#i wasn't about to tell her she couldn't my policy with her was 'whatever the psychopath wants the psychopath gets' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fearmaiden · 13 days ago

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|| Five Year Plan || A Reader X Jonathan Crane, slow burn fic ||

Synopsis: Every so often, the city of Gotham will randomly select one person to have a really, really bad day. This time, that lucky person is you!

Aka: Your stupid ass accidentally signs up to be a goon at a “Goon Hiring” Agency after your landlord increases the rent. Oops!

Word Count: 11,059

TW: General violence, drug use, coercion, and swearing.

Note: So, uhh. Still working on this concept that has gripped me by the throat. There’s a lot of little references scattered in this chapter to Arkham!Verse, Reeves!Verse & other DCU works. The Gotham this x Reader takes place in is sort of an eclectic jumble with it’s own unique timeline. For previous chapter, click here. Enjoy the second installment of “Please don’t tell my psychiatrist!”. ♡ And let me know what you think in my asks if you want~

Banner art made by: @skxtchyghost

Song: “Are You Satisfied?” by Marina & The Diamonds

It wasn't a bad job. As far as employment went in Gotham, it was okay. Ish. The pay wasn't horrible and the location was a quick, 15 minute, monorail ride away from home. And sometimes, when the manager wasn't there, you got control over what songs the radio played. All this considering, you really couldn't complain. There were worse ways to get a paycheck... However, today's shift at the Cadmus Bar had you wondering if that was true or if it was another lie you were telling yourself to cope?

Your questions began with the first wave of early morning customers who'd exploded through the door, eager for their (keto) protein shake to start off the day. Several complained that their drinks were made wrong even though they'd gotten the exact things that they'd ordered. One of them, a woman sporting a bob cut, screamed at you for making her gluten-free veggie wrap gluten-free. Another demanded that they use the bathrooms before ordering anything. You were forced to tell them that it was against company policy to allow "non-paying individuals" access to the restrooms unless they bought something first. This ignited a vitriol-fueled tirade where you (eventually) had to ask the person to leave. On their way out, they kicked over the store sign and damaged it. You'd tried fixing the frame but to no avail. It remained slightly crooked.

Shit snowballed in the afternoon, just before the lunch rush, when the new trainee spilled a whole tray of smoothies on a customer, then managed to lock their cashier register out of the system. A mistake that spelled doom for everyone else who was working front of house. Specifically, you. It'd taken HOURS to figure out what they'd done and by that time, the trainee had already clocked out. To top it all off, your (least favorite) manager had decided to pop in unexpectedly which meant the radio was now honed onto 95.6 The Outlaw Star, a station that only played country music. Really bad country music. The kind that grated on your ears as it repeated the same insipid chorus lines again and again and again...

You're almost certain crap like this violated parts of The Geneva Conventions. But, what could you honestly expect from a restaurant chain that was owned by Lex Luthor?

Well...

At least you weren't unemployed.

"I'd fuck him."

Whatever worries you had about your job totally vanished in an instant when Zen, your co-worker, made this off-handed remark while cleaning the lobby with you in-between customer flows. She gave no additional context after that, leaving you baffled.

Glancing around first to see if your manager was lurking nearby and not finding him, you ask Zen-

"What?"

-with a deadpan tone that distinctly conveys just how excited you are about the subject matter of this conversation and where you believe it's most likely headed.

"I think he's hot," she reiterates, "I mean, the suit is weird but I'd still fuck him."

You stop wiping off the sticky, juice residue from a tabletop to stare at Zen. "Care to, uh, elaborate a bit more?" You question her, "Because I'm lost here."

Your co-worker waved over at the TV perched in the lobby corner. It was set to the Gotham News Network. Displayed on screen, lead anchorman, Jack Ryder, was interviewing several Gothamites at the scene of a burnt-down brewery. A chyron banner underneath stated: "Ten People Saved in Joker Attack by The Batman, Grand Re-opening Postponed Indefinitely."

"Batman!" Zen announced as if it were obvious, "I think he's sexy. I mean, he's got those incredible pecs and that delicious jawline! I'd absolutely be down to fuck. But, he's gotta lose the suit in bed. Or wait! No, scratch that. He should leave it on..."

A giggle escaped from her. You continue to stare at your co-worker like she's suddenly grown two heads. Eventually, though, you clear your throat and go back to scrubbing the table. Zen scowled at this.

"Oh, c'mon!" She exclaimed, "Tell me you haven't thought about it. Not even once?"

You roll your eyes.

"Literally, not even once," you reply, voice devoid of enthusiasm while you continue to do your job. A bit of orange gunk had crusted onto the table and was being difficult against the force of your washcloth.

Zen didn't believe you.

"Liar," she said.

"It's the truth," you shoot back at her, applying a bit more pressure into your scrubbing. Still, that infuriating splotch remained.

A wicked grin curved along your co-worker's lips. Zen hopped onto the table. She leaned in toward you, invading your personal space and stopping you from cleaning. You glare at her sourly. It only encourages her to scoot even closer near you.

"Let's play a game of Fuck, Bang, Kill," she said, not waiting for your response either way before launching into her proposal, "I'll pick the options and you say 'fuck', 'bang', or 'kill'. Simple enough, right?"

"No."

"Okay!"

"Ugh, you're really gonna make me do this, aren't you?"

"Yup! No mercy!"

One brief moment passed where your co-worker tapped her finger against her chin. She looked to be deep in thought while considering the choices for the game. Knowing Zen, however, you figure she had probably come up with it weeks ago...

"Clayface," she said first, squinting (narrowly) at you for signs of a hidden monsterfucking fetish.

This one is a no-brainer.

"Kill," you automatically reply, wasting zero time to deliberate.

"Killer Croc," she says next.

Frowning, you answer: "Kill."

"Firefly," Zen states, "But, you gotta let him move into your apartment."

"He'd set too many things on fire. Kill."

"Two Face."

"Double Kill."

"Scarface."

"I'm not into puppets, kill."

She tossed her hands in the air, "Oh my god, you can't just keep choosing kill! That's not how this game works!"

"Well," you shrug, "You said it was my choice. So, I'm just playing according to your rules."

"Joker and Harley Quinn."

"Kill them."

“Catwoman.”

“Eh, kill.”

"Poison Ivy."

"Ask why my succulent is dying, then kill."

"Mad Hatter."

"Do I look like an Alice? Kill.”

With the slightest hint of satisfaction, you watch as Zen's face betrayed her own frustration. There was practically (black) smoke billowing from her ears while she tried to guess which Rogue you'd be most likely to marry. Or fuck. You wonder how long it would take until she called it quits?? After all, the two of you still had a lobby to clean. If the manager caught you both slacking off, you'd get written up for sure.

Suddenly, your co-worker's face brightened.

"THE RIDDLER!" She exclaimed like she'd solved a crime, jabbing her index finger up into the air. "I bet you'd break for the Riddler."

You blink.

Something flickered in the back of your mind. An old memory that you thought you'd forgotten.

"Uh, kill?" You answer, although you sound a hint uncertain, "I don't know, you can't really see him behind that mask and I'm not sure I could handle his followers. Plus, those riddles..."

Zen pouted. You could tell she was getting close to admitting defeat. It was only a matter of time now. You give the stubborn splotch another hard scrub with your rag, really putting your arm into it. The tiniest portion was beginning to come off. However, you pause when you hear Zen suggest a name that you'd never heard of before:

"Well, how about that new one? The one that the news is calling the Scarecrow?"

You open your mouth to speak but find yourself interrupted by a rush of customers. Moms with their kids in soccer uniforms and teenagers who were just getting out of school. Zen lets loose a sigh, knowing that you'd been spared from her torture by fate or chance. At least, for now. She quickly rushed over to the cash register, putting on her "customer service" smile while she began taking orders, leaving you to finish up the lobby alone. You caught Zen glance over at you once as if to warn you that this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Unfortunately, she wasn't someone who gave up easily…

Minutes before you were scheduled to take your ten, the manager calls you into his office. With a lazy wave, he gestures for you to sit down in the chair across from his own while he riffles through a filing cabinet behind his desk. You happened to sneak a peak and see that what your manager is picking through are employee folders. An unease settles over you when he yanks out a file labeled "[your name]," then places it down between you both as he takes a seat. He looks at you for just a moment, eyebrow raised.

"Where you do see yourself in five years??" He asks you.

Your mind is racing in all possible avenues at this question.

"E-Excuse me?" You stammer out finally, though it sounded as if your voice was just a squeak, "I don't understand what you're-"

"Back in March, when you filled out your resume, you said you were planning to go back to college next semester. Is that still true?"

Your manager cuts you off. He cracks open your file, selecting the job application that you'd filled out a year ago when you decided that you needed an extra source of income. Despite this city being a trash fire, Gotham was still an expensive place to live. And college wasn't cheap! Buying textbooks for all the psychology courses that you were going to take in September would cost you. Even with the grants you were on! You watch nervously as your manager thumbs through your application idly, waiting for you to speak. He seems annoyed.

"Uhm," you mumble at first, but recover yourself enough to ground the uncertainty fluttering inside your stomach as you attempt a reply, "Yeah, that's the plan."

Your manager sighs.

"Look," he says, skepticism dripping from his tone like leaded water in an old pipe, "I didn't want to be the one who had to point it out to you but upper management has been cracking down on us lately. Our customer reviews have been too low for the past couple of months. You came up during our team meeting last Wednesday as a topic of interest. Several times, actually."

You blink, confused.

"Wait, what?"

You knew you weren't the best employee that the Cadmus Bar had. But, you knew that you weren't the worst either! Certainly, this had to be a huge misunderstanding. You ask for some clarification and your manager (with all the energy of a mildly disappointed father) begins to list off a series of ridiculous infractions, accusations, and "witness reports" that pegs you as the person who keeps breaking the smoothie blenders. Something that you, yourself, have been reporting (complaining) to management about since the very first day of your employment here.

"Annnd, we don't feel like you're smiling enough," your manager adds, placing the cherry on top of his corporate-talk cake, "You don't really portray the warm, friendly disposition that the Cadmus Bar is known for in its employees. Uh, one report we recently received about you seems to call you 'weird and off-putting'. Another one claims you're 'unhelpful' and 'have a rude attitude'. So, uh, you understand how none of this looks good, right?"

You scrambled for a reasonable explanation. Any explanation. However, what slipped out was half cooked mumblings that didn't sound convincing when spoken aloud: "I'll try harder. It's just been a rough couple of weeks and-"

Your manager holds up an authoritative hand.

"No, it's been a rough couple of months," he says, correcting you immediately with the slight bite of annoyance heard from every word that he spoke, "And look, we were willing to grant you a brief period after your accident so you could get reorientated again. But, this behavior has turned into a pattern."

He levels an accusatory stare at you.

"I..."

The world darkens for a moment as you process his words. Images flash before your eyes in quick succession: rain on the windshield, a blind corner of a lonely road, high beams and screeching tires that tore through the air alongside screams, fire, blood staining wet pavement... Your mouth goes dry. You feel numb inside. Somehow, it's like you are there, reliving that awful night all over again. Your manager brings you back to reality when he clears his throat, appearing uncomfortable with how you were handling this talk. He tries shifting your focus by telling you "the good news" about your predicament...

"The silver lining is we're not firing you yet. We've got that new trainee, though, so you might want to start seriously thinking about the future. All those college fees are going to be expensive. Maybe you can put some work into that smile in the meantime, yeah? Start wearing some pretty buttons on your vest to show our customers the real Cadmus Bar spirit."

You wished you had said anything other than the quiet, mumbled agreement that had slipped out of you. For some reason, the words you could've chosen just ran through your fingers like sand at a beach. With no refutes available, your manager sends you away, satisfaction on his bloated face that advertised (quite obviously) the pleasure he took in crushing your spirit and making you feel small in this moment. He tosses your file into the trash as you leave the office. The knowledge that your days working here were numbered became suddenly clear.

You decide to take your ten.

"They can't fire you!"

Inhaling a deep lung full of smoke from her joint, Zen medicated the rage she felt, then released it with a mighty exhale and a walloping cough. She passes the burning joint onto you, who partakes from it less aggressively, and continues her rant despite wheezing in between (her sharp-spoken) words.

"You and I keep this shit together!! If it wasn't for us, nothing would get done right. They think the evening prep gets done by Terry and his shift?! I can't count the times they've fucked the freezer up!"

You exhale a small stream of pungent marijuana into the air. Then, cough. Even though your chest seized, the relaxation you felt afterward was just enough to persuade you to take a second toke. It had been a stressful day for you already. And the day still wasn't over yet...

"I know," you agreed, grumbling at the hand your job was dealing you, "But, I don't "smile enough" for fucking Terry, apparently. I'm too 'weird and off-putting' and 'unhelpful with a rude attitude'."

"Well, that last one is true. You are pretty fucking rude sometimes," Zen replies, reaching out to take the joint you were offering back, "But, it's still bullshit! That trainee can't replace you. She's barely handling the dishwasher right now. A few weeks won't make a difference if she's that dumb and incompetent!"

"I know, right?"

"Like, who am I supposed to talk to about stupid shit all day?"

A sobering kind of silence fell upon Zen and you. Despite the city noise that pounded at your ears, the only thing you could hear was the emptiness that was forming in the slots of your daily routine and the dreadful monotony that would take your co-worker's place. While you knew Zen wouldn't totally disappear from your life, things would be different enough that you cringed just imagining it. You don't think you'd be able to stand working around anyone else. Sighing, you lean your head against the brick wall behind you and gaze up at the thin sliver of (overcast) sky above. This might be the last time you smoke with Zen in this shitty alleyway. You try to savor the moment but all you can do is frown as if you'd tasted something that had spoiled.

"You got me still, man."

Roach breaks the awkward silence. You turn your head to look at the homeless stoner that Zen and you had befriended (adopted) months ago when he'd first shown up in this alley, asking for a light, and rolling papers. With a frown, you realize that you'd miss him. Even if he did bum way, way too many cigarettes. Roach, in some weird way, was also a fixture of your daily life that you'd become attached to...

"Oh, sweetie. We love you but that's not the point being made here," Zen says, taking a quick hit of the joint before passing it along to Roach, "Point is-"

"The point is I'm screwed," you interject, "WE are screwed. Hell, I watched Terry throw my file into the trash! I'm getting fired."

Roach inhaled half the joint as he listened to you speak. Coughing, nearly choking on the cloud he made with his exhale, he summarizes today's ten minute break in three simple words-

"This sucks, man!"

-then, takes another generous toke. The cloud of smoke he made this time was (somehow) bigger than the last. Roach shook his head. Ran a hand through his matted, tangled hair and sighed. He looked genuinely upset. Your heart turned over a little seeing how much these people cared about you.

"Like, who am I gonna bum smokes from now?"

Nevermind.

A laugh rumbles deep from Roach's chest as Zen (and you) just squint at him. "Oh, c'mon! You had to know that was a joke. I'm kidding, I'm kidding! This is a huge bummer, though. I liked smoking with you guys. You aren't weird about how I look. You treat me like I'm normal..." He says this with a heavy frown that collapses very suddenly upon his face.

"Well, you're as normal as the rest of us!"

"Careful guys, they might send us to Arkham."

"Oh my god, I bet they'd put us in cells right next to each other! We could pass along little notes in between the bars or something, haha!"

