think Chris needs to confront Chase. I can’t tell you who told him this because we’re still at the point of the season where all the men kind of look the same. I think it’s Christon and Blake, but I’m not sure.

The drama has already begun. I'm sad it's not someone getting black out drunk like it usually is.

Chris takes Chase aside to tell him what the deal is, and Chase of course denies all of this. I mean, what’s he going to do, stand there and admit do it? He confirms he’s there for the Right Reasons, and he’s there for Becca. My favorite is that he admits to have been watching this show for years with his mom, so of COURSE he’s NOT THERE FOR FAME. I don’t understand this thought process as a defense.

Chase immediately runs to Becca to tattle on Chris for being skeptical. Chase, who looks perpetually constipated, never found out what this girl told Chris, but he’s vehemently denying whatever it is and isn’t That Guy, whatever guy his ex he only dated for a month told Chris he was. Like damn, Chase. You musta done something. Becca doesn’t really know what to do with any of that information because Chase is leaving out the part where he’s the asshole.

Chase goes and grabs Chris (????) because they’re settling the drama right then and there. Chase denies ever dating this girl with any kind of seriousness and they’re both... gross. Becca clearly doesn’t know what to do because the story doesn’t add up. If it was two years ago and someone he only a dated a month, what’s the issue at hand? It’s so weird. Becca is as turned off as I am, and this mostly reminds her of someone she met earlier that she was turned off by initially.

She comes to get Jake, because his intentions are watery at best. They have the same group of friends back in Minnesota but have never interacted, and so it’s super weird that he showed up here trying to date her. Like, dude, you actually had a chance before to at least try to. Becca doesn’t think he showed her any interest in the previous times they’ve met, and Jake doesn’t remember meeting her more than one time. He remembers one time they met, but not... multiple times.

I scoffed so hard a little bit of phlegm came out. TMI, I know. But still.

Jake is excited to be there and get to know her, but Becca isn’t on board, and rightfully so. I’ve had people meet me multiple times and have zero recollection and I’m offended. Here comes Jake, having met Becca multiple times and admittingly having no recollection of doing so, coming onto this show to try to date her? Really? When in real life he never tried to in the first place? Most people aren’t as transparent as Jake is with their intentions, but it’s so clear that Jake thought he’d be able to parlay the fact that they knew each other before into a relationship.

But if we’ve met before and you didn’t show any interest then, how am I expected to take you seriously now that we’re on TV? Becca all but says as much but tells him she knows what it feels like to have someone question her relationship with them and she’s not going to do that again. Jake tries to be like “but what about meEEEEEEE and MY FEELINGS” and Becca shuts that shit right down because she is not here for his whataboutism. Neither of them did anything when they met before, and it’s not about who did what in this scenario. She’s holding the god damn key and him coming on this show in the first place was fucked up. She doesn’t want to waste his time and knows she doesn’t see a future with him. She’s sending him home ASAP.

He tells her that he’s not the same person she met at some mysterious Christmas Party and has had a “transformative year” - uh you’re telling this to the woman who got dumped on national television, your transformation is nothing compared to hers - and he’s a different person. He thinks if they met again, it would have a different result. I’m sure it would, Jake, but you lost your chance. Sorry. He says he respects how she feels and he’s going home.

Jake was one of the most attractive men there, but man, this was G R O S S.

Becca announces to the men that Jake is going home first, and they’re all terrified.

There is a grown ass man with an “expecto patronus” Harry Potter tattoo, and yeah, he’s got some nonsense “it’s different in Latin” translation, but I’m just happy the black guy doesn’t have a Death Eater tattoo8. Colton talks about his charity, and the First Impression Rose is still there.

But not for long, because here comes Becca to grab it and offer it to...

Garrett.

All the guys are visibly gutted. I don’t know why, the best thing about Garrett is his tie. I love a pink and blue tie. He gets the first kiss of the season, too. Garrett’s thrilled.

Back inside, Chris Harrison has changed back into his suit for about ten minutes to gather Becca before the first Rose Ceremony. At this point, I also see a guy who I haven’t seen thus far, and went “PHOARRRRRRRR” because he was so hot. WHO ARE YOU, ANONYMOUS HOTTIE? I love that Jordan’s like, “It wouldn’t be fair to Becca if I didn’t get a rose tonight.” I’m on my third season of saying this, but I love when the contestants think their feelings matter at all in this scenario.

The Rose Ceremony begins.