You all laugh as a group...but it feels bittersweet.

Zen and Roach give you the last hits off the joint, now merely a blackened nub. You were reminded of the time and realized that your ten was almost over. Zen must've been on the same wavelength as you because she groaned (loudly) when she'd checked her phone. She pouted for a second like a kid who'd just been told to go clean their room. You follow suit in your own subdued way, feeling the weight of each second that counted down to your inevitable unemployment.

Flicking the spent remainders of the joint into an ashtray, you take a breath, and mentally prepare yourself for the last hours of your shift.

"Ugh, time to clock back in."

"Same. I'll take care of the trash?"

"Thanks. I fucking hate doing the trash."

You spend about fifteen minutes lugging stuffed, Hefty bags out to the dumpsters. One split open in the middle of transport. Another was leaking a sticky, warm liquid that got all over your uniform, making your clothes smell like rancid candy and crap. On the last round of trash, Roach helps you toss an extra heavy one that you were struggling with throwing away. You try to thank him. He just shakes his head, though, insisting that no thanks were necessary among friends...

"You've been decent to a bum like me. This is the least I can do for you."

Still, you find yourself thanking him again. Then, turn to slouch back into the Cadmus Bar (where a new wave of customers were surely crowding at the cash register by now) but are stopped by Roach, who wants to give you something. From his stained jeans pocket, he pulled out an onyx black card. He hands it to you with a rare, serious look on his face as he explains:

"Look, I hate to see them fuck you over so here's the number to my cousin, Frankie C. He's a good guy when he's not drunk. He runs a temp agency in Otisburg. If you need some quick cash to get you by while you figure shit out, call him. He can set you up with a small gig just like that. It won't be enough to break even, usually. Sometimes, an opportunity comes in, though. Depending on the season and all that."

You shake your head while telling him that you'll be fine, that you already had a plan (even if you absolutely didn't and were panicking about the next few months of your life). Roach seemed to know you were lying because he refused to take the card back from you. He just kept redirecting the topic onto his cousin. Eventually, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets so he couldn't use them. You're forced to keep the card after that. Roach smiled when you finally slid the thin paper into your vest pocket.

"Just, uhhh, keep the Frankie stuff between you and me, okay? Don't wanna ruin a sweet deal like this on everyone!"

He winks, nudging your side with an elbow. You end up laughing despite your mood. It was hard to be sad around Roach. And you wish you could do more for him than just share your smokes on the days you were working here. You could keep his secret, however. Now, it was your secret, too. You pat your vest pocket and salute Roach as if he were the captain of a ship.

"My lips are sealed!" You exclaim, making a show of pursing your lips and sealing them shut.

Your shift flew by relatively fast. Before you knew it, you were riding the D-line back to Rosserie St. where the peace of your apartment awaited you. The trip was smooth, almost TOO smooth for an average Gotham evening. It had you gripping the canister of the pepper spray you kept hidden in your purse out of suspicion. But, the minute you made it to your neighborhood, you relaxed a little bit. With the GCPD so close to your home, crime here was more tame. The worst it usually had to offer came in the forms of muggings by average thugs. Or break-ins. It was partly the reason your parents had been willing to pay the deposit when you'd moved out. Through some miracle, you'd convinced them it was safe. It'd helped when you mentioned that the police station was just a few blocks away. You knew they regularly donated to the GCPD and their fundraising galas every year.

You spent the rest of your night filling out online applications and re-writing your resume, despite knowing that any place that would hire you likely wouldn't read it.

At 5 am, a loud banging on your apartment door startles you awake. An angry voice accompanies it. By the Pennsylvania Dutch accent, it was your landlord. Reluctantly, you peeled yourself off the couch and stumbled lifelessly through the living room to go figure out what he wanted. Because it wasn't the first of the month and you'd already taken care of the bills so there was nothing that sour old man could (possibly) want from you. A breath is taken before you open the door. A little prayer is said to whatever God was listening up there. You steel yourself, plaster a smile on your face, then open the door to greet your landlord. Your stomach drops when you see he's holding a bunch of envelopes that were addressed to each resident of the building.

"The rent's just increased," he says while handing you your envelope from his pile, "I'm gonna need the difference you owe by Monday, alright?"

Your landlord shoots this new information at you with such casualness that it makes you feel sick. He's staring at you as if you were an idiot for not knowing (or expecting) that this would probably happen. Fortunately, you recover from the shock quick enough to form what you hope is a protest. It doesn't go well.

"I...already paid my rent, though."

"Yeah? Well, now the new payment is due."

"You can't raise the rent until next month!"

"Look, I don't know what to tell you. It's that "gentrification" stuff all those woke hipsters talk about on the social medias. Prices going up? The rent goes up. Pretty open shut case, alright? Not a lot of mumbo jumbo to it."

"This apartment is rent controlled. I made sure it was when I moved in!"

"Okay, then take it up with the housing authority and wait for them to call you back about it. In the meantime? I'm gonna need that money from you on Monday. 5 am sharp. Or you can move out of here and I'll rent this apartment to someone who would pay triple the new price!!"

Your landlord's threat ripped the argument from your lips. He seems pleased when you fall silent and appear to crumple internally. You mask it by putting on a brave face...but your attempt isn't a convincing show of strength. Just as he's about to continue speaking, a (LOUD) meow interrupts him. Both you and your landlord stop what you're doing, pressing a momentary pause on your talk, to look towards the source of the noise that was growing more obnoxious by the second. You see that an orange cat was pacing back and forth on your balcony patio. Like it was waiting for you to let it in. Like this was a routine thing you did and not the very first time you'd ever seen it here. As you make the innocent mistake of giving it direct eye contact, it reacts by reaching up and eagerly paws at the sliding glass door.

Your landlord scowls.

"So, you got a pet?" He spits, raising an eyebrow at you, "That'll be an extra 200 for pet insurance. Cats piss and shit everywhere, ya know? Dirty lil' bastards. They'll fuck up my nice, clean carpets."

The carpets in your apartment were neither nice nor clean. Actually, they'd been stained and dirty since day one. The only reason they were decent now was all the steam cleaning you did to keep it tenable! Even then, your carpets were only a few more accidental messes away from being trash...

"That's not my cat," you state firmly, putting your foot down, "I don't have a pet. I don't owe you for a cat that isn't mine!"

Your landlord jabs his finger in the cat's direction and says, "If it's sitting on your fucking patio, it's your fucking cat! End of discussion. Don't need a brain to understand that, do ya?"

He smirks (again) when he sees frustration twist anew upon your face. It made the short-statured man happy whenever he could provoke this kind of conflict in someone. But, you were convinced it meant more to him when that person was you; which filled you with such impotent anger that it nearly blinded you. Dark thoughts about ripping the smirk off his lips and grinding it into the dirty carpets that he seemed so proud of swirled and spiraled around inside your head. You held back, however, because you also wanted to keep a roof over your head. Fall was just around the corner in Gotham. It was about to get cold. Really fast. It'd be iced-over mornings and winter storms before you knew it...

So, you bit your tongue and said nothing.

"You have to think about your future. No one is gonna do it for you," your landlord drives home the point he wanted to make even further, gently patting the frame of your apartment door with a faux concern, "Think about where you wanna be. You got until Monday to decide if it's here like an adult or out on the street in a cardboard box."

That was the second time your "future" had been mentioned. The sound of twisting steel hits your ears. Breaking glass shatters all around you as a tire, engulfed in fire, rolls past your mental vision. Someone is crying out for help. A scream crawls from your throat and takes the form of three tiny words that you speak in a defeated whisper:

"This isn't legal."

Your landlord laughs loudly and shrugs when he hears you, "This is Gotham, toots!"

He walks away before you can say anything else. You're left holding the envelope he gave you with the cat you now, apparently, owned. Who hadn't stopped meowing, by the way. You could hear it practically yowling, clawing down the tempered glass of your patio door, trying its hardest to get your attention. Sighing, you shut the front door. Lock it tight. Then, turn to face the mess of your apartment. Was paying the rent increase worth it considering what a dump house this place was?? The question nagged you while you crossed your living room (stepping over piled books and dirty laundry that you'd forgotten about a week or two ago) to open the patio door. Immediately, the cat stopped crying once it'd been let in. You watch it make itself at home on your couch and begin to purr.

Nope, you were never getting rid of that cat. You could see 200 dollars literally flying away in this moment as you relented and sat down next to it on your couch. Your fingers ran through the cat's soft, pumpkin-colored fur. Maybe you'd buy it a collar the next time you got paid? Maybe one of those cute, themed ones that you'd (sometimes) see at Petco. If you still had a job by then...

Your head falls back against the couch as a slow and exasperated groan unfurls out of you. With a desperate eye, you search the cobweb cracks in the ceiling for clues on what you should do. Their answer is silence. You were screwed.

So, you decided that breakfast was the answer!

There was a greasy spoon diner down the street that served a (passable) eggs and hash. Despite knowing your wallet couldn't handle it, you found yourself sitting in your usual spot fifteen minutes after opening the envelope, hoping that a simple, hot meal would ease your turmoil. 1,500 dollars plus 200 extra for the cat that wasn't yours and an additional increase on utilities that you didn't use. Like parking. Or the community gym. That's what you owed your landlord by Monday. It was money you just didn't have! Even thinking about it made your eyes bigger than your stomach. You end up ordering way too much food, then regret it almost instantly. Today, the eggs are bland and unseasoned. The hashbrowns are burnt black at the edges. These flavors settled on your tongue, as disappointing as the debt you had to pay, and lingered there with the stress that hung over you like a storm cloud.

Technically, you had the money...but, it was your college fund.

You couldn't touch that.

When you had moved out of your parents' house, blessedly away from Metropolis, you'd promised yourself something; that one day, you'd get your bachelor's degree in psychology, start a practice of your own and finally prove to your family that you were a capable, independent adult. However, more than that bit, you felt a certain gravitational pull towards learning about how the mind works. Even at a young age, you were always absorbed in observations about the people (and the world) around you. You'd scribble them upon sheets of paper with crayons or colored marker or pen and pencil. Sticking them on your bedroom walls. It'd driven your parents absolutely insane. They had dreams (delusions) of you becoming a grammar school teacher. A "safe profession for a girl" that wasn't too ambitious and established your role in the family legacy. All Wrenns were educators. No deviations from the antiquated mold. Unsatisfied with this as you grew older, you tried arguing to your parents that psychology and teaching were similar fields. That they were (for all intents and purposes) practically the same thing! The result had been a disaster. And sometimes, they'd still laugh at the notion over holiday dinner, throwing salt on the wound by mentioning with a mocking scrutiny-

'Except you're not around crazy people!'

-to end the conversation. Not surprisingly, they'd been unsupportive of you the day you'd received your acceptance letter to GSU. They also weren't proud of the grants you'd earned to, in their own words, throw your future away on a crack career like head shrinking. And they didn't help you with anything other than the deposit on this shit hole you now hated renting in the city they hated you living in. Sometimes, your parents would call you to ask if you'd consider coming back home. They would suggest you enroll in the "nice community college" just a few blocks down from their house. Or they'd sneak details into the dialogue about a new position at the elementary school your Mom worked in when they were feeling extra unhappy by your choices. You'd always say patiently: 'No, I can't. I'm staying in Gotham,' and they'd end the chat on a sour note. Lately, they seemed to really enjoy using how well your brother, Braydon, was doing in Metropolis.

Your college fund was the only thing standing in between you and returning back to your parents, crushed and defeated. You couldn't dip into it to solve your money problem. Doing so would only cement the quaint, milquetoast future that they determined for you. It would set you on a course of compromises until you became less an actual person and more a thing they felt entitled to "set right again." You knew, without any shadow of a doubt, that asking your parents for help in your current predicament would only result in a battle where they'd make you admit that you couldn't handle living on your own. They'd probably drive all the way to Gotham to come pick you up and take you back home. You'd wake up ten years in the future after that; a passionless, grade school teacher just like your mother. Probably married to a man you (barely) tolerated with a handful of kids you'd push into being an educator as you'd been pushed. Insisting they give up their dreams for your vision instead. For the only vision that a Wrenn was allowed. What a nightmare concept.

And yet, you found yourself texting your Dad. He had always been the more reasonable parent...

You: Hey, Dad. Can I ask you a favor?

You: Dad, I really need to borrow

You: So, something came up this month

You: Hey, how're you? How's Mom? [5:55 am]

The response came a half an hour later.

Dad: Isn't it a little too early for you? 😜 We're doing fine. Haven't heard from you in a while. How're things in Gotham? We heard there was a new madman running around the city on the news. [6:25 am]

By that time, you were already back home.

You: 🤷‍♀️ There's always a new madman running around Gotham. Dad, can I ask you Dad, I've run into troub I'm doing fine, tho. Just busy. [6:27 am]

Dad: That's good. Remember to put the GCPD on speed dial in case anything does happen, ok? [6:28 am]

You: I've got them on speed dial already. Don't worry. Hey, could we talk about something [6:30 am]

Dad: That's good, sweetie. Just want you to be safe. How's college been? Have you decided on when you'll be transferring over to St. Mary's? [6:35 am]

You stared at the message for a long time after it was sent and realized, with a sinking feeling, just how futile asking your parents for help was. They didn't want you to study at the GSU. They didn't want you to be a psychologist. Hell, they weren't even cool with you living in Gotham! Here they were, already pushing you to leave the city (and your dreams) behind. No, this had been a stupid mistake. If you had a problem, you were going to have to solve it yourself. Like an adult.

You: I'm staying at GSU, Dad. Classes are going really well. My teachers love me. [6:44 am]

The reply from your father came too quick to be anything good. It simply said-

Dad: Ok. [6:44 am]

-and nothing else. You don't text him back. You'd just be wasting time at this point. Instead, you fill out more online job applications. Even the listing you found for a janitor position at Arkham. Right now, you weren't being picky. When you'd milked all of Linked In, Craigslist, GothHires, and several local group forums, you funneled your anxiety in other ways; you began washing the dirty dishes that'd sat in your sink since...you forget, you pick up the books off the floor (putting them together on your shelf), and start sorting through the old laundry piles too.

When you grab your clothes from yesterday, you notice that something falls out of your work vest. It lands on the floor at your feet. You bend down to pick the thing up and peer at it (kinda baffled) and clueless before suddenly remembering what it was. This little black card was the contacts for the temp agency run by Roach's cousin. As you flip it over to see: "Frankie Cee, hiring agent. He'll see the potential in you!" printed on it with black ink and metallic foil, an idea strikes you. A genius idea...

What harm could a phone call do?

You begin dialing the number on the card.

"Hello, Frankie? Hi, uh. My friend Roach said that you hire people for temp jobs. Could I possibly set up an interview with you soon? My call back number is..."

Sandwiched between the glamour of the Bowrey and the government offices of the West End was a dump called Otisburg where all the dirt, sweat, and grime in Gotham collected itself. Comprised of crumbling brick and dark alleyways that were always littered with trash, it stood out against its wealthy neighbors, reminding everyone that just beneath the (gilded) surface was a festering sore left untreated within the city. And that year after year, Mayor Hill neglected it stubbornly despite his many "sincere" promises to do otherwise. It's inside this wound that you find yourself a couple of hours past noon, wondering (worrying) if you had gotten the address right?? Or if Frankie Cee had sent you the wrong pin on WayneMaps...

Because the place your pin had sent you to was a dive bar.

Brows furrowed in confusion, you quickly check WayneMaps again. Nope! This was it. 4580 45th St (South). Right next to a bus stop and a row of condemned apartments that'd seen better days. Stashing your phone away, you peer at the neon sign that said "Stacked Deck" in mustard yellow and scarlet red with apprehension twisting your gut. Unless this (particular) hiring manager ran a bar or worked at an incredibly progressive, super chill, non-profit, having your interview here didn't make sense. Things like that were typically done in an office. You were starting to realize, albeit a touch late, that this whole situation was sketchy and your genius idea had been stupid! While you knew Roach was only trying to help, he'd set you upon a fool's errand, anyways. Should've stayed home and done job applications. You turn around to leave but surprise yourself when you walk into the bar instead as if a gravitational pull held your feet for ransom.

Suspicious stares fix themselves upon you when you enter the Stacked Deck. Some patrons even leer and throw lascivious comments out, hoping to rattle loose a reaction from you. One guy asks how much your hourly rates are? Another seems way too curious about why "a tiny little thing like you" has come to a place like this? Ignoring each prod and jab these bar-dwellers throw, you wade through the sea of cigarette smoke that hung in the air, focused solely on the long counter where drinks were being served. Unfortunately, you tug your hoodie strings while you do this, advertising the discomfort you felt to everyone regardless of the stiff upper lip you were trying (and failing) to portray. RIP you. After waiting a couple seconds, the next available bartender slides up to you and asks what you want to order with narrowed eyes full of skepticism. She's probably wondering the same thing everybody else is; what're you doing here?

In the back of your mind, you're questioning that too...

"Oh, uhh, no. No, I'm here for Frankie?" You reply, sounding uncertain, your statement forming into a question at the very end, "Frankie Cee? Do you know if he's around?"

Wordlessly, the bartender stares at you. When it was beginning to get super uncomfortable, you tried clarifying. Somehow, this makes you sound less confident than if you'd kept quiet: "I have an interview with him at 3."

The bartender continues staring. Her expression morphs from skepticism to abject disbelief. "You have an interview with Frankie Cee? You?? At this bar?"

"Yes," you say, a bit frustrated now.

She raises an eyebrow, "Are you positive?"

You absolutely weren't.

"Yeah," you repeat, firmer this time, "he gave me this address to meet up. I just didn't know it was gonna be at a bar. Uh, his text said to talk to the bartenders first."

Judging off pure mood alone, you could tell that the bartender was done talking with you. Before she could show you the door, though, you reach into your pockets and pull out the onyx card that Roach had given you. You hold it up so the lady could see it, like it was an ID, hoping this would be enough to convince her to help you out or at least point you in the right direction. If you'd been thinking with your head on straight, if you'd only paid attention to the red flags, you might've realized how weird all this was. How wrong it felt in the pit of your stomach. But, the specter of lost college funds, homelessness, and your (almost certain) unemployment was blinding your sight to the bad omens surrounding you. You wanted money now more than anything else. Even the possibility of it seemed worth the potential risk.

The bartender sighed when she saw the card. It was obvious she was annoyed by the sight of it. "Well, fuck! Here I was thinking you were a lying bitch I could 86. No happy endings in Gotham. Yeah, Frankie's here. Give me a minute. I'll go snag him for ya. In the meantime, be a paying customer, buy yourself something, and go sit at those seats in the back. Or else I'll have to kick you out, anyway. Alright? So, what's your poison?"

You decide on beer. Something light, something without a high alcohol percentage. After all, you didn't want to get fucked up before the interview. The bartender sighs at your choice. With disgust in her tone, she grumbles 'of course' underneath her breath, then turns around to make your order after you'd handed her 15 crinkled dollars. Soon, with drink in hand, you hurry past the pool tables and the cue rack and the glowing neon sign that said: "Keep Gotham Weird". You slip into the end booth closest to the restrooms where a poster of Zephyrs of the Holy hung. Zen had once told you that the band was magical, so you'd thought it'd be a good place to wait. Maybe their luck would rub off on you?

You were half a beer in when Frankie Cee arrived. The man was not what you were expecting! Bald and beefy with black tattoos blazed up his arms, Frankie was the polar opposite of his cousin. He looked suspiciously like if Mr. Clean had joined a biker gang. The man glances at you (and your drink) once, chuckles to himself, then joins you in the booth. You swear you heard him whisper 'of course,' but you pretend not to hear it. Which was probably the best thing you could do in this scenario for more than one reason.

"So! My piece of shit, good for nothing, bum of a cousin sent you my way, huh?" Frankie asks you, grin on his face. Despite the twinkle in his eye, it was hard to tell if he was joking or being serious. That edge of uncertainty has you sweating bullets. You gape at him; frozen cold in the headlights by his question. You weren't sure how to answer him and Frankie seemed amused that you didn't quite know what to say. He continues speaking, taking a casual sip of the Tennessee Rye that was clutched in his hand while doing so, "You know, that fucker still owes me for the last favor I did. You wanna pay his tab for him?"

"Uhhh."

This interview was going great already! You were going to kill Roach when you saw him next. Your face twists up momentarily as you contemplate the logistics of murder...

The man must've sensed what you were thinking because he erupted with laughter. Wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye, Frankie switches gears and decides to stop panicking you. "Nahh, I'm just playing' with ya! My cousin's decent when he's not on the drops. But he does owe me a pack of cigs the next time I see him."

"You and me both," you replied, a weaker chuckle than his escaping from your throat, still shaky on whether (or not) this was truly a joke. You try reminding yourself that if everything went wrong for some reason, you had pepper spray handy in your pockets. It was a weak reassurance but the only one you had at the moment.

"Right. Well, enough chit-chat. Let's get down to business." Frankie says, that merry twinkle in his eye becoming much sharper than before.

The man retrieves a folded paper from his pant's pocket, opens it up flat, then slides it over to you. It's a job application. Emblazoned on top was the logo for the temp agency (an eyeball wreathed in flames) with the company name orbiting around it. A small sentence follows underneath: "We can SEE the potential in you!". This agency definitely had their brand figured out, you thought, as the slogan hooked onto your brain like a Super Bowl commercial. Scanning through the rest of it, you find that everything seems pretty normal (about four sections dedicated to general info, medical history, driving record, and previous employers), but when you flipped the paper over...things got a little weird. 13 questions greet you, each more confusing than the last.

You squint at them.

Frankie senses your bewilderment and chuckles. "Just fill the questionnaire out to the best of your abilities, girly. Some of them are a little out there due to our clientele, but answering them all helps me figure out what gigs you'll best be suited for, you dig?? We wanna match our employees' skills to the needs of our clients."

You nod, then ask him a question. But he ignores this completely and asks you one instead. Which nags you in an insistent way. Something was off. Something wasn't right here. Something tugged on your gut for you to leave this place.

"Are you thirsty? I'm gonna snag something from the bar. I'll be back in a moment. Try getting that thing done, alright?? Just don't think about it too much."

Frankie drains the rest of his Tennessee Rye with a single gulp. An impressive feat considering his glass was practically full. He uses your stunned silence to make his getaway. You watch the man saunter towards the bar counter, greeting some new faces that'd just entered the Stacked Deck from the alleyside door. After a second, you turn your attention onto the paper. Blinking, still lost, you search for a pen inside your purse and begin to tackle the easiest parts on the front. That tug in your gut yanked harder. Finally, you arrived at the back page of the application. By that time, it felt like your whole, damn stomach was twisted into knots.

You poise your pen over the first question. Your hand is shaking slightly as you do...

1. How flexible are you willing to be with work hours?

Answer: All weekends and holidays.

That one was normal and simple to answer. You jot your response down without much hesitation.

2. Do you have any physical disabilities that would prevent you from finishing a task?

Answer: No.

This question was also pretty common. You have to have seen it printed on a hundred different job applications before.

3. Do you have any familial connections to law enforcement?

Answer: No.

Another inquiry that didn't appear abnormal. But you wondered, albeit briefly, why a temp agency would want to know that? You figure it was likely a conflict of interest deal for some of the clients. After all, you weren't a fan of the GCPD, either.

4. Do you own a firearm?

Answer: No.

Not an odd question to ask in Gotham. Everyone and their mothers kept some kind of weapon on them. The most efficient option being a gun. You had thought about owning one, back when you'd been planning to move to this city. Instead, your parents convinced you (wore you down) to buy a can of pepper spray. They were mortified by the idea of you shooting a pistol. Luckily, a year into GSU, your dormmate had shown you how to use one.

5. How do you feel about dressing in uniform?

Answer: I'm okay with it.

You supposed this one made sense? Every job in retail that you'd had made you wear a uniform or at least a company T-shirt. You hated the cheesy outfits of some places (like BatBurger), but right now, you weren't really in a position to turn down a paycheck. So, you lie on the application with a bold flourish of your pen.

The next question was where things got strange.

6. If you had a catchphrase, what would it be?

Answer: Ready for anything!

What?? You stare at the words until they seem to bleed off the paper. This HAD to be some sort of attempt at a psychology quiz! One of those lame passes a business would use to gauge your level of agreeability. You roll your eyes, jotting down a phrase that meant nothing to you...but sounded like something that a hiring manager would want to hear. You cringe at the dishonesty. Yet another wave of anxiety rolls over you. Perhaps this beer wasn't agreeing with your stomach?

7. Do you have any physical skills or talents?? Example: Could you scale a wall or jump over a fence? If you had to, could you run for longer than 20 minutes? Are you proficient in martial arts?

Answer: N/A

You blink. Again, the word "what" re-emerged as a question within your brain. You tap your pen on the side of your cheek, chewed it's cap anxiously for a moment while squinting at the query. What in the world kind of business would need martial arts skills?! Was this temp agency hiring people for a dojo? But then, your brain clicks into place, recalling a chat you'd had with Roach about the time he'd been a security guard. He'd quit the job after the first night when a league of black-clad ninjas stormed the vault he was supposed to be protecting. Looking at number seven again, you supposed that it made sense. This was Gotham and insane, crazy shit like that happened all the time.

8. If the police or any legal figures of authority were to ask you to give up the name/s of your fellow employees, would you?

Answer: _________.

How were you even supposed to answer that? Of course, you would have to comply with any legal authorities! What other choice was there? Unless this temp agency was working alongside villains or criminals, a question like this was just strange. You take a gulp of your beer to steady yourself in an almost instinctual reaction, feeling once more a tug at your soul that screamed: LEAVE NOW!!! Five minutes later, you'd drained the whole glass, but those twists in your gut had only grown into a briar patch of knots. You couldn't bail from this opportunity, you reason with the panic. A worse fate awaited you on Monday if you couldn't find another source of income. That fate freezes you to your booth. You decide to leave number eight blank and come back to it. There were five other inquiries to fill.

9. Do you have any medical conditions to your knowledge that may be triggered or worsened by unknown chemical gas?

Answer: I don't know, I've never been exposed before.

Chemical plants. This temp agency must hire for chemical plants and dojos. That had to be it! You mentally pat your own back, proud of your logic, and flawless sensibility. Gotham City retained a high demand for factory workers, chemists, and also...ninjas? Your hand darts out to take another gulp of your beer only to wrap around an empty glass. As you stare at it, the scream inside your head grows louder, evolving into a shriek. Leave now. Leave now! LEAVE NOW! Instead, through clenched teeth, you write the truth in the answer slot. A heavy weight, like you'd signed your death warrant, settled upon your shoulders. Your heart began to pound in your chest. You push on to the next question...

10. Theoretically, if you were thrown into a pit of acid, how would you react?

Answer: ____________.

LEAVE. LEAVE. LEAVE. LEAVE-

"Almost done with that?"

A gravelly voice interrupts your panic attack. You glance up to see Frankie has returned; two beers in his hands and looking a little drunker. He gives you a wink, then sets your glass down in front of you. It wasn't the brand you'd bought before. The beer was darker, almost orange, and foamed up so thickly at the rim that it threatened to spill out onto the table. Thanking the man, you move the application away from the glass just in case. You hear Frankie laugh. It sounds almost sinister. You weren't sure what was so funny, but you restrain yourself from asking. There were more pressing matters on your mind like these 13 questions on the page before you.

Frankie seems to sense your apprehension as he seats himself in your booth. "Ya know, if you have anything confusing you at all, just ask. That part on the back can really stump the newbies."

Running a hand through your hair, you decide to take the man up on his offer. Perhaps, maybe, it was only a misunderstanding and you were just being stupid.

"Uhm, okay. So, I am a bit, uh...unclear here about some of these questions. Cause they sound a bit-"

Weird.

Strange.

Fucking out there.

"-unconventional," you say cautiously, choosing the adjective with care, "I've honestly never seen anything like this asked on an application before and I've worked a lot of places in Gotham."

Frankie nods lightly, appearing receptive to your concerns. He stays silent. Allows you to continue rambling with an attentive focus stationed upon you.

"Like number 10. W-what am I even supposed to say to that?? Is this a legitimate concern I should be having on the job? What about number 11. Uh, heads or tails??? Why does your agency need to know that? Okay. And let's just take a moment to appreciate number 13, because. I'm just...lost on that one! 'Thoughts on tea and scones? How do you brew a proper Earl Grey?? What are your full thoughts on cerebral manipulation via electrode and have you read Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll?'. Just what kind of clients do you have?!"

Frankie answers without skipping a beat, "We're a grassroots cooperative business catering to a high class, criminal clientele and providing them with necessary services."

Silence settles over you. For a few moments, you simply stare at the man, robbed of words to say, and devoid of thoughts to think. Frankie doesn't react, carrying on as if waiting patiently for your next questions. That twinkle gleaming in his eye got just a touch brighter and sharper. It doesn't catch your notice.

"What?" You ask, your mind finally rebooting and turning back on.

The man replies in a similar way as before:

"We're a traditionally-run recruiting agency that connects the criminal element to those in need of quick gigs or temporary employment. Usually, that first one, though, since our clients can be a little hazardous. But only if you're an idiot."

Frankie laughs while you gawk at him.

Swallowing thickly and with a hushed voice, you rephrase your last question again. You just want to hear the man say it another time in case you'd misheard him. Everyone deserved the benefit of a doubt. Frankie's laugh died down, immediately, when you asked him to repeat his simple answer for a third round. Now he was staring at you. You see a frown pull at his beer-stained lips. Another shift in gears brought a more serious tone to the man as he says, "We're a "Goon Hiring" agency."

...

Frankie Cee sneered, "What, my cousin didn't tell ya?"

"No."

"Well, that's just classic Roach, isn't it?"

...

Instantly, you stand up (ramrod straight) and get out of the booth. Plastering your best "customer service" smile upon your face, you thank Frankie for his time, collect your purse, and turn to leave. As you do, the sound of a gun clicking into place hits your eardrums. It's followed by a growl that commands you to sit back down. Trembling, you obediently comply and return to your seat facing Frankie who now has a Glock trained on you. You peer down the barrel of the pistol, eyes watering, heart pounding fast, and internally screaming at yourself for how dumb you were, how you hadn't listened to the red flags. If you were this fucking stupid, maybe it was a good thing you'd never go back to GSU? You could just die (right now) with the knowledge that it would've never worked out.

Still, your dream of being a psychologist spurred you forward...

"P-please don't k-kill me," you whimper, lower lip trembling like an autumn leaf.