Lincoln, Blake, Rickey, Jean-Blanc, Christon, Clay, Wills, Connor, Jason, John, Ryan9, Alex, Nick, Trent, Colton, David The Chicken Venture Capitalist, Jordan, Leo, Mike, and Chris all accept roses.

That means Chris’s plan to get rid of Chase worked. Which it never does. On The Bachelorette, The Messenger usually gets shot.

Bye to Chase, Christian, Darius, Grant, Joe, and Kamil, all to face the cold light of day. Y’all stayed up all night for this.

BUT NOOOOOOOO, NOT GROCERY STORE JOE, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I’ll keep you warm in those Chicago winters, Joe. Now that My (ex)-boyfriend Wells is dating someone far more famous than I am, I’m in the market. Call me.

This Season, on The Bachelorette: This season isn’t the most dramatic ever, according to Chris Harrison. This time, it’s an adventure. Lots of beach kissing! All the guys are like “Arby’s dumb for losing this girl.” Colton, Jean Blanc, and Nick all tell Becca they’re in love with her. And then - TEARS. LOTS OF THEM. Someone did to Becca what Arby did, and whoever it is, I AM COMING FOR YOUR EDGES. Lincoln is a liar and a manipulator? Jordan, who is clearly there to boost his modeling career, takes it very personally for people to attack his character on television. That… doesn’t help with people thinking you’re just there to boost your modeling career, Jordan. Colton, of course, is a virgin, and apparently this may or may not be a lie? Who lies about something like that? Becca’s pissed. She just wants honesty from these fuckboys, and girl, you better have stocked up in fuckboy repellent. All she wants is their honesty from here on out. And then someone’s getting taken off in an ambulance. But it’s all going to end in an engagement that has allegedly already been spoiled by TMZ/the Powers that Be at ABC trying to scoop Reality Steve, so that’s what we have to look forward to.

See you next week! It’s great to be back.

Random Assessments from the Desk of Amanda:

Becca is only a year older than I am, and this is really sending me spiraling. I know we’ve had girls younger than I am on this show, but I never really contextualized that until I saw 1990 next to Becca’s name. I am so OLD.

This season’s batch of men makes me never want to be The Second Black Bachelorette™. If these are the best options, I’ll barf.

I know she’ll be on Paradise because come on no brainer, but man - I am so happy The Bachelorette is not Tia. Oh man, am I happy it’s not Tia.

I know everyone talks about how amazing Joelle’s hair is, but Becca. Gorgeous hair.

How tall is Becca? She looks like she’s my height.

Jordan is going to be this season’s Chad. At least we’re going back to the Douchebag Villain and not the Racist Villain again.

I really loved that all the guys were like “if the guy in a chicken suit gets a rose over me, life means nothing.” Oh, to have never struggled a day in your life.

Jordan, are you really a fashion model if you’re from Crystal Ocean Spray, Florida?

All of these men look like 90s Teen Film Villains. Like, this is a cast of Andrew Keegans and Paul Walkers.

Elizabeth who? ↩︎

I mean, kind of? No, I don’t. I really don’t. Can someone explain this to me? I feel like that’s resigning yourself to a lifetime of mediocre sex because you haven’t experienced anything else. ↩︎

I went with Fage because Bobby Flay, the whitest man I can think of, was their brand representative for a moment. Why is Bobby Flay the whitest man I can think of? He has a show where he literally competes with people to prove he’s good. I don’t need that, I literally have MY LIFE. ↩︎

Things that are interesting to only me: after two years of having the lead on a white background in a red dress (Joelle and Rachel), they’re back to the metallic-colored sequin dress (Kaitlyn and Andi), but Becca’s on a grey background. Both Emily and Desiree had what honestly looks like satin prom dresses from JCPenney. This matters to literally no one else.  ↩︎

The least surprising thing about Leo is that he’s a stuntman. Of course he is. Stuntmen either look like him or look like... well, what I imagine Joe From Chicago Who Owns A Grocery Store’s uncles probably look like. ↩︎

boundaries.

↩︎

Some other guy who is a real estate agent is like, “you never buy the first house,” which reminds us this show is doing really good things for gender progress in America. (/s) ↩︎

Seriously, has anyone with a Death Eater tattoo realized they’re just telling the entire world they’d be a proud racist wizard? ↩︎ ↩︎

RYAN IS MY SECRET MYSTERY HOTTIE, OMG. I forgive his banjo playing, it’s not like he’s in Mumford & Sons. ↩︎