"I won't as long as we can finish up this interview, girly. Now stop crying and drink your beer, we're almost through the paperwork portion."

With a shaking hand, you lift the perspiring glass up to your lips. Frankie lowers his gun as you do. The orange-hued booze that he bought you isn't to your liking. It's too strong, too bitter. It had an astringent aftertaste that clung your tongue and lingered there. Stubbornly. But, you couldn't risk being picky at the moment. Frantic, you wonder if anyone would step in to save you? Was anyone aware of this? Were they calling the cops already or rolling up their sleeves to give teach this man a lesson? At least with this question, the answer was obvious; nope. Everyone inside the Stacked Deck was ignoring you as if somebody pulling a gun out on someone else was normal. A tad late, you remember that you were in Otisburg. To this place, it WAS normal.

And nobody was going to come save you...

Frankie rests the gun on the tabletop in between you but still clutches it close, a warning (for you) not misinterpret his relaxed mood with allowing you a chance to escape. He heaves a sigh, looks at you wearily, and shakes his head. "Look, girly, you either leave because you aced this interview or leave with Tommy and Benny in a rug. Totally your choice-"

Was it really, though?

You gulp.

"-but save me the rug, okay? Those cost money. I can't keep buying more rugs this week. Plus, let's be honest: if you didn't really need this job, didn't reeeally need the money, you wouldn't have even called me. I can tell you need the dough, girl. You got that hunger just like me when I was your age. I promise if you come work with me, I'll feed that good. My temp agency ain't fucking Underworld Talent. We don't use algorithms but we're damn fucking good at what we do. You can't do better than me."

You couldn't do better.

He's right.

You feel like the walls were closing in on you.

Frankie continues his pitch, oblivious to your fear or simply uncaring. "You stick with me? Now, you got something good. Something that'll pay good. I've been doing this shit for years and I can see a future henchmen from miles away. And you? You got henchmen written all over ya, girly. Embrace that. Now, what'll it be...? A damn good job-"

He taps the end of his Glock upon your half-filled application. The sound, impatient, and urging.

"-or Tommy and Benny? And before you choose, think HARD about where you want your future to go. Who do you see yourself being in five years?"

Dead.

There was that question again. You swear, it was haunting you. The instant you heard it said, your mind floods with unbidden images. Bloody flesh on slick pavement. Twisted metal feeding flames and smoke. A cry into the night, soon becoming a wail for help that would go unheard, drowned out by the roll and crack of thunder as it rattled the earth. Lightning flashing across the sky as if God himself was angry. And you, in the middle of it all, crawling along the ground like a worm...

Did you even have a future to imagine after that?

Did you even have a future?

Despair opened its mouth wide to consume you. Yet, before it could, another vision snatches you away from it. Inside the empty hall of an old and dusty classroom, a friend smiles warmly at you. They're patting you on the back as you dab your eyes with a tissue. 'Don't stress out! It's just one bad score. You're gonna make a great therapist someday, trust me.' They say this with absolute confidence. Suddenly, you snap back to reality. A feeling far stronger than despair sparks within you.

Hope.

"I-I want the job!" You exclaim, stammering, but raising your chin to portray enough confidence nonetheless.

Frankie laughs in reaction. He seems pleased by your final decision. "Now that's what I like to hear from newbies! I knew you were a smart cookie-"

The man smiles coldly with a sharp gleam in his eye. Unlike the times prior, you knew that Frankie wasn't joking now. He was being dead serious.

"-so, let's fill out that application, yeah? I got shit to do later."

Steeling yourself, you reach for the ballpoint pen that you'd abandoned on the table and pick it up (determinedly) in your hand. With renewed spirit, you begin tackling the application. You answered every question as best you could. Even the ones that terrified you and made no sense. At the end of the back page, beneath number thirteen, you finally get to the point where your signature was needed. You poise the pen tip over the blank line, take a deep breath, then chew the inside of your lip. After this, there was no turning back. But, it wasn't as if you could turn the ship around now, either. Not if you wanted to keep your roof or go to college next semester...or live long enough to see tomorrow.

Upon the document line, you sign your name. It's a messy scribble of a signature. But, it'll do.

Frankie takes the application from you moments afterward. The ink hasn't even dried on the paper and he's already folding it into his pocket for safe keeping. The man assures you that this was the best choice you could've made; that you weren't going to regret it so long as you did exactly what you were told and followed the rules. Fear seized your heart again. You tried to ignore it. The deed had already been done. The future depended on you making some peace with it...

Because hell or high water, you were going to be a psychologist!

"Well, now that we got that squirt away, let's talk about your first job. A great one just came in an hour or two ago, perfect for a beginner goon like you," Frankie says, not giving you a second more to ruminate before throwing you into the fire, "It won't be dangerous. Just a simple D-List task. If you ask me, it might as well be free money! You'll be cleaning out a warehouse, you feel me? You're in, you're out. Badda-bing, badda-boom! Easy as mother's pie."

"But, I-"

He talks over you, waving away your words with an imperious flick of his hand, "Don't worry, girly, I won't be sending you in alone. This time. You'll be working with a team of my other employees. All experienced with this kind of job. Just listen to whatever they say and you should be golden. They're my go-to squad. So, you're in excellent hands. Trust me."

Frankie snaps his fingers, calling for Tommy and Benny with a voice that pierces through the bar's ambient noise. You're soon joined by two brolic, rough-looking men who tower over you. Frankie asks them to bring him the 'Halloween crap from last year'. A few minutes later, which feels like a lifetime to you, they return, carrying with them a cardboard box full of gimmick masks. Stuff you would buy at a Spirit Halloween store for twenty bucks. Frankie instructs you to pick out one that you liked. Without giving it thought, your hands plunge into the box and pull out a mask at pure random. You blink when you process what you've chosen.

It's a red axolotl mask.

"Take it. Wear it on the job tonight," Frankie says, explaining the purpose of his gift, "Consider it a part of your uniform from now on, alright?? And congratulations, you're officially hired! Welcome to the family-"

He grins at you. His smile has icy shivers racing down your spine.

"-I think you're gonna fit right in."

#please don't tell #ptd!verse #fearmaiden fics

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streamdotpng · 1 year ago

Note

Now typically Yoko left Furs to deal with Furs. Historically speaking, Fangs and Furs didn't always see eye to eye. While that particular hatchet supposedly got buried centuries ago; many of the older generations from both races hadn't quite let go of the grudge. More times than not the "beliefs" would continue getting passed down. All that to say that Yoko really was not inclined to interrupt whatever pack bonding activity was going on over there.

"It wasn't on purpose Marr-" the girl started before getting cut off.

"It doesn't matter Enid. It's the fact that it happened at all." the older boy says.

They're speaking loud enough that she can hear them clearly. She doesn't mean to eavesdrop but given her sensitive hearing and the fact that Furs in general tended to be a rowdy and rambunctious bunch, well... can't help what you can't help.

"I didn't know Marric." the girl, Enid, says.

"Of course you didn't." Marric scoffs.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Enid asks and Yoko can hear the anger building in her voice.

"You know exactly what it means. Of course some half wolf wouldn't know not to speak over a pack leader. You couldn't even tell could you? You can barely smell better than a normie." Marric mocks.

Fun Fact: Yoko hates bullies.

Before even fully realizing it, her feet are carrying her in the direction of the commotion. Oh I sure hope I know what I'm doing. By the time Yoko reaches the group she can see that the younger of the two is on the verge of tears.

She knows that before she even got close, the Furs in the group could tell she was heading towards them. Now that she's this close she can read the tension in a lot of their stances. If she doesn't play this right, Yoko knows this could very well trigger another feud between the species on campus.

Here goes nothing.

"Hey, are you Enid?" she asks, doing her best to appear genuine.

The girl in question sniffles before answering, "Yeah, who're you?"

The older boy tries to cut in but Yoko just speaks over him "I'm Yoko, the Headmistress asked me to be your guide around Nevermore the first couple weeks. You ready to go?"

At the mention of Weems, all the Furs in the group start getting fidgety. It was well known that Weems ran a tight ship and had a zero tolerance policy both when it came to bullying and discrimination, even within a species. As long as they're enrolled at Nevermore, no one is allowed to be treated different based on any status of any kind.

Yoko didn't have to say it for it to be understood: if the headmistress caught wind of what just happened, the entire group would be in boiling hot water.

Quickly the group disperses until its just the vampire and this Enid girl left standing there. The two just look at each other for a moment before Enid breaks into giggles. Yoko didn't realize how tense she'd been until she felt the relief hit her system.

"Sooo..." the blonde starts "are you actually my tour guide?"

Yoko shrugs. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Yeah, sure why not." With that, Yoko simply turns around and starts making her way to the quad with Enid skipping alongside her.

______________________________________________________________

Yoko is about to start chewing through drywall.

How in the hell can her bestie from another nestie be this oblivious? This dense? This cannot be real. Yoko feels like she's witnessing the world's slowest, most horrific car crash in slow motion.

For the past week, Yoko has watched as Enid has been borderline waited on hand and foot by her roommate. If the vampire hadn't seen it with her own two eyes she would have thought she'd dreamt up the short ass goth hand feeding Enid food in the courtyard. But no, the shared looks of disbelief between herself, Divina, and Bianca are a testament to the fact that this is, in fact, real life.

What the actual fuck?

Like don't get her wrong, Yoko wants Enid to have it all. She wants her girl to be swept off her feet and given the whole world. She just was not expecting the fuckin Demon of Nevermore, herself, to take it upon herself to fulfill that role.

(Although in hindsight, maybe there were hints that Yoko just wasn't picking up on. That hug after the Crackstone Incident was definitely charged. She just took it as the goth finally letting her walls down. But maybe it was that and more. Huh.)

Either way, Yoko simply cannot believe that Enid is not picking up on any of this. And she genuinely is not. Yoko has flat out told her that she is being courted by her roommate and all she got was a "Yokes, c'mon. She's just learning how to be more open with her feelings."

"Yes! Her feelings! Of Love! For you!"

Enid just shrugs her off. It's driving Yoko insane. The way she sees it, either Enid is just straight as straight can be or she is so deep in denial that it's an ocean instead of a river. At this point, the vampire is rooting for Wednesday. She hopes that little freak woos her bestie so good that it makes every girl on campus seethe with jealousy.

In the meantime, Yoko is gonna do her part to try to at least open Enid up to the idea that her and Wednesday could be more. Maybe she just needed to take baby steps instead of just going all in. She thinks maybe some brainstorming with Div will help. She sends out a text for the siren to meet her in her dorm after classes are finished. She gets a thumbs up emoji as she heads to her next class.

Okay, she thinks, just focus on schoolwork and then hopefully Div's got some better ideas for how to make this work.

Once Yoko has wrapped up her final class for the day, she beelines for her dorm. She's in there for only a few minutes before Divina enters and greets her with a kiss on the cheek. The two settle on her bed before she broaches the topic at hand.

"Soo, I know we both witnessed whatever the fuck that was at lunch today..." Yoko starts.

Divina snorts, "Yeah, it was cute and really sweet on Wednesday's part but also super out of character."

"Yes, yes... but like... she's definitely trying to court Enid, right? Like I'm not losing my mind here?" Yoko presses.

Divina shakes her head, "Yeah, no, Enid is for sure being courted right now. It just seems like she isn't catching on yet."

At that Yoko clambers out of the bed and starts pacing. "That's the thing, Div, I don't think she's catching on at all. I think Enid honest to god, does not believe for a single second that she could ever be courted by Addams. I try bringing the topic up and she just brushes it off. It's like she can't even wrap her head around the possibility of it being a possibility."

From her spot on the bed, Divina only tilts her head. Yoko understands the silent question.

"I know Enid's got stuff going on with her family. It's not really my place to share any of it but I know you caught the stuff that went down at Family Day. I think maybe Enid doesn't think she can let herself have this. I mean, Div she shifted for Addams. Saved her life. Fought a fuck ugly Hyde to do it. That's pretty intense for a friendship." she explains before sighing and running a hand through her hair. "That's not to say she wouldn't though. If anyone would do all that for the sake of a friendship it'd be Enid. Pup is loyal like that."

Divina hums and stands from her place in bed and crosses over to where Yoko is. The siren stops the vampire before she starts pulling hair out. Yoko leans her face into the palm resting against her cheek and sighs again. Divina presses their foreheads together before speaking.

"I know you're worried about her and that you genuinely want whats best for Enid but, Yoko, I think we'll just have to let this one play out a bit more." At that Yoko pulls her head back enough to look at her girlfriend. Divina continues before Yoko can jump in. "If you try to push her too hard, she might get scared or even upset and pull away completely. That would ruin any chance Wednesday has and we wouldn't want that would we?"

Yoko groans and throws her head back. She can hear Divina huff a laugh at her theatrics and the vampire can't help the smile that creeps onto her face. Yoko brings her head back to lean against her girlfriend and she allows herself a few minutes to sulk.

"I just want her to be happy."

"I know and I'm sure she knows, too."

"God, I hope so."

"Well I know so, and I know she'll come to you to talk through things at some point which is why we just have to let everything run its course."

"...Fuckin Addams of all people, couldn't be someone less prone towards actual torture?"

Divina just snorts in reply.

Been getting a little burned out on writing but I'm trying to write a little everyday just so I keep the habit going. Feels like words are difficult lately though, so not super happy with how this turned out

Hope the ear starts feeling better soon Stream

Hey frog no worries!! It came out great, I can really see that yoko is worried about Enid

And damn Enid... She's so dense I had to search an example of it to prove my point

But heyy, atleast she's getting that princess treatment right! Right,, totally not gonna end badly or anything aha.... 😢

(remembers how Enid dates someone else and Wednesday holes up in her house)

#Wenclair #Froggy #Writing

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grumpybunny-edith · 7 months ago

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"Hey, uh, can I --"

"Oh gosh, I remember you two!" called the girl from behind the counter of the Hot Topic. I could've sworn her teeth and nails looked a little sharper than last time we met. I could tell she was studying me too, her eyes dancing between my ears to catch any growth. Her eyes got caught on Anabella's wings too, but only for a second. "You got some jeans last time you were here, right? Did your ears get longer?

"Yeah, this is… kinda the only place where I can get stuff that accomodates a tail. Oh, and, um, they tend to do that, yeah," I blushed. About a month ago she had spent like a half-hour helping me find pairs that would fit. I took a deep breath, feeling my tail shake anxiously behind me. Ana giggled at that, which frustrated me, only making it wag more. Why bunnies had to have the most embarrassing tails on the planet was beyond me, but getting to hear it laugh was worth something. I was just thankful the cashier couldn't see.

"It's so shitty how few options y'all get," said the cashier like it had anything to do with her. I turned knowingly to Ana, who just ruffled her feathers and shook its head. "Anyway, can I help you find anything?"

I grinned, trying to hide my anxiety, and held a plastic bag out to her. "I, uh, need to make a return." She took the bag, opened it, and raised an eyebrow.

"Are these not the jeans you just bought like, three weeks ago?"

I blushed and tried to hide behind my ears. They're not quite long enough to do that yet - the best I could do was hide a bit of the blush creeping up from behind my mask. Being covid-conscious is cool, but really I just prefer to keep it covered so people hopefully fill in the gap with something a little more affirming than what's under it.

"Yeah, they just… Don't fit anymore." I gestured to the snug black sweats I was wearing. I had cut a hole in the back for my tail like I'd done for most of my pants, and turned to the side to show her. Ana would rib me for this choice later, calling me a show-off, but I swear it's not like that. That decision had nothing to do with how cute the cashier was.

"Ohh, because of the medication?" She said, "Or have you just been hitting the squats too hard?" I'd done a lot of wishing my face had the full-coverage fur some other girls have, and the amount of blushing I was doing wasn't making that wish go away. I wanted to look cool; I needed to look cool. That was at least fifty percent of the reason to even be in this shop in the first place.

"A little bit of both," I said sheepishly.

The girl behind the counter looked over her shoulder to nobody, then leaned in. "Technically, our policy doesn't allow returns after two weeks,' she started in a whisper. "But! That policy is bullshit and unfair and you seem cool, so no worries! It's important to be a good ally, or whatever."

After we got the returns handled, she helped me find some new ones, cut me a discount, and assured me I could return them whenever I needed to. At the rate I've been developing at, that's quite the relief. Anabella mostly floated around the conversation, speaking up only right as we crossed the threshhold to leave.

"You know she was staring at you constantly, right bestie?" it said matter-of-factly, adjusting a couple askew feathers. The task seemed to frustrate her quickly, and she never complained when I realigned them instead. Gave me something to do other than be a blushy mess.

"Yeah, people stare, whatever," I said quickly.

"You know what I mean." She shook its wings out and pulled them in.

"I'm gonna count it as another point for her being one of us," I chided, hopping along a step ahead of Ana. I wasn't not hoping to garner a little more attention.

"Sometimes people are nice and gay, Edith," said Ana, its voice like a hand waving my sentence away as she made the same motion with her actual hand and wing in tandem.

"And sometimes they're nice, gay catgirls. When have I ever been wrong?" My tail fluttered unconsciously - I was still getting used to it - and I crossed my arms triumphantly.

"When you decided to spend $200 on a bunch of pants that you knew wouldn't fit a month later," Ana giggled. My new ears were too good at picking up that noise; I nearly melted into it, but managed to stay strong.

---

Thank you @flightlessbirdgirl for letting me write with your character 🩶

#furry hrt #my writing #bunny girl #bird girl #transfur #transgender #cat girl????#The Bunny Burrow

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aurora-nova-fic · 10 days ago

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I had wanted to go to a Star Trek convention for over 20 years. A couple of years ago I started saving with the plan to attend the 60th anniversary year convention in Las Vegas, and then a few weeks ago I saw an ad for Trek to NJ which was held last weekend, and thought, at last, a convention within reasonable driving distance!

Honestly, the experience was disappointing and I'm now reconsidering if I really want to spend a few thousand dollars in 2026. So my question to convention veterans is, was my experience an outlier? Is the Vegas convention vastly superior to others?

Reasons I found it disappointing:

Lousy communication from Creation in general. Some of this I would know better going forward - I would certainly plan to bring plenty of cash, for instance, but the website lacks a lot of information and the schedule is finalized so close to the convention that it's impossible to plan and buy tickets for extras if you're only planning to attend one day. Seems like the whole experience is designed for people to attend multiple days.

The vendors were disappointingly sparse, other than actors at their tables (Trek to NJ had a lot of actors there).

The panels were chaos. I only saw two (more on that below) and both of them were crashed by other actors. Moderation was sorely needed and I really want to know if this sort of 'sure, whoever wants to drop in can come talk about whatever' is the norm, because to me that was just rude. Lower Decks actors had their own panel right after Jonathan Frakes & Brent Spiner - at that moment people were in the theater area to see that duo, not hear LD actors sing.

Now, one of the big downers for me was not entirely within Creation's control, but their policies certainly didn't help. We don't know exactly what happened but the guess is that Jeri Ryan was struggling that day for some reason. (She referred to Michelle Hurd, who was not supposed to join her time on stage but did and did more of the talking, as her 'emotional support human.') So, the scheduled photo ops with her didn't happen on time.

I'm not at all here to slam Jeri Ryan for that. She's human, people have bad days, and as someone who has my own bad days with mental and emotional health, I think we need to give each other grace.

The thing was, this threw everything off schedule. We waited in line, photo op postponed, more information to be forthcoming. Now here is where I think Creation needed to do better. For one thing, they couldn't tell us right away if or when the photo ops would take place. Okay, it takes time to work out, I get that. But they said "it will be on the screens in the theater." Right. But what about when I'm not in the theater? They had no other way to communicate. I didn't want to miss it because I was in line for other things or browsing at vendors. Then when they did reschedule it, due to waiting in line I missed other things I'd have liked - the costume contest and the first part of Frakes & Spiner - and I had specifically planned the single photo op I bought to not conflict with events I really wanted to see.

So by the time all of this went down, I'd honestly have preferred the option to get a refund and spend the money elsewhere. But Creation only gives refunds if the actor outright cancels. I think that in cases like this, flexibility in their refund policy would go a long way - I personally would have come home a lot happier if I had gotten a refund and been able to enjoy the afternoon events as planned.

(I was in fact so annoyed with the whole experience I didn't even buy a souvenir or two as expected.)

Finally, I felt like there were two options to enjoying yourself. One, you have a lot of money to spend on and a desire to get multiple autographs and/or photo ops with actors. Two, you enjoy sitting and watching whoever comes on stage do or say whatever randomness happens to occur. If you didn't fall into one of those categories, there honestly wasn't much to do.

Was this usual or unusual? Is Star Trek Las Vegas different? If you've actually read to the end, by the way, thank you.

#star trek convention #are star trek conventions better than this

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lunarsilkscreen · 1 year ago

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Why did I leave the military

In 2010, the repeal of don't ask don't tell happened, which was a landslide victory for gay men. But for Queer people in general? Iffy ground.

For the entirety of my existence I knew what I was, am, are. But gender confirming social policy and social stigma means you can't talk about it. Like the first two rules of Fight Club.

It exists, but you don't talk about it. Because quote: "It's morally and objectively wrong to wear clothes of the opposite gender."

That's the Line you can't cross. And yes, this includes Kilts if you're outside of the Ireland/Scotland area.

So if you're further than that on the queer spectrum, you look ambiguous, people confuse you for another gender, or they just can't tell. That is a moral and personal failing. One corrected through Hairstyles, clothing, and gendered perfume flavours.

So if you're a genetic men and other men are confusing you for a women, and other (maybe sapphic) women want to date you. They can't acknowledge that.

Just "Oh, we can't do that thing at all".

But the talk will go on behind your back regardless.

Some people look like me are upset because they aren't seen as the Pinnacle of masculinity. A trait I also shared, but not really cause it felt good mind you. I wanted to be a women. Right? At the very least, I was OK with ambiguity.

"so why the F*? Would you join the military if it would put you in the box?"

Oh you know, GI. Jane, the existence of the "Tom Boy". Video Games.

Plus I had a lot of reasons I couldn't continue staying where I had grown up, or with my family, or even continue going to college the first time around despite having qualified for the MEAP{ Michigan Educational Assessment Program } which awarded money to kids just out of high school for excelling at a test that summed up the entire school education.

Quick Google search says it's the "M-STEP" now. I dunno how many other students qualified. I just know I qualified for that *on top* of tuition incentive program.

To which people understandable ask what happened?

It was going great, but I had no way to practice for driving test to get out there. Had a friend, friend promised would help me. Which made me start the aid process. But that process had a two year limit on it.

That two year limit on it, along with no driver's license along with unstable home life, along with losing that friendship, because her words; "you're a bum". Along with whatever other list of grievances she had with me. Meant I lost that second year of aid. Gone. I need to stop trusting people.

So unstable home life, depression, definitely queer, definitely no friends. A friend of mine was joining the Air Force. And I thought "F* it, YOLO".

The complex reasons? That instability. That lack of future. The paycheck. And the possibility that I *might* be able to pursue my dreams that way.

So why the F* would I leave that behind?

In the Air Force, we're taught to lead from the front. I dunno if that's the same way in other branches, I assume it is.

At that time I was falling apart mentally, the only thing keeping me going was this knowledge that life sucked on the outside, and there was, and still is nothing out here for me. I re-enlisted for a little while, got to do a desk job with a lot of programming. But I was still falling apart mentally.

And when I went to pursue the reasons why, There still wasn't anything that I could do about it. Just me, and deteriorating mental health. And being Vaguely Queer, but not really getting along with other queer people cuz the community sucks. (most communities suck, but the gatekeeping in the queer community is something else man.)

And then, the cherry on top was the Executive Order by President Trump that trans people should be banned from serving in the military.

Many queer people accuse me of this being the only reason for it. F* them. You know why? Gatekeeping.

Excuse me for leaving on my integrity.

I could've stayed just a few more months until the end of my enlistment and not had to burn a bridge. But I used my other disability, let's just say arthritis. Because there's a list. As an instant out.

I could've waited and had the same benefits you know.

I could've stayed in and had a fulfilling career. Well, maybe. There was talk of a thing I was supposed to be up for. But it wasn't real until the moment I left. It wouldn't have stopped me from leaving either way.

But it was; A presidential declaration that the My (and by extension the Military's) Mental Health did not matter in the slightest. And the possibility of going back to a Job, Airline Mechanic, on a devasting weapon that had already taken a toll on my mental health.

And I couldn't deal with both of those possibilities.

So I saved what I could in order to bide my time for a job.

And everybody that I could've relied on back home. In any facet, I ended up being unable to rely on them, and with declining mental health that also didn't matter to them; made a string of decisions that put me in a bind.

And with no friends, and no backup, and relatively no voice.

I decided to protest the U.S. government. And Trump himself for being a megaphone for the Evangelicalsm that hated me. Made my family reluctant to support me. And just overall being Dick's.

Because, unlike those actually in the "queer community" I took a risk.

One that friends and family took advantage of.

I would say "calculated" but I knew what the ultimate price would be. Because I know how people act. I know how jealous and hateful and spiteful they are.

And they haven't proven me wrong yet.

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gabbagepatch · 9 months ago

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Gonna try to act like I'm normal for a sec and talk about my experience getting accommodations for my hearing loss this semester.

I've had severe tinnitus since January after a mild COVID infection. The accompanying symptoms are unilateral hearing loss, episodes of intense vertigo, degradation of my balance, and of course constant tinnitus. This illness is a bit of a chicken or the egg scenario, and these symptoms can vary heavily day-to-day.

As someone who used a wheelchair and cane for approximately two years from 2016-2018 I was already familiar to the rigmarole of getting accommodations from an educational institution. I've also had experience with chronic pain so I was more prepared than some others for a sudden illness that impacts my daily life.

Once I realized that the first-line treatment wasn't successful I got to work immediately with my college's disability office. I am not the bitch who's gonna wait to get the stuff I need. I care too much about my education to suffer needlessly when I know this illness isn't going away for a while.

I cannot stress this enough! Do not wait for it to get worse, you do not need to deny yourself accommodations because it isn't "as bad as it could be" yet! Worst case scenario is that you get accommodations and didn't need them as long as you thought.

I visited the website and was very disappointed that the resources were confusing and limited. It seemed to me that there was an unstated assumption that the person needing the forms was a new student, so the things I needed were buried in new student paperwork that didn't apply to me. It also was not easy to find their policies on applications submitted outside of enrollment, and I was applying mid-semester. I called the line for the disability office, but the number was either outdated or they were closed at 1pm on a Wednesday. I was very frustrated initially. This might just be me but I'm of the opinion that important resources like this should be easy to find regardless of circumstance and that the people you need to reach for questions should be available during normal hours, but whatevs.

I ended up emailing the head of the disability office informing her of a lack of phone response, a small blurb about my situation, and the questions I was looking for answers to. Despite my issues with the website she called me within the hour of my email. If this lovely woman could call me immediately after I sent an email why couldn't I reach someone over the phone? I thought that was weird, but she was super helpful nonetheless so I can't be too annoyed. She explained the process and it was actually pretty simple, but you'd never know it from their webpage.

For me, my college required my primary care provider to fill out a short form, one page front and back. It had simple questions about what abilities were affected and how severely; plus a simple consent portion authorizing my school to receive that medical information. I recommend filling this out before the appointment with your provider, because it saves time. I filled out the legal portion but didn't do the assessment ahead of time. It worked out because during this appointment my hearing turned out to be worse than I thought, so hearing impairment was rated "severe" and not "moderate" as I had assumed. Afterwards it was easy to scan and email to the disability office. My school's email system is secure so I was not worried about sending such things over email, but use your best judgement.

I had thoughts that I was "jumping the gun" a little, but was able to push that aside. It's basically impossible to avoid self-doubt as someone with a disability or illness. The world is full of inspiration porn and there will always be people who judge you for not trying hard enough. The idea that accommodations should be a last resort after tireless effort to "overcome" your disability is total bullshit, but you didn't need me to tell you that.

There was also a small worry that it would be read as manipulative or arrogant to request accommodations so soon after my illness began. I also had to push this aside. Many abled people expect accommodations to be requested meekly, and look down on those who are confident in their own limitations. Often being too sure of yourself and your needs is taken as a sign you're taking advantage of the institution. Once again, total bullshit. You don't owe anyone a performance of shame and apprehension.

Back to the process. Once she received the paperwork everything was basically out of my hands. My professors were notified of the accommodations I requested and I was able to begin implementing them smoothly during class. Of course my accommodations are not as involved as others may be. I requested to record my lectures and sit in areas best suited to my hearing, these are generally very easy for professors to accommodate. My balance issues are another matter, but I'm not in classes that require lifting or bending so it hasn't come up.

I have to say my experience with college if much better than public school so far. I think it's a lot easier for k-12 to get away with shitty behavior than college professors, but that's just my personal experience. I got a lot of grief for my past disability in school than now. The day before I was pulled out of public school the school nurse told me she "didn't have time for this" when I nearly passed out! I think the semi-professional setting/attitude of college encourages a more "HR friendly" response to stuff like this, but I've heard enough horror stories to know that no institution is immune to ableism.

Overall I'm pretty happy with my experience so far, and I feel like my college is doing a pretty good job in my case. I'm just happy that my education doesn't seem like it's going to be another stressor. I've got enough on my plate dealing with appointments, PT, and tests so I really appreciate that my college was responsive and understanding.

#life update #disabled #disability #physical disability #college #student #student life #hard of hearing #hearing loss #hearing impaired #accomodation #meniere's disease #SSHL

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ortizselene · 3 months ago

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'Hm. Well, there must be something else you could do? To make up for hypothetically damaging my Ferrari?'

Selene finds it hard to swallow.

This would all be a shade more believably mundane, innocent, had it not been for the bright tomato flush blooming across Kieran's cheeks and ears.

Surely— surely Selene was the one inflecting meaning where it didn't exist. Surely it was her who imagined the teasing edge, the ... innuendo, that seemed to be simmering underneath Kieran's words.

There must be something else you could do.

Selene's neck prickles, in that intrusive, overwhelming way like in college. When she'd be sitting shoulder to shoulder with Kieran on the couch and all she could think about how close he was and how broad the muscles of his thighs were and how easy it would be to sit up and suddenly straddle him, how good the pressure might feel on her—

Jesus.

Or— when they went camping and that line of hair on his abdomen disappeared beneath his swim shorts at the lake and Selene wanted to follow the path down with her tongue. She remembers laying in her tent, hot, sleeping bag kicked aside, ring finger playing over the hem of her panties.

"Sure," Selene says, trying to pretend that her skin wasn't an entire live wire. "I'm sure I could work it off somehow."

Fucking christ. She certainly was imagining it, whatever lay flashing behind Kieran's gaze? That was her almost brother in law. He had to mean it another way.

Unless he hadn't.

Unless this suggestion of a miniature road trip kicked off a certain something. A freedom that hadn't felt since college, a freedom they never truly had then either.

Selene tried to tell herself to be careful. She couldn't just ... go off the rails, just because she thinks, she thinks, Kieran might be flirting too.

But it was hard to totally behave.

'I don't think there's any rules, really, when you're in a Ferrari.'

Well.

"No rules in the Ferrari, huh."

Selene lets herself grin, practically squeal when the car surges forward.

How nice, it felt, to leave her responsibilities behind.

"I guess I can show off a little then."

Selene— the woman who adhered to rules and regulations almost religiously — promising to show Kieran that she could be bad.

But this wasn't about that, wasn't about SEC policies and bylaws or anything of that sort. It was just about ... cutting lose, for the afternoon, without justifying themselves to anyone.

Selene grins at Kieran, a fiery thing.

"Go faster."

"I'm actually broke, Kieran, so you'd have to garnish wages off the paycheck from your own company."

Kieran raised his brow.

“Hm. Well, there must be something else you could do? To make up for hypothetically damaging my Ferrari?”

This conversation was teetering on the edge of being inappropriate, especially with what Selene said next. Something about being “very fucking bad,” and “going fast.”

There was no doubting the shade on Kieran’s face. It was a bright, flushed crimson color that always seemed to betray him at times like this. There was no helping it, no hiding what he might’ve been thinking. Kieran wondered if she could read his mind.

Did she know that he was … reminiscing?

During his college days, Kieran agonized over Selene in private. All it took was a glimpse of her flushed and slick after an intense workout, or jumping into a pool in her bikini, or … anything, really. He’d wanted her desperately then, and — well — college Kieran would’ve died, had this interaction occurred a decade ago.

There were times that Kieran wanted her so badly that he had no choice but to give in. Did she know that? Did the flush on his face reveal all the times he’d stood beneath the running water in his shower, abdomen tight, panting, hand pressed against the tile, imaging that she’d been “very fucking bad” for him?

Is that why she was doing this to him now? To torture him, while she was engaged to another man?

Did she somehow know about all the times that he’d been unable to sleep and made a mess in his bed just thinking about her? Going fast? Being very fucking bad?

Adult Kieran was also apparently dying.

“I guess you’ll just have to show me how bad you are. I’ve never seen it for myself, so. We can go as fast as you want. I don't think there's any rules, really, when you're in a Ferrari.”

His car suddenly felt unbelievably hot, much like the sides of his face. As if to prove a point, Kieran stepped on the gas, and the car surged forward with ease.

#TWO WHORES IN A FERRARI ON THEIR WAY TO THEIR OLD BAR LEAVING THEIR FAMILY BEHIND OOPS LKFDSJKLFDSFSDFSDFDSFSDFSF #para2

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dollmother · 1 year ago

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i remember the clubhouse i went to after school. a medium sized building in the park where there was a community of kids around my age and teenagers from the neighboring high school. they were usually there for different reasons, mine was because my mom was caught up toiling away at her salon working long hours. being told to go there and wait for her so i wouldn't be home alone. where i'm not trusted to be alone. at any point while i was just 12, or 14, i could've taken the bus home. do whatever i wanted, away from everyone else. there were many days i fantasized about just being alone. but i kept going back to that club house after school and waited for her.

she wouldn't pick me up until 7pm at the latest. sometimes even later depending on how late each of her customers came through the door. if there were customers that came in after...well, she would work with her clients and stay late.

i remember being the only child left behind at the outdoor entrance of that clubhouse. every single day i sat there at the ledge in front of their grass lawn. i remember that place vividly. the big tree surrounded by a solid row of bench made of cobblestone. the smaller rather empty building that was usually closed off to the kids. the ledge that you could sit on in front of the aloe vera plants decorating the big windows in the front. how could i not remember? i was there almost every day waiting for her.

it was policy for the supervisors there to make sure the kids weren't unattended. it was unsafe for a small, weak, scrawny kid to be left by himself. vulnerable. god forbid some suspicious character arrived at the scene and took advantage of him. i was lucky. at the same time, i began to feel bad for the staff there. their shift ended around 7pm, and i was often there almost an hour after. bless their kind hearts, they had stayed overtime to take care of me. i didn't want to be a burden to anyone, yet it always felt that way. i would see the relief in their eyes when my mom's car pulled up in the driveway.

i remember clearly what it felt like seeing red. for me, red wasn't such an alarming color--not in that sense anyways. red was a sight for relief. a respite to the anxiety i felt, a emotion i couldn't quite gather words for at the time. though i found myself stuck in this position for days on end, i never really got used to that feeling.

things were much worse during a time when you really didn't have a phone. sure, it was nice to have a hand-me-down from your sister. but all it did was call and tell you the time. things got scary during the winter seasons. when the sun left the horizon earlier than usual, sometimes i would find myself waiting in the dark, dimly lit park bench and alone. it was cold. and i was alone. reminiscing on those memories i still feel the fear welling in my chest. i was a worrisome kid, anxious and couldn't keep still. whether it was from my nervousness or boredom, i found myself pacing around the general vicinity of the club house while my thoughts raced around in the cluttered maze of my own mind. there, i spent the most time talking to my own head---

oh i remember one time when i had been waiting, after the staff left for home, by myself on that green bench in front of the empty building i mentioned. it was really late tonight, i thought. mom isn't picking up my calls, when i'd been calling her countless times. for the first time in a while, i felt all that fear of the other days manifest itself intensely. in my head there was nothing but chaos. overthinking, ruminating, my vivid imagination would betray me now.

then in those moments, i thought about what might've happened to my mom. could she have gotten in a car accident? or has something much worse happened to her? i was genuinely scared. then it came back to me. i thought about my father, who passed almost a decade ago in his office suddenly. in one long night where i sunk deep into the pit of empty space. floating, sinking, trapped in a pit of one of the longest nights of my life. four hours felt like a week. there were a thousand different thoughts fight its way to give voice. would she abandon me like he did now? what would become of me, of us had something terrible like that happened?

in those moments, i went through a simulation of loss and grief. what would i do if she left me? stuck here, alone? i thought of her more than anything. praying to a god i never truly believed in that she would be okay. praying for her safety, that her not answering any of my calls just meant she was driving to pick me up.

I was scared to death but in those moments, some part deep inside me felt relief as i thought about a future without her. i realized i hated my mother when the rare times i tasted freedom, was in some abandonment trauma induced fantasy of a life had something bad occurred that night.

i think about all those nights i stayed behind when everyone else had left. all those staff that remained behind with me, making sure i was safe just for a little longer. i never thanked them enough for what they'd done for me. i wish not that i could. now when i recall these childhood memories, i hope that they do know that dumb little kid was grateful. looking back, i think i took the community there for granted at times. they had done so much for me even after the little i've given back. made me into the person i am now. i guess the lesson in all of this was that there is still good left in this world. there were genuinely good people there. and for what? they never got the fair compensation they deserved. i hope they're all doing well, maybe now i can return to that old place---if they're still there.

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mythgrippa-blog · 1 year ago

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Day ??? - unresponsive

Well today... more like yesterday was the actual demo for the app... it took a while but finally deployed the backend on google cloud run. This video was very helpful

youtube

The initial plan I had for deployment was to just host an ec2 instance however the url link was over http instead of https, since we were using firebase hosting which has a policy against http content. It didn't work, so I had to re improvise and tried a lot of different ways which include:

Getting HTTPS manually using openssl, this didn't work as most browsers don't allow self signed certificates and firebase was no different

Using Netlify to host our NodeJS however their libraries were and documentation were either outdated or no longer working, and they updated their website so I wasn't sure on how exactly to deploy

Using firebase functions, this didn't work because of the way firebase preprocesses requests, it does some stuff to it like turning the request body into like a buffer so I would have to decrypt it on my end by adding like a middleware or switching from using multer to busboy, because my services need to handle image uploads so I gave up on that idea

Cloud Run, this actually worked well! Thanks to the tutorial I sent before, I wouldn't have understood the video if I didn't know much about docker. You can still follow along however it gets tedious, takes about 5-10 minutes to deploy and its effective and you have full control which is amazing! Running a docker container in the cloud is awesome. I did run into an issue during the video, and it was because my docker client wasn't authorized to push to gcr.io, a simple command to fix it was all I Needed thankfully it was fixed with one command

The rest of the day was spent with my team preparing for the presentation, our 3rd one. We were working and I was happy the backend was deployed, I feel like I'm getting more familiar with GCP. We were implementing features left and right, polishing whatever needed to. And when the demo came... well...

Just before the demo, we met up our client who was happy to see us and we were happy to see her, we wanted to show off all the features which took a while to make but yeah. There was a whoopsie, thanks to my miscommunication, I forgot to tell my stallion that we're using a shared variable that stores the apiUrl link and so he hard coded the localhost:8000, so some of his api wasn't getting used because it was trying to access localhost:8000 instead of the deployed links. We couldn't redeploy in time of the demo so we went in nervous.

The demo starts and everyone looks so scary, however my lecturer who I think may not like our team just left. The demo goes on and on, and one of the guys leaves. They ask me questions, I try my best like one was why do RabbitMQ's AMQP for communication between services instead of Restful HTTPS, the question was around security and I panicked and out right said something kinda not true but also true.

It ends, and they say our app was just too simple and needed more AI (not more features but more AI). The faces they gave, it was almost as if they were looking at poor helpless dumb little pups or people who worked last minute to finished. Our client, for the second time said that she was worried about us on whether we can finish the AI.

I'm a bit sad honestly... yeah the app was simple by my design... I'm just so sad... it doesn't help that I'm also going through a repetitive phase in my life where I start liking someone because we're so close and comfortable with each other only to find out that we were just very close friends and nothing romantic was built up.

I'm like really depressed because I can't really seem to catch a break. I want to improve the website but I'm just really sad now. Well... I honestly am trying to lose faith or what not,,,

#Youtube

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donotenteract · 1 year ago

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Yoko's not really sure whats going on right now but she's honestly so bored that she doesn't even care. In front of her there's some kind of commotion going on between two Furs. One looks a bit older, he holds himself with the level of confidence that gives away the fact that he's somewhere higher up in the pack hierarchy. He must be a senior. The other looks like she's probably close to her own age range. A newbie to the Academy. Now typically Yoko left Furs to deal with Furs. Historically speaking, Fangs and Furs didn't always see eye to eye. While that particular hatchet supposedly got buried centuries ago; many of the older generations from both races hadn't quite let go of the grudge. More times than not the "beliefs" would continue getting passed down. All that to say that Yoko really was not inclined to interrupt whatever pack bonding activity was going on over there.

"It wasn't on purpose Marr-" the girl started before getting cut off.

"It doesn't matter Enid. It's the fact that it happened at all." the older boy says.

"I didn't know Marric." the girl, Enid, says.

"Of course you didn't." Marric scoffs.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Enid asks and Yoko can hear the anger building in her voice.

"You know exactly what it means. Of course some half wolf wouldn't know not to speak over a pack leader. You couldn't even tell could you? You can barely smell better than a normie." Marric mocks.

Before yoko can even fully realize it, her feet are carrying her in the direction of the commotion. Oh I sure hope I know what I'm doing. By the time Yoko reaches the group she can see that the younger of the two is on the verge of tears.

Here goes nothing.

"Hey, are you Enid?" she asks, doing her best to appear genuine.

The girl in question sniffles before answering, "Yeah, who're you?"

The older boy tries to cut in but Yoko just speaks over him "I'm Yoko, the Headmistress asked me to be your guide around Nevermore the first couple weeks. You ready to go?"

Yoko didn't have to say it for it to be understood: if the headmistress caught wind of what just happened, the entire group would be in boiling hot water.

"Sooo..." the blonde starts "are you actually my tour guide?"

Yoko shrugs. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Yeah, sure why not." With that, Yoko simply turns around and starts making her way to the quad with Enid skipping alongside her.

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Yoko is about to start chewing through drywall.

How in the hell can her bestie from another nestie be this oblivious? This dense? This cannot be real. Yoko feels like she's witnessing the world's slowest, most horrific car crash in slow motion.

What the actual fuck?

"Yes! Her feelings! Of Love! For you!"

Okay, she thinks, just focus on schoolwork and then hopefully Div's got some better ideas for how to make this work.

"Soo, I know we both witnessed whatever the fuck that was at lunch today..." Yoko starts.

Divina snorts, "Yeah, it was cute and really sweet on Wednesday's part but also super out of character."

"Yes, yes... but like... she's definitely trying to court Enid, right? Like I'm not losing my mind here?" Yoko presses.

Divina shakes her head, "Yeah, no, Enid is for sure being courted right now. It just seems like she isn't catching on yet."

From her spot on the bed, Divina only tilts her head. Yoko understands the silent question.

"I just want her to be happy."

"I know and I'm sure she knows, too."

"God, I hope so."

"Well I know so, and I know she'll come to you to talk through things at some point which is why we just have to let everything run its course."

"...Fuckin Addams of all people, couldn't be someone less prone towards actual torture?"

Divina just snorts in reply.

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xtinyslip · 11 months ago

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"I HAVE A LOT TO PROCESS THROUGH... SO I NEED YOU TO TALK TO ME IF SOMETHING IS WRONG. HM?" that was mostly true. cecilia was never going to be normal. she was never going to express, process or feel emotions the same way that everyone else did. this stemmed from years and years of abuse; for as long as she could remember. caring about anyone other than her father and his wishes was wrong. that sort of programming, didn't just go away and she wasn't like a car that could be fixed up. stick a new engine in and be good as new; she was never going to run right BUT SHE WAS TRYING. "even if he did?" harsh but true, she didn't know this strahm and there was a part of her that hadn't spent that much time with him for a reason. "the poison has been in his body for far too long. even if he were to receive the cure? it doesn't reserve the damage that has already been done. he's dying parker. with or without it." that was the harsh reality of what they were facing. "but you. you have time. i made this for you." and it would work. it had too. WHAT ELSE ARE YOU KEEPING FROM ME? cecilia took a genuine step back from him at the accusation. "i wasn't sure i was capable of hurting more after these last few months with my father but... THAT HURT." the worst part was that she was being genuine. she also knew she needed to snap herself out of it and think of an explanation. "terrified?" confusion. "i'm not sure i'm following...?" she was going to have to lie and for fucks sake; this was not what she wanted. "OPERATING TABLE? are you out of your fucking mind? what -- what operating table? whatever it is you think i was keeping from you? this is not it. P," this was how it had to be. "edgar runs a strict no substance abuse policy here at the farm. as you know. does he turn a blind eye to the occasional beer? a glass of wine? for us. yes. but... drug abuse? he can not. gabriella was submitted to a drugs test... SHE FAILED. she said she wanted to be the one to tell you, that's why i hesitated but operating table? parker, what the fuck?" in her head; he couldn't know. if he knew, if he pressed, if he threatened -- it would be out of her hands and she truly, truly wanted to save him. cecilia wanted to be closer to him now more than ever. she didn't want him to pull away, therefore she was pushing towards him in hope he wouldn't. when he removed his on top, she could only smile. "i want you to take what is yours." she whispered in his ear, bringing his hands so they would rest upon her waist. @fcdcdmcmories

"YEAH, YEAH, I KNOW. I GUESS THAT.. I JUST NEEDED TO HEAR THAT, COMING FROM YOU." he disguised it with a smile, of course, but .. the doubt had been there. for a split second, but it had, and he hated it. that was what valentina had tried to do -- to make him doubt her -- and he hadn't wanted to let that little bitch win, but .. but. "i don't doubt that you're going to be able to do this for a second, but.. what about the other guy? strahm? i know that shit like that happens and of course that i don't want it to be me who kicks the bucket, but.. IT JUST SUCKS. HE DESERVED BETTER." no, he didn't particularly want to die himself -- he didn't want to leave HER - but .. it felt wrong to just let someone die like that. especially someone who didn't deserve it. the selfish part of him didn't care -- it wanted to live and it wanted to be here more than anything, but.. it was a terrible situation either way. "you knew," he didn't need her to tell him that was the case. just the hesitation had been enough and .. he knew her all too well. or did he? "you knew and.. GODDAMN IT, CECILIA. we said no more secrets! and.. i had to.. i had to find out from gabi, who is terrified, by the way, and who wants to go to the cops and.. when were you going to tell me about this? never? what else are you keeping from me?" he shook his head, clearly horrified. had val been right all along? HE DIDN'T WANT TO DOUBT HER, OF COURSE NOT, BUT.. THE HESITATION WAS CLEAR. "no, we are not saints, but.. even at our worst, we never.. we never did this to people. ever. we never hurt anyone like this and it's- you- how do you know we're not all going to end up on his operating table? HUH? me. gabi. even you. how? i don't.. i just want us to be safe. all of us." and he didn't want to fight with her - no, especially when he remember what had happened when they did the last time. "MINE.. MINE, TOO. it was the only moment of the day where i got to see you. the real you," he sighed, finding himself relaxing, because it was impossible not to. to not lose himself in that kiss. grinning, he nodded. "RIGHT AGAIN. AND ALSO.. LIKE THIS?" he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor to join hers. (@xtinyslip)

#cecilia ; convo #cecilia ; parker #tw: mental health #tw: drugs mention #tw: murder mention #i know she's just the actual worst but she really really does care about him #:L

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cursivebloodlines · 1 year ago

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“I would never disguise shit-talk as feedback. If I had shitty opinions about people I just tell them point blank, no need to pretend it’s something it’s not,” Lydia said as if it were the most obvious thing, shrugging nonchalantly. Always just coming out with it. “Not harsh, just honest,” she corrected. Wasn't honesty the best policy? The question about puppies earned a laugh from her. Amazing how Aaron could make her laugh without even trying. “As if you even have to ask! I can confirm I don’t kick puppies. It would be a dealbreaker for me, too. Anyway, if my constructive criticism or feedback is so harsh maybe people should do better in the first place so I don’t have to tell them what they’re doing wrong. Problem solved.” As simple as that. If someone asked her to give her honest opinion on something, she was never the type to sugarcoat it. In all fairness, she did try to give positive and negative feedback. However, people tended to focus on the negative — which was never even phrased badly, just in a ‘what can be done better’ kind of way. If that’s not what they’re looking for then they should know better than to ask her for feedback. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes — it wasn’t that hard to comprehend. She really enjoyed the way they were able to bounce off of each other effortlessly. No awkwardness, no constantly needing to explain yourself due to being taken the wrong way. They shared a similar sense of humour and Lydia loved how Aaron played along with whatever she threw at him. Hypothetical situations, extra credit in the Class of Lydia, not having a choice, the lot. And she was certain he wasn’t doing it for her benefit, but because he wanted to. Despite the playing around, at the same time, he sees genuine which only made her like him more. Never would she have anticipated deciding she liked someone so fast, let alone on the first date. Lydia needed to remind herself to hold fire, it was early days. Don’t get too ahead too fast — it was how she ended up in her previous predicament. But then there was a part of her who was already in way over her head. The part of her unleashed, unable to be restrained no matter how much she tried to reign it in. “Unofficial class? Are you implying my class is fake?” She asked with mock surprise, tilting her head slightly at him. Even added a quiet gasp for dramatic effect. She couldn't resist the messing about, something which surprised her about herself. How easy it all was. Her elbows perched atop the table, resting clasping her hands together and placing her chin against her hands. The playful gleam in her eyes remained and she couldn't help the laugh that slipped at his reaction to her words, the way he surrendered to her so easily. Interesting..."Oh, please, we both know I'm not worried." Mostly, she omitted that part. It was still early days...Very early days. So much could go wrong - she was not completely convinced it wouldn't yet. But she had to take it a bit at a time; these were uncharted waters she was wading through. Deep enough she could not see the bottom, terrified of losing her footing, of going under. Of repeating the same mistakes as she did before. It was the first date, it was only meant to be a dip of the toes, not half deep under. Funnily enough, she didn't care. If she thought too much about it then she would be doomed, wouldn't she? Judging by the way this date went... the signs were hinting in the right direction of a second date. And who knows..? Maybe more than that. If Aaron hadn't grown fed up with her by then, that is. Eyes widening when he repeated the word bad, a brief flicker of panic crossed her features. "What? N-No, not bad. I said not necessarily bad," she rushed to correct herself, to reiterate what she had said only moments before. Did she make any sense? Probably not - she knew when she said the word it wasn't the right one, but none others crossed her mind at the time."You're full of surprises. And believe it or not, I actually like your weird comments. Now I kinda just want to wait and see how funky you can get."

Wait - Did he just call her 'boss?' Fascinating. What was even more fascinating was the way it...gave her an odd sense of satisfaction. Did she like it? Maybe a little... Alright, maybe even more so than she let on. Should she comment on it? Ask about it? Or would that make it more obvious? No - not. For now, she would let it slide and try to ignore the warm feeling it gave her. Especially with that smirk on his face. "A feeling," she repeated, humming thoughtfully. "Do you have Spidey senses or something? Perhaps we should change your name to Psychic Sally? Bet you didn't see that one coming..." An affirmed nod in response when he announced needing to gather his cleaning supplies. "Make sure you have plenty. you might need to rally the troops," Lydia jested, eliciting another quiet laugh. Everything he said amused her. The way he spoke of his mom was sweet, though. Even endearing..."Your mom sounds like a very smart lady, we need more like her around." It made her think of her own mother. They had to learn so they could all help out doing the things she couldn't do after her accident, up until the end. But even if that hadn't been the case, she was sure she'd have made them learn, so they could be self-sufficient. How she missed her. "And, if a steamer is what you want, I am not going to stop you. I am not too fussed about your methods as long as it helps get the job done." No problem. Amazing how two words that didn't mean the same yet somehow felt like a promise. "Good luck and best wishes."

Silly things that were costing him now. Sparked a little hint of curiosity in Lydia as she wrestled between the decision of questioning him about it or leaving it, in case she wasn't fond of the answer. It had been a niggling question in the back of her mind...the way he spoke of his ex-wife. She was the one who wanted the divorce...It made her wonder what would happen if she came back on the scene for whatever reason. If she changed her mind, what would Aaron do? Maybe she really was thinking too much into it. Something that shouldn't bother her, especially on the first date. It did make her wonder though. Gave her uncertainty. There was a lot of history there. It was possible. Her life had become the equivalent of a soap opera before, her first rodeo, and she wasn't sure if she had the capacity to go an extra season of chaos again. Something made her want to take the chance anyway. For a moment, she hesitated but then decided out with it. It's not like she ever had a filter before, maybe she just wanted to find out what she was in for. It was normal, right? "Such as what?" Lydia asked softly. If Aaron evaded the question or refused to answer, she would let it go for now. Though that would also bring up more questions...She would cross that bridge when she came to it. If she came to it. One look at him, the words he said, and the look on his face told her his mind was wandering. Made her feel a little apprehensive for a moment, but she let it slide after convincing herself she was thinking too much about it again. Ah. Those four little words. I told you so. Lydia scoffed at that, rolling her eyes. "Oh, believe me, I know that all too well. Well, when my family found out...and friends, too actually. By then, it was too late though because I had already been married. I thought I knew best." It was after her siblings found out she was married, that her brother was unfortunate enough to have...too many run-ins with her ex-husband. When the drama boiled to a screeching point and they ended up nearly killing each other. It may have been more than once actually, so she heard. Don't make me say 'I told you so'. She remembered the words quite clearly. If only she listened. But no, she thought she knew better than everyone because she was the one who married the jackass. The way Aaron's gaze fixated on her as she spoke of her disastrous marriage unnerved her slightly. Never had someone let her just...talk. Just let it all out without any interruption. Normally it was 500 questions, a deviation of conversation halfway between before setting off again. But with him? He just let her talk until she was finished. The reaction on his face was a picture, and it did make her smile. The way his mouth hung open, left agape as she clarified all the details. It was that bad then, huh? Typically people hid their shock from her, or tried to - she normally could see right through it - though she didn't know why. Maybe they didn't want to offend her or resisted the urge to call her an idiot for putting up with a piece of shit like him for so long. There was no mask with him, and it made her like him even more. maybe it was easier for them because of their mutual experiences with screwed-up marriages."Just a little," she laughed weakly at his observations. "You're not correcting all the wrong dots at all. Always thought it was me. that I was...I don't know, too clingy or pushy or something. I don't know. I know I'm not perfect, I know - hard to believe isn't it? - but for a long time I thought it was me. And then I thought, maybe I can help him see sense. I know, a cliche - one of those 'I can fix him' girls. Pathetic? Yep." By the end, she certainly felt pathetic. "Hate the bastard. If I ever see him again...which I hope I don't. I'd totally kill him." Just went to show how much he still angered her to this day, all the hell...No wonder Lydia had a nightmare temper at times. He always did bring out the worst in her.

Obviously, it was a joke. The death threat. She even had a smile on her face as she said the words. Not that she really wanted to - too messy, and the thought of having to even see that man again would be enough to put her off. It was funny enough to think of. Could probably get away with it, being a forensic pathologist, she mused to herself. No love left there. Everything he said was true. It felt...nice. To be understood. To not have festering eyes on you, looking at you as though you were a maniac for putting up with so much crap. Like the words she reiterated not all that long before, people do stupid things when they're in love. As smart as Lydia was, she was also prone to that too. She was no different. "Why do you think lawyers aren't smart?" Lydia asked, "My exception notwithstanding, that is." Nodding at the greener pastures comment, she gave him a curious look at his next question. "Of course it does - I thought that much was obvious. Why? Half tempted to throw some bullshit at me?" she teased, the usual jokey tone in her voice as usual. It all depended, she supposed, on what he actually meant by bullshit, his version or sort. Different kinds to different people. She wondered what his was.

There it was again! That word. Boss. That was definitely going to stick, wasn't it? A little grin played on her lips. Already referring to her with a...nickname. Could she call it that? Unknown, yet. She would have to think of one for him, too, so they were even. Plenty of opportunities..."Meticulous notes? Can't wait to see them." For some reason, she became acutely aware of how she hadn't pulled her hand away from him yet. She didn't want to, but she also didn't want to be the weirdo who lingered for too long so she did reluctantly pull back, albeit unsure where exactly she wanted to put her hands now. Especially since she had to remind herself it was the first date. Why was she thinking so much? Whatever happened to going with the flow? His "innocent" smile earned another smile from her. Aaron really did have the loveliest smile...innocent, or not. Whatever variation. It was something she liked to see a lot of, and hoped she would in the foreseeable future, too. "You're right. It is the safe thing to do..However, you don't strike me as someone who settles with safe..." she pointed out, chuckling softly, "For someone who only ever takes risks," Lydia added, referring to something he said not long back. Risks are all I take. "Dated?" she repeated, brushing some hair out of her face as she thought about it, wrinkling her nose slightly. "Not really. Can probably count them on one hand. Have never really been too bothered about it. And after being around someone for so long, it was nice to be...I dunno, on my own for a while. Not being in the mood to date for obvious reasons." She shrugged. "A few, maybe. Nothing really stuck. Hence why I say it's...been a while. How about you?"

Her question had him further considering his answer, building on what he was already thinking to himself anyway. It was an odd effect, the way she easily drew the truth out of him. One look and he was undone. "Well, no. Most of the time, yes - feedback never hurts. Some people run with it though, the opportunity to give feedback turns into telling them every shitty thought you've ever had of them. So, 50/50 I'd say." He raised an eyebrow at the comment, completely interrupting his train of thought. "Your comments are that harsh huh? I should brace myself then, but you don't kick puppies..right? Unfortunately, that's kind of a deal breaker for me." Her teasing smile was adorable. Was the thought of extra credit amusing her? What a nerd. "Hey, I'll take anything to help me pass your unofficial class." Words he never thought he'd hear himself say. But, the way her smile only grew wider, it amused him (maybe even scared him). The way she could get him to do anything with a simple smile. Uh oh, he had said something wrong already, hadn't he? Oh wait, nope. Lydia couldn't remain serious long enough to make him believe. It was true. He didn't have another choice. Well, he could go. Call it a night, and go their separate ways, but Aaron was too far in. So, her way was right. His arms went up, surrendering immediately. He was in for a trip, he could already tell. "Well, alright. No choice it is, I'll find some way to make it work though. Don't worry about it." Aaron was determined to try, to give himself a shot. Part of him worried that both him and Lydia had too much in their respective lives, skeletons in your closet and all that. Things that may come back to haunt them, and make this more complicated. Failed marriages connected them, it wasn't a stretch to think things may come along. Perhaps, he was getting ahead of himself. Aaron just couldn't shake the feeling away, that Lydia was more than one date. The conversation going on for hours, the laughter and smiles, even the oversharing he had started - it all had to mean something. "Bad?" His nose scrunched up, was it bad? Oh, this was embarrassing. "Not used to it, yeah I guess I stand out that way." he half-teased. "Glad to hear you're adaptable, I fear my list of weird comments can only grow. You let me know if it gets too..funky."

Aaron shook his head at her remark, and there it was. The famed extra credit assignment, a lot of work laid ahead. He rested his chin on his palm, a smirk adorning his lips. "Just had a feeling. On it boss," he said, with a playful military salute. "I'll have to gather my cleaning supplies." Another laugh earned, he should start collecting these like badges. Tally how many times he's made her laugh. "Oh yikes...no, my mom would kill me if I didn't at least learn. She's very insistent on us being independent and what not. I prefer a steamer though, those handheld ones are super useful." And since when was he a walking advertisement for steamers? Snap out of it. "I will take care of those wrinkles, no problem." The word promise wasn't in there, and still - the words felt heavy. He worried a bit, worried he would fail miserably. It had happened once before.

Lydia leaned in and her eyes never left his. She was listening to him. It was a nice feeling, having someone who was actually paying attention to you. Actually listening, instead of just waiting for you to stop talking so they could say the next thing. It was nice to have that attention again, without the eyes full of pity staring back at him. Oh poor Aaron, they left him you know? Or, it's terrible, divorced already. I heard his wife ran off with someone else. It was all he had been hearing lately, at the family gatherings or around friends. Things with his ex-wife, they were done. For a long time, Aaron let his melancholy drive him. Love was a complicated feeling. He felt deep regret that it didn't work, wishful thoughts of what he could've done better or changed about their relationship. But love, it had faded. Like an old paper cut. You could never see it, but it stung here and there. Vanessa was that paper cut. Just an old reminder of what had caused him so much pain. "Silly things that are costing me now though. It's crazy." A weaker chuckle left his lips, if only Vanessa shared the same idea that Lydia did. "Right? I mean, I thought we were still doing fun things, or maybe not." Once again, he was losing himself in his thoughts and what-ifs. Analyzing a situation that had no change. Until he heard her voice, she continued talking and it snapped him out of his spiral. "No no, you're not crossing a line at all. I appreciate the honesty, it's nice to hear after only hearing I told you so. Apparently most of my friends and family shared an opinion about her. I guess you're right though, that she just needed to get out." Now it was his turn to learn, Aaron just hoped he didn't inadvertently pressured her to overshare like he had. His gaze remained on her, head only tilting slightly - all his attention was on her. Nothing could distract him. Wow, this guy was a piece of work. He was shocked. Floored. And Aaron could only hope that his expressions were not giving him away. But wow. Who even was this guy? If Aaron thought Vanessa left him with baggage, Lydia's ex had left the whole suitcase set. His lawyer? His mouth felt dry as Lydia continued talking, wait was his mouth open? The shock was evident apparently. "Wow...that's, a shit ton." Frankly, no other way to put it. Holy shit. "Props to you, honestly. He really put you through a lot, he sounds like a nasty piece of work. Lucky you got out when you did and, I may be connecting all the wrong dots, but it sounds like he may have been on some destructive journey. I am glad you're here..now, that he didn't take you down with him. He may have taken the lawyer, but not you. Eh," he shrugged as her next comment. "I mean, I never thought lawyers were all that smart. Seems you just proved my point, I mean..a kid. Woah." A low whistle left his lips, the thought of a child stuck with a dad like that...poor kid. Aaron could only nod when she smiled once more, oversharing was over huh. He didn't mind at all, these conversations weren't really meant for a coffee shop in his opinion. More like a bar, with some drinks in hand. "Greener pasture indeed, and does the greener pasture include lower tolerance for bullshit or?" He'd assume yes, which meant he had to thread carefully, but who knows - maybe she was like him, still deciding if his experience completely changed his outlook on relationships.

He felt content here, felt at peace while they sat here. It was a new feeling for him, one that had been dormant for some time. Her hand din't move away, and Aaron was in no rush to change that. He remained still, trying to not startle her out of moving back. "You got it boss, I'll take meticulous notes." He felt a warmth in his chest, the odd butterfly waking up in his stomach only to zoom around. As if to alert every other butterfly, hey wake up! he's feeling something again! "Not doubting, just double checking before I jump in. Isn't that the safe thing to do?" He gave his best innocent smile, the kind that would sometimes get him out of trouble. "I don't know specifically, just wondering you know. If I'm the first to receive a warning about moving forward." Her question prompted one of his own though. "Have you dated a lot though, after your ex-husband?

#they're so cute im sdlgasdg #me? staying up late to finish one of our replies again? always #pls u know that second date is happening and she'd be up for anything SO IF DRINKS IT IS THEN IT IS #all of our threads are destined to be long IT IS WHAT IS IS #its not our fault they're all so cute :)#lydia is clearly...thinking Things #lydia x aaron #lydia x aaron ;; 002 #muse ;; lydia collins #lydia collins ;; interactions #overnightheartbeats #overnightheartbeats ;; aaron

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rogue-durin-16 · 4 years ago

Text

THINGS NEVER GO AS PLANNED (Part VII/VII)

"apart"

Summary: After Fred's death, George and Y/n lean on each other to carry on. This wasn't the most brilliant idea, though; George was pretty much in love with the girl, and Y/n— well, she had been dating Fred prior to the Battle of Hogwarts.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Genre: angst

Tags:

Suggested by: @crispykittywitch

George Weasley: @meph1stophelian

Things never go as planned: @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @beautyschoo1dropout @s1ut4georgeweasley @sunshineandshadows @missmulti @accioweaslcy @andreaareynoso @georgeweasley16 @dianarte @skarlettmikaelson

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality

Warnings: language (?) Angst

A/N: P L E A S E DON'T MURDER ME YET THERE'S AN EPILOGUE OKAY?! OKAY now enjoy <3

Prologue: the aftermath

Part I: sleepless nights

Part II: candy floss

Part III: shock therapy

Part VI: wrong name

Part V: the perfect excuse

Part VI: the downfall

Epilogue: I still love you

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

Since the Amortentia incident, Y/n had barely looked at me; not in the way I had avoided her after New Year, though, this time, it was different. She didn't seem to be doing it accidentally, rather than on purpose; she appeared to be too lost into her turmoil of thoughts to realise what she was doing, which scared me more.

I had figured the Amortentia would have had something to do with it, but it took me two days to pick up on it.

Undoubtedly, Y/n had smelled Fred's scent on it, and it dawned on her how twisted what we were doing was.

I cried myself to sleep the night that my mind stumbled upon that information. I let myself sob violently, pouring out as much pain as I could, wanting to wash away the recurrent thoughts that creeped on my mind, thoughts that were not unfounded.

That was it— I had lost both a friend and the woman I loved.

Once the tears seem to die out, a new thought appeared in my mind; maybe I was meant to be alone. I could barely function alone, how was I supposed to function with another person?

Perhaps I had always be meant to be alone.

I was going to be alone forever.

I was alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

READER'S P. O. V.

It took my careless arse a hot minute to be aware of how obvious my emotional rollercoaster was from the outside; George had been getting visibly upset by it —I'd dare to reckon he even cried the past night because of it—, and I had to stop that, but how?

I knew it was always best to tell the truth, but where would that take us? Nowhere good. I couldn't just tell George I was in love with him and expect us not to fall apart even harder.

He would think I'm lying, or that I'm using him as a second option —I couldn't let him think that—, but again, his mind had probably gone to those thoughts due to my radio silence.

I had to tell him the truth, and face the consequences.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of our front door's lock opening snapped me out of my own mind, and even made me jump a bit in the couch I sat. I had been waiting for George to arrive for a good couple of hours, weighing on how I could approach the topic, but I didn't seem to come up with anything remotely good.

He stepped into the flat with his eyes casted down, so it took him a moment to acknowledge my presence. "I—" his now dull eyes observed me with confusion, as if he wasn't expecting to see me in my own flat. "what are you doing awake?"

"Waiting for you." He closed the door, scrutinising me with furrowed brows. "I— well—" I cleared my throat and got up, causing his shoulders to tense up. "I wanted to tell you something."

I thought I would have to fight his childish behavior and convince him not to dodge the subject, but he only leaned on the door, his hands behind his back and his eyes casted down. "I... I wanted to tell you something too."

"You go first." I prompted him, planning on using those extra seconds to mentally prepare myself for what I was about to say —as if I hadn't been trying to mentally prepare myself for two hours already.

He peeked at me and sighed, his eyes coming back to his shoes before speaking. "I don't know how to say this— I" he pursed his lips and I could see the struggle irradiating from him. "I think you should move out." Now I knew why he refused to meet my gaze. "We— we need time away y'know— Fleur offered to help you look for an apartment. I'll go back to the Burrow until you find one— and I'm not firing you but I would appreciate if you didn't attend the clients if I'm there."

I should have spoken first, I scolded myself.

"Why?"

"What why?"

"Why you should've spoken first?"

"I— well, so you see," I tugged on my sleeves; it was my turn to avoid his look. "W-when I spilled the Amortentia— well I— I smelled—"

"I know."

"You... Do?"

"Yeah, that's... That's why I think we need some time away."

I had never in my life had my heart shattered in so many pieces in such a short span of time. The pain was so immense that I wasn't able to shed a single tear. Out of every outcome, this was the least expected.

"O-okay." We kept sneaking glances at each other in a dreadful silence until our eyes accidentally met. "I think—"

"I should—"

Another best of silence fell among us after we simultaneously spoke.

"I should go pick some things up." He muttered, passing by my side as fast as he could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning I caught him, as I expected, sneaking out of the flat with one of the bags he had carried in months ago.

He was already exiting when I jogged out of my room, managing to catch his hand.

I could see the goosebumps in his arm, and I thanked Merlin he couldn't hear my heart threatening to leaving my chest to go with him.

"I'm really sorry, George." I whispered, squeezing his hand. Although I had a tiny bit of hope that he would change his mind and step back into our home if I said those words, it was more of a goodbye.

He just shook his head, letting me know there was no need for an apology, and squeezed my hand back before pulling away.

His fingers slipping away from mines was such an emptying feeling, as if my connection with him slept away from my grasp forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I went to sleep that night hoping George's parting would have been a nightmare, and I cried the morning after when my brain took in that it was, in fact, very much real.

A heavily pregnant Fleur showed up that afternoon; she made me dinner and tried to cheer me up a little before making me get dressed so she could drag me out to look for flats in the Diagon Alley. It was an unsuccessful trip, but the Triwizard Tournament Champion wasn't about to give up so easily, so she came the next day, and the following, and on and on for a week.

As if summoned by the woman's will to find me a new home, we found a cheap, acceptable apartment near the shop.

I purchased it instantly, and soon enough I was moving out my things with Bill's help, to stop his wife from helping me herself.

"That's the last one, right?" Bill questioned, nodding at the bag laying on the couch with a box in his hands.

"Yup." I pulled it up and hung it on my shoulder.

"Need anything else?" I shook my head no. "Alright then I'll leave this at your place and apparate back home." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "I know it's none of my business but... Whatever happened between you two— it's fixable, believe me."

"I really don't think so." I muttered, gripping the bag's strap.

"It is," he repeated, adjusting the box in his arms. "just don't give up." He gave me a small, reassuring smile and disapparated.

Maybe he was right, maybe it was fixable. Taking a look around the now emptier apartment, I thought it surely didn't seem like it, but hope is the last thing you lose, right?

In a final attempt of getting him back, I grabbed a notebook from the bag and teared a page off it; I left the bag besides me as I knelt down and reached for a pencil forgotten over the coffee table.

Three Days Later

GEORGE'S P. O. V.

I entered the apartment— it was quiet, similar to a cemetery, just like the first time I stepped on the apartment after the war.

This time, it was empty, though.

Y/n didn't rush to the door when I opened it.

She didn't catch me when I fell on my knees and broke down to tears.

I was alone.

After Godric knows how long I managed to get myself back to my feet. I passed Y/n's old room as fast as I had first passed Fred's room months ago.

Once I got to my room and lay down on my bed, my mind cleared up enough for me to realise that I would be seeing Y/n the next day —at least once— at the shop.

"Fuck." I muttered, burying my face on my pillow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

READER'S P. O. V.

He had asked me not to leave the office while he was in the shop.

He had explicitly asked me not to, but I needed to know if he had read my letter— no, I need to know if I had taken a step in the right direction by writing the letter.

So there I was, descending the stairs in his direction, and taking my time to do so since he was talking with a couple of clients.

"Y/n!" Verity rushed to me with what seemed a defective portable swamp. "I need your help with this," My eyes, still on George, caught the way his head snapped in my direction with sheer fear on it. "I've got a woman there threatening with suing us because the swamp send one of her children to St. Mungo!" The girl managed to get my attention with her anxious rambling.

"She can't do that." George, who had probably caught on Verity's words, spoke before I could. "She agreed on our shop policy." He reminded her, walking to stand by my side.

"I already told her that Mister Weasley, but she said she's 'not taking the words of a pipsqueak'." She replied in a whisper.

"She said what?" George questioned in disbelief.

"I'm gonna shove that lawsuit up her arse." I spoke, spotting the completely out of place middle aged woman who stood in front of Verity's till. "Send her to the office." Verity looked at me and then at George for confirmation, who simply gave her a nod.

Once Verity left, I turned to the ginger, whose warm eyes were already fixed on me. "How are you?" He inquired in a way that let me see it was out of politeness, which made my hopes die a little.

"Been better." I replied, ready to somehow test the waters. "How about you?"

"Same, I suppose." George didn't even try to put on a happy face, and I started to get anxious; there was no way he would have missed the note —I left it on the kitchen table— so that meant he had read it and- "You should go back to the office."

My heart attempted to hold onto the possibility of him not having read the note, but my brain knew better than that. "Alright." I nodded and went back to my workplace; I would deal with that woman and after that, I would prepare a resignation letter.

George was right, we needed to be apart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn't that bad, I lied to myself, sitting down on the sofa while undoing the tie's knot.

My mind was about to begin the overthinking of Y/n's words when my stomach growled. Without noticing, I had gone without a single meal for the entire day.

I listened to my body and moved to the kitchen to prepare myself something. While the stove heated up, I turned around and took a look at the kitchen; just like the rest of the rooms, it seemed gloomier without Y/n lighting up the apartment.

Stop thinking about her.

My eyes landed on a piece of paper with one of Y/n's rings over it. Before properly realising it, I was sitting down on one of the chairs and reading what had been written in the scrapped page.

Dear George,

I know what happened is on both of us, but I can't help but blame myself, as selfish as it might sound.

You don't know this, but while at Hogwarts, I found you and Fred rather annoying— I didn't understand why everyone seemed to fancy you so much. Then, you hired me to work in this amazing shop, and I understood.

During these past two years I had the pleasure and honour to call you my friend; you made my life much better, I'd like to think I did the same.

I wanted to apologise for everything I've done since New Year. I'm so very sorry for falling in love with you. Though it was something so easy to happen, I never thought it would go this far.

I don't know what is this letter (a proper goodbye? I don't know), but I want need you to know that I never wanted to harm you nor our friendship, and that I'm still going to be here for you, feelings aside.

Love,

Y/n.

I re-read the fourth paragraph at least five times before taking it in.

She had fallen in love with me.

That's what she had meant to say when she spoke to me about the Amortentia— that she had smelled my scent— Oh no.

My reply— she probably thought it was unrequited; she probably thought I had kicked her out because she was in love with me and not quite the opposite.

Without thinking twice, I ran down to the office with the letter clutched in my hand; she had to be there, she was always the last one to leave.

She had to be there.

I was so focused on reaching the office on time that I missed Y/b's figure exiting the shop.

I slammed the door open, just to find the table's surface, which used to be full of Y/n's things, clean in its entirety, aside from an envelope which had written on it 'resignation'.

"No."

READER'S P. O. V.

I had just left the small box with my things over the coffee table, and was taking off my shoes when an apparition noise followed by a couple of bangs on my front door made me jolt.

Out of a sad habit I, among the rest of the Order, had gotten during the war, I grabbed my wand and approached the door.

My arm fell limply on my side while I stared into George's eyes, which seemed to hold back a storm of mixed emotions.

"C-can we talk?" My gaze then fell on the paper his hand was gripping, and that I assumed was my resignation.

"George, listen, I can't—"

"I'm in love with you."

Words had stumbled out of his mouth in panic, and the only thing I could reply was, "What?"

#george weasley headcanon #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fanfic #george weasley x you #george weasley x reader angst #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x ravenclaw!reader #george weasley x hufflepuff!reader #george weasley x gryffindor!reader #george weasley x slytherin!reader #george weasley smut #george x reader smut #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #things never go as planned

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